9 Tales Told in the Dark 10

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

  The porter waited for her across the lobby, smiling professionally.

  “Yes,” Denise said, and hurried to catch up with him. “I’m coming.”

  The room was as incredible and plush as the lobby had been and she had a breathtaking view of the Acropolis. The porter had gone out of his way to point out the views and how the television and air conditioner and other amenities worked and how whatever she needed was just a phone call away. He even asked for her phone and after fumbling with it for a moment, placed it in the charger for her.

  “The one complaint people have is that they are so excited to be here, they forget to charge their phone,” he said, “so no communication, no ability to take pictures. That’s why the hotel provides chargers in each room.”

  He told her that her Aunt had secured a dinner reservation for her that evening at the hotel’s GB Roof Garden. Once he had confirmed she was settled in her room, he said that a car would pick her up at eight-thirty the next morning.

  “Where am I going?” she had asked, delighted and a bit dazed at everything her Aunt had prearranged for her.

  “All I know is that you have a car that will take you to the airport for your flight to Santorini tomorrow.”

  An hour later, after she had showered, she checked her text messages again. No response from Jolie which was weird; they both lived on their phones and it appeared the texts had gone through. No other messages either.

  Gazing at the ancient citadel, she marveled to herself how far she had come, both figuratively and literally, in less than a week. She yawned and while she wanted to wander about the beautiful city, she knew she needed a nap.

  Two hours later, after the delicious dinner, Denise strolled around Athens, spellbound at the beauty of the ancient land. The sun stretched lazily across the streets, its golden, butterscotch light turning purple and then blue as it set. In the twilight, the past and present truly met as she window-shopped at the city’s finest boutiques while the Acropolis hill watched over her.

  Back in her room, she looked over the note she had been given when she had been seated at the restaurant. It was written on her Aunt’s stationary and the message was short and said little more than what the porter had divulged:

  Denise:

  Here is your ticket for Santorini. You’ll be met when you land and then brought to me. I knew you’d come.

  Athina

  Now exhausted by the long day, Denise slid beneath the satin sheets. The bed seemed to embrace her, and she yielded quickly to sleep, her last lingering thought a troubling one: Why hadn’t Jolie responded to her texts?

  The next morning, Denise stopped by the reception desk before leaving to ask the woman about Wi-Fi service.

  “I don’t think my texts are being sent or received,” she had said.

  “We have excellent service here and have received no complaints. If you’d like, I could have one of our technicians check and assist you with your phone service?”

  Before Denise could respond, the driver for the airport had appeared at her side and they left the hotel. He was an older man who turned on the radio as soon as she was settled in the car so she was unable to engage him in conversation. He kept glancing at her, his black bushy eyebrows and dark eyes framed by the rearview mirror. She’d see him and he’d see her watching him and he always looked away.

  In the car, she sent some more texts to Jolie and then tried some other friends but no one responded to her. She didn’t want to incur the costs of an international call but decided she’d call Jolie at two that afternoon—nine o’clock in the evening New York time—just to be sure she was all right.

  And to let her know I’m all right.

  The flight to Santorini was short, less than an hour. Again, there were cats milling about the airport and a driver waiting for her. He was as sullen and quiet as the previous driver, merely holding the sign and when she approached, snatching up her luggage. She hurried after him and barely had the backseat door closed before the car was started and jerked out of the airport lot.

  Santorini was a volcanic island and as the car sped up the narrow, winding roads, they passed small villages and towns. She glanced out the window and saw houses clinging to the top of a crescent-shaped cliff. The landscape was beautiful but she had no idea where she was headed other than upward.

  “Where are we going?” Denise finally asked over the rumble of the car on the rocky road. “Where does my Aunt live?”

  “Pyrgos,” the driver said, his voice thick. “It is the highest spot on this island,” he added, as if that explained everything.

  A few minutes later, he pulled the car over. “We’re here.”

  Denise climbed out and looked about her while he yanked her luggage from the trunk. She couldn’t help smiling with pleasure at what she saw. Pyrgos was a picturesque hillside village with narrow winding paths that followed the natural flow of the surrounding landscape. Everywhere there were small white houses of Cycladic design, with blue roofs and matching shutters. She slowly turned in a circle, acquiring a three hundred-sixty degree view. It was truly a magical place, like Shangri-La or Middle Earth or Oz.

  Her luggage was placed next to her and the man pointed to a street on her right.

  “Up there, you will find a house. Brown door. Brown shutter. Old. Cracked front.” He waited, watching her to see if she understood.

  Denise nodded. “That’s where my Aunt lives.”

  “Old house. Doesn’t belong here,” he said with a whiff of regret in his tone. “You can find it.” Then he climbed back in his car and before Denise could think of anything to say, the engine started and the car rumbled down the hill and was quickly out of sight.

  It was hot out and Denise decided to stop at one of the tiny shops before she started up the pathway. She wished she knew how far up she’d have to walk, something she would have asked the driver. The shopkeeper spoke little English and addressed most of her attention to the cats that freely roamed about the merchandise. After Denise paid for her bottled water, the woman dug around under the counter for a moment and then emerged with a tattered brochure about the village that was written in English. Elated, she pushed it into Denise’s hands at the same time one of the cats hopped on the counter, demanding attention.

  Outside, Denise drank from the bottled water as she read over the brochure. Based on what she learned, the driver had left her in the village square, where there were the remains of an old church with a red roof (“red indicates the blood of Christ or the sacred” according to the brochure) that was built in 1712. A large ancient sycamore tree resided in the center of the small square. To Denise, it’s thick trunk and knotty, exposed roots vaguely resembled a mass of twisted, withering human bodies. Something stirred deep inside of her and she found it discomforting to look at the tree.

  She turned and wandered over to the east side of the square. There was a timeworn curved rock the size of king sized bed with markings on it. The brochure said that according to ancient folklore, the village was rumored to have been the site of a massive, secret temple that had been set aside by a mythical cult for the worship of Eulogia (“pronounced yoo-log-ee’-ah”), the goddess of bones. Her name meant “blessing” and “protection” so it was presumed she was invoked to ensure good will and protection for those who lived in the village. Etched in the rock was the goddess pouring liquid from a bowl over three piles of bones, which were said to represent the people of the village. Behind the goddess, a huge, shapeless silhouette, menacing by its very presence, was engraved into the rock and it extended to the borders of the stone.

  Denise reached out and touched the rock, running her fingers over the ancient grooves and carved images. At the moment she made contact, a strange, incoherent memory of a phrase was triggered: “For now and ever, and to the ages of ages...”

  The words came to Denise like a sad and forgotten song lyric, in a rush and complete. The remembrance, recalled out of nowhere, choked her up for a moment and in the bright sunlight of Greece
, she felt a sorrow and longing for her mother that she hadn’t experienced in years. Tears were in her eyes and her throat was tight with emotion. She removed her hand from the stone and took a sip of water.

  Where did that all come from, she wondered, as she worked to compose herself. She folded up the brochure and with a firm grip on her luggage and her purse slung over her shoulder, she turned away from the village square and large curved rock and started up the street in search of her Aunt’s home.

  Brown door. Brown shutter. Old. Cracked front. Old house. Doesn’t belong here.

  The streets were narrow, twisty, almost like a labyrinthine. Each house was identical to the next one: starch white with a blue roof and blue shutters. There were no yards or space for landscaping so there were no landmarks to remember. She recalled reading in the brochure that in order to protect its people from enemies, Pyrgos was built as a complex maze of slender streets and alleys, fortified walls and hidden passages.

  Every street looked the same and some of them stopped abruptly in a dead end, which would trap the enemy. Then the villagers of Pyrgos could easily attacked and destroy their cornered prey. As Denise worked her way up the street, she soon was out of breath and thought, if the invaders didn’t get lost or end up cornered, they probably passed out from exhaustion.

  Twice she ended up facing a wall and was forced to double back. It was hot out and her water bottle was now empty. But each time she retraced her steps, she was slightly rejuvenated by the magnificent view of Santorini; she could see every side of the island and almost every village. It was truly a magical place and she couldn’t wait to meet the Aunt who brought her here.

  Her luggage grumbled behind her as she pulled it up the hill, the wheels clattering over the rock pathway. She passed several small churches; some were so minute, they appeared to be shrines for family prayer. Apparently, it was a deeply religious community. She continued to climb and wondered where all the villagers were? Each home was shut up tight and even on such a beautiful day, the windows were closed.

  The higher she climbed, the windier it became. She paused several times to take in the view but mostly to catch her breath.

  Whitewashed streets. Steps. Alleyways. Blue roofs. Steps. Churches. Dead end. Blue shutters. Steps. Steps. Steps. Blue roofs. Steps. Blue shutters. Blue roofs. Steps. Blue shutters.

  Then, finally: Brown door. Brown shutter. Old. Cracked front. Old house. Doesn’t belong here.

  With a huge sigh, Denise pulled her luggage to her side and let her purse slip from her shoulder to her hand. This had to be her Aunt’s home. It was the only one that matched what the driver had said. Every other house was blue and white and well cared for. This one was pretty old and there was a large, jagged crack down the front wall, like a bolt of lightning. The house was so different from the others, it really didn’t belong; it was crumbing and the paint was chipping and peeling and it was severely weather beaten. If this poor stone shack was where her Aunt lived, how had she managed to provide a first class plane ticket and a night at that fancy hotel?

  Denise brushed back her hair and did the best she could to compose herself before meeting her Aunt, but there really wasn’t much she could do. Once she had managed to control her breath after the long hike up the hill, she knocked on the battered wooden door. A couple flakes of paint came off on her knuckle and as she swept away the brown dust, she wondered if it had once been red paint? All the other houses had been blue.

  The door opened and a handsome man in his forties stood in the shadows. “Denise!” he said, clearly delighted to see her. He stepped into the sunshine and tightly embraced her before she could respond. He continued to hold her closely and she heard him murmuring in her ear something in Greek, over and over.

  He finally released her and stepped back into the shadows of the house. “I am Michail and we are so glad you are here!”

  “Hello, Michail,” she said, flustered and then suddenly tired, so sleepy she felt her eyes grow heavy. The long and confusing climb up to the house and the journey to get to the village and the time difference all seemed to pounce on her at once. Plus, the heat and the need for water…

  “Here, come in,” he said, and she surmised her sudden exhaustion was clearly evident. He gently led her into the cool darkness of the house. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness of the room while behind her, she heard the low growl of her luggage as he wheeled it into the house and closed the door.

  “Why don’t you sit down there,” Michail said, gesturing to a low sofa a few feet in front of Denise to her left. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

  She sank into the thick, cushiony sofa, feeling light headed. When did I last eat? In front of her was a simple wood coffee table with two apples resting on a silver tray. Her mouth began to water. Across from her was a hallway and further to her left were two curved alcoves, each containing a color vase in front of a small window. A long, low counter stacked with books and magazines was below the windows, and the kitchen was back behind a simple round table with two red and two blue chairs. The walls were stone white and there were no sharp corners; everything was smoothly arched and looked seamless to Denise.

  Michail appeared to her left with a large chilled bottle of water and a glass with sliced lemons in it. She gratefully poured the liquid into the glass, glad that he had not given her local tap water since she had read it was not the best for tourists.

  After she had drank half the water and placed the chilled glass to her forehead, she sighed. “Thank you. I don’t think I realized how thirsty I was as I forged my way up the hill. That’s quite a walk.”

  “You’re hungry, too,” he told her, and hurried out of the room before she could respond. She sipped some more of the water, then finished it and he appeared with bread wrapped in a napkin, a fresh Greek salad, and another bottle of water.

  “Here,” he said, “I had this all ready in case you were hungry. Enjoy. And thank you for coming.”

  She had so many questions but the tomatoes were fresh and ripe and bright red, and like Eve and the apple, she set upon the meal immediately, realizing she was famished.

  When Denise had finished eating, she said, “Thank you so much, Michail. I think I was about to faint! May I use your bathroom, please?”

  He led her down the hallway. The bathroom was pale pink and purple and all the plumbing seemed modern and in working order. Denise mused that after seeing the front of the house with the peeling paint and rough exterior, she had not been expecting much but the interior seemed clean and in good condition. It was modestly furnished and could almost be considered sleek modern in style due the scarcity of decorations—nothing at all on the walls and every surface was stark white—but it was clearly a well-cared for home. Or at least the interior was.

  She returned to the living room refreshed and feeling a thousand times better. She resumed her spot on the sofa where Michail was already seated.

  “I have so many questions,” she said, trying to think of where to begin. “Is my Aunt here?”

  “Yes, she’s resting now but I told her you were here and she’ll be with us shortly.”

  “How did she locate me? I don’t remember ever meeting her and my mother never mentioned being in touch with her. She never really spoke about her at all…”

  Michail smiled. “Google! It was really not that difficult.” He grinned at her but she was surprised at the answer, disquieted that it had been so cold and indifferent. Just an Internet search had brought her here.

  “But why didn’t she call me? I tried the number on the package but no one answered.”

  “The reception here is often terrible. People usually leave the village to make or receive calls.” His smile remained. He was handsome and she glanced at his left hand and saw a silver wedding ring. She also noticed that he didn’t really answer her question.

  “She knows her sister died, right?”

  He nodded, but said nothing more.

  “Why didn’t she reach out to me
then? Why weren’t they in contact all these years?”

  He shrugged. “I really don’t know much about that…part of your family’s relationships.”

  Denise tried a different tact. “Did my Aunt ever visit me or my parents? I don’t remember but maybe I was only a child…”

  “No, she has never left the island.”

  “Really?” This surprised Denise but she didn’t want to pry as to the reason. Instead, she said, “She has been so generous to me with the plane ticket and the lovely hotel. Does she…I mean, she doesn’t even know me and has already spent so much…”

  His smile broadened. “She does not have much as you can see by this house, but she also spends very little so she had enough set aside to bring you here.”

  Although she was getting a few answers, they seemed to be opening the door to more questions, but she continued, suddenly asking, “Oh, who is Periklis?”

  “Her husband.”

  “And he died?” she prompted, more questions blossoming.

  “Yes, three years ago.”

  “So why did she need me, whom she’s never met, to be here…now?”

  “She needs your help,” he said simply.

  Frustrated at the lack of depth in the answers, Denise asked, “For what? What does she need me to help her with? Why is it so urgent I be here now?”

  “For the washing of the bones,” he said.

  “For the what?”

  “It’s better if she explains. Wait here, I’ll go and bring her to you.”

  Denise remained sitting on the couch although she wanted to follow Michail, wanted to continue pulling information from him. Her questions kept rising up like a small, relentless army. She hadn’t even had a chance to ask what his relationship was to her Aunt. And she still couldn’t shake the feeling that getting her to Greek had been so impersonal, just looking her name up on-line and sending her a ticket. Not even a phone call to explain any of this, just come, be here.