She picked the lemon from a tree.
They had walked along the street, talking, debating – well, she talked, he listened, couldn’t even say a word. He loved how she talked, how she used her hands to underline her story, how she laughed with her head back, how she looked him directly into the eyes, just concentrating on him. She was talking about greek politics, then she stopped, running to the next tree. He followed her, trying not to trip on the patched pavement (slowly he began to understand why the peoply in this city always walked in the middle oft he street, even if they then risked to get run over by a car) and stepped to her under the tree. All along the street there were citrus trees, oranges and lemons, full with green leafs and full with fruit as this one here.
She reached above, before he could offer his help and picked a lemon from the tree. It was totally green, except that one side seemed to be lighter with yellow spots. With her fingernail she scratched its skin, very light only but strong enough that it left a mark. She smelled at it and with a fast movement of her hand she made another scratch. She said something in greek, to fast that he could understand and without adressing him, then again she scratched the skin and offered him the lemon. It lay soft in her hand. He looked at her, she laughed, shined, her hair around her face, sun in her eyes – she was pure summer. She moved her lips without saying something and brought the fruit closer to him. So he bent over and smelled. The fragrance was intense. Fresh, bitter. It aroused memories inside him, memories from passed summers, spent in a way colder native country but still spent in te sun; it reminded him of terraces in the sun shine and ice-cold lemonade and the sound of splashing water in the tiny tub.
It must have aroused memories in her as well, different memories, but still memories from summer. He looked up, nodded, “kal’lo, kal’lo“ and she grinned, putting the lemon in his hand.
She continued walking, talking about what they discussed earlier, before she picked the lemon from the tree. After a few meters she recognized that he wasn’t following, instead he still stood under the tree. “Is everything allright?“
He nodded. He would love to tell her what he was thinking, the amount of thoughts in his head which he couldn’t express – those many details, making everything special but which weren’t worth noticing, even hard to recognise – simply, that he was glad to having met her, a girl who showed so much about herself and a world he thought he already knew. But he couldn’t express that, not with words and not here, so he just nodded and answered: “Yes, everything’s allright.“
“Then let’s go“, she said and in those words lay so much beyond. Let’s go, we have a lot to do today. Let’s got, there is plenty to see. Let’s go, there is plenty that I have to show you, that you have to see, so much new to discover and touch and explore and collect, things you know and things you don’t, new, old, different experiences, so much, so much.
Let’s go.
He catched up, “What were we talking about?“ and she started again to explain, he enquired, commented and she gesticulated, hit her cheek with her hand laughed, while the walked along the street in which she had picked a lemon from a tree.


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