Thursday, 12th November 1970
Most pupils still find difficulty in reading and writing, but I'm quite fluent. Starting from this month, I will be keeping a diary; I feel the need, maybe because my problems have begun to accumulate: Day by day, the other children prove to be more cunning than me, with a natural inclination to deception. Since I've never had such qualities, I have already become a sitting duck for many rascals. As I am rather credulous, it is very easy for them to talk me into giving them my toys and stationery. On the other hand, I never think of fooling anyone. I have no gumption, they often say.
During the breaks, I usually stand alone in a corner and watch the others playing around and having fun. The only classmate who talks to me is Dimitri, a neurotic mischief who accosts me because he wants my pens, rubbers, pencils, or toys. As soon as he gets what he wants, he disappears. This morning he told me -probably sincerely: “Yvonne, If anyone annoys you, come and tell me!”
I don't intend to, of course.
Tuesday, 24th November 1970
During the first break, Penny and I were walking and talking in the schoolyard, when a party of four children hastened towards us, shouting: “Look, stupid Yvonne is friends with Penny!” They all started hitting me, then they pushed me down and mocked: “Now Penny is coming with us!” Finally, the gang went away, laughing ironically. Penny let them take her off without saying anything, as if she had not realized what was happening.
Monday, 14th December 1970
I was a little late today at school. When I arrived, the bell had already rung and the pupils were in their classes. As soon as I sat at my desk, I realized something was wrong: There was no lesson; all the children were crying, shouting, bewailing. I was told immediately that two of our classmates, Penny and Helen, were run over by a car on their way to school this morning. They were in hospital now and they were about to die. Yet, what astonished me most, was the fact that I couldn't feel any sorrow.
A little later, we were informed that Helen was out of danger, but Penny was still expected to die any moment: “Penny's left only six minutes of life!” cried the girls around me. I tried hard to shed a tear, but I just couldn't.
“How many minutes?” I only wondered.
“Six! In six minutes Penny will die!” answered Angie, the girl sitting behind me, while a storm of tears and sobs was raging all around.
As about me, still nothing. The imminent death of a schoolmate caused me no emotion at all. I had to really force myself into shedding one or two tears, just for the sake of appearances.
Finally, Penny was saved “at the last moment”. It was a great relief for everybody to see her returning from the hospital in a taxi. Most probably, she had never been in danger at all; my classmates were just being hysterical.
Sunday, 27th December 1970
I have recently discovered the reading-book my father had when he was in the sixth class of elementary school. I enjoy reading its stories but I like especially the poems, which I usually learn by heart. What has impressed me most is a poem about the Labours of Heracles: it has big verses written in puristic Greek, and it takes two and a half pages. I've read it only twice and memorized it already. I take great pleasure in reciting it wherever I go. Some people look at me in wonder. Others, mostly neighbours, get annoyed and make a wry face. For example, aunt Pauline was not at all happy to hear me reciting the poem this afternoon. “Why don't you wash the dishes instead?” she scolded me.
Tuesday, 9th February 1971
Back to school, after having my tonsils removed. Early in the morning, as I was walking unwarily across the yard, I heard fat-Yanni shouting to his skinny friend: “Let's go and beat Yvonne, who is always sick!” They both approached in skipping steps and started hitting me, just like that, without any reason. I put up a sturdy resistance, I even managed to overpower the skinny boy, but I wasn't strong enough to beat the fat one too. So, I had to retreat crying in pain, feeling defeated and humiliated.
Monday, 15th February 1971
Away from school, things are a little better for me: Almost every day, I meet my friend Gregory and other children of the neighbourhood and we play lots of games like hopscotch, hide-and-seek, tag, the statues, the apples. We have a nice time, although Gregory is always playing tricks on me and then he tells the others that I am a fool. As about aunt Pauline, his mother, she always trumpets forth that “Yvonne is silly. When she sees me on the road, she doesn't say ''hello'' or ''how do you do''. She is too foolish for that!”. By the way, is there a seven-year-old child, who cares about greeting the adults while playing in the street?
This afternoon, I had a really bad fight with Gregory, because he insisted that one of my toy-cars was his. Our mothers soon got wind of the fuss and they both came out to see what was wrong. The two women had a sparring match and in the end my mum cried: “Everybody tells me that Yvonne is stupid! If only all children were as good pupils as Yvonne is!” These words will be echoing in my ears for decades...
Friday, 5th March 1971
This morning we went on a school trip to Porto Rafti: After I had spent a lot of time vainly trying to join any party of children, I finally ended up alone on a pebbly beach. I stood there and watched the frothy waves for a while, experiencing a rare tranquility. Suddenly, all the others seemed to be far away; there was only me, the dark blue sea and an empty packet of cigarettes pitching on the foamy waves. I was blissfully immersed in the natural environment, when some children approached and giggled obtrusively. One of them pushed me hard and I stumbled clumsily; they all mocked at me and walked away quickly.
Later in the afternoon, when it was time to leave, all the children lined up in threes near the coaches. All at once, I had a strong premonition that the girl standing next to me would fall in the narrow ditch which yawned a few metres ahead. We started walking towards our vehicle, and when we reached the ditch, the girl did fall into it up to her thighs! She burst into crying, and I wondered how she had actually managed to fall into a hole which was not wider than the length of her feet.
Saturday, 27th March 1971
Unfortunately, I am growing into a very sickly child: Either I cough, or I have the flu, or I have childhood diseases (measles, mumps, chicken pox etc), but I always have a cold. However, for some strange reason, my mother never gives me paper tissues when I go to school; she only gives me a small fabric handkerchief. After the second hour, I start wiping my nose with the sleeves of my blue pinafore.
The nasty colds (nose and eyes running non-stop) first appeared when I was four years old and they last from October to April every year. Strangely enough, no medicine can relieve me. Moreover, I have also come out in pimples. My whole face is covered with them and my classmates wonder:
“What on earth are these?”
“Maybe an infection!” some of them suppose.
“Or mosquito bites!” some others say.
Tuesday, 30th March 1971
This afternoon my parents took me to a dermatologist to see my pimples. After a short examination, he diagnosed acne and prescribed an ointment, which will soon prove to do little good. This means that at the age of seven I have a symptom that normally appears during adolescence.
I really don't know what's happening to me. Sometimes I think I am under a black magic spell: I am obliged to go around always with a red runny nose and lots of greasy pimples all over my face. No wonder that my classmates dislike and avoid me...
Friday, 2nd April 1971
Hoping to reduce the frequency of my colds, my parents decided that I should undergo another operation, the third one in eight months: First I had my tonsils removed, then my appendicitis, today my nasal adenoids.
As soon as we arrived at the hospital this morning, I was surprised to see that it was just a cheap clinic. A little later I found out that the operation would be performed without any anesthesia, which scared me out of my wits! I tried to fall asleep, so as not to be awake during the operation, but I was too stressed to have a wink.
When the time came, I had to wait outside the operating-theater together with twenty other children. They all entered one by one, stayed there for some minutes and then came out quietly. I didn't hear any of them cry or even complain, in or out of the operating-theater. Obviously, I was the only one who was frightened, but I didn't dare show anything.
When my turn came (I was the last one), the doctors made me sit on a white metal chair, where they tied my arms and legs with leather straps. I wanted to show courage, but I just couldn't. Almost immediately, I burst into crying and fought so hard that I eventually managed to free myself. They tied me to the chair again and started picking my nostrils with some kind of lancets. It didn't last more than five minutes, it didn't hurt much, but I kept on screaming and crying until I saw my blood streaming down the white cloth I was wearing. I was shocked, yet I felt relieved because it was over at last.
... At the end of the school year, despite my being an excellent student in all subjects, I didn't manage to be upgraded with full marks because I had been absent for too many days (more than 60), as the teacher explained.
* * *
Friday, 25th June 1971
Returning from her village in Mani a few days ago, Mrs Lemony, our new neighbour, brought us a bottle filled with handmade liquid butter. This morning the bottle was half-empty and we found a small knitting needle inside! My mother mentioned that to Mrs Lemony, who apologized and excused herself by saying that it was done by mistake. Strange mistake, though...
Saturday, 17th July 1971
Mrs Lemony has become a very good friend of ours. Almost every day she comes and keeps us company. Even when mum is not at home, she comes and talks with my father for hours. Ten days ago she brought us a strange, ugly flower. She told us that it is sacred and considered to be “the flower of Virgin Mary”. It must be kept in a basin of water, where it grows continually. “But don't you ever throw it away, or Virgin Mary will be angry,” said Mrs Lemony.
However, this morning my mother decided to get rid of the so-called “flower of Virgin Mary”, because it is very ugly and gets bigger and bigger every day. The water basin is already too small for it. Moreover, as we have recently learned, it is not at all sacred; it is just a fungus of dubious origin.
Sunday, 8th August 1971
Just like last year, I am spending the summer in Lixouri, on the island of Cefallonia, where my father's kin live. Surprisingly, all my problems disappear miraculously when I am here. Nobody makes fun of me or calles me “stupid” here. Every day we go for a swim at nearby beaches with aunt Domna and her two daughters, Jenny and Niki. We spend the rest of the day playing in the earthen streets. I get along very well with Jenny, who is two years older than me. I wouldn't say the same about Niki, who is a year younger: Sometimes she gets angry about the merest trifle and she is in the sulks for the whole day.
This afternoon we were hunting butterflies. While playing, I accidentally ruined the wings of one by mistake. “That was a queen butterfly, and God will send you to hell for that! You hear? You will go to hell for that!” exclaimed Niki grimly.
I don't know why, but that sentence struck me really bad…