The Necklace of Goddess Athena

by Effrosyni Moschoudi

  “As I said, all I know is that Anna believed it. You are still young. You have no children yet and you don’t know. A mother’s instinct is infallible!”

  “What do you mean ‘a mother’s instinct?’” Ksenia asked, confused.

  Mrs. Sofia gave the girl a puzzled look. “Don’t you remember her little boy?”

  “What little boy?”

  “Her son of course, Ksenia! He was only nine when he vanished that night with your parents. Poor soul!”

  “A nine-year-old vanished on the same night with Ksenia’s parents?” mumbled Phevos. He sprang to his feet and began to pace up and down in front of the others, shaking his head.

  Daphne followed him with her eyes that now sparkled with emotion. Yet, she bit her lower lip to stop herself from speaking just yet.

  As for Ksenia, her mind was overwhelmed by a torrent of thoughts. Phevos stopped pacing and was staring into the distance. He thought this could explain why so much in this modern world seemed so familiar to him. Eleven years ago he could have been that nine-year-old! But if this was the case, his mother was . . . No, it couldn’t be so easy! His mother was Anna? But how could it be? What about her deceased husband? Who was he then?

  Unlike the others, Daphne had already come to a conclusion. She had the benefit of a clear and objective mind whereas emotion in the case of the others had clouded their thinking. She calmed herself, for their sake, and took her time to word her questions. Before she could speak, Ksenia beat her to it.

  “Mrs. Sofia, are you sure Mrs. Anna had a nine-year-old boy, who vanished with my parents? I don’t even remember her having a son!”

  “Of course she did, Ksenia! She, her boy and her husband lived upstairs in your house where your bedroom now is. That poor woman lost everything overnight. Both her son and husband at the same time!”

  “What?” Phevos rushed back to the couch to sit beside her. “Her husband did not die?”

  “No! He vanished just like the rest of them!”

  “But I thought he’d died! She always wore black! I thought she was a widow!” burst out Ksenia.

  “She did wear black and it was the right thing to do! Maybe her husband and child hadn’t died, but they were lost to her, kyra mou! So she mourned them all the same!”

  “Oh my God!” Ksenia darted her eyes at Phevos to find him staring into space, his jaw slack. The sight broke her heart. “All these years and I didn’t know!” she lamented.

  “Mrs. Sofia . . .” said Daphne, “Please can you try to remember the name of Mrs. Anna’s husband?”

  The old woman shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, does it? What you should only worry about now, is burying those damn steps again!”

  All three claimed they intended to do that. They didn’t mind lying in order to reassure her. Their cause was too sacred, justifying all means.

  “Wait a minute, I remember now,” Ksenia lied when she guessed. “Was his name Efimios, perhaps?”

  Mrs. Sofia’s face lit up. “Efimios! Of course! I thought he had a rare name! It’s so funny you remembered him as ‘Thimios’ instead!” She rambled on, unaware of the bombshell of an answer she’d just delivered.

  “And the boy’s name?” asked Daphne, “Do you remember that too?”

  Phevos was still unable to speak and could only just about manage to listen.

  “Oh, that’s easy!” The old lady gave a wistful smile and darted her eyes at Phevos. “He had the same name as you, psyche mou! Oh what a tragedy! He would have grown into a strapping young lad just like you by now, poor soul . . .”

  Phevos spang to his feet, his demeanour calm. “Right! I’m running late with my gardening duties. Shall we, Ksenia? Daphne, would you like to join us too?”

  Both the girls stared at him aghast, unable to believe how collected he seemed, considering what had just happened. Ksenia took his hand and the three of them said their goodbyes and left in a hurry. As soon as they passed Mr. Giorgis’s shop, the three finally unleashed their excitement by letting out howls of laughter and wild shrieks of joy. They kept bouncing about, hugging each other, and making quite a spectacle of themselves, without minding the strange looks of passers-by. With entwined arms and exuberant faces, they rushed through the front gate of the house.

  ***

  When the next day dawned, all four of them couldn’t wait to get out of bed. They had made plans earlier in the week for that Sunday. However, after the previous day’s developments, their taverna meal at the seaside had to be cancelled. Instead, they had an early breakfast and headed straight to the back of the orchard, planning to spend the whole day there.

  Manos walked ahead with Odysseus. He was the only one who hadn’t seen the unearthed steps yet and couldn’t wait. In his hands, he clutched a trowel and a household brush, his eyes twinkling with determination. Behind him, Phevos held a shovel while the girls carried bags containing drinks, snacks, a packed lunch, and a blanket.

  As they strode to the back end, Phevos and Ksenia walked side by side. Their faces were beaming with elation, for now they knew they were no strangers whose paths recently happened to cross. Far from it, they’d known each other forever because they used to live in the same house when they were children. Although Phevos was aware of the cloud in his head that robbed him of his childhood memories, Ksenia had reasons to feel perplexed about the fact that she couldn’t remember him living with them back then.

  Thanks to Mrs. Sofia, that piece of the mystery puzzle had just been revealed, but they had to withhold the truth from her. Sometimes it’s inevitable to lie in order to protect someone you care for. How could they explain to her that Phevos and his father, as well as Kimon and Eleni, had all gone back in time? How could Phevos present himself to her today with his true identity? And how could they confess that, far from burying those steps, their burning desire was to enter that mysterious storeroom in the rock?

  When they walked past a cluster of orange trees in blossom, Phevos found the scene so beautiful, the sense of belonging so great, that tears welled in his eyes, and he wished his parents could be there too. Now he knew his mother was Anna, and he wondered where she was, if she was well, and most of all, if she even wanted to be found.

  When they reached the clearing at the end of the orchard, Manos ran ahead to examine the unearthed marble steps. With Phevos taking the lead, everyone got to work immediately and, throughout the day, they all contributed to making significant progress. By sunset, they had unearthed seven more steps. As daylight gradually diminished, they picked up their things to go. Their bodies ached from the exertion, but their faces were bright with excitement as they took the path home. The last rays of light caressed their hair before vanishing behind neighboring rooftops, coloring the ceramic tiles gold. All around them, gossiping wild pigeons chattered in the thick foliage of the trees.

  Later that evening, when Phevos and Daphne returned to Pallada to retire for the night, Phevos faltered at the gate, coming to a sudden realization. Above it, the painting of Athena emerging from Zeus’s head now held a special sentimental value for him. A couple of weeks earlier, Ksenia had mentioned that her father’s old friend who had painted that sign was Anna’s husband. As it had turned out, that was his own father, Efimios.

  Phevos stared at the picture with a wistful look in his eyes. His father had sent him off with the advice to look out for the signs. And now, Phevos knew he had left at least one sign along the way for him to follow, to make sure he’d wind up here, of all places.

  Chapter 13

  Another three weeks passed, and it was now mid June. Phevos had taken full advantage of the warm weather to make great progress in unearthing the door of the storeroom in the rock. Only the previous evening, he had managed just before sunset to reveal the heavy, metallic door. When darkness started to fall, he left reluctantly with the intention to come back the next day straight after work.

  He was at the shop, restocking the display outside with fresh produce, thinking of all the work he’d done
until now. At some point, he’d had to hire a few workmen in order to make progress faster. They’d come in a truck and managed to carry away a great amount of soil, exposing the rest of the steps to the welcoming light of day. The workmen had dug to a depth of about seven feet as they progressed toward the rock until they revealed the first signs of the door.

  To their questions, Phevos answered that the old gardener’s storeroom that was in the rock had been buried after a tremendous storm many decades ago, a storm that brought down from the hill tons of soil, burying it overnight. To their insistent curiosity, he claimed that financial trouble had not allowed the owners to seek hired help earlier in order to reveal it. Once they located the door, Phevos made an excuse that he’d run out of cash for further work, dismissing them. This ensured that once the door was fully revealed, he wouldn’t have them hanging about, curious to open the door to have a look inside.

  Phevos would never have risked that. If his father had lived here once, then what the rock hid was not a mere storeroom but the cave of Athena that he’d been using for his time travels. This was the only logical explanation.

  It was midday, a Saturday. Phevos felt thankful the shop was full of customers that kept him busy as otherwise he could have gone mad with anticipation for closing time. He was having a sandwich Daphne brought him while his mind kept busy with thoughts of his father.

  Inside his shirt, hidden from view, Phevos wore, as always, the necklace that his father had given him the day they parted. Efimios had shared with him many times the story of how the necklace was given to him by the goddess herself. That story was, by far, the most remarkable of all the ones his father had ever told him.

  ***

  When Efimios was a boy, he and his friends used to play in a small forest near the estate where he lived with his parents. The forest stretched as far as the foot of the Acropolis hill, and the boys had a secret location where they hid toys in the hollow of a large tree trunk. Among them, wooden swords and spears, slings, spinning tops, bows and arrows came in handy when they rushed there, straight from the long-winded daily tuition, in order to play and to run carefree.

  Their favorite game was a warrior version of hide and seek. Efimios excelled in this. The goal was to defeat the person who was looking for you and to sneak up on them as they did so. Efimios was nine years old at the time, and he was faster and stronger than all the others, including the ones who were older. He’d jump out and wrestle anyone who wandered near his hiding place, or he’d wait for them in a tree and jump down as they passed, in order to grab them from behind.

  When they surrendered, he’d run to the starting point to claim his victory, getting there faster than anyone else could. The other boys knew they stood no chance in competition when they saw him run on the mossy ground, his long blond hair flowing in the wind like the silky mane of a fine horse.

  That afternoon, Efimios had enjoyed many hours of play with his friends. They’d just parted for another day, and Efimios was strolling along a familiar path that would take him out of the woodland. From there, home was just a breath away. His stomach grumbled, and he thought how hungry he was when he heard a strange sound.

  It sounded like repeated strikes of some sort, and he thought it was peculiar because there were no homes or workshops close by. The sound didn’t stop but kept echoing at regular intervals, exciting his innate curiosity. Without thinking twice, he ignored his hunger and left the path in order to investigate.

  He wandered through the tall trees, stepping with caution over rough boulders and dense, thorny bushes, focused on following the sound. From a closer range it sounded metallic, like the sound iron makes when the blacksmith strikes it on the anvil. As he continued to approach the source, the sound got louder and louder until he had to put his hands over his ears but, even then, he didn’t turn and go.

  He didn’t give up even when the ground under his leather sandals got rougher and rougher and thistles scraped at his feet. He was still wincing from the pain and the piercing volume when he reached a small clearing. The sun shone on it and in its midst stood an old lady dressed in black.

  She wore a black scarf on her head, and she had her eyes fixed on him, as if she knew he was coming. She had deeply wrinkled skin and a hump on her back. In her hands, she held a walking stick made of wood that looked as old as she was, and she was banging it on the grass.

  Efimios stood awestruck, unable to process in his mind what he could see. How could the old lady’s walking stick create this shrill metallic sound that had him covering his ears for protection? As if guessing his thoughts, the old woman stopped what she was doing. Relieved, Efimios put his hands down.

  “Good morning, young man!” she said with a smile that revealed rotting teeth. Efimios was startled once again. Her voice didn’t match her looks. It sounded young and brisk and, what's more, it echoed strong and forceful like the roar of a lion. The moment her words rose in the air, a flock of wild pigeons took to the skies from the nearby trees.

  Efimios felt uneasiness wash over him, his curiosity fading in comparison. Stunned to silence, he turned to go, but the old woman called out his name.

  “Stay, Efimios!” Her voice was full of authority.

  Efimios turned around to face her again. “How . . . how do you know my name?”

  “I have been watching you play with your friends. You are the strongest, the fastest and the most intelligent of them all!” She took a few steps forward. “I have something to show you that I am sure will interest you.”

  Efimios stood and listened as she shuffled toward him. Appearances seemed very deceptive with her, and he continued to feel uneasy in her presence. Neither her voice nor her manner suited her looks, and he was also still bewildered about the sound of her walking stick as it hit the ground. He tried to think of an excuse to turn and run to the safety of his house, away from her. He was rich and wanted for nothing. He couldn’t imagine what this shabby-clothed old woman would have to offer him that could be of interest or use to him. He thought she probably had something to sell him in order to buy a scrap of food, and he gave her credit for trying to win him over by complimenting him like that.

  Now that he thought it through, there was nothing mysterious about her, after all. He was just hungry and tired, and his mind was playing tricks on him. As for her knowing his name, if indeed she had been watching him play with his friends, there was no question about how she’d got to hear it.

  “Thank you, kind lady, but I do not need anything,” he replied, trying not to sound rude. After all, he had been brought up with manners that dictated respect to elders, no matter how strange they might seem.

  “I have nothing to sell to you if that is what you presume!” she spat at him. She stopped walking toward him and stood a few paces away, looking offended.

  Efimios extended a hand toward her, palm up. “I do apologize, kind lady; I meant no offence . . .”

  “As I said, Efimios, I have something to show you. But I do not need your money! I only require your services.” She tipped her chin, her voice carrying the pride of a queen.

  The young boy reasoned then that it was possible a frail old lady like her would need help from someone fitter. Perhaps she had a sack that needed carrying, or maybe she wanted him to run an errand for her in the city. After all, she did refer to him being strong, fast and intelligent. Efimios felt himself relax. At last, something made sense about this old woman. His father had taught him to care for the weak and needy in the community, and now he felt ashamed for his rudeness toward her earlier. With an eager expression, he walked up to her, an easy smile on his face.

  “I am sorry about before. I would be delighted to help you, kind lady!”

  “Well, my home is close by.” A faint smile curled the corners of her lips. “I need some help there. Please follow me; I will not keep you long.”

  Efimios obliged her—albeit with apprehension—and she led him through the woodland along a beaten path he’d never walked before. Soon, th
ey came to a cluster of wild chestnut trees. Their mighty boughs formed a thick canopy that didn’t allow the sunlight to reach the ground underneath. Mushrooms of different kinds, both big and small, sprouted on the dewy grass in the semi-darkness.

  Despite the enchanting beauty of his surroundings, Efimios gave a shudder, but to his relief, the path then led them to a clearing covered with snow-white lilies. On the far end, stood the foot of the Acropolis hill, and the boy exhaled with relief to see it. He’d started to fear he’d never find his way home again. But the Acropolis hill was his point of reference. As long as his eyes rested upon it, he knew home was near.

  The old woman beckoned to him when she saw he’d stopped walking, and he followed until they reached a rock face covered in moss. Among the many cypress trees that stood there like faithful guards, the branches of a tall willow scraped in the breeze against the rock, making shrill noises. They sounded like ghosts dragging their chains in turmoil. Efimios gave a low grunt when the old woman halted in that eerie spot. Right there, a big boulder was wedged in an opening inside the rock.

  The old woman pointed to the boulder, her face glowing with pride. “Here we are!”

  Efimios raised his brows. “You live in there?”

  “Yes, Efimios. This is my home but, as you can see, the entrance is blocked, and I cannot get inside. I ask for your assistance to let me in.”

  Efimios’s apprehension had begun to grow again, but he had agreed to help her. He couldn’t back down now. “This rock seems too heavy for me to move. I can try but I cannot promise you anything.”

  “I have faith in you, Efimios! Move the rock aside for me, and I promise to give you something very valuable in return for your trouble.” Although she was asking him for assistance, the tone of her voice was demanding. Her manner indicated a person who wasn’t used to not getting their way.