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138                     AN EXILE OF THE MIND                                                                    MAGGIE, THE FLOWER CHILD                        139


                                               flapping their arms. A gaunt anaemic
                                               American at the  pension I was
                                               staying at explained that the women
                                               bought blood for their sick relatives.
                                               He was waiting to regain his strength
                                               before returning to the crows to sell
                                               more of his.
                                                  I arrived on  Paros two  days
                                               before  my  27th  birthday  to  find
                                               Russell  camped  out  in the  town
                                               square surrounded  by children. A
                                               day  later  we  found  a newly-built
                                               villa on the beach east of town with
                                               the  Aegean  Sea  slapping  against
          Our luggage taken up to the house.   the garden wall. The rent was 400
                                               drachmas a month (US$13.70) with
          Mother Teresa, a driver delighted in  a cow next door to provide milk for
          telling me between swigs of slivovitz  our morning coffee.
          that to drive inebriated was to have    The books were  collected from
          one foot on the pedal and the other  the post office where they had taken
          in the grave.                        up most of the space in the small
            I volunteered to share his bottle to  office. The postmaster had to sit on
          lessen the danger of having both feet  them to serve his customers.
          in danger of burial. I was let out on   Donkeys laden with goods twice
          a country road with no idea of north  their  size  passed  by  our window
          or south. A toss of a dinar pointed  daily. Their  rumps tapped  to get a
          my direction. Heads, I’ll go one  move on by black-shawled  women
          way and tails I go the other. Several  on their way to market. There were
          hours later I saw the familiar sights  very few cars and we would walk to
          of Skopje coming into view… again.   Parikia town a kilometre away to do
            Passing a hospital in Thessaloniki,  our shopping.
          several  women  in  black  began        The immaculate houses of Parikia,
          shrieking,  “Blood,  blood.”  I  turned
          and ran as the black crows followed,            A back street in Parikia.
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