“The old man at the reception yesterday, the one who told you that someone had passed away. Who was he talking about?” Miltos asked.
“I told you yesterday, son. A ghost, now dead. It’s a very old story, faded with time.” He changed the subject. “Where’s Iro, by the way?”
"She went to see Erato after the symposium. I’m going to pick her up in five minutes. If I may … there is something I would like to tell you.”
Varvis nodded, curious as to what it might be.
"That woman, Erato. I know she is one of the chosen, but something does not sit right with me. I only know her a little, as a friend of Iro’s …”
Varvis shook with laughter, his loud guffaws echoing around the cobbled courtyard until a choking cough forced him to stop. Miltos stared at him, unsure how to respond. Finally managing to catch his breath, the old man cleared his throat and looked at his future son-in-law admonishingly. “Do you think me so foolish as to trust my daughter to choose her own friends? If Erato did not meet with my approval, she would not even be allowed to see Iro from afar.”
Miltos was taken aback. He had no illusions that Varvis was capable of many things, but he did not expect him to be spying on his own daughter, to be checking on her friends. "So you are telling me that..."
"Yes, Miltos, I know everything. Once you pick up Iro, Erato will call me. She reports to me every time she sees her. If I left our lives to chance, my dear boy, we would be just like everyone else: sheep, the blind followers of stupid leaders. Iro was born to fulfill a mission. "
He stood up slowly and walked around the table. He stood behind Miltos and pulled at the young man’s shirt, exposing his right shoulder blade and revealing a small tattoo. "Here's your real name, son, beside my daughter’s. You will unite under these names and become what they symbolize..." He pulled the shirt back up to cover the tattoo, and patted Miltos’s shoulder. "Go bring your wife home now."
Miltos obediently stood up and headed to the large wooden door. The smell of rain coming filled the air. A woman appeared as soon as Miltos left, and walked to the table. She placed a small clay dish filled with milk before Alexandros. “Would you like anything else, sir?” she asked in a low voice.
She was barely older than his daughter, and spoke in a foreign accent. He put his arm around her waist and slid it down to her thighs. “No. You can go to bed now. I might join you later. Leave the door unlocked.”
The woman nodded submissively and only left when he pulled his hand away. Alexandros picked up the small plate and placed it by a crevice on a nearby wall, before turning to go back inside.
In the darkened courtyard, a small black snake crept out of the crevice and slithered to the milk …
I was already nearing Thermopylae. No matter how hard I tried to keep Destine in the back seat, she would come to the front and sit in the passenger seat, looking straight ahead. It was pretty dangerous; a sudden brake, and she would be flung against the windshield. But try as I might to impose my will on her, she was her own dog. I could only hope I would not regret giving in and letting her sit there.
The man who had picked up the phone yesterday was Vasilis. I had heard my grandmother talk of him, but I had never met him or spoken to him before. He was one of the last people to have seen my grandfather alive the day he disappeared. My grandmother had asked that he be informed of her death as well.
He seemed happy that he was going to meet me. He lived on Samothrace, had taken care of all the funeral arrangements. His voice had sounded so familiar. For a split second, before he introduced himself, I thought that was what my grandfather’s voice would have sounded like if he were still alive.
I tried to remember the last time I had spoken to my grandmother, and what we had talked about. It was as if my mind remained stuck on other, much older conversations. Even under these circumstances, I longed to be near her. We had become accustomed to living apart, and I would not be surprised to find her waiting for me at the front door. I always kept thinking that about the people I had loved and lost. That something would happen, that I would suddenly discover that they were not really gone, that they were still near me. There were times when I woke up in my flat and went looking for Eva, as if she had just gotten out bed.
The weather was good, and I enjoyed the ride as I drove past the place where Leonidas and his three hundred men had made history resisting the Persian army. Knowing that the fight was lost, that they were outnumbered, they still fought on. Despite growing up in America, I never lost touch with my Greek side. My father made sure of that, and then my grandmother.
I was surprised when I saw Jill’s number flash on my screen; it was still dawn in New York. I replied happily, and we chatted about my journey. When she asked if I was stopping at Thermopylae, I realized she was tracking me through my cell phone, and could locate me with scary precision. It didn’t bother me. We had had to track each other often, quietly, during operations.
She informed me that after the first wave of reactions to the arrest video, a second wave of sympathy toward me had surfaced, people applauding the way I had handled the arrest. Scrolling through the news the previous evening, I had noticed something to that effect, but had not paid much attention. She also told me that the Jewish community intended to give us an award at some special event. Trying to get out of it, I told her we would see when I got back, and that I wasn't interrupting my trip in any case.
When we hung up, I thought about disabling tracking and vanishing from the world for the next couple of months. My finger hovered over the screen for a second. But I decided to leave it for another day. Anyway, only she had access to my phone.
Between talking to Jill, and all the memories that came gushing like a river as I passed familiar places, we reached the place where we would make a long stop to stretch our legs. The imposing castle of Platamonas appeared around a steep bend, and Destine wagged her tail wildly when she heard the magic word—walk!
I had rarely heard Destine bark since she had moved in with me, and then only if we came across a cat on one of our walks, bearing testament to the eternal vendetta between the two species. As soon as I pulled up under a shady tree, she growled impatiently, wanting to get out.
I gazed at the archaeological edifice before me in awe. I had only ever encountered such a well-preserved castle once before, in Scotland. We left the road behind us and began to climb toward the castle walls. I removed Destine’s leash, and she started to run all over the gentle slope of the hill, delighted.
It was not an arduous climb, and we reached the walls refreshed. The view that stretched before us was spectacular. On the one side, the sea, its unique shade of bright blue stretching as far as the eye could see. To the north, the tall peaks of Mt. Olympus, home of the gods in ancient times.
Absorbed by the view, I did not notice Destine sprint off toward a small dog she had spotted among the trees. I called out her name just in time. She froze to the spot and then obediently returned. A middle-aged woman rose from the bench where she had been gazing at the mountain and called the small dog to her. We exchanged a smile as I attached Destine’s leash to her collar and urged her to return to the car.
Ignoring me, Destine pulled at the leash until we reached the small dog. They sniffed one another hungrily and wagged tails as I greeted the woman on the bench, apologizing for giving her a fright. She had beautiful, clear eyes, framed by a web of laughter lines. The breeze ruffled her white hair as she explained, in a quietly charming voice, that she lived nearby and often came to sit on this bench and enjoy the views toward the Holy Mountain, as she called it.
We chatted for a while, but time was pressing; we had to resume our journey. As I said goodbye, she quickly informed me that if I was in the area on the night of the full moon, I should come up to the castle and join in the festivities. I quickly counted the days in my head and told her that I would most likely be in Maronia at that time. Her face lit up, and she said in a low voice, “If you are so close to Ouranoessa, you
should go watch the moon from there. Especially this full moon …”
Before I could reply, Destine suddenly pulled on the leash, and I trotted down the hill behind her, trying to keep my balance and shouting a hasty goodbye over my shoulder.
Back in the car, Destine spent five minutes at the back and then came to sit beside me. She gave me a look of complete indifference, and settled down for the rest of the drive. We drove to Mt. Olympus, and I looked back up at the peak, covered in clouds. I wondered how the weather could change so fast, and sped on, in a straight line toward Thessaloniki. My distant cousins lived there, as had my grandparents before the war. Zoe had told me she had lived through horrors in that city, but had never gone into any detail.
Cities followed one another on this long journey, which resembled some rite of catharsis for me. All the hours spent on the road, hands gripping the wheel, helped me sort through my feelings, examine my own thoughts, settle my scores with the past in some way. People are afraid to spend time with themselves, but sometimes that is exactly what is needed. My grandmother had made her peace with death. Even when my father passed away, she did not grieve, not in the usual manner. She always said that living was the outcome of chance, and that only by accepting Death will find you whenever he wants could you exorcise your fear of dying.
A large road sign informed me that we were approaching the town of Komotini. Its wide roads and spacious layout initially impressed me. However, everything became narrower and more compact as we approached the center. The smell of fleshly ground coffee wafted through the windows, a smell I associated with summertime in Maronia when my grandmother made my father a Greek coffee in the morning.
Looking at the tall, beautiful buildings and the minarets of the mosques, I missed a turn. I hastily turned to my GPS, which was now pointing to the opposite direction of where I’d been headed.
Without realizing, I found myself in a shantytown and, to my great surprise, saw that people lived there; people who now stepped out and gave me strange looks. A group of stray dogs on the street made Destine rise up on the seat and give an angry growl. I patted her neck, trying to calm her down. I had seen similar neighborhoods in Mexico, but had no idea that a shantytown lay this close to Komotini.
The houses looked like old, roughly patched rags. Mounds of rubbish filled the narrow gaps between the slum houses. Small children ran naked and barefoot around a burning tire as thick black plumes of smoke wafted up to the sky. Every narrow alley I turned into led to a dead end. I spent some time hopelessly trying to find my way out of this maze, and then accepted that I would have to ask for directions.
On the outskirts of the gipsy settlement, I spotted a Muslim woman walking in my direction. She wore modern clothing and a headscarf, which highlighted the whiteness of her face. I smiled as I rolled down the window and asked for the way to the town center. She waved her hand and spoke a few words in Turkish. I was surprised she spoke no Greek. The only words I knew in her language were ‘good morning,’ and it was too late in the day to say even that.
I helplessly shrugged, and looked around to see if I could spot anybody else who could help. The street was deserted. I waved goodbye and made to turn around, when I suddenly heard her ask me if I spoke English. I grinned with relief and asked for directions once again. Her English was perfect, as she pointed to an alley behind her and explained the way out of this tangled web. I thanked her and, before she left, she came nearer and put her hand through the car window. She tenderly stroked Destine, whispering a few words in Turkish, like a blessing. My German Shepherd lay down on the seat as if obeying an order.
The woman smiled and mumbled a few words in English I could not make out clearly. I thanked her and replayed her words in my mind, trying to understand what they could mean. It was something about Destine and, possibly, how she was a dog with a human soul…
Finally, I arrived at the summerhouse in Maronia. A narrow dirt road led to the entrance of the small property. Two large plane trees guarded the passage to the house on either side. I remembered how, when I was a child, I would try to climb up their branches without great success, how Zoe would shout at me to be careful. Ivy covered nearly half the stone house. Olives and other trees hugged the old building, and the palm tree in the front garden was much taller than I remembered. The sun hid behind the clouds as it set, tinting the wet ground with a purple haze. It must have rained.
I spotted a number of parked cars in the yard. Someone saw me and ran to open the wide metal gates. I did not recognize the man who greeted me. He said he was the gardener who had been looking after the property for many years.
Once I parked, I ran to the passenger seat to let Destine out. I was surprised to see her hesitate. We had been driving non-stop for at least two hours, and I thought she would be jumping out in joy. I had to coax and pull her before she took a leap onto the grass. She walked around gingerly, tail hugged between her hind legs as if she was afraid. I paid her no more heed as I turned to Sophia, who came up and hugged me, her eyes brimming with tears.
Behind her, an elderly man ambled toward us, leaning heavily on a walking stick. Sophia introduced me to Vasilis, and returned to the house. I instantly noticed his missing ear, despite his attempts to hide it behind longish white hair. More people appeared on the steps behind him, raising a hand in greeting. The sudden, mournful sound of church bells reminded me that here the whole village would mourn the departed, young or old.
"You look so much like him...” Vasilis said, peering at me closely. I wasn’t sure if he meant my father or my grandfather. “You look just like he did when I first saw him, seventy years ago. Same spark in his eyes …” His own eyes welled up as he spoke.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “I am very happy to meet you, Vasilis. Sophia told me you took care of everything, and I want to thank you. I know my grandmother thought very highly of you, and I imagine my grandfather did, too.”
My words seemed to touch a chord, and tears spilled down his wrinkled cheeks. Embarrassed, he brushed them away roughly. His voice shook when he spoke next. “I wish I had gone with him that night. At least that way I would know what became of him. There is no worse curse, my boy, than to not be able to mourn a man like you should. That sadness never left your grandmother … never left me …”
I pulled him in and gave him a hug. A few seconds later, he gently pulled back and pointed toward the house. “She lived a full life, and left when her time came. That is what Zoe wanted …Today, we do not mourn. We celebrate her life, her legacy. That’s the only way to look death straight in the eye.” He took a deep breath and changed tack abruptly. “Come inside, come see her. We’ll hold a wake tonight and leave for the island in the morning.”
He pointed his chin toward Samothrace, across the bay. Just like on Mt. Olympus, clouds had settled on Mt. Saos’s peak. It was as if the gods hunched down behind the thick clouds, plotting the paths of mortals away from prying eyes.
We walked toward the house and reached one end of the corridor that led to Zoe’s balcony to the sky. Beneath the gazebo, her chair stood turned toward the island. I could not pull my eyes away as I stepped inside the house.
Several people I did not know greeted me, giving me their condolences and the customary platitudes that go with such circumstances. I found these formalities insufferable, but I was patient. The church bells did not stop ringing. As soon as we crossed into the living room, I heard a low lament, a woman’s soft voice.
A woman came up to me holding a tray of small glasses and offered me drink. The taste of cognac burned on my tongue as I slowly drank. Zoe’s coffin stood in the middle of the large living room, filled with white and yellow roses. For the first time since news of her death reached me, I felt my chest burn as I tried to swallow my tears. The alcohol had nothing to do with it.
A group of local women standing around the coffin parted to let me through. Even the woman singing the lament lowered her voice, sounding barely louder than the rustling of the wind. I appro
ached and stood beside Zoe silently. I leaned over and kissed her hand. Whatever had been Zoe, the essence of Zoe, was no longer in the body lying there, but somewhere around us, watching us.
I held her hand in mine for a few moments, then turned and walked outside. I was intrigued by the custom of holding a wake for the dead. It was an intermediary stage, when the worlds of the living and the dead met through the open souls of those mourning, refusing to be separated from their loved ones.
As soon as we were outside, Vasilis stopped at the top of the staircase, leaving me alone. The gardener was already by the car unloading my luggage. Destine walked ahead, down the paved corridor toward my grandmother’s chair. She walked past the gazebo and stopped at the end, looking at the sea.
Dusk was falling, and I did not dare approach the spot where my grandmother had spent so much of her life at sunset. I could vividly sense her presence there. I preferred to sort out our sleeping arrangements, and returned to the car to pick up the rest of our things.
The small guesthouse, tucked away from the main house, would do perfectly. I used to spend many hours hiding there as a child, showing myself only when I felt they were really getting worried. Outside the bedroom, Destine curled up on a large carpet, showing that she had settled on her spot for the evening.
I unpacked a few things and pulled on a jumper, ready to take Destine for a walk. I was going to stay awake all night, too. It was the least I could do for the woman who had raised me.
Destine’s low growl directed at the door coincided with the sound of knocking. Opening the door, I greeted a couple accompanied by two young children, who were looking at me curiously. I shouted at Destine to settle down, and then shook their hands. It did not take me long to figure out that they must be my second cousins, the grandchildren of Calliope, my grandfather’s sister. The woman proudly announced that she was called Calliope too, named after her grandmother. I struggled to understand why they were here. My grandmother had had nothing to do with them during her lifetime. She had once mentioned that my grandfather’s sister had not behaved well toward him, again keeping the details to herself.
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