showed the photo to Takis, thinking that he might like to have it as a keepsake, but he only commented that the photo was of his mother, Aphrodite, and that it had probably been taken just after the war. He did not seem particularly interested in having the old photo, so I put it inside a book to keep it safe from moisture and dirt, and in time forgot about it altogether.
Some time later, I came upon the photo again. Feeling that it was a shame to hide it away, and also that such a venerable house deserved at least some acknowledgement of past inhabitants, I made a scan of the photo then restored it digitally as best I could, meaning to hang it above the doorway as a remembrance. The result of my effort was beyond all expectation and revealed details not seen in the original picture. Cast against the still-standing whitewashed staircase was not only Aphrodite’s shadow, but a second one as well. I scrutinized the photo, trying to determine the source of the second shadow, but there was no one else in the picture to account for the second image. The phantom remained an anomaly.
Until, some time later, Takis and I got into a discussion about his boyhood in Kontokali, and about his family history. Aphrodite, I was told, had had a twin sister who had died as a child. On hearing such a revelation I at once thought about the faded photograph and about the mysterious second shadow.
I certainly do not profess to understand how such things happen, nor am I prepared to dismiss possibilities I cannot refute. I do know that the spirit of such ancient places reverberates still through the deeds and personalities of those long gone. As a result of seeing what I undeniably saw in the