Previous Reflections


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Not Even My Name
by Thea Halo
(in English)
The unforgettable story of Sano Halo's survival of the death march at age 10 that annihilated her family as told to her daughter, Thea and the poignant mother/daughter pilgrimage to Turkey in search of Sano's home 70 years after her exile. Sano, a Pontic Greek from a mountain village near the Black Sea, also recounts her ancient, pastoral way of life in the Pontic Mountains. Publisher's Weekly gave Not Even My Name a coveted starred review in the April 10, 2000 issue. Booklist also gave it a starred review. Nicholas Gage, author of Eleni gave it a wonderful endorsement as did Peter Balakian, author of Black Dog of Fate.

Excerpt from Chapter 19

Was it on that day that little Maria died? I don't remember. I only remember her little body tied to Cristodula's back like a papoose, her little head bobbing back and forth, and the realization that something was wrong crept up my hot body with a cold, clammy, panic.
"Mama!" I said as calmly as I could, hoping my calmness would make everything all right. "Maria looks funny."
Mother looked up and burst into tears. Maria's face had turned ashen. Her eyes stared out at nothing like little doll eyes that were broken in an open position, and her head rolled back and forth with each step. "What's wrong?" Cristodula demanded in a panic. "What is it?"
We stopped in the road like a pile of stones in a river; the weary exiles ruptured out around us and continued their march. Mother took Maria from Cristodula's back and cradled her in her arms as her tears washed Maria's lifeless face.
"Move!" a soldier shouted as he trotted up to where we stood.
"My baby," Mother said.
She held out Maria for the soldier to see, as if her shock and grief could also be his.
"My baby."
"Throw it away if it's dead!" he shouted. "Move!"
"Let me bury her," Mother pleaded, sobbing.
"Throw it away!" He shouted again, raising his whip. "Throw it away!"
Mother clutched Maria's body to her breast as we stood staring up at him. Her face was gripped with a torment I had never seen before. Father reached for Maria, to put her down I suppose, but Mother clutched her even more tightly. Then she walked over to the high stone wall that separated the road from the town and lifted Maria up to lay her on the wall's top as if on an altar before the Almighty.

Excerpt from Chapter 20

In Karabahe, a town on the other side of Diyarbakir, they let us sleep in a church that night. Our family was given a small closet of a room to lay down our blanket on the floor. Father went out to sell his gold watch to buy us food. Nastas?a had fallen ill. Her eyes were lusterless and she slept most of the time, waking only to relieve her running bowels. I lay her across my body to keep her warm and off the ground. Yanni slept soundly. Mother held Mathea to her breast. Cristodula was also sick.
"Them?a," Cristodula asked in a pitiful voice. "Please get me some water?"
"No," I said. "I don't want to."
I would have had to go into the town to look around for water. It wasn?t a simple thing of going to a sink and turning a faucet. I was so tired. In my ten short years of life, I had walked enough for a lifetime. But to this day, I wish I could take back my answer. I would gladly walk a hundred miles to bring her water now.
Nastas?a was up and down all evening. She'd open her eyes and ask me to take her to relieve herself. Her bowels had been running for many days. I will never forget the last time I took her out, then came back again to lay her across my chest and cradle her sweet curly head on my arm. Her head fell back and her eyes began to roll, and from her throat came such an eerie, gurgling sound.
"Why is she making that noise, Mama?" I asked. The pain and defeat in my mother's face was heartbreaking.
"Because she's dying," was all my mother could answer before she burst into tears.
I froze. My arm stiffened. My heart stopped beating and I couldn?t take a breath. With bulging eyes and open mouth I stared down at little Nastas?a, torn between my love for her, and the terror of holding death in my arms. Then, in only a moment, she was gone. I lay there, afraid to take my arm from under her lifeless head, my own body rigid as a corpse, until Mother took her from my arms, crying a sea of tears.

Copyright Thea Halo 2000. All rights reserved

Click to see more about this book

See you on the beach!

"From the very first moment I stepped on Aghion Oros I felt that it was the perfect place for painting, some kind of an earth paradise. Time has been crushed there. It has managed to remain untouched by technology, because the monks resisted it. They always preferred Aghion Oros to stay pure, so that they can be left intact to their spiritual interests. Away from the city's anxiety, next to virgin nature, it makes you feel peaceful and calm, thus feeling like part of Aghion Oros. Every single site can be an inspiration, every building can attract our eye, anything can form a painting subject. The mountain, full of virgin wood meets the vast sea (the Aegean sea) and the bright greek sky covers the scenery. Here and there are the monastaries, the sketes and ruins are steps into the past, revealing an old-fashioned and tranquil life, filling the visitor with peace and harmony." -- G. Politis

Arsanas Pantokratoras, G. Politis watercolour, 25x36 Agios Iwannhs, G. Politis watercolour, 31x46

Monh Stauronikhta, G. Politis watercolour, 46x31

Images of the paintings are presented herein by kind permission of G. Politis.
From the 1997 Catalogue released with the exhibit "Agioreitika III" at City Hall, Prefecture of Thessaloniki, 1997.

ΤΑ ΠΑΡΑΘΥΡΑ

Σ' αυτές τες σκοτεινές κάμαρες, που περνώ
μέρες βαρυές, επάνω κάτω τριγυρνώ
για νάβρω τα παράθυρα. -όταν ανοίξει
ένα παράθυρο θάναι παρηγορία.-
Μα τα παράθυρα δεν βρίσκονται, ή δεν μπορώ
να τάβρω. Και καλλίτερα ίσως αν μην τα βρω.
ίσως το φως θάναι μια νέα τυραννία.
Ποιος ξέρει τι καινούρια πράγματα θα δείξει.

Konstantinos Kavafis

... we will try to pay proper homage to the Aegean.

First of all its place is excellent as it is in the midst of the world, in the middle of the sea, having to its north the Hellespont and the Black Sea. It separates Asia from Europe, from that point where the two continents were separated from the Hellespont. Generations who have lived on its opposite shores have been wonderfully peaceful, on the side of land of Ionia and Aiolia and on the other, the Greek mainland. Thus it is only this sea that we can say moves in the middle of Greece.

The entire sea shimmers with splendor while on its shores you can see fields of flowers... just as the sky is dressed with stars so, too, the Aegean is adorned with its islands so that he who must travel the sea can, with joy, sail alongside as he travels through the Aegean. And form all the earth's seas, from all the earth's lands, this sea is the most beautiful and has the Aegean as the symbol of its beauty...

And only the Aegean cannot be said to be infertile. Neither barren nor sterile... It is filled with ports, holy places, flutes and paeans, fountains and rivers... And as far as its straits and bays, no one can count either their number or their beauty. And even those who have been frightened by the Aegean, all yearn to cross it again because this sea is traversed by those who seek the higher joys...

Ailios Aristides, 2nd Century AD

More info about the Aegean can be found on the excellent THE AEGEAN ISLANDS SAE site

"Δεν θέλω τίποτε άλλο παρά να μιλήσω απλά, να μου δωθεί ετούτη η χάρη. Γιατί και το τραγούδι το φορτώσαμε με τόσες μουσικές που σιγά σιγά βουλιάζει".    -- Γιώργος Σεφέρης

You can find out more about Seferis and other Greek poets on the comprehensive site Greek Poetry on the Web by Kostas Douridas

Icon of the Nativity of Christ Cretan School, 15th-16th Century
(From the Museum of Icons in Venice, Italy)

And the Parthenon Marbles they are. There are no such things as the Elgin Marbles.

There is a Michael Angelo David.

There is a Da Vinci Venus.

There is a Praxitelles Hermes.

There is a Turner "Fishermen at Sea".

There are no Elgin Marbles!...."

Melina Mercouri, June 1986, addressing the Oxford Union debating society. The whole transcript can be found on the excellent and informative Parthenon Day web site at http://www.parthenonday.org.

Νίκος Παπανδρέου, Δέκα μύθοι και μια ιστορία, 31η έκδοση, Εκδόσεις Καστανιώτη, Αθήνα, 1995, σ. 15-16

Νίκος Παπανδρέου, Δέκα μύθοι και μια ιστορία, 31η έκδοση, Εκδόσεις Καστανιώτη, Αθήνα, 1995, σ. 13

ΚΛΕΙΣ έχω ένα κοριτσάκι εγώ που ‘ναι σάν χρυσολούλουδο το πρόσωπο του. Την Κλείδα. Το μονάκριβο μου. Που δε θα τ’ άλλαζα ποτέ με τη Λυδία ολάκαιρη μήτε και με τη φημισμένη (Λέσβο) Σαπφώ (610-580 Π. Χ.) Μετάφραση στα Νέα Ελληνικά του Οδυσσέα Ελύτη

KLEIS I have a small daughter who is beautiful like a gold flower. I would not trade my darling Kleis for all Lydia or even for lovely Lesvos. Sappho 610-580 B.C. translated by Willis Barnstone

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Olympic Stadium, re-built on site of the ancient stadium
Athens Olympics 2004



August 15 Panigiri, Esimi
Copyright H. Lasthiotakis

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I hope for nothing. I fear nothing. I am free. inscription on Nikos Kazantakis's (1883-1957) tomb in Heraklion, Greece

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Ιθάκη Σα βγεις στον πηγαιμό για την Ιθάκη, να εύχεσαι νάναι μακρύς ο δρόμος, γεμάτος περιπέτειες, γεμάτος γνώσεις. Τους Λαιστρυγόνας και τους Κύκλωπας, τον θυμωμένο Ποσειδώνα μη φοβάσαι, τέτοια στον δρόμο σου ποτέ σου δεν θα βρείς, αν μέν' η σκέψις σου υψηλή, αν εκλεκτή συγκίνησις το πνεύμα και το σώμα σου αγγίζει. Τους Λαιστρυγόνας και τους Κύκλωπας, τον άγριο Ποσειδώνα δεν θα συναντήσεις, αν δεν τους κουβανείς μες στην ψυχή σου, αν η ψυχή σου δεν τους στήνει εμπρός σου. Να εύχεσαι νάναι μακρύς ο δρόμος. Πολλά τα καλοκαιρινά πρωϊά να είναι που με τι ευχαρίστησι, με τι χαρά θα μπαίνεις σε λιμένας πρωτοειδωμένους· να σταματήσεις σ' εμπορεία Φοινικικά, και τες καλές πραγμάτειες ν' αποκτήσεις, σεντέφια και κοράλλια, κεχριμπάρια κ' έβενους, και ηδονικά μυρωδικά κάθε λογής, όσο μπορείς πιο άφθονα ηδονικά μυρωδικά· σε πόλεις Αιγυπτιακές πολλές να πας, να μάθεις και να μάθεις απ' τους σπουδασμένους. Πάντα στον νου σου νάχεις την Ιθάκη. Το φθάσιμον εκεί είν' ο προορισμός σου. Αλλά μη βιάζεις το ταξίδι διόλου. Καλλίτερα χρόνια πολλά να διαρκέσει· και γέρος πια ν' αράξεις στο νησί, πλούσιος με όσα κέρδισες στον δρόμο, μη προσδοκώντας πλούτη να σε δώσει η Ιθάκη. Η Ιθάκη σ' έδωσε το ωραίο ταξίδι. Χωρίς αυτήν δεν θάβγαινες στον δρόμο. Αλλο δεν έχει να σε δώσει πια. Κι αν πτωχική την βρεις, η Ιθάκη δεν σε γέλασε. Ετσι σοφός που έγινες, με τόση πείρα, ήδη θα το κατάλαβες η Ιθάκες τι σημαίνουν. Κωνσταντίνος Π. Καβάφης (1911)

Ithaca When setting out upon your way to Ithaca, wish always that your course be long, full of adventure, full of lore. Of the Laestrygones and of the Cyclopes, of an irate Poseidon never be afraid; such things along your way you will not find, if lofty is your thinking, if fine sentiment in spirit and in body touches you. Neither Laestrygones nor Cyclopes, nor wild Poseidon will you ever meet, unless you bear them in your soul, unless your soul has raised them up in front of you. Wish always that your course be long; that many there be of summer morns when with such pleasure, such great joy, you enter ports now for the first time seen; that you may stop at some Phoenician marts, to purchase there the best of wares, mother-of-pearl and coral, amber, ebony, hedonic perfumes of all sorts-- as many such hedonic perfumes as you can; that you may go to various Egyptian towns to learn, and learn from those schooled there. Your mind should ever be on Ithaca. Your reaching there is your prime goal. But do not rush your journey anywise. Better that it should last for many years, and that, now old, you moor at Ithaca at last, a man enriched by all you gained upon the way, and not expecting Ithaca to give you further wealth. For Ithaca has given you the lovely trip. Without her you would not have set your course. There is no more that she can give. If Ithaca seems then too lean, you have not been deceived. As wise as you are now become, of such experience, you will have understood what Ithaca stands for. Constantinos Kavafis (1863-1933) Transl. by Memas Kolaitis

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"Tell me, O muse, of that ingenious hero who travelled far and wide after he had sacked the famous town of Troy. Many cities did he visit, and many were the nations with whose manners and customs he was acquainted; moreover he suffered much by sea while trying to save his own life and bring his men safely home; but do what he might he could not save his men, for they perished through their own sheer folly in eating the cattle of the Sun-god Hyperion; so the god prevented them from ever reaching home. Tell me, too, about all these things, O daughter of Jove, from whatsoever source you may know them. "

Opening paragraph from The Odyssey by Homer
Written ca. 800 B.C.
Translated by Samuel Butler

You can read this and other electronic texts at the Internet Classics Archive an award-winning, searchable collection of almost 400 classical Greek and Roman texts (in English translation) with user-provided commentary. You can also participate in discussion groups when you've read a text!

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"Some Greek fellow was always first!"

Lucretius, Roman philosopher, poet quoted in Greece, Eva Keuls and Kees Scherer, p. 5

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Everything existing in the universe is the fruit of chance and necessity.
--Democritus

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(You can download the Greek fonts here.) ΑΣΠΡΟ ΕΛΛΗΝΙΚΟ ΕΡΗΜΟΚΚΛΗΣΙ - WHITE GREEK CHAPEL T.K. Papatsonis

Άσπρο ελληνικό ερημοκκλήσι δαρμένο από την αντηλιά!..Γύρω-γύρω σου αμπέλια, μποστάνια καρποφόρες συκιές και, κάπου-κάπου, μοναχική, και κάποια ελιά... Χρυσοφρυγαννισμένα τα χορτάρια αχνίζουνε-άχυρο πιά!.. Κι αντίς γι' αγγέλους, τα τζιτζίκια σου κανοναρχούνε το κάθε απομεσήμερο έως αργά με το δικό τους τρόπο τον Παρακλητικό Κανόνα... Αναστραμμένο σου θρονί όλο το γαλάζιο ενού απλού ουρανού, που πάλαι γίνηκε το Μέτρο των Δωριέων και που αναπαύεται στεριωμένος στα χρυσάφια του ευλογημένου μας πελάγους...

White Greek chapel lashed by sunlight... Vineyards all around you, melon fields, fruit-bearing fig trees and, here and there, solitary, some olive-trees... Toasted and golden, the blades of grass now steamed chaff ... And instead of angels, your cicadas sing the Canon if Mercy every afternoon until late in their own way. It is an overturned throne all this blue of a plain sky which once was the Measure of the Dorians resting firmly upon the gold bullions of your blessed sea...

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(You can download the Greek fonts here.) Προσευχή (Prosefchi) - A Prayer, Haris Alexiou
Δώσ' μου ένα σύνορο να περπατώ Δώσ' μου ένα όνομα να μη χαθώ Δώσ' μου ένα όνειρο να κρατηθώ Δώσ' μου ένα όραμα να αντισταθώ Δώσ' μου ένα παιδί να εξομολογηθώ Δώσ' μου ένα φιλί να πλύνω το κακό ξύπνισέ με το πρωί μ' ένα σκοπό που να λέει χαλάλι στη ζωή που ζω.	Give me a line that I can walk Give me a name so I won't get lost Give me a dream, a dream to hold on to Give me a vision to help me resist. Give me a child to make my confessions to Give me a kiss to wash away the evil Wake me in the morning with a song which would bless my life.

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Getting ready for the feast!

Corner of an icon of Christ being taken down from the cross.

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An excerpt from Aris Fakinos' "Memory's Castle" (in Greek). The excerpt is a very moving piece about the struggle to hold on to Greek communal memories, language and identity.

Το απόσπασμα που ακολουθεί είναι από το μυθιστόρημα του Άρη Φακίνου, Το κάστρο της μνήμης (Εκδόσεις Καστανιώτης, Αθήνα, 1993). Σε πολλούς ίσως να θυμίσει το ποίημα του Καβάφη Ποσειδωνιάτες. Ο εκδότης σημειώνει ανάμεσα στ'άλλα και τα εξής για το βιβλίο:

<<Το κάστρο της μνήμης - το πιο πολυδιάστατο μυθιστόρημα του Άρη Φακίνου - ανοίγει νέους δρόμους στη λογοτεχνία μας, δίνοντας παράλληλα εντυπωσιακή παγκοσμιότητα στους ποικιλόμορφους αγώνες των Ελλήνων για τη διαφύλαξη της συλλογικής τους μνήμης, της ταυτότητας και της γλώσσας τους.>>

<<Τις προάλλες ήρθαν να προσκυνήσουν κάτι Έλληνες από τη νότια Ιταλία. Μας είπαν πως οι πρόγονοί τους ήταν από τα μέρη μας κι ότι μετανάστεψαν στα 1740 στην Καλαβρία. Τους είχε αλαλιάσει η πείνα, ξεκληρίζονταν ολάκερα σόγια, ήρθε κι από πάνω ένα θανατικό και θέρισε κάμποσους. Οι υπόλοιποι, καμιά διακοσαριά νομάτοι, έκαναν πέτρα τη καρδιά, πήραν τα μάτια τους και ξενιτεύτηκαν. Πριν κινήσουν, πήγανε στο κοιμητήρι και ξεχώσανε τα κόκαλα των πατεράδων και των παππούδων τους, τα' βαλαν σ'ένα σεντούκι για να τα θάψουν στην καινούργια τους πατρίδα...

Εκεί στην Καλάβρια που πήγαν κατάφεραν και ρίζωσαν, χτίσανε ολόκληρο χωριό, πρόκοψαν. Την πατρίδα όμως δεν την ξέχασαν, δεν αρνήθηκαν ούτε τη θρησκεία ούτε τη γλώσσα τους. Σέβονταν τους ντόπιους που τους είχαν δεχθεί στη γη τους, αλλά απόφευγαν τα πολλά πάρε δώσε μαζί τους, δεν παντρολογιούνταν με τους ξένους. Έκαναν ό,τι μπορούσαν για να μην αφήσουν τον ξένο τόπο να τους χωρίσει, για να μη διαλυθούν και γίνουν σκορποχώρι. Αλλά ποιό τ'όφελος; Άμα υποψιάζεσαι το ψωμί που τρως, δεν το φχαριστιέσαι, δε γίνεται να μασάς και να φοβάσαι συνέχεια μπας και τ'αλεύρι έχει μέσα καμιά πέτρα και σπάσεις τα δόντια σου. Τι να'καναν κι αυτοί; Όσο πέρναγε ο καιρός, τόσο και λιγότερο εξέταζαν την κάθε μπουκιά που'βαζαν στο στόμα...

Η πατρίδα δεν είναι άρωμα για να το βάζεις σε μπουκαλάκι και να το παίρνεις μαζί σου όπου πας, για να το'χεις και να το ασφραίνεσαι όταν θέλεις...

Προσκύνησαν πρώτα στην εκκλησία, ύστερα ήρθαν εδώ στη βιβλιοθήκη και με ρώτησαν αν υπάρχει κάνα παλιό κατάστιχο από κείνα που κράταγαν οι παπάδες κι οι μοναχοί για τις γεννήσεις και τους θανάτους, κάποιο βιβλίο που να γράφει κάτι για τους προγόνους τους και για το παλιό τους χωριό. Τους βρήκα μια διήγηση γραμμένη από'ναν ηγούμενο δικό μας που'ταν από τα μέρη τους. Μόλις έβρισκαν κει μέσα κάποιο περιστατικό ή ένα όνομα που τους ενδιέφερε, τους έπνιγε η χαρά, έκαναν σαν τα μικρά παιδιά, έκλαιγαν. Έκλαιγα κι εγώ αλλά γι'άλλο λόγο. Έκλαιγα γιατί τους άκουγα που μίλαγαν συναναμετάξυ τους μια γλώσσα περίεργη, μπάσταρδη, με λίγες λέξεις ελληνικές, λίγες ιταλιάνικες. Ποιός ξέρει τι να'ταν οι άλλες...>>

Άρης Φακίνος, Το κάστρο της μνήμης,
5η έκδοση, εκδόσεις Καστανιώτη, Αθήνα, 1993, σελ. 104-5.

Gift Silver Poem

I know that all this is worthless and that the language
I speak doesn't have an alphabet

Since the sun and the waves are a syllabic script
which can be deciphered only in the years of sorrow and exile

And the motherland a fresco with successive overlays
frankish or slavic which, should you try to restore,
you are immediately sent to prison and
held responsible

To a crowd of foreign Powers always through
the intervention of your own
As it happens for the disasters
But let's imagine that in an old days' threshing-floor
which might be in an apartment-complex children
are playing and whoever loses

Should, according to the rules, tell the others
and give them a truth

Then everyone ends up holding in his
hand a small

Gift, silver poem.

Odysseas Elytis, "The Tree of Light and The Fourteenth Beauty"
Transl. from Greek: Marios Dikaiakos

March 25 Independence Parade
Danforth Street, Toronto CANADA
Photo courtesy of The Greek Press

"My Greeks were neither sophisticated layabouts nor pious fatalists, and least of all were they portentous gurus brooding over the lost Secrets of the Ancients. They were a resilient, sceptical, cheeky people, whose distinctive contribution to our history was to combine a readiness to ask "Why?"and "Why not?" with a conviction that only sane, reasoned and clearly expounded answers to these questions were worth listening to."
Kenneth Dover, The Greeks, 1980, University of Texas Press

The lyrics below are written in "greeklish", i.e. using a latin transliteration of Greek characters. To hear the song--click over and visit our Bridge to Greece.

POY'NAI TA XRONIA - Giorgos Ntalaras

Piga sta meri poy se eixa prwtodei
mikro koritsi isoyn ki imoyna paidi

-Refrain-
Poy'nai ta xronia, wraia xronia
poy'xes loyloydia mes' tin kardia
poy' n' i agapi, glykia m' agapi
na mas zestanei stin pagwnia

St'arxontiko soy to spitaki to ftwxo
iltha na klapsw me parapono pikro

-Refrain-

Kleismeni i porta kai xamena ta kleidia
brexei stoys dromoys kai stin adeia moy kardia

Intelligible sun of justice and you, glorifying myrtle,
do not, I implore you, do not forget my country!
Its high mountains eagle-shaped, its volcanos all vines in rows,
and its houses the whiter for neighboring near the blue!
Though touching Asia on one side and Europe a little on the other,
it stands there alone in the air and alone in the sea!

Odysseas Elytis, Axion Esti

" 'The choice of Apollo as a Cephallonian cult is both the most and the least mysterious. It is the most inexplicable to those who have never been to the island, and the most inevitable to those who know it, for Apollo is a god associated with the power of light. Strangers who land here are blinded for two days.
It is a light that seems unmediated either by the air or by the stratosphere. It is completely virgin, it produces overwhelming clarity of focus, it has heroic strength and brilliance. It exposes colours in their original prelapsarian state, as though straight from the imagination of God in his youngest days, when He still believed that all was good. The dark green of the pines is unfathomably and retreatingly deep, the ocean viewed from the top of the cliff is platonic in its presentation of azure and turquoise, emerald, viridian, and lapis lazuli. The eye of a goat is a living semi-precious stone half way between amber and arylide, and the crickets are the fluorescent green of the youngest shoots of grass in the original Eden. Once the eyes have adjusted to the extreme vestal chastity of this light, the light of any other place is miserable and dank by comparison; it is nothing more than something to see by, a disappointment, a blemish.' "

"She was saved by the rhythmic drone of planes. Drosoula ran inside, shouting, 'Italians, Italians. It's the invasion.'.....
Down at the harbours the men of the Acqui Division disembarked apologetically from their landing craft and waved cheerfully but diffidently to the people in their doorways. Some of them shook their fists in return, others waved, and many made the emphatic gesture with the palm of the hand that is so insulting that in later years its perpetration was to become an imprisonable offence. ....
"In front of his house Kokolias defiantly raised a Communist salute, his arm outstretched, his fist clenched, only to be confounded completely when a small group without an officer cheered him as it passed by and returned the salute, con brio and with exaggeration. He dropped his arm and his mouth fell open with astonishment. Were they mocking him, or were they comrades in the Fascist army?"
"A column of men, much smarter than most of the others, marched by in unison. At their head perspired Captain Antonio Corelli of the 33rd Regiment of Artillery, and slung across his back was a case containing the mandolin that he had named Antonia because it was the other half of himself. He spotted Pelagia "Bella bambina at nine o'clock," he shouted, "E-y-e-s left.'
In unison the heads of the troops snapped in her direction...."

from Louis de Bernieres, Captain Corelli's Mandolin, Minerva Books 1994