The palace was being built slowly, each brick seemed to take a decade to be laid, the scaffolding remained but the house was progressing and he was getting older.
“Father, I am building you a house, do not fret, I have it in hand.”
Dimi slowly gets up, work boots now securely fastened, says a brief farewell to his wife and leaves in the dark for work. He is seventy now, but still he hopes and dreams. The leaves are turning a dull brown as summer fades and winter starts to wake up from its sleep. Maria sweeps the floor and puts a roast in the oven, she always cooks early, just in case. He will be hungry when he comes home, after a day of hard manual labour in the heat of the sun. The sun seemed to rise lazily, as though it knew summer was almost done, and the birds started their daily chirps as they flew from tree to tree. There was a knock on the door, she thought it might be her son John who often dropped in for coffee on his way to work. Instead a middle-aged man dressed in some kind of uniform asked, ”Is this Dimi Kafkavis’ house?” “Yes, why?” she replied apprehensively.
He showed her a piece of paper and started rattling off words she only half-understood, “You have to be out within 90 days, or you and all your possessions will be forcibly removed. The bank has taken possession of the house and it will be auctioned next month.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand, why? What is this?”, she asked with a mixture of fear and anger in her voice.
