Kalista the Greek.

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Kalista was Greek and wrote poems about freedom, or that's what she said they were about: I couldn't read Greek back then in 1974 and I'm not much better now having peaked somewhere around 1993 and travelled only downhill since then. The village where we first met, her home up in the mountains, had no electricity and didn't want any, though the strange brightness that emanated from the monastery windows at night didn't look much like a heavenly glow to me. But we didn't ever mention it. Clever monks. Kalista's mother was a great cook, her father was in jail for writing poems against the generals, and her brother was shot dead for democracy I was told. I never found out the details, but that was a long time ago and north of Igoumenitsa, when only paths for donkeys reached the village and foreigners never went there. Except me and a few others..