From his school years in the 80s to the civil war in Bosnia in the 90s and the city of Athens of the early 2000s, Thodoris keeps revisiting the family trauma: the resounding absence of his father, the transformation of his older brother Nikos into Nikiforos, the silent mourning of his mother — and all this in an environment where questions are never asked and answers are never given.

A novel about the difficult coming-of-age of two brothers and the indestructible bonds of blood against the echo of a war that will not fade.

Mother was waiting with her hand against her forehead blocking the sun […]. She has, as usual, a lit cigarette in her mouth, occasionally flicking its ashes into the ashtray, The bright daylight accentuates the lines around her tight lips. I take a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of my jacket, ask her for a lighter.
‘Since when do you smoke?’ she asks as I light up.
I shrug, blow out some smoke.
‘Every visit comes another surprise?’ she asks.
‘Could be.’
We sit there for a while. Silent, smoking.
The sun has now started to set. Her shadow — and mine —, as the day fades, grows longer on the yard’s slabs that have been waiting for years for someone to whitewash them.