It’s the quiet, early morning of April 11, 1821.  He sits in a wicker chair on the side of the street. She’s sitting in the matching chair next to him.  They both look off at the city before them. The Hagia Sophia is just visible on the horizon, the morning sun climbing slowly into the sky.
She peeks a glance towards him and says, “You look strong.”
“Thanks.”
“No, really, you look healthy, capable.  When do you expect Yanni?”
“He should have been here now.”  He looks down at his hands in his lap, as if he is reading his fortune in his palm.
“Are sure you don’t want any breakfast?”
“Well, maybe some coffee, Ma.”
She smiles at him and goes inside for a moment.  When she reappears, she holds two cups with steam rising from them.  He has risen and is looking down the street.
“Here’s your coffee. Is there any sign of him?”
“Thank you. No, no sign.” He sits, taking the cup from her, and having a sip.
“I hope they didn’t get him.”
“I am sure he is just running late.”
They sit, silently sipping their coffee for a few moments. Finally she says, “The dome looks beautiful this morning.”
“Yeah, I guess it does.”
“Do you remember the story I used to tell you about the cathedral?”
“Which one?”
“The one about the patriarch who was performing mass when the Turks came.”
“Yeah, Ma, I remember.  You said that when they entered the city, he took the eucharist and ran into a secret room whose door vanished when he closed it, and, it is said that once the Turks are driven from Constantinople, he will emerge from that room, and finish the mass.”
“You shouldn’t be sarcastic! It’s a true story, you know.”
“Then it is too bad that Patriarch Grigorios V didn’t have a secret room to hide in yesterday when the Turks hanged him at the gate.”
“You think you are funny, Dimitrios?” she raises her hand to smack him.
“No, Ma, I’m just saying.”
“What? What are you saying?”
“Nothing, mom.  I’m sorry.”
“You think it is funny to make fun of a great man’s death? Is that it?”
He takes a sip of his coffee, hoping the pause will help the subject drop. After a second, he says, “I wonder what the cathedral looked like without the minarets.”
“Just put your hands up and cover them like this while you look, then you will know.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“You said you wanted to know what it looked like without the minarets, I told you how to find out. What else could you have meant?”
“I meant, I wonder what it was like before the Turks.  I meant, I wonder what it was like to be free.  That’s what I meant, Mother.”
“You talk to me like this? Today of all days?”
“Is that what this is about, Mom?”
“What what’s about?”
“Don’t play dim with me, Mom. Is that what your anger is about.”
“I am not angry, I’m upset.  You are going off with Yanni to kill yourselves.  It’s an upsetting thing to know I will never see you again.”
“I am not going to kill myself.  I’m going to fight for our independence.”
“You are going to go fight the Turkish army, the people that God allowed to kill our Patriarch.  You don’t think that is suicide?”
“No, Mother, I think it is the right thing to do.” His eyes are fixed on hers, and he sees only pain in them.  “Ma, I’m sorry, I know you are scared for me, but I will be all right, I promise.” He reaches his hand out and takes hers.
Her head nods up and down, and she smiles.  After a second she says, “It’s cold in the mountains. you remembered your heavy cloths right?”
“Yes, Ma, they’re in my bag.” He takes a sip of his coffee and looks down the street for Yanni.