Kaisariani knife

The summer heat clung to Athens like a wet rag. Myrto Zervou fanned herself with yesterday’s newspaper, perched on her balcony, watching the neighborhood simmer. Below, her son Aris hauled planks of wood into his workshop, shirt soaked through.

A sudden scream cut the air.

Myrto’s head snapped toward the sound old Mrs. Kalliope’s grocery. A man in a black hood bolted out, clutching a bloody knife and a cash box. Kalliope staggered after him, clutching her arm, wailing.

"Thé mou!" Myrto crossed herself, then hollered, "Ariiiis!"

Her son looked up just as the robber shoved past him. Aris lunged, but the man twisted free, vanishing into the alley maze.

By the time Myrto thundered downstairs, a crowd had gathered. Kalliope sat on the curb, her sleeve dark with blood.

"Bandits! Animals!" the old woman spat. "He cut me for fifty euros!"

Myrto clucked her tongue, pressing a handkerchief to the wound. "A knife for chicken feed. ‘Poverty makes thieves, but stupidity makes corpses.’"

Policemen arrived, young, tired, uninterested. Myrto eyed them. Amateurs.

That night, over fasolada, Aris groaned. "Mama, stay out of it. Let the police handle it."

She snorted. "The police couldn’t find their koloi with both hands."

Her daughter Mary called, panicked. "Mama, be careful!"

"Po po po, worry makes you old," Myrto chided before hanging up.

The next morning, she marched to Kalliope’s shop. The old woman hissed, "It was Nikos, the butcher’s nephew. A vlakas, always drunk, always trouble."

Myrto nodded. She knew Nikos, a lanky, twitchy boy with bad teeth. But something gnawed at her.

She visited the butcher. The man sweated like a sinner in church. "Nikos? No, no, he’s in Thessaloniki!"

"Liar," Myrto muttered.

At the kafeneio, old Manolis coughed into his ouzo. "Nikos? Saw him last night. With Spiros that mangas from Exarchia."

Spiros. A known thug.

Myrto’s bones hummed. She called Aris. "Bring your hammer."

They found Nikos in a derelict building, shaking, bruised. "Spiros made me do it! He said he’d kill me!"

Before Aris could react, Spiros lunged from the shadows, knife flashing. Myrto swung her handbag, loaded with a brick ...crack! The thug crumpled.

Aris gaped. "Mama!"

She shrugged. "‘An old woman’s anger is colder, but sharper.’"

The police hauled Spiros away. Nikos wept, confessing everything.

Back home, Mary scolded her. "You could’ve been killed!"

Myrto sipped her tea. "‘Better a brave widow than a fearful bride.’"

Aris shook his head, grinning. "You’re insane."

She winked. "And you’re welcome."

Outside, Athens buzzed on, none the wiser.

But in Kaisariani, the Black Widow had spun her web.

THE END