9 Tales Told in the Dark 10

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

  She pulled her phone out of her purse. Still no messages received. From anyone.

  It was now after 3 p.m. and she had meant to call Jolie at two. She texted her: Where are you???? Have you gotten any of my texts??? CALL ME ASAP!!!

  She pushed send firmly as if that would help ensure the message went through. There, that ought to raise some alarm bells. She scrolled through her messages but she hadn’t received any since she’d arrived in Greece. The uneasiness in her stomach, that rolling sea of sharp panic, began to swell. No one knew where she was, she wasn’t able to contact anyone…

  The generic ambience of the room abruptly shifted, pulling Denise out of her thoughts. She looked up from her phone, wondering what had changed.

  Her first glimpse of her Aunt took her breath away for a moment.

  Athina Panagakos was radiant. She stood in the doorway in a bright green and blue caftan that was billowy and striking. The colors were patterned in a paisley swirl that seemed to vibrant and pulse gently, as if breathing. Her long gray hair was a thick curly mass that silhouetted her in a dynamic fashion, as if a mass of energy was at work behind her.

  Athina’s eyes were bright green and appeared to glitter and sparkle at Denise with tremendous affection and tenderness. There was an emotional depth of familiarity that caused Denise to have an immediate and desperate longing for this woman, her mother’s sister; her throat tightened and tears welled up. Athina’s expressive eyes had been so clear, focused and shown such love that Denise had immediately gone to her.

  Athina gently clasped Denise’s face in her warm hands, smiled at her beatifically, the lines in her face accenting the warmth in her eyes and the healthy glow that emulated from her. She was a nurturing and vibrant woman, a classic earth mother.

  “Denise.” Her Aunt’s voice was warm, husky and the one word, her name, caused Denise to feel loved and comforted, two things she hadn’t even known she desperately yearned for.

  The women embraced.

  “Oh, Denise,” Athina murmured, holding Denise close. Before she had enfolded herself into her Aunt, Denise had recognized her mother’s face. They continued to hold one another, neither wanting to be the first to end the communion. Denise felt as if she was under a spell, so transcendent was the experience. There was no place more important to be at that moment than in her mother’s embrace…

  It’s your Aunt, she managed to remind herself, the correction pulled up as if from the depths of a thick, muggy bog, so fuzzy were her thoughts.

  Embarrassed by the exposure of her emotions, Denise wiped the tears from her face and stepped back from her Aunt. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me…”

  “We are family, “Athina replied simply, her thick accent both knowing and confident. “That is why you are here. Family goes back a long, long way.”

  Michail assisted Athina to the sofa; she accepted his arm but seemed strong and not at all infirmed. Denise joined her at the couch while Michail pulled a chair from the dining table. Once they were all seated, Denise simply waited, knowing her Aunt would tell her the reason why she was there. She felt calm now, almost serene and all her concerns about the texts not being returned receded like boats on a far horizon.

  Seeing her up close, Denise surmised that Athina could have been any age, from her 60s to her 80s. Under the flowing gown, she had a robust figure with full, firm breasts; Denise had felt them against her during their embrace. Her Aunt was no aging stick figure like so many elderly women; she had a vibrant, full figure and a sensual, teasing air about her. Something about her drew Denise and she found herself reach her hands out to her Aunt, wanting to touch her again, to make contact. Athina held Denise’s hands firmly between her own; they were strong and large and Denise was surprised to feel callouses. As her Aunt spoke, she gently squeezed and massaged Denise’s hands and the rough skin soon began to burn her hands but Denise allowed it, having no desire or will to pull away.

  Denise sat very still, her breathing slowed and all she was aware of was the great love and contentment that enveloped her as she looked into her Aunt’s eyes and the depth and wisdom behind them. It was as if they were windows into another land, another world of such harmony and oneness that there was no need to ever look away, to ever gaze at another image. Michail remained nearby but he might has well have been in another room, house or on another island.

  “‘To…tell…is…to…do,’” Athina said, each word carefully stated so her accent did not distract from their meaning. “Do you understand?”

  Lulled into serenity, Denise was startled when her Aunt spoke. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “When I tell you what the ritual is, then you agree to do it,” Athina said.

  “What ritual?” Denise gently removed her hands from Athina’s grasp and glancing down, was surprised to see portions of her hands appeared to be mildly sunburned and were hot to the touch. The palms and fingers stung and tingled as if she had grabbed and released a scalding object.

  “Your hands are willing,” Athina said, smiling with approval as she and Michail watched Denise examine her fingers and palms. Michail shifted excitedly in his chair and it creaked sharply under his weight. Denise saw him and Athina exchange a glance, pleased with themselves.

  “What is this?” Denise asked. “What did you do to my hands?”

  “It is merely a confirmation that you are willing,” Athina said.

  “What do you mean?” The burning on her hands remained. They stung as if she had been sharply slapped.

  “I tell you the ritual now. Remember, to tell is to do.” Her Aunt seemed to be rushing things along. Denise sensed a threat in the statement, something she hadn’t detected before. Do as I say, or else…

  “We wash the bones of the departed,” Aunt Athina said, leaning forward and speaking quietly to Denise. “We women do it as a blessing and as protection. It is always the oldest and I will teach you.”

  “Protection? Against what?” Denise asked, trying to comprehend what her Aunt was saying, wanting to back up and start the conversation over again.

  Athina continued, ignoring Denise’s question. “You never had children. You had chances, two men in your life, but you never produced children.”

  “I…I never wanted children,” Denise managed to say, surprised and taken aback by the intimate details her Aunt knew about her and her two marriages. There was a sense of disapproval she was hearing from her Aunt and that irritated her.

  Never wanting children had been the real reason both marriages had eventually collapsed. But no one knew that, not even Jolie. Denise’s own childhood had been so lonely and disappointing that she never felt she could do right by her own child, so she chose to never risk that failure. She had been honest and upfront before each marriage but both men had surprisingly changed their minds just months into the marriage and decided they wanted children, at least one. “Imagine raising a little girl?” they had both said, which had struck her as odd; didn’t guys always want boys? But both men had been adamant that they wanted a baby girl with her. There was a sudden urgency behind their desire, as if there was a time clock running down or a deadline had been set that she wasn’t aware of. She had been firm and never allowed herself to get pregnant, but also puzzled as to why each man had been so intent on having children. Her denying each man a child had eventually doomed both relationships.

  How had her Aunt known this, and how much more did she know?

  “Yes, you never wanted children…so that is what brings you here today,” Athina said, her tone suddenly tinged with sadness and regret. “I will teach you the ritual and you will…continue it when I am gone.”

  Michail said, “The women perform the ritual, always the oldest women. You have no daughters, so you will perform the ceremony after Athina departs.”

  “No, I don’t want any part of this,” Denise said, standing up and feeling light headed for a moment. Her Aunt and Michail remained seated. “I really don’t hold to these old world
customs of yours.”

  “Your hands are willing, and to tell is to do,” Aunt Athina said, nonplused by Denise’s outburst. “Come, we shall begin now.”

  Athina stood and then turned and started down the hallway, followed by Michail who didn’t make a move this time to assist the elderly women.

  “What about my mother?” Denise called out. “Why didn’t you ever talk to her when she was alive?”

  Denise watched them disappear around the corner as if they hadn’t heard her.

  “Why didn’t you call me when you heard she had died?”

  She listened but the house was silent.

  “Aunt Athina?”

  Everything had so quickly collapsed around her that Denise found herself confused and angry and uncertain what to do next. She called out to them again and started down the hallway but stopped, realizing that it was best if she just left. They were crazy with their rituals and old world ways. If she stayed, it would just be more of their mad talk. It was tragic that she had come all this way. No wonder her parents had rarely mentioned Athina. The truth was that she was just a crazy old woman who lived on some island in Greece.

  Denise grabbed her purse and when her hand gripped the handle of her luggage, she felt the sting of her burned fingers.

  Outside, the harsh sunlight immediately blinded her. She had grown accustomed to the cool darkness of her Aunt’s home and it took Denise several moments until her eyes adjusted. Before her was the labyrinth of pathways she had maneuvered as she had climbed the hill. She was now looking down on them and she could see what a complicated maze it was. Blue roofs and blue shutters and stark white homes in the bright glare were all she saw, like a repeating pattern. Each dwelling was identical and the curvy white stone pathways between them—many with treacherous blind alleys—seemed to taunt her; a daunting task was ahead.

  There were three pathways to choose from as she started down the hill, away from the house with the brown door, the home that didn’t belong there. It was hot and the sun was impossibly large and high, making the sky more yellow than blue. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly 4 p.m. It made no sense that the sun was still positioned almost overhead. It should be setting, she thought as she chose a path and started down, her suitcase rumbling along the stone as she pulled it behind her. The sun shouldn’t be at high noon.

  The heat and the motionless sun burning down directly overhead quickly tired Denise. With no shadows created, she was left without a compass or guide as she made her way along the pathways. There was no east or west. She was sweaty and thirsty within minutes. All she knew to do was to make her way straight down the hill, but the stone paths only weaved lazily around the village, taking her parallel to the water without getting her any closer to it.

  She panted, out of breath as her luggage grumbled behind her as she pulled it along. Twice she knocked at doors but no one answered. The dead ends become more frequent and, frustrated, she cursed at each blind alley. She doubled back and wiped the sweat from her forehead and finally had to stop, she was so out of breath, hot and thirsty. Her mouth was sticky dry and her legs ached from the earlier climb up the hill and now the ragged scramble down. She had no idea where she was since the blue and white homes were identical. It didn’t seem she was any closer to the water at the base of the village either. Her palms and fingers still stung from whatever Athina had done to her when they had held hands.

  Denise continued along the pathway but soon admitted she was hopelessly lost. It was now after five in the evening according to her watch but the sun was still stuck stubbornly overhead at noontime. This is all so crazy, she thought, and I am so exhausted and thirsty. She pulled her phone out and shielding it from the sun, tried to see the screen, tried to turn it on.

  She couldn’t believe what she saw.

  The battery was dead.

  Suddenly, everything that had occurred crashed into her at once and shattered into dozens of pieces, digging in deep and tearing into her until she felt like a lost five-year-old who was unable to deal with the weight of everything that was wrong. She pulled her luggage over to the side of the stone walkway and began to sob, collapsing under the strain of emotions and the events that had unfolded around her. She sat down with her back against the white wall of another anonymous blue roofed, blue-shuttered home and wept.

  “Signomi?”

  Denise looked up, startled. A young woman was there, a concerned look on her face.

  “Yassas,” the woman said, which Denise knew was a greeting of some sort. She quickly wiped her face and leaned on her luggage handle to help her stand up. She was so tired and thirsty, she wasn’t even sure the woman was really in front of her.

  “Milatay…?

  “I need help,” Denise said, having no idea what the woman was saying.

  The woman shook her head and shrugged. “Den Katalaveno.”

  “Water!” Denise cried, and mimed drinking something. If nothing else, perhaps she would provide her with a drink.

  The woman nodded eagerly and gestured for Denise to follow. She darted on ahead, quickly making her way along the pathways with no hesitation, and Denise felt a great sense of relief that the woman knew where she was going and would provide some water and shelter from the heat. The luggage chattered along the cobblestone paths as Denise dragged it after her, hurrying after the young woman.

  Denise caught up with her standing in the back of one of the small, ancient churches that seemed attached to every home Denise had passed. As she caught her breath, she noticed that the red paint on the domed roof had faded over the years and the cross at the top was missing, but there was a bell in the second archway with a tattered rope attached to it.

  “Water?” Denise mimed again, panting. The woman nodded and gestured for Denise to follow her as she pushed against the old, splintery wood door of the small church. To the left of the entry was a faded etching in the stone that looked familiar to Denise. In the blinding sunlight, it took a moment for her to make out the image of a woman pouring water over three piles of bones. Denise had seen the same stone etching in the village square.

  She followed the woman into the cool darkness of the small church, pulling her luggage in after her and pushing the heavy door closed behind.

  Denise sighed with relief. Not having the harsh sun on her back immediately made her feel better; she didn’t want to think about the horrible sunburn she had obtained while wandering the pathways. The cool church air had the perfumed smell of incense and ancient books. The woman was in front of her, moving slowly down a narrow passage. There were no lights inside and the only illumination was from one small archway above them that permitted a square shaft of sunlight to pierce the gloom. The interior of the church was white stone like the outside and the walls and ceiling were all smoothly curved as if they were made of clay.

  Denise placed her purse on top of her luggage and left them by the entry. After walking down the short passage, she turned the corner and encountered a set of steps going down into darkness. The sunlight behind her from the high window didn’t reach very far. In the sudden dimness, Denise hesitated. There was nowhere else to go but down the steps. She assumed the woman was heading below to a well or underground spring for the water. She could hear the scrape of the woman’s feet as she continued down into the bowels of the church.

  “Hello?” Denise said, peering into the darkness. Her voice echoed back at her.

  The woman called out in return but she already seemed terribly far below in the gloom and blackness. Denise didn’t want to lose her so she started down the steps as quickly as she could, but it was if she was blind. Her footfalls echoed and scraped on each step and she kept her left arm on the wall and her right arm in front of her in case the ceiling sloped down suddenly.

  The deeper she went, the rougher and coarser the wall became. She felt the sharp crevasses nick her hand at times and then the sticky sensation that indicated blood had been drawn. The steps became cracked and uneven—how far down did they go
?—and twice she almost fell into the black abyss, crying out in terror but regaining her balance both times. With her heart pounding and her breath in panicking gasps, she called out again to the woman.

  No response this time. She wondered again how deep underground the church went. She took more tentative steps down and then listened, straining to hear the woman.

  Two more steps and then Denise made herself blink several times to clear her vision. Was she seeing something? She blinked again and took another careful step, and then another. Yes, there was faint illumination below. She continued carefully down the steps, growing more confident the closer she got to the light.

  Finally, she arrived on what seemed to be a landing. To her right was a closed door. The yellow light came from behind it, creeping around the edges and beneath the base.

  Breathing heavily, her left hand slick with blood, Denise approached the door. Her shoes crunched on the rocky floor. She listened for a moment but heard nothing. She then felt in the darkness for the handle and pulled the surprisingly heavy door open.

  In the dimness before her, she squinted and was able to make out an alcove with three people seated around a table. Two torches were stuck in dark cracks in the stone and they provided the yellow flickering light. The cave-like area was cold and Denise shuddered and rubbed her shoulders to warm herself. As her eyes adjusted, she recognized two of the figures at the same moment they turned to her.

  Aunt Athina and Michail, their faces orange and yellow as they faced her in the torchlight, smiled in warm greeting.

  “Denise!” they said, their voices welcoming. Michail stood and approached her as Denise took a step back. The third figure was the woman who had led Denise to the church.

  “What are you doing here?” Denise asked, confused and frightened. “How did—”