Fοr Alexandros Papadiamantis, a corner of paradise is not the island of Skiathos, which he yearns for, nor the Athens of 1896 which suffocates him. It is the place where the dead travel, where children forgive the father who tried to drown them and where barren women give birth. There, in the hands of the Moslem, a ney is not a ney, but the creaking of the door to Paradise. Α humble room contains the whole world and Saints hold υρ the Acropolis. It is, in other words, every place where a saintiy glance has fallen. His glance.