by Celia Scott
She ignored the road today and instead went down towards the orange groves, following a track beside the river. Although it was now mid-afternoon it was still very hot, and the sound of the shallow river as it flowed swiftly down between rocks was refreshing.
At one point the stream fell over a small incline and a natural pool had been created where the water was a marvellous shade of green, like shimmering jade in the limestone basin. When she had taken several shots of this spot she sat down and trailed her hand in the transparent water. Within seconds her hand was cramped with cold, for only a short time before this water had been snow melting on the heights above her, running underground in places deep in the heart of the numinous mountains before it bubbled out into the sunlit world below.
She lay on her stomach and looked at the restless flow of sparkling crystal. The ground felt warm through her thin cotton skirt, as if it radiated the stored heat of a thousand summers.
What had Madam Peritakis said? That differences between people who loved each other melted like the snow on the mountains. Well it hadn't melted for Carol and Jason. Something had happened between those two that had scarred him, and now he mistrusted all North American women. Particularly those with careers… particularly Lorna.
Of course, she thought, there's no love between us, only lust. The way she'd behaved, clinging to him so ardently, willing him to possess her, surely that was lust of the most powerful and overwhelming kind. But even as she thought that she knew that it was not true. At least it wasn't true for her. She had never felt this way before. Had never known such hunger, so that she felt she would die without him. And not just hunger for his body, but for all of him. His friendship, his good opinion, even for his country. She sat upright, 'Oh my God!' she said aloud, 'I'm in love with him.'
Her first reaction to this astounding insight was pure blazing joy. She sat quite still. She could hear the faint metallic clanking of goat bells and somewhere far away a shepherd played a sad little tune on a flute. The thin sounds drifted through the air like filaments of silk. She hugged herself and said again slowly… 'I love Jason'… savouring the words like wine.
Gradually her elation faded. She might… did… love him. But nothing could change the fact that he had refused her when she had offered herself to him. Hardly the action of a man in love, or even attracted to a woman. And he thought she was Nikos's mistress. Why on earth hadn't she denied that right from the start? Pride, that's why, she thought, and blindness. And stupid, stupid pride.
But that could be fixed. She would explain it to him. Tell him it was all a silly misunderstanding, and… and then what? Have him rebuff her again. She didn't think she could stand that.
Slowly she got to her feet and started walking towards the village. Far from feeling joy, now her depression had deepened, for there was nothing she could do. Except forget him. And that she knew now was impossible.
Grin and bear it then. She had no other choice. Keep this love hidden away in the depths of her heart, like that underground river. A private grief that would dull with time but never disappear. And work hard. Go on climbing up her professional ladder, knowing that no matter how brilliantly she succeeded there would always be an emptiness at the core of her life which would leave her unfulfilled forever.
Outwardly she would be the same Lorna McCann. Cheerful and competent. What she felt inside was nobody's business but her own. Her pride would help her save face.
By now she had reached the outskirts of the village. Here stood the small whitewashed church where Ariadne would be married next Saturday. Lorna leaned on the stone wall and looked at the worn gravestones. A woman and a little girl were tidying one of the graves, talking softly together. The noise of their trowel grated on the stony earth. Beside the church was a field with a patch of scarlet poppies that Lorna had noticed before and meant to photograph. Now she unslung her camera and walked around the churchyard to get to the flowers. She'd never seen such huge poppies before. After taking a couple of shots of the field she knelt down to take several close-ups of individual blooms. They were like crumpled silk, their centres marked with a wide black cross.
When she'd finished she became aware that she had an audience. The little girl who had been working in the graveyard was now standing behind her. She smiled shyly, pointed to the flowers and said something in Greek. Taking out her phrase book Lorna looked up the phrase for 'very beautiful' and tried it out. The child giggled and started chattering away at a great rate, her dark eyes sparkling.
'Hey! Steady on,' Lorna laughed, 'slowly… siga … I don't understand Greek.'
Shrugging her shoulders the child pointed to the poppies, then mimed taking a photograph. She seemed to find the idea of anyone taking a picture of a flower very amusing.
Lorna nodded her head. 'Yes,' she said, 'I take photos. Would you like me to take one of you?' She pulled her polaroid camera out of her canvas bag, and moving the little girl into a good light focused and pushed the shutter release. When the print emerged from the camera the child watched in fascination. 'Now we must wait a minute,' Lorna said. She tore the print off and waved it around, then showed it as the image started to come through. Gradually the colours grew sharper, and when the picture was finally ready she handed it to the girl. 'For you,' she said, 'parakalo.'
The child's face lit up when she understood that she was to keep the picture. She breathlessly thanked Lorna… ' 'Feristo… 'feristo,' and went racing back to the churchyard calling, 'Mamma, mamma!' at the top of her voice, waving her picture like a banner.
Lorna had just replaced the camera and was about to go on when she was hailed by the child's mother. 'Ella … Missus… ella parakalo.'
For a moment Lorna wondered if she'd committed some awful gaffe by taking a photograph of the woman's daughter, but as she approached she was relieved to see that the mother was smiling. She held up the picture and gestured to it.
'Is beautiful… efharisto… come please… ella!' She gestured to a tiny house that stood farther down towards the village. Smiling and nodding Lorna went with them. The woman kept up a constant flow of Greek, interspersed with the odd English phrase, most of which Lorna found incomprehensible, but it didn't seem to matter, and by the time they reached the chin-high wall of the house she felt she was with old friends.
Her hostess opened the rickety wooden gate. Beyond was a minute courtyard, scrupulously swept, with a stack of vine clippings for firewood. There was a stone sink out here too, with a channel cut for the water to run away. Against one wall was an animal house with a donkey and a couple of chickens. A goat was tethered outside the wall. The Greek woman darted into the house and returned carrying a small straight-backed chair for her guest. She pointed to herself and said, 'Maria.' Pulled her little daughter to her side and pointed to her, 'Irene', then she pointed to Lorna. Lorna told her her name and after Maria had repeated it several times she went back into the house, returning in a few minutes with a battered tin tray which had a glass of water, a small spoon in a bowl of jam, and a cup of Turkish coffee on it.
Lorna had heard of this ancient and delightful symbol of Greek hospitality, but never before had she been offered 'spoon sweets'. She thanked her lucky stars she knew she was not expected to eat the entire bowl of jam, as some confused foreign visitors had been known to do. She took a spoonful of jam, ate it, drank the glass of water and put the spoon in the empty glass, then she drank the coffee. She knew now she was supposed to thank her hostess and wish her and her family good fortune. The fact that her Greek only ran to the first part of this custom plainly didn't bother Maria who smiled broadly at her attempts to speak her language.
'I… learn you… Greek,' she said while Lorna struggled with her phrase book. She set about this task immediately, taking a stick and scratching out the Greek alphabet in the dust at their feet. Dutifully Lorna copied it into her notebook. She repeated words after Maria and Irene—who thought the whole lesson exquisitely funny—and after a while she managed to comprehend the fact
that Maria was a widow, and that it was her husband's grave she had been tending when Lorna met them. She also figured out that Irene was seven years old and was an only child.
Just before the lesson came to an end Maria pointed to the village and laying her cheek on her hands and closing her eyes asked, 'Taverna?'
'No… ochi… Peritakis villa,' Lorna replied, pointing up the mountainside.
Maria's mobile face lit up and she kissed her fingers. 'Ah! Peritakis… kalo… good… Jason Peritakis good man… dombros.'
She was unmistakably enthusiastic about Jason, and Lorna warmed to her even more. Knowing she was safe to show something of her true feelings here she nodded vigorously and said, 'Jason… yes he is very kalo… very good. I agree.' It made her happy just to say his name aloud, and she felt that by learning to speak his language she would somehow bind herself to him. She would look forward to coming to this humble little house, and maybe once or twice during the lesson she would casually mention him and bask in the glow of Maria's visible admiration. It wasn't a lot, but it was better than nothing.
By the time she left her two new friends the sky was layered with a mauve-and-purple sunset and she was beginning to feel very hungry.
She arrived at the taverna to find it buzzing with activity. The new group from Athens had arrived and the place was bursting at the seams. Savoury smells were coming from the spit where a long spiced sausage called a kokoretsi revolved over the charcoal. Pots of different stew and vegetables simmered on the open kitchen stove, and plates of Greek salad stood on the glassed-in refrigerated counter.
Vasily, busily fussing over the garden lights, waved a welcome. 'Miss Susan is up in the stairs,' he informed Lorna. 'You go to her.'
Lorna gave him a bright smile—even though she wasn't feeling particularly happy—and made her way up to the bedroom she had shared with her friend—was it only a couple of weeks ago? It felt like years.
When she knocked on the door Susan flung it open and pulled her inside. 'Lorna! Great! I was hoping you'd be by this evening. I want your advice about all this.' She waved towards her bed which was piled with clothes.
Lorna shut the door behind her. 'What are you doing "Susie Q"? Having a rummage sale?'
'I'm having a good old clear-out,' Susan beamed. 'I've decided that everything I own… except the dress you gave me… is the "pits". So I'm going to dump the lot.' She looked at Lorna, her brown eyes sparkling. Lorna had never seen her look so pretty.
Lorna picked up a plain cotton shirt from the heap of clothes on the bed. 'Steady on, Susie! Don't go mad. This is perfectly okay for heaven's sake! And why the sudden need for an haute-couture wardrobe? You don't need it for the dig surely?'
'Well… in the evenings after work. And for dates,' she blushed scarlet.
'Dates indeed!' Lorna teased. 'What have you been up to since I moved out? Out with it, Susie. Tell your Auntie Lorna.'
Susan sat down on the bed, dislodging several pairs of violently coloured polyester slacks that slithered on to the floor. 'Oh! Lorna,' she said, her rosy face serious now, 'his name is Harvey. He's the new supervisor… with that lot from Athens. He's from Ohio… and his speciality is ceramics, just like mine… and… oh! he's terrific… and he thinks I am too… terrific I mean.' She bounced off the bed and grabbed Lorna's hands. 'We have so much in common. But it's more than that. I feel so happy… I could sing! It's never happened to me before… don't laugh.' She peered anxiously at her friend.
'Laugh? Susan, honey, I think it's wonderful,' Lorna said gently. 'Bless you. Now let's sort out these clothes of yours. Come on! Being in love doesn't excuse you from helping.' She began to methodically go through the mound of clothes, dropping the discarded garments on to the floor, half-hearing Susan as she chattered on about Harvey. About how handsome he was… and how clever… and how the first night he'd arrived they'd sat and talked about the Minoans and their mysterious disappearance from Crete thirty-four centuries ago. And how they hadn't stopped talking till dawn, so enthralled were they with each other's company. And Lorna smiled and nodded and sorted clothes, while her heart ached so much she thought it would break.
She was genuinely happy for her friend, but she couldn't help feeling that the timing was unfortunate, for on her way to the taverna she had decided to tell Susan all about her muddle with Jason. Admit that she was in love with him, and probably allow herself the luxury of a good cry. Now she felt that she couldn't do this. She couldn't impose her unhappiness on her friend. It would be too selfish. Susan was a generous-hearted girl, and Lorna knew she would be more than willing to lend a sympathetic ear to her troubles. But she was afraid it would take some of the pleasure out of the older girl's evening, and she didn't want to do that. Meanwhile, Susan blithely talked about her new-found love, unaware that with every word she was making her friend feel sadder and sadder.
Later they joined the others for dinner and Lorna was introduced to Harvey. He was a pleasant young man, plump and kindly. Lorna liked him right away, and was pleased to see that he was clearly crazy about Susan. He sat between the two girls at the long table under the plane tree, and was courteous enough to divide his attention between them, although anyone with a half a brain could tell that Susan was really the only person he was aware of.
'I understand you've moved on to grander things these days,' he said, referring to Lorna's move to the villa.
'Pretty grand,' she agreed, then added, 'but it's really only a dormitory arrangement. And to be handy for my dark-room.'
'And how's dreamy Jason?' Susan asked, helping herself to salad. 'Jason Peritakis is sort of Lorna's landlord,' she explained to Harvey. 'He's very charming, and I think he's sweet on her. She doesn't think so, though.'
Neither would you if you knew the way he rejected me last night, Lorna thought, but she merely said, 'I don't know how he is. I hardly ever see him. We live at different levels.' And the subject was dropped.
It was a relaxed evening with a lot of cheerful banter being tossed around the table. The extra fieldworkers had come at just the right psychological moment and this noisy dinner was quite like old times, before the theft of the seal stones had put a pall of gloom over everything.
On the surface Lorna seemed as high-spirited as the rest of the group, and no one would have guessed the effort it cost her to laugh and joke with her colleagues. But when one of the supervisors, who rented a house further up the mountain, offered her a lift in his car she accepted with alacrity.
It was still fairly early when she arrived at the villa. Lights were burning in the sitting room, and with a beating heart she poked her head round the door to say good night. Only Madam Peritakis was there, seated in an armchair, a book open on her lap.
'The others dined in Iraklion tonight,' she told Lorna, 'Ariadne phoned to invite you to join them, but you were nowhere to be found.'
'That was nice of her,' Lorna said, thanking providence she had left for her walk when the call came. 'But I really think an early night is what I need.'
Madam Peritakis nodded, then she asked casually, 'Tell me, do you happen to know where Nikos is? He was supposed to dine with me tonight, but he did not come, and when I telephoned his house there was no reply. I wondered if perhaps you might have seen him at the taverna.'
'I haven't seen him since we finished work on Friday.'
'No matter. Doubtless he forgot.' She gave Lorna a rueful smile. 'Nikos is a troubled soul,' she said. 'His own… how is it? Worst enemy.'
'Yes. I gathered that.'
'It is sad.' Abruptly she changed the subject. 'You look tired, child,' she said, 'I must not keep you from your bed. Sleep well.'
As Lorna climbed the stairs to her room she wondered idly what could have happened to Nikos. First missing the party, then dinner with his aunt. She thought it quite possible that he never had any intention of keeping either date, but just didn't have the nerve to refuse. But where he might be really didn't interest her. What occupied her thoughts while she prepared for bed was w
ondering if Ariadne's invitation to dinner had been prompted by her brother. Somehow Lorna doubted that. It seemed far more likely he would want to stay as far away from her as possible. To him she was just another North American girl in search of adventure. A boring nuisance.
She climbed wearily into bed, her own feelings in a turmoil. She dreaded seeing him again. Yet the thought of not seeing him at all was too awful to contemplate. She had no idea what she would say when she did see him, and she swung between violent changes of emotion; one minute longing to dash out and greet his car when she heard it pull up in the drive, the next wondering if she could make other living arrangements so as not to be an embarrassment to him and to herself. But in the midst of these tangled emotions one thing came through loud and clear. Despite any differences in background the love she felt for Jason was unshakeable, and so intense it frightened her.
She woke at dawn to the sound of horses' hooves, and leaping out of bed peeped round the silk curtains. Jason's raven head gleamed in the early sunlight as he led his horse to the edge of the garden! Then he mounted and digging his heels into his mount's sides galloped off down the track beside the river.
Hastily she showered and dressed in old shorts and shirt. If she hurried she could be on her way to the site before he came back, for with the morning she felt she needed more time to pass before she faced him again. As it was just seeing the back of his head had set her pulses racing. She doubted she would be capable of speech if she met him face to face.
As quietly as she could she took her cameras and film from the dark-room, then ran hard through the orange groves down to the meadows below. It was so early that mist still wrapped the valley, making the distorted trunks of olive trees look like strange figures from another world. An old man, taking advantage of the early morning coolness to work on his kipos hailed her. 'Yia sas!'