Her Eyes

Thirty Two

Evangelia and Charis looked at their son blankly. Evangelia sighed, feeling relieved since she assumed he was only joking.

"Me trómaxes, gie mou. Min asteiévesai gia –"
(You scared me, son. Don't joke about –)

"No, mum. Miláo sovará," Nikolaos interrupted. There wasn't a hint of hesitation or unsureness on his face. It was cold and sturdy. She stared at him in the eye; the same blue color she had.
(I'm serious.)

"Míla, gie mou. Pes mas ti ennoeís," Charis spoke up, seemingly serious as well. He didn't believe him at the moment, but he was willing to listen.
(Speak, son. Tell us what you mean.)

Nikolaos leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. "It's exactly as I said. I Ésme eínai éna fýllo. Travoúsa fotografíes éxo mía méra kai vríka éna fýllo sto édafos kai to píra mazí mou sto spíti. Énan mína argótera, emfanízetai gymní sto domátió mou chorís na boreí na milísei, na perpatísei kai na min dósei ónoma," he explained to them, recalling the events that made him discover Esmae.
(Esmae is a leaf. I was taking photos outside one day and found a leaf on the ground and took it home with me. A month later, she pops up in my room naked with no ability to speak, walk, and no name.)

"I Ésme den eínai to ónomá tis. Eínai éna ónoma pou tis édosa," he added, flickering his eyes between his parents. They stared at him as if he'd gone insane, but his father spoke first, his deep voice calming the confusion.
(Esmae is not her name. It's a name I gave her.)

"Mia dryáda?" he questioned, referring to the tree nymphs from mythology. Nikolaos nodded quickly, "Yes, mia dryáda."
(A dryad?)

His father leaned back in the wooden chair, still holding his wife's hand with one of his while he brushed through his beard with the other. "Thélo na se pistépso, gie mou, allá eínai dýskolo. Oi Dryádes den eínai alithinés; touláchiston, den prépei na eínai alithinoí."
(I want to believe you, son, but it is hard to. Dryads are not real; at least, they are not supposed to be real.)

Nikolaos sighed heavily, brushing his hands through his hair. Den xéro. Den to katalavaíno i ídia, allá mou to eípe. Mou eípe óti ítan to fýllo. mou eípe óti taxídepse me álla fýlla kai mílise mazí tous. Cháthike, bampá. Den xérei poú eínai to spíti tis," he said, sighing heavily and feeling pity for his beloved.
(I don't know. I don't understand it myself, but she told me. She told me that she was the leaf; she told me that she traveled with other leaves and talked to them. She was lost, dad. She doesn't know where her home is.)

His parents stayed quiet; Evangelia, in particular, looked far more worried for her son. Charis decided to do the speaking for her.

"Pes mas, Nikólaos. Pós bóreses na empistefteís ton lógo tis?" he asked.
(Tell us, Nikolaos. How were you able to trust her word?)

Charis was a simple man. If his son believed in one thing, he would allow him; if he believed in another, he would allow him. He had no strong opinions about the world, but the ones he did have did not force their way into his relationship with his son.

Nikolaos crossed his arms, leaning on the table. "Tin empistévomai giatí leípei to fýllo. Stin pragmatikótita den íxere típota apolýtos. Me to zóri kratoúse éna koutáli ótan tin protognórisa kai akómi kai tóra, me rotáei synechós giatí oi ánthropoi den boroún na petáxoun ópos ta fýlla." He nearly chuckled at the memories of Esmae following him around the cottage and asking him 'Why this?' or 'Why that?'. He didn't have an answer for it all, but Esmae seemed satisfied with whatever he told her.
(I trust her because the leaf is missing. She really didn't know anything at all. She could barely hold a spoon when I first met her and even now, she constantly asks me why humans can't fly like leaves can.)