“I heard the French I accompanied to Samothrace talk about this,” Zoe said. “I have a feeling they may have tried to reenact one of those ceremonies during the night we slept in the woods. They did not want me to go with them. If their mood when they returned is anything to go by, there must have been some terrible argument, so I guess the ceremony did not go according to plan.”
“It is said that many have tried to revive this ancient cult,” I said, “but given the scarcity of any information about its rites and rituals, it’s unlikely we’ll ever know much about its true nature. Maybe, as I already said, we’ll know some day whether the statue of the Winged Victory has anything to do with it, as I believe it does …”
Zoe looked at me admiringly as I described everything I knew about the site. She then walked ahead and climbed onto the marble slab that may have been the base of the statue. Carefully, she turned to face the sun, closing her eyes. Pushing herself up on her toes, she spread her arms wide and stood still.
Mesmerized, I took a few steps back to gaze at her form as a whole. The breeze ruffled the folds of her long white dress, as if gently trying to strip it away and expose her naked beauty to the elements. Her long hair fluttered down her back, obeying the Aeolian choreography as it spun in an unruly dance.
Slowly, she raised her arms high above her head, as if she wanted to reach the sky. For as long as she stood there, I felt as if the Winged Victory had materialized before me in flesh and blood …
Vasilis drove the Jeep that would take us to the port. During the drive, I was tormented by a multitude of conflicting thoughts over the events that had happened these past few days. I suspected that our walk through the site had been more beneficial for me than for Zoe, a respite from my unpleasant thoughts.
We had returned to Elizabeth’s house, and Zoe had gone to lie down while I drafted my letter. Still curious about everything Vasilis had told me, I had dashed to the gully behind the burned shell of my house as soon as I heard Zoe close her bedroom door. I wanted to see for myself what the goatherd had found.
Indeed, after a brief descent, I found myself standing before a shattered clay jar, its insides still dripping with oil. I glanced around and saw an assortment of discarded items, everything from rusty old shotguns to torn military clothing. I had never realized the gully was being used as a dumping ground.
Another broken jar lay further ahead, but it was half-buried under a small mound of trash, showing it had been there for a while. On the contrary, the jar by my feet had been recently smashed. I could not see it as evidence of anything. Anyone could have gotten rid of it. It might not be connected to the fire at my house in any way.
I spent some time sifting through the grass and stones, unclear as to what exactly I was looking for. Then I abandoned my cursory search and returned to Elizabeth’s house to write the letter.
Nothing betrayed Zoe’s presence on the upper floor, and I assumed she must have fallen asleep already. I wrote the letter as quickly as possible, wanting to get it to Elizabeth at the port before sunset so I could return to the cemetery while it was still light out.
I’d left a note at Zoe’s door that I would be back before nightfall, and had then walked outside, where Vasilis was waiting for me in the Jeep. I’d climbed in, telling him we needed to hurry.
On the one hand, I felt guilty for busying myself with so many other things when my mother had only just passed away. On the other hand, I thought about how right Zoe was. No one had the right to determine how I should grieve my mother except me.
Lost in my thoughts as we drove to the port, I did not hear Vasilis ask a question until he became so exasperated he almost screamed it in my ear, giving me a sudden fright. “What are you going to do about the fire, Andreas?”
“Nothing. I went to gully and saw all the rubbish that has been dumped down there. I don’t think it’s linked to the fire; there’s a whole pile of broken jars.”
I must have replied rather abruptly, because he hunched down over the wheel and kept silent the rest of the way. We arrived at the port, and Vasilis stepped on the brakes so abruptly I almost hit the dashboard. I gave him an angry look but held my tongue.
I jumped out of the Jeep and almost ran to the building behind the port. Elizabeth and her colleagues were sitting patiently around a table under a rickety canopy. She smiled at me and pointed to the chair beside her. I sat down and removed the letter from my breast pocket.
“I didn’t have time to put down a lot of detail, but I reported the main facts,” I said, placing it on the table before her. She picked it up and put it in her handbag.
“Don’t you worry,” she said. “I will fill in any missing details. I know exactly what you want …” Although her American accent remained strong, her Greek was better than many of the locals.
“The sea is calm; you’ll have an easy crossing,” I said. The voice of a crier calling all passengers to board forced us to get up. I had never seen that particular ship before. It wasn’t new, but at least it was big, and the waves would treat it with greater respect than the fishing boats that usually made the crossing.
Everything was changing on the island, even if it was at a snail’s pace, and I hoped it would not be long before, rid of occupiers, we would finally be able to live free.
I hugged Elizabeth, holding onto her longer than was usual. “Thank you for everything,” I whispered in her ear, and then let her go.
She tenderly stroked my cheek. “Look after Zoe. She has been through a lot. You have impressed her, but she still harbors an open wound that needs to heal.”
I felt the familiar, hard scar on her palm against my cheek. She smiled and moved to the edge of the small dock. The sun was hovering above the water’s surface, ready to dip down. I wanted to make it to the cemetery before nightfall. As soon as they lifted the gangway, I waved goodbye. Then I rushed toward the Jeep, jumped in, and asked Vasilis to go.
He drove quickly but carefully. Despite the gaffes of his early days, he was impressive in his desire to learn and adapt. I had even caught him reading history books in his free time. His clumsiness aside, Vasilis was proving steadfast and reliable, and I felt he was one of the few allies I had on the island.
As soon as we pulled up outside the church, he quickly got out of the car and came around to my side before I had time to walk away. He put his hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out something wrapped in a crumpled piece of paper. “I went down the gulley too, Andreas, before you did. I found this.”
Filled with curiosity, I tore away the paper. It was a broken piece of pottery, about the size of my palm. I looked at him, confused. “What is this? Why are you giving it to me?”
He kept silent. Frustrated, I raised my voice. “I don’t have much time, Vasilis. Speak up!”
Angrily, he grabbed the piece of pottery and turned it over. “Look,” he said, and pointed to the word etched in tiny letters.
“Axieros …” I whispered.
“The jars and barrels that belong to the Varvis family all have this word engraved on them,” he whispered conspiratorially. “So does everything that belongs to them; knives, swords … everything. It’s like their coat of arms.”
I did not want to believe that the Varvis family had anything to do with the fire, but the evidence in my palm strongly raised that possibility. Feeling pressed for time, I placed the jar fragment into my pocket and walked toward the cemetery, calling to Vasilis, “You head back; don’t wait for me. Not a word to anyone about all this.”
I did not even turn back to look at him. I heard the sound of the engine and the tires crush the gravelly road as he drove away. The breeze had died out as the sun began to set, and I could now light the two candles I had left there that morning.
I was surprised to see three small flames flickering between my parents’ tombs. The figure of a woman hovering above them made me think it might be my sister. Maybe it’s Zoe, I thought for a fleeting, joyful moment.
As I approached, I realized
it was neither Zoe nor Calliope, but someone else. She stood slightly stooped over my mother’s grave, her head covered with a long, dark shawl that kept her features hidden. At the sound of my footsteps, she turned and looked me straight in the eyes. It was the last person I expected to see there.
The voice of Marika Varvis rang out in the empty cemetery. “I am sorry, Andreas Stais, for the misfortune that has befallen you. May you live long to honor her memory.”
I spat out a dry “thank you” through clenched jaws. “Did you come to threaten me by my mother’s grave?” I asked, unable to contain the anger surging inside me.
Marika pulled the shawl away from her face, letting it drop to her shoulders, and fixed me with her gaze. “Do I look like I am here to make threats? All I wanted was to light a candle in the memory of Anna. I didn’t expect you to turn up, and I certainly do not intend to stay now that you are here.” She pointed to the grave. “Your mother knew how to be respectful, but did not have enough time to teach you, as you were absent.”
Under any other circumstance I would have shouted at her to go away, but I tried to keep my cool. We were at my parents’s grave and I didn’t want to disturb them. The Varvis family had not evolved with the times; they still thought they were better than the rest of us. We both stood our ground, locked in a staring contest. After a few seconds, she covered her head with the shawl and turned to walk away.
Unable to contain myself any longer, I took out the broken jar piece and shouted after her, “I think this belongs to you.”
Marika paused, and turned to look at me. I strode toward her, proffering the piece in my outstretched hand. Impassive, she slowly picked it up and brought it close to her face. It was getting dark; it was possible she could not make out the writing. She examined it for a little longer, and then smirked. “By gods, I don’t understand why you are walking around with this.”
“Because it belongs to you,” I said firmly. “I found it today, in the gully behind my house. It is soaked in oil. I don’t know if that says something to you.”
As far as I could tell, her expression remained as impassive as ever, masking anything she might have been feeling. “What it says, Andreas, is that you are losing your mind,” she said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “I will leave you to mourn your mother, and we will meet again when the time is right. I hope we will only have good things to say then.”
She turned and walked uphill, away from the cemetery exit.
A torch came to life at the top of the hill, straight up the path she seemed to be following. Simon held it high above his head, to light her way. My heart was thumping. Her cool demeanor had confused me even further. If she were pretending, then she was a consummate actress.
When they were both out of sight, obscured by the leafy trees, I found myself alone among the graves, my only company the flickering candlelight. I knelt down and felt the freshly dug earth. No matter how hard I tried, I could not chase away thoughts of what had just happened.
I stood up, crossed myself, and turned to go. I had only taken a couple of steps when a sudden thought nailed me to the spot. She had not returned the broken fragment of the oil jar. If she did not know what it was, why did she take it with her?
Marika hurriedly followed Simon up the footpath leading to the tower, the steward holding the torch high to light the way. Through gritted teeth, she hissed in a barely audible voice, “I heard you say you were careful to cover your traces. How could you throw away the jar just behind their house? Didn’t you think someone would find it there?”
The steward froze. Turning slowly toward her, he asked, “What do you mean?”
Outraged, Marika flung the jar fragment at him. With lightning reflexes, he caught it before it hit his chest.
“The archaeologist found it in the gulley,” she snapped. “Our coat of arms is engraved on that piece there. Now he will accuse us of arson. Luckily, I managed to hold onto the evidence. You should have been more careful. I know you told Alexandros, too! Big mistake! He might let slip …”
Simon did not seem to share her concern. Nonchalantly, he raised his arm and flung the piece of pottery as far away as he could. The sound of the fragment shattering against the stones echoed down the hill.
“Now it’s gone,” he said. “I didn’t think anyone would go looking in the trash, and I didn’t want anyone to see me carrying a jar in the dark, with a fire burning behind me. I made my way back through the gulley; I couldn’t climb out and carry the jar at the same time. As for your son, he is used to keeping secrets.”
He stepped toward her and, grabbing her elbow, pulled her closer. “There are dozens of those jars all over the island, gifts of wine and olive oil to people. Anyone could have one. Do you think anyone would dare accuse us of being responsible for the fire? Let them try and you’ll see.”
His words seemed to calm her down. She placed a hand on his chest and spoke with greater composure. “In any case, Stais now suspects us, so we have to be careful. Agreed?”
The piercing screech of a nearby nighthawk tore through the still night. Startled, they stepped away from each other. The steward raised the torch high and, without another word, they went on their way, walking in conspiratorial silence until they disappeared around a rocky outcrop.
I found Zoe standing beside the garden gate, holding a lantern. As soon as she saw me approach, she dashed toward me.
“I was worried,” she said, and hugged me tightly. Once again, I was overcome with the sense of completeness her physical proximity exuded.
I was glad she had been waiting for me so impatiently. Awkwardly, I said, “I’m sorry I’m late; something came up that needed to be dealt with. Now I’m back for good.”
Our eyes met hungrily. We stood facing each other, neither of us making a move, until she took the initiative and pulled me toward a table in the garden. It had been laid out for dinner, candles flickering in the darkness.
“Come, I made dinner,” she said. “Elizabeth told me I could use everything, and I decided to take advantage of all the goodies in her pantry.”
The beautifully laid out table in the secluded garden chased all my worries away. This part of town still had no electricity, and I wondered whether it was better if it stayed that way. I knew that once progress reached us, it would chase some of the magic away.
Elizabeth had set up the gramophone on one of the stone benches, but it sat there silently, needle poised over a record. “I didn’t know whether it would be appropriate,” she said.
“Better leave it,” I replied, thinking that anyone passing outside would think we were celebrating rather than mourning. She nodded, understanding, and pointed to the seat across the table. I sat.
She filled our glasses with wine, and waited for me to raise my glass. Before I could reach for it, the sound of my sister’s voice calling out from behind the garden gates interrupted us. Puzzled, I signaled to Zoe that she should stay, and I walked back to the gate.
A black shawl tightly wrapped over her hair, Calliope stood at the entrance, looking like she had followed me to the house. Her husband stood further behind her, holding a lantern and looking ill at ease.
“I see you are mourning our mother with the respect she deserves,” she said sarcastically, pointedly looking at the table. I did not get a chance to reply, for she hurriedly added, “I came to tell you that after the forty-day memorial service, we’ll cross to the mainland. We’ll make our way to Komotini—forever. My husband found work there, and I think it is best that we leave the island. With all the rumors circulating, we cannot stay here any longer.”
I was speechless. Although I had been hurt by her stance, I could understand why she had not welcomed me into her house when accompanied by a woman I was not married to. Her announcement that she was leaving, however, caught me off guard. The furtive glances she was now casting around the empty street showed there was more she wanted to say.
“What happened?” I asked. “Why are you leaving in such a hurry, an
d why are you telling me this in the dark?”
She pursed her lips and turned to go. I caught her hand, forcing her to stop. “Calliope, what is going on? Don’t forget I’m your brother.”
Tears ran down her cheeks. Looking away, she said in a shaky voice, “Maybe we should forget each other for a while. Yes, we may be siblings, but I have heard all the things they are saying about you. That’s why …”
She did not complete her sentence. She pulled her hand away abruptly and disappeared down the street.
Her husband gave me a dark look, then turned to follow her. I did not understand what she meant. I could not believe that Zoe’s presence had upset her to this extent. Perhaps I was forgetting how little society on the island had changed during my absence. Still, I did not want anyone else determining how I lived my life, or how I mourned my mother. Unless something else had happened, of which I was unaware.
I feared that Varvis might have played his part. I turned to the table and found Zoe standing up, staring in the direction of the sea. I was sure she had heard it all. I walked up to her and gently placed my hand on her shoulder.
Without turning to look at me, she spoke calmly. “Maybe it would be better if I left the day after tomorrow. There is a boat at dawn. I seem to have brought you nothing but trouble since we met again.”
Just the sound of those words was enough to open up a great void inside me. I gently pulled her around to face me. “Zoe, I will never stop you from leaving. I just want you to know that ever since we met, not a day has gone by that I did not think of you. I understand how you may think this is your fault, hearing all the nonsense people are saying, but there is something you should know …”
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