108 fountains
04-19-2014, 05:26 PM
I will be happy to hear any comments on this story.
Lost Appetite
Agapios’ – a family-run, family-style Greek restaurant tucked away under a blue and white signboard in the corner of a little strip mall on Jackson Street – had been serving patrons in the town of Rockville for twenty-one years. Ethan and Jennifer Wise had celebrated their first wedding anniversary at Agapios’ ten years ago and had been regular customers since – not in the sense of being frequent customers, but in the sense of dining there twice or thrice every year. After more than a decade of marriage, sharing good food was one of the few things they still enjoyed doing together.
The waitress, whose skin color and Amharic accent betrayed the fact that she was not Greek, seated them in one of several booths along the wall. Only about half of the dozen small tables in the center of room were occupied – Thursday evenings at Agapios’ generally were sluggish, which suited Ethan and Jennifer as they shunned crowds and avoided going out on weekends. The waitress, whose silver nametag identified her as Mulu, handed them their menus, poured coffee, and told them she would be back in two minutes.
Ethan and Jennifer sat across from each other silently, each studying their separate menu. Ethan poured the smallest drop of milk from a hobnail cruet into Jennifer’s coffee as she perused her menu – he knew that was just the way she liked it – and then took a sip of his own – black. She saw his act of courtesy from the corner of her eye, but made no acknowledgment of it. He was a polite, well-mannered man, a good man, in general, and over the years, she had grown accustomed to these small gestures – they meant nothing, really; they were simply ingrained habits of his.
“You know, I have to make the same decision every time,” Jennifer said. “Spinach pie or moussaka. They are both so good here, I never know which one to order.”
“Why don’t you try something new this time,” replied Ethan. “It’s always good to change things up once in a while.”
Jennifer looked at him sideways with a little smile as if he had just uttered the most ridiculous idea she had ever heard.
“Would you like to share some taramosalata as an appetizer?” he queried.
“Ethan, you know we always get stuffed grape leaves for the appetizer.”
When the waitress returned, Ethan told her, “We’ll have the stuffed grape leaves for appetizer, and I’ll have the youvetsi – I’ve never tried that before.”
The waitress took the order and turned to Jennifer, who said, “I’ll have the spinach pie, please.” Ethan looked away with just the slightest smile and shrug of his shoulders.
Jennifer looked at her watch. “Eight o’clock! I don’t know what put us so behind schedule. I’m famished. I’m really looking forward to this. Why, I’ll bet it’s been more than six months since we last ate here. Of all the restaurants in town, this has always been my favorite.”
“I was ready an hour ago,” said Ethan with a touch of grouchiness in his voice. Then he saw a shadow pass over Jennifer’s face, and he quickly added, “But the time just got away from me. Is it really eight o’clock already? I’m starving, too.”
At the table nearest to their booth, a young man and young woman had just completed their repast and were lingering over their last two glasses of retsina. The young man was about ten or twelve years younger than Ethan; the woman was about ten or twelve years younger than Jennifer. He was dressed neatly in a blue sports coat and white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He had a Mediterranean complexion, black hair that had been carefully groomed so as to appear that it had not been combed at all, a stubble of a beard and mustache that had been trimmed carefully to give the appearance that he had not shaved for days, and handsome, intensely penetrating dark brown eyes that would have been intimidating if they did not contain, which they did, an obvious tenderness and admiration for the subject of their gaze. She wore a trim vanilla colored dress with gold buttons down the front and no jewelry of any kind. She was fair, with luxurious blonde hair that fell in cascading tresses over her shoulders, her mascara, powder and lipstick had been put on carefully so as to appear she was wearing no make-up at all, and which truly complemented her natural beauty, and amber colored eyes that she attempted to cast with a languid, dreamy expression, but whose natural sparkle and playfulness were impossible to mask.
The management at Agapios’ did not pipe in muzak, nor did it strategically locate television screens in corners. The resulting quiet atmosphere allowed Ethan and Jennifer to listen in on – indeed, they had no choice but to overhear – the conversation taking place between the young couple at the next table.
“I feel so happy when I am with you, Sweetheart,” they heard the young woman say.
“Do you really love me so much?” he asked.
The young woman colored at this, and was vexed with the thought that she was making things too easy for her galant. In an instant, her expression changed from one of unguarded affection to one of coy affectation. She pulled herself up in her seat with a feigned haughty air and said, “What? You are mistaken. Did you hear me say I loved you? I said you make me feel happy. There is a great difference between these two sentiments. A teddy bear can make me happy. A new pair of shoes can make me happy, but I don’t love my shoes.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” replied the young man with a smile. He had started to grow accustomed to her coquettishness, and he enjoyed her playful banter. “Because, you know, I adore the ground you walk on under those shoes.”
She cast her eyes downward at this, but was unable to conceal the pleasure they contained. Neither could the corners of her mouth prevent themselves from curving upward slightly to reveal a mischievous smile. “Then I shall bring you a cupful of dirt and gravel from the parking lot where we walked – as a gift for your adoration.”
“And I will place it as a shrine upon my desk and light a candle to it every day,” he countered without missing a beat.
“And will you fall down on your knees before it and worship it as an expression of your love for me?”
“Ha!” said the young man, prepared to take the advantage. “Now, methinks it is you who are mistaken. Did you hear me say I loved you? I said only that I adore dirt and gravel.”
She formed her lips into a pout and exclaimed, “Then better for you to find a coal-miner’s daughter. I need a man who keeps his head above ground.”
“Ah!” he exclaimed. “But when I am with you, I feel like I am soaring way up in the sky!”
“That is no good either,” she said flatly. “I don’t want a man who has his head in the clouds.”
“And where do you want your man to be then?” he asked.
“My man?” She leaned her chin on her hand and turned her eyes dreamily upwards and sighed, “My man is a man of the earth – a man of the sea, and of the mountains, and of the forests.”
“Then you are looking for a sailor, a mountain climber, and a lumberjack?”
They looked at each other a moment, and both of them burst out laughing.
Then he took her hand in his and said more seriously, “I still can’t believe how lucky I am to have found you.”
She looked at him with beaming eyes and asked, “Do you really love me so much?”
“I love everything about you. I love the music in your voice and the laughter in your eyes. I love the way you look at me. Most of all, I love the way you make me feel.”
“See how you are? Well, I am the same, Sweetheart. When we are together, nothing else in the world matters at all.”
“You are on my mind every minute – no – every second!” he said with intensity and earnestness of feeling.
“I think about you all the time, too,” she said. “And I miss you so much when we’re apart.”
“When I first saw you,” he said, “I saw that you were beautiful. Anyone can see that. But when I got to know you, I found that beauty to be so much deeper. There is a radiance in you, on the inside, that shines out and lights up everything around you, like sunshine breaking through clouds.”
At this, she blushed, and the merry sparkle in her eyes was obscured by authentic tears that welled up from the fullness of her heart. She spoke in a subdued tone, “When I am with you, Sweetheart, I have no fear, no loneliness, no insecurities. You make me feel protected, complete, and safe.” A single tear streamed down her cheek. She made no attempt to wipe it away, but instead smiled and said, “See how you are? See what you do to me? I love you so much!”
They young man said not a word further, but a sudden red flush appeared in his own eyes. He inclined his head and, still holding hands, they both rose from their seats and departed the restaurant.
Ethan looked up to see Jennifer staring at him with something between a smile and a smirk on her face. “Ah, young love!” she exclaimed.
“Hmmm,” was all that Ethan could muster in response.
“It will never last, you know,” continued Jennifer. “It’s only a matter of time that she will get tired of picking up his wet towels from the bathroom floor or of him disappearing when she starts to wash dishes.”
“Yes, that’s right,” returned Ethan, who had learned over the years that it was best to not disagree with Jennifer’s observations. Then he added, “Of course, he also eventually will get tired of seeing her chatting and texting during meals and even during conversations.”
“True,” said Jennifer. “Although most of their conversations will consist of her doing all the talking and him nodding or grunting and barely even pretending to listen.”
In the meantime, Mulu set a platter of stuffed grape leaves in the center of the table and two small side plates in front of the pair of diners. She asked, “Would you like me to bring the entrée now or wait?”
“Oh, please go ahead and bring everything now,” replied Jennifer. She put two morsels on her plate and took a bite of one. “Mmm, mmm! Oh, Ethan, these are delicious!”
“They are good,” replied Ethan, also taking a bite. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. But next time, let’s try one of the other items on the menu.”
Jennifer ignored this last remark.
As Jennifer masticated, Ethan, perhaps rather unwisely, returned to their previous conversation. “It’s all well and good, you know,” he said, “to complain about him not listening, but on the other hand, why does she always need to start a conversation when he’s reading a book or when they are in the middle of watching a movie?”
“See? That’s exactly what I mean,” said Jennifer. “It won’t take her long to discover that even when he admits he is wrong about something, which is a rare occasion, he will make an excuse or try to turn the tables on her as if it was her fault.”
“Well, it probably won’t take him long to learn to keep his mouth shut,” replied Ethan. “Whenever he tries to defend himself or explain himself, then that will only be an excuse for her to continue with the constant nagging and the incessant criticisms.”
At this juncture, Mulu set down a flaky, layered piece of steaming spinach pie on an olive-green stoneware serving-dish in front of Jennifer and a generous portion of youvetsi, pieces of fried lamb and onion simmered in tomato juice and orzo pasta spiced with cloves and cinnamon and baked in its own clay pot, in front of Ethan.
“Wow! This looks great!” exclaimed Ethan. “There’s nothing I like better than trying some new, exotic cuisine.”
Jennifer watched Ethan take a bite of his youvetsi and frowned. She cut a piece of her spinach pie, but laid her knife and fork down without putting it into her mouth. “She probably will begin to criticize him,” she said, resuming their conversation. “That’s true. But he likely will give her plenty of reason. She sees so much in him now, like he is some sort of Prince Charming, but what she sees is potential, nothing that is real. And he has potential, no doubt about that. He has the world before him and his future is laid out in the stars, but indolence and lack of ambition will hold him back. His body will lose muscle tone, his mind will become dull. He won’t even try to stay in shape, to sharpen his intellect, or to improve his position, not because he cannot but because he will not. If he lacked charm and intelligence and talent to begin with, then that would be different, but he does have potential – that is what she sees in him now, and that is why she is so happy with him and why she wants to be his partner – but that is also why eventually her life with him will become one of brooding disappointment. It’s like she’s peeling an onion, peeling off layer after layer, mouth-watering, expecting, anticipating, waiting for that beautiful, juicy, delicious heart, but when she finally gets to the center, she is surprised to find nothing there after all. Nothing at all underneath all those layers. That is why she will seldom laugh or feel pleasure. That is why she will appear cold and ill-humored and lose her enthusiasm for life. She will still feel what could have been, but come to realize that it never will be.”
Ethan stopped chewing while he listened to her. When she finished, he swallowed what was in his mouth – it went down dry – and reflected for a moment. “He also will come to learn to live with discontent,” he said. He hesitated then, unsure if he should continue to verbalize his train of thought, but he resumed, “He has this image of her in his head, an image that he has manufactured himself, an image that he does not realize is of his own making, like she is some kind of celestial being that he has placed on an earthly pedestal. He imagines that she is sweet, selfless, and fascinating, that she is loving and childlike and flawless. He is completely overcome by her physical beauty, and he projects that image of perfection onto her inner being, not realizing that the one will fade and the other is false. He thinks she adores him now, but will slowly come to realize that, at best, she might grudgingly regard him as a companion, but more likely that she simply will scorn him. His fault is that he is romantic and that he imagines her to be something she is not. If he would only take her down from her pedestal now to see her as she really is, he might find that she is human with human faults and frailties, and he might be content to love her with a more rational and clear-eyed passion, but no – he imagines her as a goddess, and by the time he realizes that she is not, he will feel betrayed – that what he fell in love with never really existed, and that what he is living with is something he never loved nor ever could love.”
They sat for some moments in silence. A chill crept into the dining room. Jennifer pushed her plate of spinach pie to the side.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Not hungry?”
She shrugged her shoulders and said, “No, I seem to have lost my appetite.”
“Yeah, I’m not really hungry either.” Ethan paid the waitress and left a substantial tip. As they walked toward their car in the parking lot, Ethan glanced back over his shoulders at Agapio’s blue and white signboard. The thought came to him that they would never come back here to dine again.
Lost Appetite
Agapios’ – a family-run, family-style Greek restaurant tucked away under a blue and white signboard in the corner of a little strip mall on Jackson Street – had been serving patrons in the town of Rockville for twenty-one years. Ethan and Jennifer Wise had celebrated their first wedding anniversary at Agapios’ ten years ago and had been regular customers since – not in the sense of being frequent customers, but in the sense of dining there twice or thrice every year. After more than a decade of marriage, sharing good food was one of the few things they still enjoyed doing together.
The waitress, whose skin color and Amharic accent betrayed the fact that she was not Greek, seated them in one of several booths along the wall. Only about half of the dozen small tables in the center of room were occupied – Thursday evenings at Agapios’ generally were sluggish, which suited Ethan and Jennifer as they shunned crowds and avoided going out on weekends. The waitress, whose silver nametag identified her as Mulu, handed them their menus, poured coffee, and told them she would be back in two minutes.
Ethan and Jennifer sat across from each other silently, each studying their separate menu. Ethan poured the smallest drop of milk from a hobnail cruet into Jennifer’s coffee as she perused her menu – he knew that was just the way she liked it – and then took a sip of his own – black. She saw his act of courtesy from the corner of her eye, but made no acknowledgment of it. He was a polite, well-mannered man, a good man, in general, and over the years, she had grown accustomed to these small gestures – they meant nothing, really; they were simply ingrained habits of his.
“You know, I have to make the same decision every time,” Jennifer said. “Spinach pie or moussaka. They are both so good here, I never know which one to order.”
“Why don’t you try something new this time,” replied Ethan. “It’s always good to change things up once in a while.”
Jennifer looked at him sideways with a little smile as if he had just uttered the most ridiculous idea she had ever heard.
“Would you like to share some taramosalata as an appetizer?” he queried.
“Ethan, you know we always get stuffed grape leaves for the appetizer.”
When the waitress returned, Ethan told her, “We’ll have the stuffed grape leaves for appetizer, and I’ll have the youvetsi – I’ve never tried that before.”
The waitress took the order and turned to Jennifer, who said, “I’ll have the spinach pie, please.” Ethan looked away with just the slightest smile and shrug of his shoulders.
Jennifer looked at her watch. “Eight o’clock! I don’t know what put us so behind schedule. I’m famished. I’m really looking forward to this. Why, I’ll bet it’s been more than six months since we last ate here. Of all the restaurants in town, this has always been my favorite.”
“I was ready an hour ago,” said Ethan with a touch of grouchiness in his voice. Then he saw a shadow pass over Jennifer’s face, and he quickly added, “But the time just got away from me. Is it really eight o’clock already? I’m starving, too.”
At the table nearest to their booth, a young man and young woman had just completed their repast and were lingering over their last two glasses of retsina. The young man was about ten or twelve years younger than Ethan; the woman was about ten or twelve years younger than Jennifer. He was dressed neatly in a blue sports coat and white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He had a Mediterranean complexion, black hair that had been carefully groomed so as to appear that it had not been combed at all, a stubble of a beard and mustache that had been trimmed carefully to give the appearance that he had not shaved for days, and handsome, intensely penetrating dark brown eyes that would have been intimidating if they did not contain, which they did, an obvious tenderness and admiration for the subject of their gaze. She wore a trim vanilla colored dress with gold buttons down the front and no jewelry of any kind. She was fair, with luxurious blonde hair that fell in cascading tresses over her shoulders, her mascara, powder and lipstick had been put on carefully so as to appear she was wearing no make-up at all, and which truly complemented her natural beauty, and amber colored eyes that she attempted to cast with a languid, dreamy expression, but whose natural sparkle and playfulness were impossible to mask.
The management at Agapios’ did not pipe in muzak, nor did it strategically locate television screens in corners. The resulting quiet atmosphere allowed Ethan and Jennifer to listen in on – indeed, they had no choice but to overhear – the conversation taking place between the young couple at the next table.
“I feel so happy when I am with you, Sweetheart,” they heard the young woman say.
“Do you really love me so much?” he asked.
The young woman colored at this, and was vexed with the thought that she was making things too easy for her galant. In an instant, her expression changed from one of unguarded affection to one of coy affectation. She pulled herself up in her seat with a feigned haughty air and said, “What? You are mistaken. Did you hear me say I loved you? I said you make me feel happy. There is a great difference between these two sentiments. A teddy bear can make me happy. A new pair of shoes can make me happy, but I don’t love my shoes.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” replied the young man with a smile. He had started to grow accustomed to her coquettishness, and he enjoyed her playful banter. “Because, you know, I adore the ground you walk on under those shoes.”
She cast her eyes downward at this, but was unable to conceal the pleasure they contained. Neither could the corners of her mouth prevent themselves from curving upward slightly to reveal a mischievous smile. “Then I shall bring you a cupful of dirt and gravel from the parking lot where we walked – as a gift for your adoration.”
“And I will place it as a shrine upon my desk and light a candle to it every day,” he countered without missing a beat.
“And will you fall down on your knees before it and worship it as an expression of your love for me?”
“Ha!” said the young man, prepared to take the advantage. “Now, methinks it is you who are mistaken. Did you hear me say I loved you? I said only that I adore dirt and gravel.”
She formed her lips into a pout and exclaimed, “Then better for you to find a coal-miner’s daughter. I need a man who keeps his head above ground.”
“Ah!” he exclaimed. “But when I am with you, I feel like I am soaring way up in the sky!”
“That is no good either,” she said flatly. “I don’t want a man who has his head in the clouds.”
“And where do you want your man to be then?” he asked.
“My man?” She leaned her chin on her hand and turned her eyes dreamily upwards and sighed, “My man is a man of the earth – a man of the sea, and of the mountains, and of the forests.”
“Then you are looking for a sailor, a mountain climber, and a lumberjack?”
They looked at each other a moment, and both of them burst out laughing.
Then he took her hand in his and said more seriously, “I still can’t believe how lucky I am to have found you.”
She looked at him with beaming eyes and asked, “Do you really love me so much?”
“I love everything about you. I love the music in your voice and the laughter in your eyes. I love the way you look at me. Most of all, I love the way you make me feel.”
“See how you are? Well, I am the same, Sweetheart. When we are together, nothing else in the world matters at all.”
“You are on my mind every minute – no – every second!” he said with intensity and earnestness of feeling.
“I think about you all the time, too,” she said. “And I miss you so much when we’re apart.”
“When I first saw you,” he said, “I saw that you were beautiful. Anyone can see that. But when I got to know you, I found that beauty to be so much deeper. There is a radiance in you, on the inside, that shines out and lights up everything around you, like sunshine breaking through clouds.”
At this, she blushed, and the merry sparkle in her eyes was obscured by authentic tears that welled up from the fullness of her heart. She spoke in a subdued tone, “When I am with you, Sweetheart, I have no fear, no loneliness, no insecurities. You make me feel protected, complete, and safe.” A single tear streamed down her cheek. She made no attempt to wipe it away, but instead smiled and said, “See how you are? See what you do to me? I love you so much!”
They young man said not a word further, but a sudden red flush appeared in his own eyes. He inclined his head and, still holding hands, they both rose from their seats and departed the restaurant.
Ethan looked up to see Jennifer staring at him with something between a smile and a smirk on her face. “Ah, young love!” she exclaimed.
“Hmmm,” was all that Ethan could muster in response.
“It will never last, you know,” continued Jennifer. “It’s only a matter of time that she will get tired of picking up his wet towels from the bathroom floor or of him disappearing when she starts to wash dishes.”
“Yes, that’s right,” returned Ethan, who had learned over the years that it was best to not disagree with Jennifer’s observations. Then he added, “Of course, he also eventually will get tired of seeing her chatting and texting during meals and even during conversations.”
“True,” said Jennifer. “Although most of their conversations will consist of her doing all the talking and him nodding or grunting and barely even pretending to listen.”
In the meantime, Mulu set a platter of stuffed grape leaves in the center of the table and two small side plates in front of the pair of diners. She asked, “Would you like me to bring the entrée now or wait?”
“Oh, please go ahead and bring everything now,” replied Jennifer. She put two morsels on her plate and took a bite of one. “Mmm, mmm! Oh, Ethan, these are delicious!”
“They are good,” replied Ethan, also taking a bite. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. But next time, let’s try one of the other items on the menu.”
Jennifer ignored this last remark.
As Jennifer masticated, Ethan, perhaps rather unwisely, returned to their previous conversation. “It’s all well and good, you know,” he said, “to complain about him not listening, but on the other hand, why does she always need to start a conversation when he’s reading a book or when they are in the middle of watching a movie?”
“See? That’s exactly what I mean,” said Jennifer. “It won’t take her long to discover that even when he admits he is wrong about something, which is a rare occasion, he will make an excuse or try to turn the tables on her as if it was her fault.”
“Well, it probably won’t take him long to learn to keep his mouth shut,” replied Ethan. “Whenever he tries to defend himself or explain himself, then that will only be an excuse for her to continue with the constant nagging and the incessant criticisms.”
At this juncture, Mulu set down a flaky, layered piece of steaming spinach pie on an olive-green stoneware serving-dish in front of Jennifer and a generous portion of youvetsi, pieces of fried lamb and onion simmered in tomato juice and orzo pasta spiced with cloves and cinnamon and baked in its own clay pot, in front of Ethan.
“Wow! This looks great!” exclaimed Ethan. “There’s nothing I like better than trying some new, exotic cuisine.”
Jennifer watched Ethan take a bite of his youvetsi and frowned. She cut a piece of her spinach pie, but laid her knife and fork down without putting it into her mouth. “She probably will begin to criticize him,” she said, resuming their conversation. “That’s true. But he likely will give her plenty of reason. She sees so much in him now, like he is some sort of Prince Charming, but what she sees is potential, nothing that is real. And he has potential, no doubt about that. He has the world before him and his future is laid out in the stars, but indolence and lack of ambition will hold him back. His body will lose muscle tone, his mind will become dull. He won’t even try to stay in shape, to sharpen his intellect, or to improve his position, not because he cannot but because he will not. If he lacked charm and intelligence and talent to begin with, then that would be different, but he does have potential – that is what she sees in him now, and that is why she is so happy with him and why she wants to be his partner – but that is also why eventually her life with him will become one of brooding disappointment. It’s like she’s peeling an onion, peeling off layer after layer, mouth-watering, expecting, anticipating, waiting for that beautiful, juicy, delicious heart, but when she finally gets to the center, she is surprised to find nothing there after all. Nothing at all underneath all those layers. That is why she will seldom laugh or feel pleasure. That is why she will appear cold and ill-humored and lose her enthusiasm for life. She will still feel what could have been, but come to realize that it never will be.”
Ethan stopped chewing while he listened to her. When she finished, he swallowed what was in his mouth – it went down dry – and reflected for a moment. “He also will come to learn to live with discontent,” he said. He hesitated then, unsure if he should continue to verbalize his train of thought, but he resumed, “He has this image of her in his head, an image that he has manufactured himself, an image that he does not realize is of his own making, like she is some kind of celestial being that he has placed on an earthly pedestal. He imagines that she is sweet, selfless, and fascinating, that she is loving and childlike and flawless. He is completely overcome by her physical beauty, and he projects that image of perfection onto her inner being, not realizing that the one will fade and the other is false. He thinks she adores him now, but will slowly come to realize that, at best, she might grudgingly regard him as a companion, but more likely that she simply will scorn him. His fault is that he is romantic and that he imagines her to be something she is not. If he would only take her down from her pedestal now to see her as she really is, he might find that she is human with human faults and frailties, and he might be content to love her with a more rational and clear-eyed passion, but no – he imagines her as a goddess, and by the time he realizes that she is not, he will feel betrayed – that what he fell in love with never really existed, and that what he is living with is something he never loved nor ever could love.”
They sat for some moments in silence. A chill crept into the dining room. Jennifer pushed her plate of spinach pie to the side.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Not hungry?”
She shrugged her shoulders and said, “No, I seem to have lost my appetite.”
“Yeah, I’m not really hungry either.” Ethan paid the waitress and left a substantial tip. As they walked toward their car in the parking lot, Ethan glanced back over his shoulders at Agapio’s blue and white signboard. The thought came to him that they would never come back here to dine again.