EMMA and her Sister

EMMA and her Sister by Maria Fokas

She watched me as I took pictures of the castle of St John in the old town of Rhodes. Dressed in a white dress-like costume, and white powdered make-up covering her face, she sat before the gates, waiting for the tourists to flip a few coins in her brown cardboard box. I could not but notice the way she looked at me, and then she spoke:

– You can take a picture of me if you’d like.

– What’s your name?

– Emma, she said with a smile.

– What are you dressed as?

– An angel.

– Take a picture of me, she said again.

– Are you sure.

– Of course I’m sure.

– And what would you like in return, money?

– No, not money, I want something for me.

– I’m listening…

– I want something to eat.

– Any preferences?

– Two gyros and two cokes.

And I headed for the nearest food shop, I could find. When I got back, she seemed surprised to see me.

– You came back, she confirmed.

– Why wouldn’t I?

– It’s common not to.

– You think you have enough room for all this food?

She lifted her head and looked behind me in the distance.

– You see that girl across the street playing her xylophone?

I turned around and saw a fragile little girl staring at us.

– That’s my sister, you can give her one of the gyros and a coke.

And I did.

– How old are you? I asked.

– 11

– And your sister?

– 13

I don’t know why I asked, but for some reason, I felt the need to know. I watched her take her food out of the bag, and begin to devour it. Her sister didn’t touch her food. She just continued playing her instrument. And then I felt the urge for more meaningless questions.

– Where are your parents?

– Around.

– Do you go to school?

– No, we don’t do stuff like that.

– Why?

– My dad says school serves no purpose.

– No purpose? It helps you think.

– Thinking brings about sorrow.

– And dreams?

– I dream every night.

I felt numb, and all the knowledge in my head could not help me make sense to her. I knew I had said too much, hoping that it meant something; knowing that it did not. Two little girls sat across each other in a reality different from mine,….and, bystanders, observing them as merely part of the landscape being photographed. I looked into her eyes and smiled, hiding the pain only failure brings on. And then she broke the silence.

– What are you afraid of?

– The list is long, I said.

– Then I’m luckier than you, she giggled.

– Aren’t you afraid of anything?

– Only the cold, and hunger.

With a handshake we said goodbye. I felt a sadness knowing I will never see her again. What a peculiar thing to feel.

At the Palace of the Grand Master of the Knights, two little girls sit opposite each other hoping for kindness…and millions more elsewhere – In a presence of a fate they cannot escape;

I hope for change – but I fear, it will never come.