THE MIRACLE A True Story   7    There were just 24 hours left before our departure for Athens. Each of us was living in our own world. I felt a vague numbness and a total lack of energy.    Before I left, I wanted to make a last pilgrimage to the places where I had been born and spent the happiest years of my childhood. The day before we were due to leave, I visited our first neighbourhood where we had experienced the events of September, 1955. I stood in front of the house where we had once lived, and looked at the big iron gate. I remembered how we used to say the basement was haunted. How many stories had been spread about Mrs Vasso, who lived on the first floor and used to claim that after midnight she could feel a hand pulling her foot while she was asleep! They said it was the spirit of the house which came from the well in the basement. We were all afraid of going down to the basement, and I certainly don't remember ever going near it.    Three blocks behind the house was my first school, the Primary School of Saints Constantinos and Eleni. I went through the iron gate and into the churchyard. Most of the church windows had been smashed and were boarded up. The reason for this was that every time the shattered panes were replaced, the Turks threw stones from the road and broke them again. This had happened so many times that the priest who also lived beside the church had decided not to replace the glass but to block up the windows with cardboard.    I walked slowly around the yard until I reached the school which was behind the church. Memories of the happy times I had spent there came flooding into my mind. I stood still and looked for the last time at the place that was so familiar, so well-loved. Then I went out on to the street and started to climb up the hill towards Pera. On my left was the house where my father's brother, Uncle Nikos, lived with his wife, Aunt Despina. Passing Tepebas ļi, the place from where in a few more hours we should be leaving Constantinople for good, I reached Pera and turned into the little narrow street that led to the Zographion High School and the Greek Consulate.    I stopped in front of the imposing school building and was suddenly filled with a mixture of sadness and awe. I wanted to go inside and feel the atmosphere there just one more time and so, knocking hesitantly on the door, I entered the building and said in a voice that trembled slightly:    "Tomorrow we are leaving Constantinople for good and I should like very much to say goodbye to my teacher."    I looked at the two impressive marble staircases that swept up on either side of the hall, leading to the classrooms.    The first door I came to was the headmaster's office. I knocked several times, but there was no answer. Then I went to the office of my teacher, Mr Apostolou.    "We are leaving, too, and I've come to say goodbye," I told him. "I should like to say goodbye to the headmaster as well, but he's not here!"    My teacher stood up and crossing the room slowly, as he walked with a limp, came and embraced me.    "Have a safe journey, my boy. If you continue to be just as good a student as you were here, you'll do well in life. I wish you and your family the very best of luck." There were tears in his eyes.    As I left the room, I caught sight of the Turkish deputy 99 and 100 Leonidas Koumakis THE MIRACLE A True Story If you prefer a hard copy of the book, please send an email to HEC-Books@hec.greece.org Previous Page | Initial Page | Site Map | Next Page (101st of 204) © For Internet 2001 HEC and Leonidas Koumakis. Updated on 19 June 2001.