Chrissis and Selene had been born within minutes of one another but they were not twins. Their weight was different, (Selene one pound lighter) as was the color of their eyes. Chrissis’ were dark while Selenes’ were hazel.

As children they played compatibly, started school together, and, when they lost their mother during the aborted birth of a baby who would have been their brother, both sorely grieved. Their forlorn father, Nafkratis, spent the next few years raising them. When they were seventeen he told them he was leaving Fanaron for America.

“You are both old enough now to look after yourselves as well as each other,” he said. “Your Uncle Theofilos has written from America that he has a job for me. I will go and get settled there and when I have saved enough money, I will send for both of you.”

But in the years that followed, their father did not fulfill his promise. His letters always contrived one excuse or another. He was working long hours and had no time to look for a larger apartment than the solitary room in which he lived. He was changing jobs. He had been ill with pneumonia and needed time to recover. In the beginning he wrote at least once a month but as time passed his letters became less frequent.

“He has forgotten us,” Chrissis said bitterly. “He has always been selfish and cares only for himself.”

“I am glad he has found a new life for himself in America,” Selene said. “He might even marry again. If he has other children, there wouldn’t be room enough in his house for two grown daughters.”

Chrissis thought perhaps Selene was more willing to accept the reluctance of their father to rescue them from Fanaron because she didn’t seem to mind her life in the village. She worked hard alongside Chrissis during the day and, in the evening, was content to sit before the fire knitting or reading and rereading one of the few books they had acquired.

In contrast, Chrissis found life in the village primitive and unbearable. As if it were a forewarning of her own fate, all around her she witnessed the weariness and resignation of village women condemned to lives of constant toil. They labored from dawn till dusk in the corn-patches, sickle in hand, the more unfortunate ones working with babies slung in cloth cradles from their shoulders.

In addition to their endless work, the mores of the village required them to wear black for the rest of their lives to signify they had lost a relative. For these women the period of mourning never ended.

After a while both sisters ceased to believe that their father would ever send for them. They slept together in an old four-poster bed, tended their small field for most of the day, milked the goat, ate eggs from their chickens. By the time they had reached the age of twenty, all that was missing from their lives were husbands.

The problem was that the village had a meager choice of eligible suitors. The more desirable men were already taken by other girls. Among the single men remaining, there was Panfelio, a hard-working farmer and obviously kind man who came courting. But he had huge ears that hung like an elephant’s appendages along each side of his head. There was Emmanuel who wasn’t bad looking and who also had a sturdy figure but he rarely washed and one couldn’t bear to be in the same room with him because of the odors of pigs and goats he carried with him.

One unmarried man who stood out from the others was Helios Varnavas. He was tall, with glossy black hair that curled around his ears. His strong face seemed hewn from rock that was warmed by the sun. He had chestnut-colored eyes that could gleam with laughter or throw off sparks of some inestimable tenderness His lips were ripe and full and seemed to Chrissis to be made for a lover’s kiss.

Any number of girls in the village would have been delighted by attention from Helios but he seemed to favor Chrissis and Selene. In the beginning Chrissis simply enjoyed his presence in their house but, as time went on, she found herself assessing the amount of attention he paid to each of them. She began to worry whether his words and gestures were more affectionate toward Selene than to her.

When Chrissis was alone, sewing or working the spindle of the loom, she pondered her attractiveness alongside that of her sister. Both were undeniably lovely girls -everyone in the village said so. Both had raven-black hair and flawless complexions. Their figures were also similar in that both were slender and firm-fleshed.

If Chrissis could discern any difference it was one that puzzled and distressed her. That variance between them had to do with Selene’s eyes. They weren’t simply a different color but radiated a strange gentleness, a softness that was almost spiritual. Chrissis examined her own face in the mirror and knew her eyes could never reflect that innocence and goodness of heart because of the violent, unconstrained emotions that seethed behind them. Her thoughts harbored anger, resentment, frustration, violent emotions that leaped and hissed the way a fire threw off sparks.

On those evening Helios came to their house, both girls dressed as becomingly as they could. When he was with them the room seemed warmer and brighter.

“I am the most fortunate of men,” he told them one night in the spring. “Most men are grateful to be able to share the evening with just one lovely girl. But when I visit, I have two beauties to look upon.”

While his flattery seemed to encompass both of them, the question that bothered Chrissis and as time went on grew in intensity was which one of them Helios favored. There were times he appeared to be more attentive to Chrissis. At other times his attention seemed focused on Selene. For the first time in her life Chrissis felt a certain jealousy toward her sister.

As the months passed, Helios continued to visit them and their evenings were pleasant and convivial. Chrissis heard from a neighbor woman that some of the villagers were wagering as to which of the sisters Helios would ask to marry him.

In the beginning Chrissis felt she could endure living on if Helios chose Selene. But as her love for him grew more ardent, she found the thought that he might select Selene unbearable. If she could not become his wife the village would become an even more barren and desolate place, a place of dingy houses and joyless inhabitants. She imagined them at night, finding what meager joy they could in fevered coupling unless exhaustion from the day’s labor fostered sleep instead of love.

Sometimes at night in bed beside her sleeping sister, Chrissis imagined what it would be like nestled beside Helios, secure in his strong embrace. In her boldest fantasies she thought of the two of them naked, their bodies pressed together, her gestures reckless and wanton. She felt that the love that raged within her had to surpass any love her more passive and restrained Selene might feel. She couldn’t help thinking that Helios deserved her more passionate love. When dawn came and her fevered imagining had still not allowed her to sleep, she heard the herdsman driving the sheep up the mountain and the barking of dogs. She had barely closed her eyes when Selene rising woke her and it was time to get up. Meanwhile, Chrissis took her sister’s ability to sleep soundly as further evidence that she was not experiencing the urgency and passion toward Helios that Chrissis felt.

The weeks passed into months and Helios continued to visit them several evenings a week. Sometimes on Sunday, the three of them walked up the mountain. The path they ascended was scented with basil, mint, and most fragrant of all, lemon blossoms.

Chrissis found herself resenting the presence of her sister, thinking how much more satisfying it would be if she had Helios to herself. Sitting beside him, she noticed the back of his neck burned dark by the sun. Below the collar of his shirt she glimpsed the paler shade of his flesh and she imagined his strong body naked. She felt an urge to touch him, grasp his arm, pull him closer to her, things she could not do with Selene present.

There were a few times when one of them was busy and the other had Helios to herself. Chrissis savored those moments, emboldened to sound more endearing and open in her gestures of affection than she would have if Selene were present. Yet while Selene did not seem to resent those evenings , Chrissis fiercely resented the evenings Helios spent alone with her sister.

In the church confessional with Father Basil, Chrissis spoke of her dilemma. The village priest offered what comfort he could.

“You are both attractive young women, Chrissis,” Father Basil said. “I can readily see why Helios might have trouble making up his mind. But that day will come. If you are fortunate, he will choose you. If on the other hand he selects Selene, then you must feel joy for your sister and be a loving sister-in-law to Helios.”

While Chrissis understood the good sense of that advice, the thought of not having Helios consumed her with a desperation that bordered on panic. She could not bear the thought of having to stand beside the altar table, seeing Helios and Selene wearing the flowered crowns attached to white ribbons that signified union and abiding love.

The rains came to an end during a brilliant month when the mountain above the village crested in green and thousands of new spring flowers bloomed among the rocks. That spring an event occurred that convinced her that Helios favored her. Selene had gone to assist a neighbor woman who had a sick child. In her absence Helios had come to the house and he and Chrissis ascended the mountain together.

Chrissis relished not having to share Helios with her sister and she felt buoyant and reckless. Her glances and gestures were more flirtatious than she had ever dared display before. She held Helios’ hand tightly as they walked. When they sat on a boulder to rest she sat as close to him as she could, pressing her thigh against his leg. She looked at the ripe fullness of his lips and then into his eyes. At that moment, miracle of miracles, Helios kissed her!

She was delighted and felt triumphant but Helios seemed remorseful.

“Forgive me, Chrissis,” he said quietly. “I had no right to do that.” He struggled to continue. “Until I have made up my mind and asked either you or Selene to be my wife, I had no right to make such an advance.”

They were silent for a moment while she struggled for words to convey her feelings.

“You know we both love you, Helios,” Chrissis said finally. “You must know that.”

“I have felt it,” Helios said quietly. “And I’m not sure I deserve such a bounty. Either one of you would make a wonderful wife for any man lucky enough to have you. The truth is that I also love you both.” He paused, his handsome dark eyes staring at Chrissis with a moving gentleness. “I make you a promise,” he said. “When the time comes, you will both know whom I have chosen God help me; that is all I can do.”

Hearing Helios confess his love, even though it was a love she shared with Selene, filled Chrissis with gratefulness. She yearned to embrace him, feel his lips again, feel her body pressed against the strength of his body. Every part of her wanted to shamelessly cry out, “Choose me! Choose me!”

The first shadows of twilight obscured the final tracings of daylight, the trilling of cicadas growing louder. The dark peak of the mountain was contoured against the sky which still carried the scarlet tint of the setting sun.

Helios rose and extended his hand to help her rise.

“We better start down,” he said. Still holding her hand, they began their descent of the mountain.

That night in bed, Chrissis relived the intimacy of the kiss, the feel of Helios’ lips against her own, the scent of honey from his tongue. She could not contain her jubilation because she felt the kiss signified that he preferred her over Selene. That gesture of intimacy reassured her that Helios really loved her but his gentle, caring nature was reluctant to hurt and disappoint Selene.

Chrissis wasn’t sure just when the baleful thought first occurred to her. It began that winter when Selene fell ill with some ailment. She ran a fever, her cheeks flushed and her brow moist.

The midwife came and gave her some medication and for two nights Chrissis sat beside her sister and bathed her brow to ease her discomfort. At the same time that she felt an outpouring of love for Selene, she could not banish the thought that her sister’s death would resolve all their problems. Chrissis would be the one left and Helios would not have to choose.

At once she felt ashamed of the vagrant and heartless thought. She scourged herself for her selfishness and uttered a prayer for God to forgive her.

But like an aberrant seed that was planted and began to grow, the thought of how her sister’s death would mean her own happiness consumed her. It was fueled by her terror of never marrying, of becoming in the end one of the wretched village women, widows and spinsters, black kerchiefs knotted around their heads, busy winding wool with fingers so stripped of flesh by grief and labor that they resembled claws.

One evening as Chrissis was preparing their dinner, she noticed on the shelf a can which contained some toxic liquid a farmer had given them to poison the animals that foraged on their crops. As the greens boiled in the pot, her glance kept returning obsessively to the can. In that moment she felt herself possessed by some alien and demonic presence, controlling her body, guiding her movements and actions as if she no longer had them under her control.

When she placed some of the greens onto a plate for Selene, the demon that had possessed her reached for the can and poured a spoonful of the liquid across the plate of greens. Afterwards, Chrissis poured olive oil on the greens to blunt any bitterness of taste.

As Chrissis carried the plate of tainted greens to the table before her sister, she felt a moment of panic. She couldn’t believe what the evil spirit within her had done. While she struggled for some excuse to remove the plate of greens, Selene began to eat the tainted food.

All that evening and into their bedtime, Chrissis watched her sister in panic, feeling her breathing tight in her chest. Aside from complaining about some mild distress in her stomach, Selene seemed unaffected by the toxic liquid. When Chrissis spoke her prayers that night, she expressed her gratefulness to God that she hadn’t harmed her sister. When they were in bed together later that night she reached out and clasped her sister’s hand. She was reassured when Selene pressed her fingers in response.

The following evening she resisted the temptation to add the liquid, fighting the evil impulse with all of her strength. But that night she was sleepless, thinking of Helios and his dilemma. Perhaps he would grow weary of struggling to decide and pick another village girl. In that way neither Selene or she would have him.

The next night, once again driven by an aberrant impulse, she added a little more of the toxic liquid to Selene’s portion. She was surprised when Selene did not seem to show any ill effects.

Impaled between gratefulness and a measure of frustration, the following evening she added a larger portion of the toxic liquid. Selene complained about the astringent taste of the food.

In the middle of the night, Chrissis was awakened by her sister’s hoarse moaning. When Chrissis lit the lamp she saw her sister’s face flushed, her eyes glowing, her cheeks burning. She seemed to be having trouble breathing and seized by panic and remorse, Chrissis ran barefooted to their neighbor’s house, asking her to fetch the midwife.

The midwife came, bringing her small sack of potions and poultices. For the remainder of the night she tended Selene while Chrissis huddled in a corner, tearful and repentant, not believing what she had done. In that moment she prayed with all of her heart for Chrissis to live. Her shame and remorse cut so deep she vowed if God spared Selene she’d willingly relinquish Helios to her sister.

As the first tracings of dawn glinted at the windows, the weary midwife turned from beside the bed and came to the corner where Chrissis sat, sleepless and exhausted.

“She’s dead,” the midwife said gravely. “Your sister is dead.”

Chrissis felt as if a knife had been thrust into her breast. She could only stare at the midwife in disbelief.

“Later this morning, I’ll send the women to prepare the body,” the midwife said and turned away. “She was young and healthy and we may never know what ailment caused her death. We must only accept that the ways of God are beyond mortal understanding.” She looked with compassion at Chrissis. “Try to be strong now,” she said quietly. “You have hard and lonely years ahead of you.”

She walked slowly to the door. Before she left the house, she turned back to Chrissis a final time.

“No one else but you and I need ever know,” she said quietly. “But your sister was bearing a child. From the feel of her abdomen, I would say she was in her third or fourth month.”

The door closed behind the old midwife as if it were a tombstone sealing a grave.