"It is Nikolas Theophilos," Nikolas responded.
The door opened. "How nice to see you again, Captain Nikolas," the doctor said after he got over the shock of seeing Nikolas and recovered his composure. What brings you here at such an early hour?" said Doctor Vassili Tsipras politely, as he escorted Nikolas in.
"I want to find where Anna is, and I suspect that you know."
"Nikolas, take it easy. All in good time. I will tell you what I know," replied the doctor, beads of sweat beginning to appear on his forehead. He then offered coffee and walked into the kitchen. A short while later, he brought the coffee to the veranda, which overlooked the sea, and he motioned for the captain to sit.
"I do not want to sit. I want you to tell me where Anna is," Nikolas said firmly. "Why is it so difficult for you to tell me?"
"Because the story is long," the doctor answered. "After your ship was bombed, you lost your memory and no one knew who you were. The British rescued you and evacuated you to Egypt. Then they put an ad in the newspaper asking if anyone knew you. Melpomeni recognized you and she paid me good money to make sure that you stayed lost. She will not be happy to know that you are back in Greece.
"Besides, how do you know that Anna wants to see you? Did you stop to think about that? It has now been over ten years since they buried you, Nikolas. You are dead to them, to Anna and your son. There, I said it, your son. You have a son." He smiled wickedly.
Nikolas's face changed colors, from a pale and drained anorexic yellow to a boiling crimson, as blood rushed to his head.
"A son? I have a son! I have a son," he repeated. "Where is he? Where is my son? You must tell me at once," Nikolas demanded, raising his voice. However, before he could continue his questioning, they were interrupted.
"Vassili, Vassili ... You must be here. I can hear you."
"Mother. I told you not to come in here when I have guests!" the doctor shouted rather unpleasantly.
A small woman came in, using a cane to support her brittle body and to guide her around the cluttered room. Since she had lost most of her eyesight to diabetes many years ago, she had been confined to her son's house, but she was not happy about it.
"Vassili, I heard voices shouting. Is there someone here?"
"Yes, Mother," Dr. Vassili Tsipras replied curtly.
The elderly woman lifted her head as though trying to see into her son's face. Her blank eyes were deep in their sockets and her toothless mouth consumed most of her lips, making her bony cheeks protrude from under her wrinkled skin. The black scarf covering her head slipped back as she raised her cane, exposing a mass of silvery white hair pulled tightly into a bun.