Aphrodite's Smile

by Stuart Harrison

  ‘Yes.’ Her eyes were a startlingly pale shade of green. She caught me staring and looked momentarily self-conscious, though I imagined she must have been used to it.

  ‘Did you follow me?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’

  She appeared to consider whether or not to believe me, then she went into the bathroom and came back with a towel. ‘I haven’t anything to give you to wear I’m afraid.’

  ‘This is fine,’ I said and took the towel.

  ‘I won’t be long.’

  She went back into the bathroom and closed the door, then I heard her turn the shower on. While she was gone I looked around her room, and spotted a bottle of pills that were on the bedside table. I picked it up to read the label, which was in Greek. It appeared to be some kind of over-the-counter pharmacy medicine, and the bottle was about three-quarters full. I was about to put it back again when the bathroom door opened. I hadn’t noticed that the shower had been turned off.

  ‘They’re to help me sleep,’ the girl said when she saw me with the pills.

  ‘Did you take any tonight?’

  ‘A few. They didn’t help. I didn’t want to take any more so I went out.’

  ‘Did you drink anything?’

  She nodded. ‘That probably wasn’t a good idea was it?’

  ‘Probably not.’

  She sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked better for the shower. She’d towel-dried her hair and her skin had a fresh glow. ‘It’s funny. I feel as if I could sleep for a week now.’ She looked at her hands on her lap, then back at me. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

  ‘It’s Robert.’

  ‘Robert. Thank you.’

  ‘I don’t know yours either.’

  ‘Sorry. It’s Alex.’ She looked away and thought for a few moments. ‘What happened earlier, it was an accident. I feel stupid now. I think it must have been the pills and the alcohol. I felt really strange. But I’ll be OK now. I promise.’

  I wasn’t sure whether I believed her. I didn’t think the sadness I’d sensed earlier could be explained by the sleeping pills she’d taken. ‘Look, if there’s something you’d like to talk about …’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m so tired. Honestly. I’ll be fine.’

  There was a chair in the corner. My clothes were wet and uncomfortable but it was warm in the room and tendrils of steam were rising off me. I sat down. ‘I’ll just wait here for a while to make sure you’re all right.’

  For a moment I thought she’d protest, but then she smiled resignedly and I thought she was actually glad in a way. She got into bed and lay down so that she was facing me. For a while her eyes remained open.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured again. Her eyes flickered shut. I waited until she was breathing evenly, then I got up and turned out the light. Eventually my eyes adjusted to the darkness so that I could see her small, huddled form lying in bed. She slept deeply with her knees drawn up to her chest, curling herself into a tight ball.

  She barely stirred for the next few hours. It seemed a little peculiar to watch over her the way I did, but I felt a kind of responsibility, as if she’d entrusted me with her well-being. She looked so defenceless in her narrow bed. Almost like a child. I stayed there until early in the morning and then, certain that she was safe and unlikely to wake for some time, I looked around for something to write her a note. I found a pen and wrote my name and Irene’s address, and that I would come back later.

  After I left, I took the bedspread back to the cottage where I’d borrowed it from, though I left the money. I smiled to myself, wondering what they’d make of it. By the time I got back to the Jeep, the first faint streaks of light were visible in the sky over the hills.

  FIVE

  It was mid-morning when I woke. The events of the previous night came back to me in a rush, but in that groggy state between sleep and full consciousness I wondered whether I had dreamt it all. I recalled turning towards the figure muffled by shadow at the end of the wharf as she appeared to fall slowly forward into space and be swallowed by the darkness, then the splash of water. I thought of how Alex had watched me later as she had lain in bed, her eyelids flickering as she succumbed to sleep.

  I got out of bed. My clothes were on a chair where I’d left them, still wet from the night before. The shutters over the window were closed and the air was stiflingly hot. I threw them open, squinting at the harsh light. Outside, the sun was beating down on the roof of the house from a still and cloudless sky. I could see the back of a dark-coloured sedan parked by the Jeep and the sound of voices reached me from somewhere in the house.

  After I’d showered and dressed I went downstairs and found Irene and a man wearing the uniform of the local police sitting at the table on the terrace. They were speaking quietly in Greek, their heads close together. When they saw me, Irene drew back quickly, some indecipherable expression flashing in her eyes. It was gone in a moment, and smiling she rose to introduce us.

  ‘Kalimera, Robert. Did you sleep well? This is Captain Theonas from the police department. Miros this is Johnny’s son.’

  The policeman rose to shake my hand. He was middle-aged, tall and thin with a deeply tanned face. ‘Kalimera, Mr French. May I extend my sympathies for your loss?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Sit down,’ Irene told me. ‘I will fetch you some coffee.’

  ‘Are you here about my father, Captain?’ I asked after Irene had gone inside.

  ‘Yes. I have the results of the autopsy carried out by the examiner from Kephalonia.’

  Beyond the terrace the deep blue sea glittered with slivers of light. The cicadas were going at full force, a startlingly loud cacophony of sound. I was aware that Theonas was watching me with professional reserve.

  ‘I am sorry to have to discuss these things. I understand that this must be a painful situation for you,’ he said sympathetically.

  ‘I suppose I’m not used to the idea that he’s dead yet.’

  ‘Of course. You are aware, I believe, of the circumstances surrounding the discovery of your father’s body?’

  ‘Irene told me that he was found in the harbour.’

  ‘That is correct. As I was explaining to her, the examination shows that your father drowned. It appears that he had been in the water since early on the morning he vanished.’

  Just then Irene returned with coffee. Theonas glanced at her and I saw a sudden quickening change in his expression. It was gone before I could interpret it, but it made an impression on me, like a vivid painting glimpsed through a crack in a doorway before it closed.

  ‘How can you tell he drowned?’ I asked him.

  ‘By the presence of water in his lungs.’

  ‘Did he have another heart attack?’

  ‘This the examiner cannot determine for certain. There is evidence of thrombosis. This is the narrowing of the arteries supplying blood to the heart. However, this is to be expected given your father’s history. Perhaps he simply lost his footing and fell … his clothes became tangled in the propeller and he was unable to free himself …’

  It seemed straightforward enough, and I glanced at Irene wondering if the autopsy results had allayed her misgivings. She guessed what I was thinking.

  ‘Miros is aware that your father claimed somebody had tried to kill him,’ she said. I was surprised that she had gone as far as reporting it to the police.

  ‘After Irene came to me I made some discreet enquiries,’ Theonas said. ‘On the night your father was taken to hospital he had been drinking heavily in a bar on the waterfront. There were many witnesses. Everybody that I spoke to said that he was in good spirits. In fact he had been making a speech.’

  ‘A speech?’

  ‘This was not unusual where your father was concerned. On this occasion he claimed that he had discovered the missing Panaghia.’

  Seeing my incomprehension, Irene explained. ‘Your father was referring to a statue that has been lost since the German occupation ended during the w
ar. The Panaghia was a statue of the Holy Virgin that was kept in the monastery at Kathara. The monastery was looted by the Germans.’

  I knew what she was talking about then. When I was young there had been a man who worked for my dad whose name I couldn’t remember. They would have been about the same age. The three of us used to go out on the Swallow and my dad would talk about finding some statue that was meant to be on a sunken wreck from the war. We’d drop anchor at some spot or other and the two of them would take turns diving. I had a vivid recollection of watching them strap on their scuba gear, and their tanned bodies glistening when they came out of the water. When I asked if this was the statue she meant, Irene said that it was.

  ‘The ship was called the Antounnetta. Johnny used to spend part of each summer trying to find her. He wanted to return the Panaghia to the people of Ithaca, as a way of thanking them for making him welcome on the island.’

  ‘The statue is worthless in monetary terms,’ Theonas said. ‘However, to the people of the island it has great significance as a religious symbol. The night he was in the bar, your father became involved in a mild argument with a fisherman called Spiro Petalas. It seems that Spiro was sceptical of your father’s claim that he had at last discovered the Panaghia. It is possible that this incident might explain your father’s belief that somebody wished him harm. Perhaps he was confused …’

  ‘You mean he was talking about this fisherman?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Could there be any truth to it?’

  ‘I do not think so. Many people have told me that Spiro remained in the bar for several hours after your father left that night. And though he is certainly a moody fellow, I do not think Spiro is a violent man. In fact violent crime is almost unheard of on the island. On the rare occasion when it occurs, it is usually committed by a visitor. We had an incident recently in fact. I am afraid that it is an unpleasant irony that though we need tourists to survive, sometimes the people who come here are not entirely desirable.’ Theonas shrugged before he went on. ‘Your father was alone when he left the bar that night. It is a steep walk to the Perahori road from the harbour. There are many steps. For a man in his condition …’ He paused tactfully and I assumed he meant for a man as drunk as my father was. ‘I spoke also to the driver of the truck who took him to the doctor. He saw him collapse with his own eyes and he swears there was nobody else on the road.’

  ‘Then you think he imagined it?’

  ‘In the absence of any evidence to the contrary it is likely. I can think of no reason why anyone should have wished to harm him.’

  Irene was frowning, deep in thought. She realised we were both watching her. ‘I suppose that you are right,’ she agreed, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced. She got up and began clearing the table. As she picked up a cup she disturbed Theonas’s folder and a photograph fell out from between the typewritten sheets. It was a shot of my father’s pale bloated corpse on the autopsy table, the flesh grey and wax-like. Irene blanched.

  Theonas picked it up quickly, looking stricken as he murmured an apology. ‘Signomi, Irene.’

  His hand strayed to her arm in an instinctively intimate reaction and suddenly I understood the look I’d seen pass across his face earlier. But Irene hadn’t noticed. Instead she picked up one of the typewritten sheets and, frowning, said something in Greek to Theonas.

  ‘I am sorry, Robert,’ she said, remembering me. ‘I was asking Miros about something that is written here. It says the examiner found a wound on Johnny’s head.’ She touched the back of her skull above the neck to demonstrate.

  ‘What kind of wound?’

  ‘Some bruising,’ Theonas explained. ‘A small cut. It is conceivable that your father struck his head when he fell into the water. In fact that would explain how he drowned … if for a short time he lost consciousness …’

  Irene stared at the sheet of paper, her brow deeply lined. ‘What is it?’ I asked her.

  She shook her head in frustration. ‘I do not know. This. Everything. Perhaps Johnny had a heart attack. Perhaps he fell. Perhaps he struck his head. Nothing is for certain.’

  ‘This wound, couldn’t the examiner be more specific about what caused it?’ I asked Theonas, hoping he could add something to quell Irene’s anxieties.

  ‘The examiner found wooden splinters. Perhaps he hit his head on the wharf. It is impossible to say for sure. By the time he was found, your father had been in the water for several days. If there was any blood it had washed away.’

  Irene gave him back the notes, though she still appeared to have her doubts. There was nothing more Theonas could tell us and, when he rose to leave shortly afterwards, Irene went with him to his car. I watched them from the terrace. They spoke quietly together in Greek. I couldn’t understand what they were saying and they were careful to maintain a degree of distance between each other, but they couldn’t disguise what I had already seen. When she came back Irene avoided my eye.

  I helped her clear the table and followed her into the kitchen. ‘Can I ask you something?’ I said. ‘Did my father know Theonas was the man you were seeing?’

  She looked momentarily surprised but didn’t attempt to deny it. ‘Yes. I sometimes wondered if that was why your father was so secretive.’

  I didn’t understand what she meant. ‘Did he know you told Theonas that he thought somebody tried to kill him?’

  ‘No. I think that is why he tried to pretend he did not mean it. He did not want me to say anything.’

  ‘Because of your relationship with Theonas?’

  She hesitated. ‘Yes,’ she answered, though I had the feeling that wasn’t what she’d meant at all. Before I could ask her any more she turned away leaving me puzzling as to why else my father wouldn’t have wanted her to say anything to Theonas.

  Later, Irene told me that she had to go to her office. They were very busy, she said apologetically. ‘But there is something we must discuss. I must arrange your father’s funeral. Unless you would like to bury him in England?’

  The idea hadn’t even occurred to me. ‘Did he make any requests in his will?’

  ‘Your father was not a religious man. I do not think he ever gave it any thought.’

  ‘You were his wife,’ I said. ‘It’s for you to decide. But if you want my opinion, I think he should stay here.’

  ‘Then I will speak to the priest today. You will stay for the funeral?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She suggested I might like to go for a drive and fetched a map to show me some places where I could stop for a swim, suggesting we would have dinner together later. I hadn’t told Irene about Alex, but after I left I drove to the house where she was staying. There was nobody about, so I went to her room and knocked and when there was no answer I peered through the window. The bed was made and her backpack was still there and though Alex wasn’t anywhere to be seen, everything looked quite normal.

  I found a note she had left for me by the door. It was brief, thanking me again and assuring me that she was all right. She said there was something she had to do, but she would be back later in the day. As a postscript she had written that I needn’t worry about her, and had added a smiley face and some exclamation marks in an effort to be convincing. It worked. Had she been planning on doing something rash I was sure she couldn’t have written anything so jaunty. I thought what had happened the night before was probably as she had said, a mixture of pills and alcohol that had caused a temporary loss of perspective.

  I was disappointed that she wasn’t there, but since she hadn’t said anything about where she was going I decided to spend a few hours at a beach somewhere. When I got back to the Jeep I consulted the map Irene had given me. Other than the village of Perahori and the main town of Vathy, the remainder of the southern half of the island was uninhabited and largely inaccessible except by sea, so I decided to drive north to the more populated part of Ithaca.

  When I reached the village of Stavros where Irene and I had stopped
the day before, I drove down to the beach at Polis Bay, descending a perilously steep and rutted track to park in the shade of a small olive grove. There were a few local fishing boats tied up at the small wharf and a couple of buildings housed a shop of some kind and a bar. A plaque fixed to a large olive tree inscribed in both English and Greek described the history of an archaeological site on the far side of the bay that had been excavated during the thirties. I remembered my father telling me about it. Louizos cave, as it was known, had become famous as the place where, among other things, a fragment of a clay mask bearing the inscription of Odysseus had been found, proving that Homer’s hero had been worshipped as a god since before Homer himself had lived. The cave, however, had been buried during the devastating earthquake of 1953.

  The beach was deserted. I sat in the shade afforded by a ruined stone hut and for a while I tried to read a book I’d brought with me, though I couldn’t concentrate and eventually I put it aside. Out in the bay several large yachts rode at anchor, brilliant white against the deep blue of the sea. I went down to the shore and swam out towards them. The water was clear and cool and almost completely flat. I swam hard, powering myself out into the bay with long, even strokes, the salt water sluicing off the dead cells, shedding old skin. I didn’t stop until my muscles ached and my chest was heaving, by which time I was almost alongside one of the yachts.

  It was deserted, perhaps forty-five or fifty feet long. I wondered where it came from and who owned it. The idea of sailing the islands, stopping where I wanted, moving on without any particular destination or schedule seemed appealing. I trod water for a while engaged in this idle fantasy before I swam back again and came ashore dripping onto the pebbles where I lay down to dry and fell into a light sleep.

  When I woke it was early in the afternoon. I’d had too much sun and I felt thick-headed. I was bathed in an uncomfortable sheen of sweat. I staggered groggily to the sea to cool off and lay with my head immersed looking up at the sky through the water. The images of a dream I’d had filtered back to me. My father had been standing by his boat when a shadowy figure approached from behind with his arm raised. He brought it down and my father collapsed. I knew it was only the workings of my unconscious mind fuelled by Irene’s suspicions. My father was seventy-two when he died. He had a bad heart and a history of drinking. Maybe his wild claims had all been a ploy to gain Irene’s sympathy. In fact I thought that made sense. Maybe he’d been trying to win her back from Theonas.