Iro had called the police while I completed the paperwork at the vet’s. We barely spoke on the drive back, lost in our own thoughts. For years, my grandmother had waited for my grandfather to return, unable to believe that he was dead. The reality was that he had been murdered. At least, that’s what it looked like. Work had trained me to remain cautious until I had hard evidence and facts. I would have those once DNA evidence identified the skeleton buried there.
We pulled up by the gap in the fence and stepped out of the car. Iro took my hand. “Whatever happens from now on, I just want you to know …” She struggled to find the right words.
“I think we feel the same way. Maybe it’s best to let things take their course …”
The rain had stopped, and the sun’s rays shone weakly through the patches in the clouds. I saw the police car pull up and park behind my car. The young policeman waved from afar, and we walked ahead without waiting for them to catch up. I could not understand, as I neared the grave, why a man was lying inside it, Vasilis sitting beside him, head bowed as if in silent lament.
Iro’s cry as we neared frightened me. She ran ahead and flung herself on the body, turning it to face her. I ran up after her and saw the man she was holding in her arms was her father, stabbed through the heart. Vasilis’s hands, and the tears streaming down his face, bore witness to his act.
“Who did this?” Iro screamed, stroking her father’s frozen face.
Vasilis silently raised his bloodstained hand. Before I could restrain her, she let out a choked cry and lunged at him, her hands tightening around his throat. I tried to prise her hands away, speaking gently to calm her down and save Vasilis from her wrath. Tightening her grip, she shouted at me to leave them alone, cursing Vasilis for what he had done. It was impossible to loosen her fingers without breaking her arms. Luckily, the two police officers came and helped me pull her off him.
Vasilis’s face had turned red, and a bruise was already forming around his neck as he gasped for breath. Iro flailed her arms and legs, hitting me clumsily in the face. I was stunned by the blow, and felt warm blood trickle down my nose. I went and angrily stood before her. When she saw my bloodied face, she seemed to calm down. I helped Vasilis to his feet and looked around, trying to understand what had happened in our absence.
The two police officers listened in stunned silence as I explained what had happened. Vasilis filled in the missing pieces without holding anything back. The young policeman walked back to the grave where Iro sobbed quietly, cradling her father’s head. The sword was still in Varvis’s chest, but the policeman asked us not to touch anything. I saw his partner take out a pair of handcuffs, then change his mind. He asked Vasilis to remain seated.
He brought out his phone and, in a dramatic voice, informed headquarters what had happened. My nose had stopped bleeding, but my face still smarted from the strong punch. I approached the grave alongside the young policeman, who was busily jotting things down in a notebook. He bent down and started to scrape away the soil around the skull with the back of his pen.
With an exclamation, he lifted his pen up. A chain hung from it, something covered by a clump of soil dangling at the end. He took it in his hands and rubbed the soil away. The red clay particles fell to the ground, gradually revealing something that looked like a large coin. He looked at both sides and then raised his eyebrows sharply. “Your name is written on it,” he said.
It was nearly dark, and a crowd had gathered outside the police station. News spread fast on the island. Vasilis was spending the night in a cell, having confessed to killing Varvis. The young policeman told me that because of his age, and the problems with his leg, he might get away with house confinement. It was just a theory; murder was a serious charge. When they asked Vasilis if he had acted in self-defense, he was adamant. “No, he did not threaten me. I just did the right thing …”
He seemed unrepentant when I saw him. He spoke little, and only of the debt he owed to his beloved friend, of all the years spent not knowing what had happened to him. He asked me to leave the island soon, to stay away from Iro. Even now, he still feared the Varvis family.
The coroner would be arriving the following day to take a DNA sample from the remains, which appeared to be my grandfather. The truth is, I remained unconvinced that it was he. Anyone could have stolen his medal and carried it with them to their grave. Perhaps I was in denial.
Varvis’s funeral was scheduled for the following day, and I wondered whether I would go. I was initially taken aback by the depth of Iro’s grief. Then I realized that no matter what kind of man Alexandros had been, he still was her father. All these years, he had kept her under his control, filling her head with her ancestry and her own destiny.
She had not spoken a single word to me since his death. She left when they came to take Alexandros’s body away. She only looked at me, in shock. It was hard to tell what else she may or may not be feeling. The police took photos and samples, but only Vasilis, Iro, and I knew the story behind my grandfather’s murder and Varvis’s confession. The crime scene had been sealed off, and a police officer stood guard there. Given their meager means, the police had been exemplary.
A number of missed calls flashed up on my phone screen. Alkistis and Jill had repeatedly tried to reach me. I was in no mood to talk about what had happened. I got inside my car and, a few minutes later, I was at the vet’s. More bad news awaited me there. The doctor informed me I would have to make a decision, so Destine did not needlessly suffer. I was not ready to decide anything, and I asked him if I could wait until the following day. Would taking her to Alexandroupolis increase her chances of making it? He shook his head sympathetically. He, too, had heard the news, and reassured me he had done everything that could be done for Destine.
I went to the back room to see her. All she could do was raise her tail limply for a moment. Nothing more. That was her first response in hours, according to the vet. I sat next to her, petting her and urging her to hold on, until the vet announced it was time to go.
I walked by the port, along the side of the road that was lined with souvenir shops, coffee shops, and picturesque tavernas. People greeted me politely, as if not wishing to intrude. I could feel more stares than ever before. I was trying to decide if I should seek out Iro tonight. I wanted to see her, but wondered whether she might wish to mourn her father in solitude.
Tired and sleep deprived, I sat down at the first taverna I came across. People sat at tables all around me, or strolled past me on the street, and yet I felt utterly alone. I would wait and see how things developed the following day, and then I would finally leave this island. I still could not understand whether Samothrace was trying to keep me or send me away. Maybe it would be best to leave Greece and return to work. Maybe holidays were not the thing for me.
Someone sent over a jug of wine, and the kind gesture cheered me up a little. Soon enough, though, I succumbed to my oppressive loneliness and decided to return home. Unable to resist, I did not turn to Paleopolis, but drove to the Varvis tower. I did not intend to see her. I just needed to be nearer to her, even in this manner.
I could spot the large torches blazing on the castle walls from some distance away, as if they were trying to raise the building to the sky. I imagined it was part of some funeral ritual. I drove as close as I could. People milled on the ramparts. I looked for Iro, but she did not appear. Afraid someone would spot me, and my eyes growing heavy with fatigue, I decided to return home. A difficult day awaited me tomorrow.
The bed was just as we had left it that morning—stripped bare. Her scent lingered in the room. I hurriedly made the bed and stretched out my exhausted limbs. Then I picked up my grandmother’s sketchbook. Instead of a drawing, the last page contained a single sentence, like an epilogue.
No one will ever know the secrets of the moon …
I gazed at the cover with the large full moon, and the word Ouranoessa written in her cursive handwriting. I turned off the bedside lamp and released myself t
o the sweet obscurity of sleep.
The hours passed with tortuous slowness. I spent the whole day attending to procedural matters: meeting with the police and the coroner, who took a sample of my DNA to see if it matched the murdered man’s remains. He told me it would take a while to take the corresponding sample. He had to carefully remove the soil first. After all these years, the tiniest evidence could prove significant.
The police had kept the medal bearing my grandfather’s name, as well as the old sword that had become Vasilis’s murder weapon. The other side of the medal bore an image of the statue of the Winged Victory, and an inscription I could not make out. I do not know why, but all these years I’d always thought that my grandfather was alive somewhere. Maybe I had absorbed my grandmother’s wish to see him return to us some day. In a few days, I would be certain.
I was met with hostile looks as soon as I entered the cemetery. I recognized the faces of some of the people who had been at the moonlit ceremony, but paid no attention. I stood some distance away from them, and waited.
A procession of cars pulled up, and I saw Iro slowly walk in our direction. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of large sunglasses, and her hair was pulled back. She was appropriately dressed in black. Behind her, a group of pallbearers dressed in white removed the coffin from the car. Iro hesitated by the entrance, and her face froze when she noticed me. Miltos came up to her and put his arm around her shoulders, and she fell in line behind the coffin.
I don’t know why, but I did not expect to see him beside her after everything she had told me, after what he had tried to do to her during the ceremony. I wondered whether I should leave, but remained undecided. Being at the funeral of one of the men responsible for my grandfather’s death was strange. I suddenly realized that the funeral was not the reason for my presence.
A melody like a flute floated through the cemetery. I looked around, but could not determine its provenance. I walked behind the crowd, unable to decide whether I should stay or slip away. Large cypress trees sprouted among the tombs and swayed gently in the breeze, creating the illusion that the earth swayed with them.
A woman’s voice accompanied the music until we reached a spot far away from the tombs. Here, the graves bore no crosses or other religious markings. They stopped before a large, stone building with lists of names in ancient Greek carved on its walls. Nicholas, Marika, and other ancestors of the Varvis family must be buried there. An inscription on one of the walls read:
“Death will come then, when the Fates command it.”
I tried to spot Iro, but she was hidden by the assembled crowd. A small ceremony was followed by wine libations over the body. Then the coffin was sealed and placed inside the mausoleum, accompanied by whispered verses in ancient Greek.
People began to disperse, and Iro came into view, in Miltos’s arms. I don’t know why I did not leave. Perhaps because I knew this was the last time I would ever see her. Perhaps because I felt I was to blame.
All that could be heard was the rustle of the wind blowing over the tombs, whipping up a feeling of abandonment inside me. The service had been simple, unadorned, but I imagined the bulk of the rituals had taken place at the tower before they arrived.
I did not even notice Iro and Miltos walk up to me until they were standing quite close. Miltos evidently hadn’t realized who I was, because as soon as I turned to face them and he recognized me, his expression turned sour. Iro asked him to give us a minute. Reluctantly, he walked away.
I took Iro’s hand and told her how sorry I was. The feel of her skin against mine woke up all the feelings of the first time we’d touched. This time we both pulled back abruptly, feeling the same discomfort.
“Destine?” she asked, and removed her sunglasses, revealing eyes swollen from crying.
I shook my head. “I don’t think her chances are good. I’m leaving tomorrow and taking her with me, in case anything more can be done. The doctor is not hopeful.”
“She has a lot of strength. Help her fight,” Iro said. “So … you are leaving.”
“Yes. I need to go to Alexandroupolis and testify, with Vasilis.”
She grimaced at the sound of his name, and turned away. I changed the subject. “If the DNA results prove it is my grandfather, I’ll be back to bury him beside Zoe.”
“It is your grandfather, I’m certain. Thank you for not revealing anything about my father. I appreciate it. I don’t know if he was telling the truth; if he really killed your grandfather. I guess we’ll never know. He bragged about many things he never did. Of course, you are free to do as you like …”
“There comes a time when the past must be left behind,” I said.
She turned to look up at the sky. “At least your grandparents can be together now. Their story reminds me of the words of a Greek poet. Tasos Livaditis. Do you know him?”
I shook my head, and she spoke softly, in a whisper. “And when we die, bury us close to one another that we may not need to get up in the night to embrace …” Her voice broke. “Goodbye,” she said, and walked away.
In the afternoon, I went by the police station to visit Vasilis. He seemed in good spirits. I was impressed by the number of people coming to pay him a visit. The following day he would be transported to Alexandroupolis, to testify before the prosecutor. He ran the risk of not being granted bail, and having to wait for his trial in prison. I made sure to hire one of the best lawyers in the area to represent him, hoping they would grant bail and he could return to his home.
Vasilis sat on the bunk bed in the small cell, looking at the dim light that crept into the room through the bars on the window. He felt free at last. He’d always felt that his beloved friend had never left the island. He may have already suspected that Varvis had something to do with his disappearance, but violent murder in cold blood had never crossed his mind. He kept Alexandros’s confession to himself, and planned to take the secret to his grave.
Everything had fallen into place, and the only thing that troubled him now was Andreas’s relationship with Iro. He could sense their feelings were strong. He feared Varvis’s daughter, though. He feared all the Varvis women; they hid inside them aspects that made them even fiercer than the men. Her secret name, Axieros, did not just refer to the Great Mother … it was the name of a demon, too.
He intended to tell the archaeologists where he had hidden the artifacts that Nicholas had planted in Elizabeth’s house to frame Andreas for their theft. He wanted to clear his friend’s name once and for all.
He slowly removed a crumpled photo from his pocket. He brought it close to his face and tilted it toward the light. It showed Zoe sitting in her chair by the sea, looking out to Samothrace and smiling.
She was the only woman he had ever loved, even though he knew it wasn’t right. She had never guessed anything. He had hidden his feelings well. Besides, Zoe had never gotten over Andreas. She’d waited for him until the very end, leaving Vasilis no room to express his feelings.
He returned the crumpled photo to his pocket and wiped a tear from his cheek. Then he stretched out on the narrow bed, closed his eyes, and drifted off to the land of memories …
Time seemed to have slowed down all of a sudden. Minutes dragged on like hours, hours like years. I was restless. I kept driving around the island, trying to order my thoughts. My phone had been ringing nonstop, word of what had happened spreading like wildfire. Even my director had called from the States, asking if I needed anything. I wished someone could just tell me what to do. I kept making up my mind, only to change it five minutes later.
With nightfall, I found myself pacing around the garden, trying to unwind. I stopped in front of the basement door. Vasilis once told me my grandfather had slept there, many decades ago. I pushed the door, but it was locked. The edge of a key glinted under a pot of basil. That was probably my way in. I looked toward the street, checking no one was passing by, and I unlocked the door. It creaked and jammed as I opened it. I fumbled for a light switch, but found noth
ing. Using the light from my phone screen, I entered the basement.
The stale air inside and the massive cobwebs confirmed that no one had entered the basement in years. It looked like a small, abandoned antiques store filled with old furniture, oil lamps, and frames. Objects that were once considered precious now lay abandoned to mold and mice. How many memories had these forgotten things been part of?
The horn of an old gramophone was turned upside down on a table. I lifted it up, and discovered the body of the gramophone beneath it, an old, dust-covered record on the turntable. The crank had come unscrewed, and lay beside it.
I picked it all up and carefully carried it to the garden, laying everything out on the table. Using a soft cloth, I meticulously cleaned every part and screwed on the crank. I slowly replaced the horn on the gramophone and leaned back to admire my work. Time to see if it worked.
Before winding the crank, Ι poured myself a glass of wine, turned the lights off, and lit a couple of candles. It must have been years since the old gramophone had produced a single sound, and I felt the need to celebrate something. I took a long sip, then placed the needle on the record, winding up the crank. The sound of static was quickly followed by the sound of a violin, trying to liberate its music through all the scratching.
I leaned back and looked at the sky, enjoying the atmosphere of nostalgia released by the music. I whistled along, trying to follow the rhythm of the waltz. That was when I sensed a presence in the garden, and bolted upright.
Iro stood before me, gazing at me without moving. “I could watch you for hours,” she said.
I pushed down the happiness that had spontaneously surged inside me. I knew she should not be here. “Hello, Iro.”
Dominion of the Moon Page 29