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Dying
Thessaloniki, March 2010
It was one of those mornings on which Thessaloniki and London appeared like sister cities, weather-wise at least. Low grey cloud hung over the city. The sun was nowhere to be seen. The wind was bitterly cold and the high humidity evaporating from the grey sight of Thermaikos Gulf made the sharp wind especially sinister in its ability to penetrate right through to one’s bones. It was not unusual, in fact it was quite customary, to see women dressed in all black around the city’s modern-built cemetery, which occupied a large field overlooking the sea on the outskirts of town. It was rather unexpected, though, to see them walking one behind another, as though in some kind of funeral procession.
Leonora was walking in front, eyes fixed in space, the handle
