“… in our land the dead only sleep… they are not dead.”

Mr. Gray allows you to immerse yourself in the world of Demosthenes Papamarkos. To drown again, to be exact. Gricho, the first story in the Metapoisi (Patakis) collection, which has been reprinted, is a miniature Greek version of Pedro Paramo, Juan Rulfo’s masterpiece. It is also a continuation of the narratives from the two-volume classic Traditions by Nikolaos Politis. It still echoes Vassilis Gurogiannis’ excellent Paranormal Tales and even zombie stories.

Papamarcos did something unique with Giac, both literary and commercial. However, the “Process” is not going to retreat. Mr. Gray loves the tales of the Malesina Antiquary Locris, who, like a true Arvanite, made his way to Oxford only to return to his homeland, in general, and in particular, to dry land. Armed with ancient Greek mania, Homeric Necia or Lovecraft, he invents an oral language made of flesh and bones. Papamarco’s language is like the golems of Jewish mysticism: it breathes into his words, and they come to life. And these are the words that come alive in the frontier world, the frontier world.

In “Gricho”, Takis returns from some war almost crippled in one hand. His brother Christ died, and two strangers, including brothers, stole his animals and beat him to death. “If it was Christ, I would say.” And that’s where Christ returns. “What is it, Taki, and are you taking me away?” It’s a sin to wake me up.”

“What is it, Taki, and are you taking me away?” It’s a sin to wake me up.”

Christ “purifies” – with ferocity. Takis is no longer ashamed, he takes his animals, the girls look after him. But at night…

In the study and anthology Paralogs (Hermes, 1970), the great Yorgos Ioannou speaks of the “remembrance” of the dead: to return and help the living. “Let us recall,” he writes, “we have, for example, in the Persians by Aeschylus. Darius has been recalled.”

The dead in the famous “Dead Brother”, Christ in “Grichon”, walk, eat, drink, smoke, talk “outside of any Christian concept associated with the resurrection of the dead” (John).

But is it not a memory, silent, unacknowledged, of what we all do to this day? This conversation with the dead, which is a conversation with our deepest, most vast selves?

But this comes at a price when the deceased ceases to have their own space and takes something from ours: “Sin is with the dead,” says Takis. But he cannot do otherwise. He avoided one shame, social, only to find it in another, metaphysical.