Coming upon an unfamiliar face—a strappingly handsome College Year in Athens student enlisted for the move — she threw up her hands in delight, exclaimed what a lovely young man he was, and spat on him. Noting that she clearly thought him indeed handsome and was about to shower him with several more outbursts, we hastily led her into the next room. We returned to the astonished young man to explain that she was a well-intentioned matron and that the only reason she spat on him was to protect him from the Evil Eye. He looked sceptical. We elucidated: ‘She was trying not to cast a spell over you. You know, give you a whammy?’ It was no use. The young man clearly thought us mad. As Kyria Koula completed her rounds, he kept a cautious distance and when she finally cornered him to give him a final pinch, slap, and ‘ptoo-soo’, he pivoted out of her reach, thus committing a gross breach of etiquette, and running the risk of disaster.
For the benefit of our young friend and others foreign to this aspect of our social traditions, we thought an explanation to be in order. To begin with, the Evil Eye is not a concept exclusive to Greece. The Encyclopaedia Britannica devotes an entry to it and defines it as ‘The belief that certain persons can injure and even kill with a glance’. Noting that it is still widespread in most parts of the world, it traces the notion back to ancient times: in Greece it was called, as it is today, vaskania, and in Rome fascinato; spitting was a most common antidote. With all due respect for the esteemed authority of the Britannica, however, we must take issue with them when they assert, ‘One of the most striking facts about superstition in the New World is that evil eye seems to be foreign to the hemisphere.’ This is not accurate. Although unfamiliar with the customs among other ethnic groups in America, we can say with absolute certainty that when Greeks migrated to that Continent they took with them a firm belief in the Evil Eye, a fact confirmed by a random check made among our North-American friends of Greek heritage who assured us that they have been spat upon up and down the entire North-American continent.
According to Greek tradition, there are three general categories of Evil Eye, defined by who is ‘giving the eye’. (Animals, although unable to administer it, are susceptible, particularly cows and horses—which is why horses, such as those that draw the caleches in Kifissia, are draped with blue stones, one of the talismen used against the Evil Eye. For reasons we do not know, pigs are immune.) All women, whether they are conscious of it or not, have the power, but men rarely do. (Blue-eyed women are considered to be particularly dangerous.)
Into the first category fall women who have ‘bad’ Evil Eyes—and are fully aware of it. They are usually malicious and envious people who use their ability with a vengeance. One look from them is enough to send their target off to bed with a mysterious illness, or into a coma from which they may never recover. Their glance can also inflict accidents or disasters on victims.
Other women may possess an inadvertent Evil Eye and readily admit to it: they have no control over their power, and certainly no evil motives, but from experience know that when they innocently admire someone, it may cause harm. They usually take secret pride in this gift, as well as its converse—the ability to remove the spell (xematiasma). Being good-natured souls, they are always willing to rush to the homes of possible victims to perform one of a wide assortment of rituals to restore the striken individual to good health. We have a friend in this group who readily assumes responsibility for all sorts of illnesses and is willing to remove the ‘spell’ over the telephone by pronouncing the necessary mumbo-jumbo, the meaning of which she refuses to divulge.
The rest of us possess what might be called a dormant, benign Evil Eye of which we are unaware. By admiring someone we may unwittingly arouse the animosity of evil spirits hovering in the vicinity who disapprove of any form of flattery directed at others. We may coo over a baby, for example, oblivious to the fact that by doing so we are offending the evil spirits. As a consequence, the baby will shortly thereafter be taken ill. Well-meaning people take the precaution of neutralizing any spells they may be innocently casting by saying, ‘Ptoo-soo na meen vaskathis*, and spitting. ‘Ptoo-soo’ is onomatopoeic, imitating the sound of spitting. Evil spirits are known to be gullible, and the spitting process, according to one explanation, is merely a decoy: if any spirits are lurking about ready to strike down those being praised or complimented, they will be fooled if the person being praised is spat upon. (The procedure is often preceded by vigorous cheek pinching and accompanied by a slap, but as far as we know these are unrelated to the Evil Eye and noiintended to mislead the spirits. They are merely garrulous demonstrations of affection.)
People with ‘bad’ Evil Eyes do not, of course, take such measures. On the contrary, they deliberately cast spells whenever the mood possesses them. When enough victims have been felled by ill luck or tragedy following encounters with these evil-doers, the word soon spreads among acquaintances who take various prophylactic measures, try to keep out of their range of vision, and if need be, avoid them altogether.
Normal protective measures include wearing an amulet, a filakto, or ‘protector’, which is pinned, out of sight, to one’s clothing. These may be holy medals acquired at churches or monasteries. Blue stones are also considered effective. These sometimes have an eye painted on them and in recent years have become popular among tourists who wear them as decoration, unaware of the extra, protective bonus. A particularly cautious mother will assemble a combination of amulets and sew them together into a tiny packet that resembles a miniature sachet, delicately embroidered if she is handy with a needle, and attach this to her child’s undershirt. One mother told us that although her daughter habitually wears a particularly elaborate filakto, if someone has been effusive in their praise, she takes the extra precaution of spitting on the child and saying a prayer over her head —out of sight of the admirer, of course, since their feelings might be wounded.
All of these measures are intended to have the same effect on the evil spell as the sight of the cross on Dracula. As movie fans know, to put a Dracula out of action you confront him with the sign of the cross and he crumbles up and turns into a bat. In the case of the Evil Eye, the spell is held at bay by the filakto or vitiated by incantations or prayers.
Should these private measures fail, there is bound to be a bit of trouble, the spell manifesting itself in various ways, ranging from a mild headache to prostration. If efforts by friends and neighbours to administer antidotes in the form of incantations and prayers as well as some elaborate ‘ptoo-soos’, prove ineffective, the only thing left is to call a priest. The Greek Orthodox Church officially recognizes the Evil Eye and there is a special service for exorcising it. With the Holy Orders at work, and lots of incense and generous sprinklings of holy water, the victim is usually up and around in no time.
Faith in the power of the Evil Eye is still prevalent although young sophisticates are increasingly reluctant to acknowledge their beliefs. One young woman of our acquaintance dismissed it as nonsense but admits she is not prepared to run any risks where her child is concerned. Serious illnesses are administered to by the local pediatrician, but hot on his heels arrives an aunt with the power to remove spells—just in
case the physician has failed to diagnose a case of the Evil Eye. For our part, we are not superstitious but we are not about to take any chances. Among other things, we ‘ptoo-soo’ at all babies we admire, just in case we are unwittingly administering a double whammy, and to set the mother’s mind at ease. We also feel much better when old friends such as Kyria Koula round off the ritual kisses, pinches, pats and compliments with a precautionary ‘ptoo-soo’—and after we have told them how well they look, we ‘ptoo-soo’ right back.
The Modern Young Mother
OUR FRIEND the Acerbic Observer of Human Ways brought us an account of his latest reconnoitering on the Sacred Hill:
While sauntering around the Acropolis and soaking up culture recently, I spied a rather fancifully-dressed stylish young woman pushing a pram in front of her as she led a small but intense group of ladies around the site. It was my friend the Modern Young Mother. I waved genially.
‘Hi,’ she said in the sultry voice she uses to remind you that she may be a Mother but she’s still a Woman.
‘What are you doing these days?’ I asked in my inveterate innocence.
‘Oh, where shall I begin?’ she replied, bringing the pram and her group to a halt.
‘At the beginning, perhaps, and going on to the middle, followed by an end, ‘ I suggested.
‘I’m doing so many things now!’ she replied. ‘Yoga classes first thing in the morning, and then I teach a class on the Glories of Ancient Art. In fact, I’m showing my class the sublime beauties of the Acropolis today.’
The ladies, looking drugged by their feverish pursuit of knowledge, nodded their heads vigorously and hastened to say how they enjoyed their classes and how much they loved their teacher.
Ί see you’ve brought the youngest with you’ I said, chucking her baby under the chin in ? friendly manner and almost having my linger bitten off by a Human-Snapping-Turtle.
‘Yes,’ she said, Ί want him to experience everything during his formative years and I know that deep down he appreciates the beauties of art. Isn’t he cute!’ she asserted, as he gurgled, ‘Babeeba’.
‘Heracles just said Propylaea! He’s so clever! Yes, darling,’ this last addressed to the H-S-T, ‘have an organic pitta’. With the H-S-T making snapping, ripping and tearing noises in the background, she continued. ‘In the afternoons I often do a bit of sewing. Nothing special, just dresses like the one I’m wearing.’
Ί would have thought it a Dior,’ I volunteered magnanimously. She smiled.
‘Yes, people do say that. Then, of course, I have to run a consciousness-raising class for our Women’s Group, and supervise the children’s dinner.’ The ladies looked on in awe as she continued.
‘After that, perhaps, a little serious study for an hour or two. I’m reading a marvelous German book ori Wissenschaft at the moment. Then I always manage to find time to make something unusual for my husband’s dinner. Luckily my ancestors came from Tuscany, the home of good cooking, so I seem to have a natural ability.’
The ladies quivered with admiration, while I refrained from mentioning that her ancestors really came from Palermo, the home of the Mafia.
‘And how is your Husband, the well-known Genius?’ All Modern Young Mothers, in my experience, are married to Well-Known-Geniuses.
Oh, he’s just built the most interesting machine out of plastic and a few wires. He’s so creative! It sounds a chime across the street whenever the baby wakes up.’
‘And what does that do?’ I asked. ‘Call for a coffee from the local cafe?’
‘No, silly! It wakes up our maid, who lives in a room across the street. Now, enough of this chit-chat. I must teach my girls. So little time and so much to do. Right?’ she said to the ladies gazing at her with rapt devotion. The group fell into formation and scurried off, past knots of astounded sightseers. In the distance I heard a gurgled, ‘Moobop’ and the answering exclamations of, ‘Oh, yes Heracles! Mnesicles was the architect of the Propylaea! He’s so clever!’
