Grecanico

Gallicianò, Calabria

“Wait for Mimmo. He has the church keys.”

I waited.

As we walked up, he told me Calabrian Greek had once been spoken across the region. “Here,” he said, “we all grew up with it.” He paused. “Grecanico.” Then more quietly: “People on the coast laughed at us.”

Inside, the air smelled of wax and stone. “We were Orthodox,” he said, almost to himself. “But we didn’t know it.”

“Only thirty of us are left,” he said, looking away.