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Mr. Achilles by Jennette Lee
Mr. Achilles by Jennette Lee
Achilles Alexandrakis was arranging the fruit on his stall in front of his little shop on Clark Street. It was a clear, breezy morning, cool for October, but not cold enough to endanger the fruit that Achilles handled so deftly in his dark, slender fingers. As he built the oranges into their yellow pyramid and grouped about them figs and dates, melons and pears, and grapes and pineapples, a look of content held his face. This was the happiest moment of his day.
Already, half an hour ago Alcibiades and Yaxis had departed with their pushcarts, one to the north and one to the south, calling antiphonally as they went, in clear, high voices that came fainter and fainter to Achilles among his fruit.
They would not return until night, and then they would come with empty carts, and jingling in their pockets coppers and nickels and dimes. The breath of a sigh escaped Achilles's lips as he stood back surveying the stall. Something very like homesickness was in his heart. He had almost fancied for a minute that he was back once more in Athens. He raised his eyes and gave a quick, deep glance up and down the street-soot and dirt and grime, frowning buildings and ugly lines, and overhead a meagre strip of sky. Over Athens the sky hung glorious, a curve of light from side to side. His soul flew wide to meet it. Once more he was swinging along the "Street of the Winds," his face lifted to the Parthenon on its Acropolis, his nostrils breathing the clear air. Chicago had dropped from him like a garment, his soul rose and floated.... Athens everywhere-column and cornice, and long, delicate lines, and colour of marble and light. He drew a full, sweet breath.
Achilles moved with quick, gliding step, taking orders, filling bags, making change-always with his dark eyes seeking, a little wistfully, something that did not come to them.... It was all so different-this new world. Achilles had been in Chicago six months now, but he had not yet forgotten a dream that he had dreamed in Athens. Sometimes he dreamed it still, and then he wondered whether this, about him, were not all a dream-this pushing, scrambling, picking, hurrying, choosing crowd, dropping pennies and dimes into his curving palm, swearing softly at slow change, and flying fast from street to street. It was not thus in his dream. He had seen a land of new faces, turned ever to the West, with the light on them. He had known them, in his dream-eager faces, full of question and quick response. His soul had gone out to them and, musing in sunny Athens, he had made ready for them. Each morning when he rose he had lifted his glance to the Parthenon, studying anew the straight lines-that were yet not straight-the mysterious, dismantled beauty, the mighty lift of its presence. When they should question him, in this new land, he must not fail them. They would be hungry for the beauty of the ancient world-they who had no ruins of their own. He knew in his heart how it would be with them-the homesickness for the East-all its wonder and its mystery. Yes, he would carry it to them. He, Achilles Alexandrakis, should not be found wanting. This new world was to give him money, wealth, better education for his boys, a competent old age. But he, too, had something to give in exchange. He must make himself ready against the great day when he should travel down the long way of the Piraeus, for the last time, and set sail for America.
He was in America now. He knew, when he stopped to think, that this was not a dream. He had been here six months, in the little shop on Clark Street, but no one had yet asked him of the Parthenon. Sometimes he thought that they did not know that he was Greek. Perhaps if they knew that he had been in Athens, had lived there all his life from a boy, they would question him. The day that he first thought of this, he had ordered a new sign painted. It bore his name in Greek characters, and it was beautiful in line and colour. It caused his stand to become known far and wide as the "Greek Shop," and within a month after it was put up his trade had doubled-but no one had asked about the Parthenon.
He had really ceased to hope for it now. He only dreamed the dream, a little wistfully, as he went in and out, and his thought dwelt always on Athens and her beauty. The images stamped so carefully on his sensitive brain became his most precious treasures. Over and over he dwelt on them. Ever in memory his feet climbed the steps to the Acropolis or walked beneath stately orange-trees, beating a soft rhythm to the sound of flute and viol. For Achilles was by nature one of the lightest-hearted of children. In Athens his laugh had been quick to rise, and fresh as the breath of rustling leaves. It was only here, under the sooty sky of the narrow street, that his face had grown a little sad.
At first the days had been full of hope, and the face of each newcomer had been scanned with eager eyes. The fruit, sold so courteously and freely, was hardly more than an excuse for the opening of swift talk. But the talk had never come. There was the inevitable and never-varying, "How much?" the passing of coin, and hurrying feet. Soon a chill had crept into the heart of Achilles. They did not ask of Athens. They did not know that he was Greek. They did not care that his name was Achilles. They did not see him standing there with waiting eyes. He might have been a banana on its stem, a fig-leaf against the wall, the dirt that gritted beneath their feet, for all that their eyes took note.... Yet they were not cruel or thoughtless. Sometimes there came a belated response-half surprised, but cordial-to his gentle "good day." Sometimes a stranger said, "The day is warm," or, "The breeze from the Lake is cool to-day." Then the eyes of Achilles glowed like soft stars in their places. Surely now they would speak. They would say, "Is it thus in Greece?" But they never spoke. And the days hurried their swift feet through the long, dirty streets.
A tall woman in spectacles was coming toward him, sniffing the air a little as she moved. "Have you got any bananas?"
"Yes. They nice." He led the way into the shop and reached to the swinging bunch. "You like some?" he said, encouragingly.
She sniffed a step nearer. "Too ripe," decisively.
"Yes-s. But here and here-" He twirled the bunch skilfully on its string. "These-not ripe, and these." His sunny smile spread their gracious acceptableness before her.
She wrinkled her forehead at them. "Well-you might as well cut me off six."
"A pleasure, madame." He had seized the heavy knife.
"Give me that one." It was a large one near the centre; "and this one here-and here."
When the six were selected and cut off they were the cream of the bunch. She eyed him doubtfully, still scowling a little. "Yes. I'll take these."
The Greek bowed gravely over the coin she dropped into his palm. "Thank you, madame."
It was later now, and the crowd moved more slowly, with longer pauses between the buyers.
A boy with a bag of books stopped for an apple. Two children with their nurse halted a moment, looking at the glowing fruit. The eyes of the children were full of light and question. Somewhere in their depths Achilles caught a flitting shadow of the Parthenon. Then the nurse hurried them on, and they, too, were gone.
He turned away with a little sigh, arranging the fruit in his slow absent way. Something at the side of the stall caught his eye, a little movement along the board, in and out through the colour and leaves. He lifted a leaf to see. It was a green and black caterpillar, crawling with stately hunch to the back of the stall. Achilles watched him with gentle eyes. Then he leaned over the stall and reached out a long finger. The caterpillar, poised in midair, remained swaying back and forth above the dark obstruction. Slowly it descended and hunched itself anew along the finger. It travelled up the motionless hand and reached the sleeve. With a smile on his lips Achilles entered the shop. He took down an empty fig-box and transferred the treasure to its depths, dropping in after it one or two leaves and a bit of twig. He fitted the lid to the box, leaving a little air, and taking the pen from his desk, wrote across the side in clear Greek letters. Then he placed the box on the shelf behind him, where the wet ink of the lettering glistened faintly in the light. It was a bit of the heart of Athens prisoned there; and many times, through the cold and snow and bitter sleet of that winter, Achilles took down the fig-box and peered into its depths at a silky bit of grey cradle swung from the side of the box by its delicate bands.
ennette Lee (1860-1951) created Uncle William, a genial character who has a talent for confounding land sharks and ending up owning most of the property in sight.
THE sunlight got in Uncle William’s eyes. He looked up from the map spread on the table before him. Then he got up slowly and crossed to the window and drew down the turkey-red curtain—a deep glow filled the room. Juno, on the lounge, stirred a little and stretched her daws, and drew them in and tucked her head behind them and went on sleeping.
Two years after her marriage, Ximena lost consciousness in a pool of her own blood during a difficult childbirth. She forgot that her ex-husband was actually getting married to someone else that day. "Let's get a divorce, but the baby stays with me." His words before their divorce was finalized still lingered in her head. He wasn't there for her, but he wanted full custody of their child. Ximena would rather die than see her child call someone else mother. As a result, she gave up the ghost on the operating table with two babies left in her belly. But that wasn't the end for her... Years later, fate caused them to meet again. Ramon was a changed man this time. He wanted to keep her to himself even though she was already a mother of two children. When he found out about her wedding, he stormed into the venue and created a scene. "Ramon, I died once before, so I don't mind dying again. But this time, I want us to die together," she yelled, glaring at him with hurt in her eyes. Ximena thought he didn't love her and was happy that she was finally out of his life. But what she didn't know was that the news of her unexpected death had shattered his heart. For a long time, he cried alone due to the pain and agony. He always wished he could turn back the hands of time or see her beautiful face once again. The drama that came later became too much for Ximena. Her life was filled with twists and turns. Soon, she was torn between getting back with her ex-husband or moving on with her life. What would she choose?
In the eighteen years of her life, Brianna had endured relentless abuse from her family, living in constant fear. One fateful day, two dignified figures approached her and revealed a shocking truth: she was their long-lost daughter, heiress to the wealthiest family in the city-the Owens. Desperate for love and acceptance, Brianna hoped to escape her past. Instead, she fell victim to Cassie, a cunning impostor who manipulated their parents against her while feigning distress. Rather than forging a connection with her real family, Brianna found herself betrayed and isolated. When a car accident left Brianna in a vegetative state, she found herself able to listen to everything around her, though unable to respond. Bitterly, she realized her parents didn't care for her; they visited just once. A month later, Cassie visited, disconnecting the ventilator before leaning in to whisper coldly, "Goodbye, my dear sister. You shouldn't have come back. You are meant for that despicable, wretched family." Somehow, fate granted Brianna a second chance. Reborn and fueled by rage, she vowed to make everyone who had wronged her pay dearly. This time, she would seize the life that had been stolen from her.
Hannah Rodriguez was fired from her place of work, and at the same time, she received a call from her lawyer that her husband had filed for a divorce. Heartbroken, she ran to her best friend's house to cry out her despair, but she unexpectedly saw her husband having sex with her best friend. Her mother-in-law had thrown her things out of the house. Having nowhere else to go, she was left on the street, where she was kidnapped and raped. Shamed and humiliated, she packed her stuff and left the country. Fast forward, five years later. Hannah is back with a set of Beautiful octuplets, ready to make the people who hurt her in the past pay for what they did to her, but what happened when a mysterious man came from nowhere, claiming he was the father of the octuplets? What happens when she finds out the man has a striking resemblance to her octuplets?
Heiress to a crime syndicate, Avery had hunted her father's killer for years. Disguised as a boy, she slipped into the Hudson household as their youngest "son," expecting a den of wolves, yet finding open arms. An eldest brother who ruled boardrooms, a second who breathed textbooks, and a third who commanded the cameras. She juggled lies, outsmarting them all-until her mask was tore away. "Avery's a girl?" "She owns a thousand cars and billions?" "She's not even family?" As love closed around her, she realized the murderer was her supposed "best bud." Her brothers bristled. "Back off, punk. Not our Avery!"
Yelena discovered that she wasn't her parents' biological child. After seeing through their ploy to trade her as a pawn in a business deal, she was sent away to her barren birthplace. There, she stumbled upon her true origins-a lineage of historic opulence. Her real family showered her with love and adoration. In the face of her so-called sister's envy, Yelena conquered every adversity and took her revenge, all while showcasing her talents. She soon caught the attention of the city's most eligible bachelor. He cornered Yelena and pinned her against the wall. "It's time to reveal your true identity, darling."
On her wedding day, Khloe’s sister connived with her groom, framing her for a crime she didn’t commit. She was sentenced to three years in prison, where she endured much suffering. When Khloe was finally released, her evil sister used their mother to coerce Khloe into an indecent liaison with an elderly man. As fate would have it, Khloe crossed paths with Henrik, the dashing yet ruthless mobster who sought to alter the course of her life. Despite Henrik’s cold exterior, he cherished Khloe like no other. He helped her take retribution from her tormentors and kept her from being bullied again.
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