Translated from the Greek by Angeliki Papadopoulou
One grandfather with his grandson, walking in a small harbor.
Grandfather: What do you want my child?
Grandson: What are you looking at?
Grandfather: Our sea. Time. There ,where the wave crushes.
Grandson: The wound of the breakwater... Silence.
Grandfather: It is not a wound.
Grandson:What is it then?
Grandson: Who had been sacrificed?
Grandfather: The memory of ocean.
Grandson: But why?
Grandfather: So that the people will live. Silence.
Grandson: Why do we have two hands?
Grandfather: So that we embrace the humane.
Grandson: Why do we have ten fingers?
Grandfather: To count our friends.
Grandson: Are they so few?
Grandfather: They are rare. Time. Only this way we endure their wounds.
Grandson: And our two feet, what do they count?
Grandfather: The value of thought.
Grandfather stopped walking. He is starring at his grandson.
Grandson: Why did you stop Grandpa?
Grandfather: To see how much you grew up.
Grandson: Only with you I'm growing old. The others consider that I am young.
Grandfather: They only see the years not the sacrifice.
Grandson: They don't know that I have to die.
Grandfather: Never mind. Again, you will make it. I will show you.
Grandson: Why do we walk in the harbor?
Grandfather: Because we are looking at the sea.
Grandson: When will the time come?
Grandfather: First, you have to grow old.
Grandson: But, you know.
Grandfather: You have to think for the others too.
Grandson: They are the only that I'm thinking of.
Grandfather: They have to know it.
Grandson: What should I do?
Grandfather: You should write their history of memory.
Grandson: And if this is not enough?
Grandfather: Then you will write their legend.
Grandson: The death of the ocean?
Grandfather: The sacrifice of Prometheus.