The Magic In The Receiver

by Dillon, Paul

  “We both need to calm down will call you later,” she replied.

  Here, gazing out over the tranquil harbor, the possibility of a lifestyle change crystalized in Elena’s mind. She realized how easy it had been, accepting Sophia’s invitation to stay. How she’d fallen under the influence of Nicia and her idyllic world. The more Elena pondered the logistics of relocating to Kefalonia, the more feasible it became. She was part Greek, could get papers; could live with Aunt Nicia. People did crazy things, like move to a Greek island. Why couldn’t she?

  She felt more alive, more sensual here.

  What was it Dimi had said … ‘Love is like a painting…’

  Greg didn’t fit into this picture; he belonged to another world. In that world, she loved him, could see a future together. She had been fine before leaving Boston or so she’d thought…

  Now was not the time for decisions, Elena resolved to enjoy herself, put thoughts of Greg aside. She would make her choice when ready; perhaps she would visit Dimi again.

  In better spirits, she got up and headed back to the plaza.

  Chapter 12

  Ben’s eyes fixed on the approaching girl. The olive colored dress with the shapely legs was less than a minute away. He had somehow convinced himself that she would be expecting his advances, that an affair was a fait accompli; he had not rehearsed what to say. He gauged the distance and velocity that would intercept her at the closest point to his table before getting to his feet.

  “Hi,” he said. “I saw you standing here earlier. You looked lost.” Ben paused, aware that the girl might not understand English. “Is everything okay?” His voice lacked its usual confidence.

  Elena vaguely remembered someone watching her and guessed this was the man.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

  The strange black and white image on his T-shirt intrigued her. What was that? Are those people asleep?

  He continued to block her path. “I’m waiting for some friends; I thought you might be doing the same.”

  “I am, actually—my cousin. She may be another hour. What time is it?”

  She asked herself the question, more so than him and checked her watch. His eyes never left her face.

  As he stood in front of her, Ben realized he was sexually aroused. It was hard to believe. He was a grown man, not a teenager; he was merely talking to her. The sensation both excited and intrigued him. Despite the improbability of her noticing his erection, he became anxious to sit back down. Turning around, he pointed at the table, putting his hands around his waist in a conscious attempt to hide his condition.

  “I’m having a drink, watching the world go by,” he said. “You’re welcome to join me.”

  “Okay, sounds like a good idea.”

  He slid back the rattan loveseat, allowing her to squeeze in.

  “I’m Ben, by the way.”

  “Elena.”

  “Would you like a cocktail?” He passed her the menu. “I’ve eaten already.”

  While she browsed the drinks list, he weighed the odds that she’d order then go to the restroom and check her appearance.

  “I’ll have a glass of white wine. This one looks interesting.” She pointed to the moscofilero varietal. “Excuse me. I have to go to the bathroom.”

  A waiter, serving the nearby table, looked up as Elena rose. Ben attracted the man’s attention, all the while keeping his eyes on Elena, following her until she disappeared inside the taverna.

  Her absence allowed Ben chance to take stock of the situation. Sparks were flying for him but what about her. His disadvantage was obvious; she had just bumped into him, whereas he had focused solely on her for the last ten minutes. For all he knew, that intense concentration could have ignited some primal urge. Perhaps the unusual color of her figure-hugging dress had acted as a supernormal stimulus, causing his erection. He checked himself for being neurotic.

  The waiter came over. Ben asked for the wine and a small Alfa beer. He didn’t want the beer, but the girl might be more at ease if she wasn’t drinking alone.

  She was taking her time. Ben filled in the moments with more speculation. Why was he attracted to this particular girl? Yes, she was good looking but, in truth, nothing more than countless others he saw daily in Los Angeles or the West End of London. Wasn’t it only last week he’d lunched with a friend; their idle talk spawning a theory; what was it again? Seeing a constant procession of new, attractive women every day, anesthetizes you from ever singling one out for special attention. So with this girl, it had to be the surroundings, the island, affecting him.

  If she is willing, this could get interesting.

  The waiter brought the drinks as Elena came out of the restaurant. Ben stood as she reseated.

  “So, tell me what you are doing in Fiskardo. It’s charming, don’t you think?” he asked.

  “Yes, it is. I’m staying at my aunt’s house in Argostoli. That’s where my cousin lives—the girl I’m waiting for. I’ve been here for a couple of weeks or more.”

  He understood from her accent that she was American. “Are your aunt and cousin Americans?”

  “No they’re Greek, so is my father, but he moved to the States as a child. I suppose, I’m Greek-American. How about you; where’s that accent from?”

  “I was born in Paris, grew up in London, now I live in Los Angeles.”

  “Well, you’ll be used to the sunshine, then.”

  “You know, it’s different here. Southern California’s technically semi-desert, the evenings are cool and the humidity low. You don’t get the magical, warm and humid nights we get here in Greece; you can almost cut the atmosphere. I miss that, the dinners outside under the vines…” He left the sentence unfinished.

  “I know what you mean, that’s one of the reasons I’ve stayed longer than planned. I don’t want to go back yet.” She paused then said simply. “I’ve become enchanted.”

  Things were going well. He must keep her entertained and get her onto the boat.

  “How’s the wine?”

  “Fine.”

  Both of them wore sunglasses and he wanted to make eye contact. They were in the shade, under the canopy; he’d start by removing his glasses, perhaps she’d follow suit.

  Where is the yacht? He hoped it would arrive before the girl’s cousin. Checking the time, he circled back to her earlier remark: ‘I’ve become enchanted.’

  That would be his best ploy, get her to talk about herself; something abstract, intimate, make her describe the enchantment.

  An idea sprang to mind. “Did you bring a camera?” He continued before she could answer. “There are so many things here to photograph; the hills, the boats, buildings; hell, even just doors and window frames. I only got in last night but I’m hooked on the place already.”

  Mentioning camera and door in the same breath had Elena thinking of Dimi and the purple door. “Yes to both questions. I have a camera and you’re right.”

  She warmed to the conversation, eager to accept his company; an easy distraction from the stress caused by Greg.

  Ben took the camera from his pocket and placed his sunglasses in the table.

  “I took a few pictures today, I like one or two of them; what do you think?”

  He cycled through the images, stopping at the ochre building with the bright red vases and passed the camera to Elena.

  If her sunglasses are polarized, she won’t be able to see the pictures and will have to take them off.

  They were not.

  “Hey, I recognize this…” She pointed down the street, to where she’d dropped her book. The picture brought back her emotions at that moment; anger, embarrassment, admiration for the beauty of the building, a hint of pity for Greg.

  “These are nice. I love all the contrasting colors they use on the buildings.” Her voice conveyed a charming sincerity.

  Suddenly, her expression changed to one of surprise.

  “No way. This looks like my father in an old black and white
photograph … it’s the only picture of him as a child, before he left the island.”

  She handed back the camera. Ben couldn’t believe his luck, the photo of the boy, who had appeared at the blue door, resembled her father. He hoped she subscribed to the ‘everything happens for a reason’ philosophy.

  “That’s strange. I take half a dozen pictures, you recognize one and another reminds you of your father.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you mind?” He pointed the lens at her.

  Elena smiled, holding the smile, as he pressed the shutter.

  “You’re really pretty. How about one without the glasses? Let me see those eyes.”

  Elena obliged and he snapped another, handing her the camera before she could retrieve the sunglasses.

  “Are you a photographer?” she asked.

  “No, but I like taking pictures. If a subject’s worth photographing, it’s probably something you want to remember. I think photography helps you collect more memories. You know … like that building with the red vases; we could’ve walked right past, but now, we’ll both remember it—all because I took a picture. I try to be aware that I’m looking at something, or someone, or some moment that is about to become a memory. I like to capture that moment. Take today, for instance, there's a garden at my hotel, I call it the cypress garden. It's nothing special but it holds some intangible attraction for me; I just know I’ll never forget it. When you think about it, the only experiences that matter are those we remember.”

  ‘The only experiences that matter are those we remember.’ Elena had heard something similar, four days ago. That day she’d been in a cemetery.

  “I’ve never thought of it like that before. You’re right; if an experience mattered, we would remember it. Actually, that’s kind of sad because we spend most of our time in routine that gets forgotten.”

  She took a closer look at Ben; the things he said resonated with her. She decided he was quite attractive, mid to late thirties, she liked his hairstyle; dark brown, medium length with long layers, slicked backwards. She was drawn to his eyes.

  “You have the most beautiful eyes … like they’re sparkling.”

  Her comment took him by surprise. He managed a semi-humorous reply.

  “It depends what they’re looking at.”

  He held her gaze.

  Only a drop of wine remained in Elena’s glass. Ben poured a small measure of beer into his, leaving the rest in the bottle; she probably doesn’t realize I’m not drinking.

  “Would you like another?” he asked.

  “Not just yet.” She kept open the possibility of staying a while longer.

  Ben switched the conversation back to the island. He thought it likely she’d be comparing life on vacation to the routine of home. This was something he did too.

  “So, I’ve only been here a day, you’re already acclimatized. What fascinates you about the Kefalonia?”

  Elena spoke about her Aunt’s house, the courtyard, the al fresco family dining, the way the place made her feel more alive, more aware of herself.

  Everything was going to plan; all he needed now was the yacht. He recalled the harbor from last night, from the taxi window, how the water danced with colored light. Such settings were the stuff of romance. He widened his ambitions to keeping her on board for the sunset.

  “Did I tell you my friends were arriving in a yacht?”

  “Oooo, Mr. Fancy Pants.”

  “I’m expecting them any time now. There’s sure to be a party on board. Will you be able to join us? I’d like that. The harbor is very pretty at night.”

  He anticipated a favorable reply.

  “Okay … but only until my cousin arrives. We live in Argostoli, it’s an hours’ drive through the mountains. We’ll have to leave at least an hour before sunset.”

  Disappointment cast its shadow; he’d overlooked the journey back to Argostoli. Elena, too, suddenly awakened to the possibility that she might squander an evening; the type of which she’d hoped for when prolonging her stay. They both schemed; he: how to convince her to stay; she: how to convince Sophia.

  Elena thought back to the coincidental pictures, to the change in her mood since Greg’s call.

  Everything happens for a reason, she told herself.

  Ben’s phone rang. The caller ID showed ‘Eric Miller’

  “Excuse me,” he said.

  She watched him stand, stride over to the boardwalk, orienting himself with the yachts’ location as he took directions from the caller.

  “He really wasn’t bad looking. I hope Sophia is late.”

  Ben caught the waiter’s attention, signaling for the check. He hung up and rejoined Elena. They chatted about the boat, wasting the moments as the waiter processed his credit card. Finally, he signed the slip, stood up and held out his hand, helping Elena slide out of the loveseat. Her legs, now legendary in status, filled his mind.

  If only she had a coat. Now would be the perfect time to help her into it, to put his hands on her shoulders.

  He smiled.

  “Shall we go?”

  Chapter 13

  Elena stood on the dusty ground outside the Church of Saint Gerasimos, her hand stretched into the car, helping Sophia out into the fiery heat. A gypsy boy, no older than ten, leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree, watching them from under its shade. Elena looked up and spotted the boy who stared back, unflinching. She smiled; the boy didn’t reciprocate, and she broke free of his gaze.

  “Sophia, can you pass my hat? It’s on the back shelf,” said Elena.

  Yesterday, she had bought a black hat, the type suitable for a solemn occasion. Judging by the crowd, she needn’t have bothered, though it might come in handy during the procession. She glanced at her mother, who was tying a black scarf around her head.

  “Look at us; anyone would think we’re heading for a funeral and Sophia’s off on a date.”

  “Told you so,” said Sophia.

  “At least Dad got it right.”

  Wearing a white, open-necked shirt, her father locked up the vehicle. Never a man of many words, he’d become increasingly distant as they neared the monastery. For a brief moment, he was not her father but a stranger, standing in front of a stark white church, awaiting an audience with the Patron Saint of Kefalonia.

  Cars, parked in chaotic fashion, covered the hard stony ground. Despite the fierce heat, nobody made a move. It was as though an unspoken agreement existed; to wait for her father’s signal. He glanced at his watch then dropped the car keys into his trouser pocket.

  “Can you check on Stephan?” he said.

  Elena pulled out her phone, dialed her brother’s number then set off through the maze of vehicles towards the church. The sun burned hot on her face; she raised her hat and looked for shade.

  “Let’s meet them under the portico at the front of the church,” she suggested.

  Her father nodded.

  “He’s less than five minutes away, right behind Aunt Nicia.” Elena hung up the phone and glanced back towards the car, looking for the gypsy boy. He had vanished.

  The family walked in silence. A choral chant increased in volume as they approached the welcoming shade of the north-side portico. Worshippers, waiting in line, began filing into the church. Elena stepped away from the others and walked around to the eastern side. She looked down a wide avenue, paved with limestone that ran parallel with the side of the church. In less than an hour, the promenade would become the route of a procession, carrying the mummified body of Saint Gerasimos from the church, past the old monastery, to a place held special during his life.

  Elena fought her way against a tide of people to rejoin her family. Still, the others had not arrived. Nobody spoke. Perhaps like her, the music captivated them. Never before, had Elena been moved by church music. Haunting and joyous, sad, yet beautiful, it seemed to embody the essence of this auspicious personal occasion.

  “That’s Andreas’s car.” Her mother pointed at a white Merc
edes. The vehicle slowed to a crawl at the end of the tree-lined drive, turning right to disappear behind the crowds.

  “Stephan should be right behind. Did you see his car?” Her mother adjusted her headscarf as she spoke.

  “It was behind the Mercedes,” said Sophia. “Everyone’s here.”

  An old woman hobbled past; a cane in one hand, a young man on the other. The old lady was a reminder that today was a day for miracles. Many of the congregation would lie, inline, face-up on the ground, waiting for the body of the saint to pass over them. Her father intended to be one of them.

  “What kept you?” Veronica Katros greeted her son, as he strolled up to the portico.

  Stephan held the hand of his youngest boy. “You know what it’s like with kids.”

  Only yesterday, Aunt Nicia had pointed out the similarity in the age of Stephan’s boys to Ioannis and his brother at the time of the great earthquake. The family planned to have them accompany their grandfather in the procession.

  “When can we hear the band?” The youngest boy pointed over by the promenade, where two brass bands waited for the order to march.

  The church was filling up fast; the family barely had time to greet one another before heading for the entrance. Three earthquake survivors led the way: Ioannis, Nicia and Andreas. The moment was finally at hand. Elena watched her father close his eyes before entering the church. The next hour was going to be emotional for him; she did not know whether joy or sadness would prevail.

  Chapter 14

  At sixty foot, the ten-berth motor yacht, Lamia IV, dwarfed the neighboring boats. Moored by the main plaza, it lay less than two hundred yards from where Ben and Elena had met an hour earlier. As they walked past the ochre colored building, Elena ran her fingers along the glazed surface of one of the red vases and smiled. She hadn’t told Ben about the confrontation with the waitress. A short distance further, they turned onto a concrete jetty that extended out into the bay.