the seamstress' boy

The Seamstress' Boy

This is George with his mother, Mrs. Spyrou. They live on the island of Crete. George is 11 years and goes to grammar school. His mother is a seamstress. She makes dresses for other women. Also, she is a single parent because her husband died in a car accident when George was six. George has a sister, Mary, who is five years younger. It is very difficult for Mrs. Spyrou to raise her children alone. She needs help.

One day before Christmas George came back from school to hear his mother say. “Dear, I have just finished a coat for Mrs. Peraki. She lives two blocks past the church of St. Menas, at the corner of the fish market and 1821 Street. I want you to take the coat to her after lunch.”

“Mom, I can’t do that! I’m not a girl you know!” he complained.

“Of course you are not a girl,” Mrs. Spyrou replied. “But who else can I ask for help but you?”

“Why can’t Mary do it?”

“Your sister is not old enough to go out on errands, and I’m very busy.”

George is a good boy. He helps his mother round the house, and so does his sister. However, he felt that walking the streets with a woman’s wear in his hands was not the kind of errand boys of his age do.

“Mom, what if my friends see me with this?” he said, pointing to a beautiful red coat on the hall tree. “They’ll make fun of me.”

“Don’t you worry; I’ll wrap it up in white paper. Nobody will be able to see the coat. Besides, there is nothing to be ashamed of.”

After lunch Mr. Spyrou took a huge roll of white paper from out her closet and laid it across her bed. She rolled out a long piece of paper, placed the coat on it and pinned a piece of paper on the lapel. She wrapped the coat carefully and folded it in the middle.

“There you are,” she said, “Now, extend your left arm.”

She hung the coat on George’s forearm and said, “Don’t look so grumpy! Besides, you may get lucky with a tip. Mrs. Peraki is a nice lady, you’ll see.”

George left the house with a heavy heart. Occasionally, he looked from right to left to see if any of his friends from school were in sight. When he came to the church of St. Menas, he saw a lot of people coming out, mostly women in fine clothes. Walking closer he noticed a woman sitting at the steps of the church. From the long dress in floral patterns and the head cover she was wearing George understood that the woman was a gypsy. She was a little younger than his mother and had a baby in swaddles lying across her lap. Her right arm was slightly raised, her hand loosely cupped. She was begging.

“Please, help me; I’m a poor mother!” the gypsy entreated the crowd.

 Something happened to George at that moment. It was as if he had been struck by lightning. The words of the gypsy rumbled in his ears. Images of his mother flashed in his head. He felt disoriented.

“Stop it, please!” George almost shouted at her. “Here, take this!” and handed her the coat. “Keep it or sell it; it’s yours.”

“Thank you my child,” She said. “God bless you! But…”

George turned around and started walking fast. He turned right on Kalokerinou Street and decided to take the long way back home. He crossed the Lions Square and walked down to the harbor. The big ferry was just leaving the port. For a moment he wished he were on it. He was afraid of his mother’s reaction. Since Mr. Spyrou died she was easy to lose her temper and shout. Then she would cry.

“I’ll say it took you some time to get back, George?” she said as soon as he walked in.

George started crying.

“I’m sorry Mom,” he sobbed. “I … I was robbed. Someone snatched the coat from me and ran off. I couldn’t help it, Mom; I’m sorry!”

“Are you all right, dear?” she asked, without a sign of surprise or anger in her voice.

“Yes, Mom … I’m all right. But you aren’t angry with me…!” he muttered.

“Should I be angry with you, George?” she asked.

George picked a quizzical tone in her voice. He remained silent for a moment. He was at a lost to understand the cool reaction of his mother.

“Well…?” Mrs. Spyrou continued. “Should I be angry with you, dear?”

“Please, Mom, don’t.” he cried and hugged her by the waist. “I gave the coat to a poor gypsy woman.

“Why did you do that, my dear?” his mother asked, but more than pleaded.

George could not believe his ears. His mother did not scream, as he feared, nor did she shout at him. She was calm, as if she knew what had happened.

“I saw YOU in her eyes, Mom.” he sobbed. “She had a baby with her, too. Perhaps it was a girl, I don’t know.”

“Please, calm down and tell me what happened!” She said and passed him a paper tissue.

“Well, …” George said, wiping his nose. “When I saw her I felt awful, and heard the same words which you said in your prayers when I was younger and, suddenly I saw you begging again.”

“What words…?”

“You said, ‘Please help me God! I’m a poor mother.’” George replied. “Then I would see you in my dreams, begging, with little Mary in your arms. I still do.”

Mrs. Spyrou remained silent for a moment. Tears were running down her cheeks.

“My dear boy,” she said. “I did pray loud when your father died, but never thought you could hear me from your room.”

“I did, Mom.” George said. “And felt so sorry for you and Mary, and…”

The telephone rang; it was Mrs. Peraki on the line.

“Hello, … Oh, yes. He’s all right. Thank you!” Mrs. Spyrou replied. “I’ll explain everything when I see you tomorrow morning.” Then she turned to George.

“As I said, Mrs. Peraki is a kind person.” she said. “She was coming out of the church when she saw you giving her coat to the gypsy woman. Thank God I had pinned her name and address on the lapel!”

Author E-Mail: gtrialonis(at)gmail.com