The narrator of the book returns to the House of Childhood where he grew up, in Platanias Drama, as well as in the surrounding villages. It is a place of warmth, play, and joy. There, the child witnesses life and death - his eyes are innocent.
Carefree passages, without the permission of the adults in the uninhabited houses, with the slingshot in hand at the church, playing hide-and-seek in the cemeteries. He tries to unravel, through the half-tales of relatives and strangers, the individual stories of each one, but also the complex web that is the collective roots.

"One Sunday afternoon in Prosochani, at my grandmother's grave, my mother was washing the marble and watering the basil. My brother and I were playing hide-and-seek. One would hide in the cypress tree up to a hundred and the other would hide around there. Dad was in the car listening to soccer on the radio. The sun was very hot, but there were many hiding places in the cemetery, as long as mom didn't betray you with her eyes.

My brother started counting and I ran to hide. He didn't finish counting and I climbed up on a tomb. I stood still and made hand signals to mom and
my brother to come immediately. I didn't shout, I just made quick hand signals [...]"