That’s the only if I’m afraid of.
If you lose your child, what do they call you?
If.
What?
* * *
It’s almost four. Just two hours until daybreak. From Murderer’s Gorge Lazaros sees the “Arkadi” puffing off toward Piraeus, but doesn’t stop to look. He still has a long way to go and needs to get there in time, by six he needs to be up above the Dragon Cave, so he can see the sun rise, because there’s no doubt about it, it’s a beautiful thing to see the sun rise, it’s a good sign to see a new day dawn, the light of the sun brings hope, no matter how much darkness you have inside, the light of the sun is a kind of hope, and besides, as that dimwit Charonis said the other day, we should believe in the sun not only because we see it, but because it’s what lets us see everything else.
Lazaros is limping now as he walks, with obstinate steps and eyes trained on the ground, and as he moves they too move over the ground. His boots are covered in red mud and he doesn’t want to look at them because it’s as if tonight he’s once again passed through fields soaked in blood. Lazaros limps as he walks, to get there in time to see the sun rising out of the sea, and hears something inside him saying that the day that’s about to begin will be a red-letter day, something will happen today, you’ll see, today you’ll see good coming from the sea, today you’ll see Petros again and when you do you’ll rush at him, run toward him, grab him in your arms, you’ll squeeze and squeeze until you hear him say, Dad, stop, you’re hurting me, Dad, but you still won’t listen, you’ll just squeeze and kiss, smell and caress, the unshaven cheeks, that long hair, the fuzz on his spine, that’s how it’ll be, Lazaros limps forward, trying to forget the exhaustion and pain, he’s tired, worn out from walking all those hours, his boots are leaden, his feet are so swollen it feels like he has four of them, two in each boot, and he keeps breaking into a sweat, then getting cold again, and all the things he’s carrying feel like dead weight, he’d like to throw it all off, if only he had the balls to get rid of his clothes, his pistols and knives, and unarmed, naked, newly unburdened, he’d be so light he could run as if he were eighteen again, run like Petros, hey, folks, come and see, loonybin Lazaros stripped down to his birthday suit and lost his shit with the refubees, come and see, all the devils jumped into him and never came back out again.
Lazaros limps, out of breath, limps forward full of regret, because he’s decided he was wrong to believe what the guys in Fones said about the Dragon Cave, they must’ve been lying, those sons of bitches tricked him and now they’re sitting somewhere and laughing at him – Petros never hid in any cave, his son isn’t a rat, he wouldn’t sneak off to hide in holes and caves, that’s not how he raised his boy. He must’ve taken the boat to some deserted island, some out-of-the-way place, and decided to stay there long enough to clear his mind, think things over, collect himself. That’s what happened, for sure. You might ask, what does he do all day out there in the middle of nowhere, and for so many days? What does he eat, where does he sleep, where does he find water? And I’ll answer right back that you don’t know shit, you can’t even put two and two together, you’re like these fools down here, with a fly’s brain and the heart of a snake. Did you really believe Listen Up’s fairy tales, the stories that rat pawned off on you? Did you really believe that Petros, my Petros, two meters tall and as strong as an ox, would sit and let that squirt Drakakis cut his hair and humiliate him in front of everyone? They lied to you, don’t you see? It happened the other way around. He must’ve gotten all bent out of shape at seeing someone else get treated that way and chased the bastards down and kicked them all to kingdom come, then took the boat and went and found a place where he could be alone, to calm down, to drain all that hatred from his soul. What does he eat and drink, you ask. I’ll tell you what he eats and drinks. He eats fish he catches himself and drinks the water he brought with him on the boat. And he sleeps like a baby, like a little bird in the boat, the waves rocking him to sleep. Remember what we used to sing in the navy?
I am the sailor
of the Aegean
my bed is the waves
and my heart pumps fire
for our glorious land
I’ll brave the creatures
of the wide, dark sea
and the winds and storms
and await eagerly
the time to come
when boldly we’ll fight
our hated enemy.
He closes his eyes for a moment and tries to imagine how it’ll be. How it’ll be to see Petros coming from the sea. He’ll come from the sea, that’s the only thing that’s certain. Good will come from the sea. Unshaven, his hair a mess, his eyes red from heartache, the salt breeze, and lack of sleep. And Lazaros won’t say a thing. Nothing, nothing at all. He’ll just take him in his arms and squeeze him tight, smell him and kiss him, countless kisses, he’ll pinch his cheeks, stroke his long hair, kiss him again and again on the mouth, the cheeks, the eyes. That’s how it’ll be. Petros will come from the sea. For sure. That’s the only sure thing. It’s the only way. That’s where he’ll come from, for sure.
Good will come from the sea.
* * *
Lazaros limps forward as fast as he can, but his tongue moves faster than his feet, calling out marching songs, curses, prayers, spinning like a wheel – it’s all lies, you hear me, lies, he wouldn’t let them touch a hair on his head, I raised the boy so I should know, he won’t let anyone tell him what to do, he probably beat them all like drums and then took the boat and went off to some deserted beach to calm down, to clear his mind, that’s what happened, Lazaros limps forward as fast as he can, so he’ll get to the Dragon Cave in time to see the sun coming out big and strong and red, it’s all lies, and if you really want to know I don’t care what they call someone who loses his child, I couldn’t care less, I’m a widower and an orphan, sure, but I’m not that other thing, whatever they call it, I’m not that, I haven’t lost my child, it was just a scare, I got shaken up, but it’ll pass, maybe even today, because I know everything’s fine, everything’s fine, he’s just a kid, a man, he does crazy things sometimes, you think we weren’t as bad when we were young, everything’s fine, I’m telling you, it’s all fine, it was a dream and now it’s over, like when you see a dead fish in your dream and you worry it’s a bad omen, but now everything’s fine, tutto bene, everything’s bien, everything’s a-okay, let’s all make hay, and just you wait till my Petrakis comes back, we’ll have the biggest party you’ve ever seen, and the rats will pass by outside and stare at us, mouths hanging open, what are you looking at, bastards, what are you looking at, bitches, come over if you dare, come on over, we’ve got condoms, too, only ours aren’t full of water. Step right up, come on in. Petros, son, go get the cock socks. The boys came over for target practice.
Come on in, bastards. Come on in, bitches.
At the crossroads, between Beast’s Hole and Mougkros, he stops and bends over to catch his breath. By now his legs are as heavy as an elephant’s, sweat drips down into his eyes, hot, bitter, yellow, gallons of tsikoudia, tons of nicotine. Just a little bit longer. An hour more. Then he’ll rest once and for all. Courage. It’s not much farther. Courage.
It’ll be dawn in an hour.
* * *
If you’re looking down from the peak of the rock, two hundred fathoms above the sea, the cave is hidden from view. You have to take the overgrown path down to the middle of the slope, pass through the dark gorge, and then, when you emerge on the other side, climb down another twenty fathoms until you reach the mouth of the cave, which gapes pitch black between sharp boulders. And it has to be a calm day for you to manage all that, because the face of the rock is exposed to the wind, and when it blows at full strength, it doesn’t leave a stone standing up there.
Lazaros has been in the cave three times in the past few days, and each time he spat blood to get down there, and
to get back up afterward. Dizzy, scared, hands chafed raw, at times he thought he would surely leave his bones there on the rocks. And yet he would climb down again today if there were any reason to. But there isn’t. It’s over, it’s all cleared up, no sense talking about it anymore. Petros will come from the sea, not the cave. That’s how it’ll happen, for sure.
I know it.
He glances over the black cliff that yawns beneath his feet, then steps back and sits and takes off his boots and socks. He loosens the sheath of his hunting knife from his calf, pulls the pistol out of his belt, strips off his vest and shirt. He sets it all by his side, along with the walking stick and flashlight, and stretches his bruised and swollen legs. He lies down on his back on the damp rock, feeling a sweet shiver spread through his limbs. Then he lifts his legs in the air and with a single sudden movement pulls off his pants and underwear together. Naked now, he splays his arms and legs wide and with his eyes closed lets his body cool, rest, breathe. He smiles at the thought that when Petros arrives in the boat he’ll see a little man off in the distance, entirely naked, jumping up and down and waving his arms on the peak of the rock.
The day will be dawning any moment now. He can tell from how the north wind is slowly gathering strength, rippling the sea, and carrying the scents of oregano, sage, and rosemary all the way up to where he is – scents that make Lazaros’s nostrils quiver and his heart beat more quickly because they remind him of other times, heroic times, times when he felt sure and strong, sure he would become somebody, not nobody, a whole man, not half a man, a man who wouldn’t know how it feels to say I’m afraid or I can’t, a man who struggled to bring life to his size rather than let life cut him down to its size instead. A whole man, not half a man.
We’re fine, says Lazaros, looking at the dim light that’s starting to glow off in the distance, behind the white clouds. It was just a scare, it’ll pass. And if we said hurtful things to one another, it’s fine, we’re men. I did it for you. So you wouldn’t end up like those little people who waste their lives grazing on nickels and dimes because they don’t have the balls to get out there and hunt down the real money. And if you’re going to hunt for money you have to go out with the guys who know how to hunt. I did it for you, hear? So you wouldn’t live a life full of hate. That’s why poor people suffer. First they hate people with money, then they hate themselves for being poor, and finally they end up hating the whole world. And hatred is the worst thing of all, even worse than money. That’s why I told you, my boy, that you have to learn to love money. So your heart doesn’t fill with hate. I did it for you. Do you hear me, Petrakis? My light, my life, do you hear me?
He gets to his feet and looks again over the edge of the cliff, measuring the darkness between him and the darkness down there. His knees buckle, he feels something tremble inside him, low, between his legs. He takes a step back and kneels on the rock and decides to await the new day just like that, naked, on his knees.
I may have been wrong, though. Do you hear me, Petrakis? Petros, Petrakis, my good boy. You hear what I’m saying? I may have been wrong. There may be some other way, some other path. Maybe you’ll find that other path and follow it. Maybe you already did. Come back, my boy, come back and do as you like. I swear I won’t ever tell you what to do again. Come and say I’m a crazy old fool, a drunk, nothing but a taverna owner. Come and say whatever you like, curse me up and down, tell me I’m a piece of trash. But come back. Let me see you again, my Petros, that’s all I want. When you’re here, two hearts beat in my chest. Without you, there’s none at all. Petros, Petrakis, my good boy. Come back to me. Come, my light. My Petros. Come.
On his knees, Lazaros pleads, mutters to himself, eyes wide-open, hands hugging his arms, until his voice becomes a whisper and finally disappears, it too blown away on the north wind which is still gathering strength.
Day breaks, and Lazaros the Bow, naked, kneeling, silent, stares with wide-open eyes at the sun as it rises from the horizon like a burning fingertip a baby giant is raising ever so timidly into the sky, a baby from some other world lifting its finger to touch for the first time, mad with anticipation and joy, the clouds to the east that keep swapping color for color, turning white and silver and yellow, then orange and red, deep red clouds, huge clouds that seem born not of water but of an endless sea of blood.
On July 9, 1956, our island was hit by the biggest tsunami the Aegean ever saw. My father says he remembers that day clearly – though in 1956 he hadn’t even been born. The earthquake happened at five in the morning, 7.5 on the Richter scale, south of Amorgos, and an hour later, the tsunami broke at a speed of three hundred kilometers an hour against Inner Island and destroyed everything in its path, from up above the Dragon Cave all the way down to Boatbreak. At Hosti the waves reached a height of 25 meters and broke a whole kilometer inland, all the way to the Hanged Man’s stream. Fishing boats, houses, fields, all gone. For three whole days the color of the sea turned from blue to red and gray. And the people, who were still living in the dark ages and had no idea what a tsunami was, or underwater erosion and shallow depths of focus, climbed up to the top of Mount War and hid in caves and dropped to their knees and begged forgiveness from God, because they were certain that the Second Coming was at hand.
As if it were yesterday, my father says. I remember it all. There were signs back then, and signs now, too. Lots of signs back then, and even more now. If you see a big fire burning by the sea and people rifling through the charred remains, you can be sure the end is coming. And if you see a turtle with a long nail stuck clean through its head, coming back out at the base of its neck, and it doesn’t die all at once but slowly and torturously of starvation, you can be sure the end is coming. Unless. Unless, he says, smiling, and winks at me. You understand.
Of course, I say. I understand you perfectly. Loud and clear. Loud and clear, over and out. All the way out, as out as it gets.
Bravo, that’s my girl. Come over here and I’ll kiss you a clover, one, two, three kisses make a clover – and a fourth makes it lucky. You got that, too, right? Smart as a jackal, my girl.
Have you ever been kissed by someone who’s had a stroke? Isn’t it strange? The twisted mouth, the frothy saliva, the breath that smells of pills and something burnt. The mouth, that’s the hardest part. It’s a true art to manage to be suitably kissed by a crooked mouth, to stand properly before a crooked mouth that wants to kiss you more than anything.
That night his shouts woke me. He was sitting up in bed, holding a long nail in his good hand, his left. I froze. I said to myself, now he’s going to swallow it or plunge it into one of his eyes and that’ll be that, it’ll all be over. Where did he find that nail, can you tell me that? I’m asking, I’m really asking. He can’t even get out of bed on his own. Where did he find it? He gestured to me with his hand to come closer. In the dim light he seemed so pale and thin, as if he were already gone.
It’s fine, we saved it, he said. Fortunately the brain wasn’t harmed. I put on some waterproof antiseptic. It’s still pretty dazed, but I think it’ll pull through. But there’s a lot of pain there, a lot of suffering. At any rate, I’m optimistic. It’ll pull through.
He raised the nail above his head and looked at it, then placed it in my palm and closed his fingers around mine.
Keep this, he said, to remember me by. Remember how I fought until the very end, fought to keep the end at bay. Remember that.
Kites in July
What makes rainbows curved?
Artemis raised her arm and with one outstretched finger traced the arc of the rainbow that seemed to stretch all the way from Naxos to Amorgos and beyond. It had stopped raining only a short while ago, and the sea still churned and the sky to the west was already starting to darken again.
Why are they curved? she asked once more.
Come on, let’s get out of here, Stavros said. Looks to me like we’re headed for more rain.
&n
bsp; He stood and tried to shake the dark specks off his legs. The air smelled burnt. He could barely believe it. Two days later and the burnt smell was still there. Those rats had done a fine job. Real professionals. It was all ash now, nothing was left standing. Only the walls, but when the real rains came in winter they would fall too. After all, this had just been a summer shower and it still dragged the rubble all the way to the sea. It scattered charred objects everywhere, and the water ran black between the rocks. The air smelled burnt, too. He could barely believe it.
He could barely believe any of it.
He glanced over at Artemis who was sitting on a rock, still running her finger between the rainbow’s two ends. He thought about telling her it was bad luck to point at a rainbow but knew how she would respond, so he kept quiet. She’d set a few bottles of wine by her feet that for some reason hadn’t burst in the fire. She found some other things, too, digging through the ruins. New things, old things, things they bought specifically for the restaurant and others they’d brought with them from Athens. The painting they had hung near the door, of a tall, lean sprite dressed in bright colors, like the joker in a deck of cards, skipping along playing a pipe with a pack of rats trailing behind. A windmill with blades like white birds, a bronze mermaid sitting on a rock, two lanterns shaped like lighthouses, and a small orange life preserver that said mermaids welcome on it in white letters. Those were the sorts of things she had picked out of the ruins. Their things, blackened, distorted.
Are you ready? he said. Let’s go.
He climbed down to the sea, rock by rock, washed his hands, then stood and looked up at the rainbow, too. It truly was huge. He closed first his right eye and then the left because he’d heard somewhere that rainbows look different if you look at them through different eyes.
Good Will Come From the Sea Page 11