Aphrodite's Tears

by Hannah Fielding

  So many offerings, such devotion, she thought to herself. Surely, here on Helios, they don’t put their men in such danger still?

  At the end of the church was an unpainted wooden confessional box and, for a brief moment, the atmosphere of the place and her own intense emotions overwhelmed her. Oriel’s senses quailed as she thought of the weakness of her own flesh whenever she came near Damian. The feverish images of last night’s dream – of his hard body and piercing gaze – flashed into her head. Her stomach gave an odd lurch, like a tilting car at a fairground, and heat moved in a wave to the core of her being, at the same time making her suddenly lightheaded. She clasped the wooden pew next to her for balance and remonstrated with herself inwardly for this alarming loss of control.

  After a moment, Oriel glanced at her watch: it was already five o’clock. She had hardly eaten that day and, with her long walk and the sea air, she had worked up an appetite. She wasn’t the only one contemplating a late lunch – the taverna was busy. Under an olive tree sat three musicians, surrounded by a group of young men and women in jeans and T-shirts, playing and singing without a care in the world, it seemed. It was a scene similar to many she had seen on other Greek islands, although here there was a subtle difference. There wasn’t a foreign face in sight, except for hers.

  Tables were set out under a wire trellis, over which creepers had been trained to give protection from the sun, and the whole place, with its white walls and green-painted woodwork, looked cheerful. Oriel found an empty table in the shade and sat at it. She looked around; the chirping of the cicadas had reached its peak, punctuating the merry chatter of the clientele, who were a mixed group of fishermen, labourers and clerks. People were staring – especially the men, but the women too. It was no good trying to be inconspicuous: with her fair hair and skin – despite her freshly acquired golden tan – she stood out like a sore thumb. Shorts, while cool and practical, were clearly not de rigueur on Helios, she realized with a twinge of self-consciousness.

  The waiter hurried to take her order and was surprised when she responded in Greek, asking for a glass of ouzo and a dakos salad: tomatoes, red onion and feta served on a slice of dried bread drizzled with olive oil. The waiter apologized, telling her that they didn’t have any feta, but they used a fresh goat’s cheese made from milk and whey called mizithra. Much superior, he noted with a wink. He also recommended their souvlakia: apparently the spit-roasted lamb – marinated in lemon juice and skewered with tomatoes, onions and green peppers – came from the Tchakos farm, which was the finest on the island.

  As at Manoli’s, the people were friendly. She noticed that a couple of them had the unusual slate-grey eyes that seemed rather prevalent on the island. A few smiled at her shyly; others, a little bolder, exchanged some words with her. They assumed that Oriel was working for Kyrios Lekkas, and one woman told her that the only fair-skinned women they had ever seen on the island had been employed by him, one of whom had eaten here quite a bit lately, although they hadn’t seen her for a week or so. Oriel guessed that they must be referring to the French student, Chantal, who had left in such a hurry.

  Had the young woman really got involved with one of the locals? Or was it Damian who’d brought Chantal here, before he’d tired of her? Oriel recalled her conversation with Damian on Santorini, when he had insisted he hadn’t been in any sort of relationship with the girl, and at the time she had never thought to question that he might not be telling the truth. But after last night’s encounter with Yolanda, she didn’t feel sure of anything. Then she hastily chastised herself for these obsessive thoughts. The diner had only made the comment that the girl had eaten here, why did she have to bring Damian into it?

  By the time Oriel had finished eating and had ordered her coffee it was already six o’clock. The taverna, as well as the beach, was emptying now, although the sun was still warm. Overhead the canopy remained a vivid azure, and the sea lay peacock blue in patches. It seemed to be dancing with happiness and little rills of foam were being tossed gently from the wave crests on to the sandy beach. Once Oriel had drained her coffee cup and paid the bill, she took off her sandals and walked close to the lapping water, feeling the fresh caress on her skin as it flowed past her, its frothy wake breaking easily at her feet. A slight breeze wafted in from the sea.

  A figure standing on a flat rock at the other end of the beach caught her attention. A native fisherman, he looked as if he were carved from the same grey boulders that surrounded him. She could see that he was bearded and, although not a young man, he was strongly built, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows revealed the sinewy muscles of his brown forearms. Like a sculpture of Poseidon, he stood still, trident at the ready, the bright iron of its prongs scintillating above the dark water that curled at the base of the rock. As Oriel came closer, the trident flashed down at lightning speed, then the man stooped over. He had skewered a large fish and the water cascaded in a rainbow trail as the creature writhed, its polished gills fluttering frantically beneath a pair of bloodshot eyes. The fisherman threw it, still wriggling, into his basket and slid the trident into the belt around his waist. He then looped the strap of the basket across his chest and stepped down from his rock.

  At Oriel’s approach, the fisherman turned. He was leaning heavily on a stick as he limped across the sand towards her, no longer the powerful Neptune-like figure of a moment ago. She smiled at him. ‘It’s a beautiful catch you’ve got there,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, dinner for my children and grandchildren. You are here for the Lekkas diving project, eh?’ His dark face crinkled in a smile.

  Oriel was astonished. Everybody seemed to know about it. ‘Yes, I arrived this week. My name’s Oriel, by the way.’ She reached out and shook the man’s hand and he introduced himself as Mattias.

  Now he was close, she noticed that he, too, had the same grey eyes as Stavros, Damian and several of the guests at the taverna, although none of them shared the brilliance of Damian’s, she had noticed. The fisherman seemed to read her mind, because he chuckled. ‘You have seen many of these strange-coloured eyes on the island, eh? And you’re wondering if we are all part of the same family.’

  ‘You’re right, I have been puzzled. Not so much because they’re grey but because of the brilliance of the iris. It seems almost silver.’

  He laughed a hoarse, smoker’s laugh. ‘My good friend Kyrios Lekkas’s ancestor was obviously a very virile man. He distributed his attentions freely with women, shall we say. I think, at the time, maybe a hundred years ago, maybe more, quite a few babies were born with these silver eyes.’

  Oriel laughed. He had an air about him that was unlike the usual fishermen she’d met. ‘I see, that makes sense.’

  The man fixed her steadily with his gaze, the grey of his irises suddenly more brilliant. ‘We call it O Lekkas stigma.’

  ‘Why “stigma”? I find it rather arresting in your dark faces.’

  ‘Every single person, male or female, who is born with this colour eyes is marked to have something tragic happen to them. As you can see,’ he pointed to his leg.

  Oriel’s eyes widened. ‘Stavros, Kyrios Lekkas’s head of works, seems happy enough.’

  ‘He is young, and life is long, Despinis. Look at me. I have had a happy life, Dohksa toh Theh-oh, thank God.’ At this, he touched the tiny wooden cross that hung on a string around his neck. ‘But still, fate’s long arm caught hold of me. It could have been worse, I could have died. Even so, I am now a cripple for life.’

  Oriel thought of Damian and his scarred face, blighted by the deaths of Pericles and Cassandra, and she gave a shiver. She had never liked superstition and now she liked it even less. How terrible that all these grey-eyed islanders might go about their daily business feeling as if there was a gun pointed at their backs.

  Oriel could see that Mattias was eager to tell her about his accident but time was marching on and she needed to get back to Heliades before dark. Still, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, a
nd a few more minutes spent lending a friendly ear could do no harm.

  ‘What happened?’

  The fisherman bent down and sat on one of the low boulders. He took out a packet of Karelia Greek cigarettes from his shirt pocket, silently offering one to Oriel. When she shook her head, he lit one up.

  ‘It was a shark attack. A great white, would you believe it?’ Mattias’s large brown hand once again fingered the wooden cross around his neck. ‘Every year after Easter, Kyrios Lekkas used to take me and Stavros deep-sea spearfishing. You see, I’m the one who taught them how to dive. Anyway, we would travel all over the world on these trips. As a lad, I went with my father to the Red Sea, off the coast of Egypt. He and his father before him dived for big fish to sell to restaurants on the Greek islands.’

  At this Oriel forgot all about needing to set off back to Heliades. The diver in her was hooked – like one of his fish – by the opening to Mattias’s narrative. She also knew that the story involved Damian, and that made her all the more keen to listen. ‘So how did you get hurt? What happened?’ she couldn’t help interjecting.

  ‘It was in the Red Sea, a bigger expedition than usual. We had some Egyptian divers with us. The three of us went first, swimming down through corridors of coral. Then we found a shoal of green rhinoceros fish. They swam right up to us and I ran my harpoon through one. That fish wriggled like mad, you should have seen it. By Zeus, he was strong! The beast dragged me through the coral, then a branch caught my right fin, and I was thrown on my back.’ He paused for dramatic effect and gave a short cough.

  ‘Now I was in open water. There was a current like you wouldn’t believe. I tried to get up but the water pulled me one way, the fish the other. My mask was leaking and I was panicking – how was I to see the dark shadow coming up behind me?’

  Oriel’s two hands flew to her mouth. ‘The shark!’

  The fisherman paused only to blow out a plume of smoke from his cigarette and carried on, so engrossed was he in his story. He almost seemed to be enjoying reliving the horrible adventure. ‘The first thing I knew, it had found its target and torn into my leg. But d’you know what? I didn’t feel a thing. That’s what your body does to survive, it shuts down pain.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t have stood a chance. Not against a great white,’ insisted Oriel.

  ‘I knew that, but it doesn’t stop you fighting. Luckily for me, the Kyrios got to it. Tackled the giant from behind. Stuck him through the gills as he would any other fish. The shark let go of me. Thank God, I thought. But then it turned on him. I couldn’t do a thing. I had to watch the Kyrios have a wrestling match with the brute, trying to stick him in the eyes and get to his brain. As big as a car that shark was, you had to see it. And the water all red and churning.’

  Oriel’s eyes were wide. ‘And did he finish the shark off?’

  ‘I thought things couldn’t get worse but then they did. A group of other sharks came along, smaller than the first one, though that’s not saying a lot. Drawn by the blood. Wanted to see what the rumpus was about. Then they started thrashing and snapping at each other. Circling us all the time, you know how they do.’ He shook his head. ‘We didn’t stand a chance in Hades.’

  ‘What about Stavros?’

  ‘He’d gone up to get help, the most sensible thing he could do. He had a couple of sharks tailing him all the way back to the dive boat. Then, I don’t know how he did it, but the Kyrios stuck the shark four or five times in the head with his spear. I could see the beast was beginning to wobble. But even then the damned thing wouldn’t give up. Before keeling over, it bit a chunk out of the Kyrios’s chest. And then, if that wasn’t bad enough, the Kyrios rolled over into the coral. That’s how his face was slashed.’

  ‘What happened with the other sharks, or did the divers get there first?’ Oriel wanted to know.

  Mattias threw away his cigarette. ‘Well, a strange thing happened. Just before Stavros got back with the others – one of them, thankfully, a doctor – a school of dolphins suddenly appeared. They circled slowly and beat the sharks into a retreat, butting them and heading them off.’

  ‘I’ve heard of such things happening. They’re amazing creatures,’ said Oriel. ‘And that is quite a story. You were so lucky.’

  ‘I owe Kyrios Damian my life,’ said Mattias fervently. ‘The damage done to his face … and his chest was even worse. You should see it, a great trench of a scar. They took us to an army hospital in Cairo. I can’t remember much about those next few days.’

  Oriel fell silent now that the story had ended. Of course, she had seen that terrible scar. And to think that she had thought Damian’s scarred face might be the result of a fight over a woman! She felt suddenly felt ashamed. How petty her thoughts about him and Yolanda seemed now. What bravery he had showed! To take on a great white shark, and not to swim away as fast as he could, that took real courage. Her heart warmed at the thought.

  ‘So you see,’ said Mattias, pushing himself up from the rock on which he had been perched, ‘those grey eyes of his may have been his undoing, but they sure as hell saved me. The Kyrios is a good man … a courageous one, too.’

  ‘Yes, I see that,’ murmured Oriel. ‘That kind of traumatic experience must haunt you.’

  Mattias squinted into the sun. ‘You learn to live with it. There are more years behind me than in front. I’ve had a good life, but the Kyrios is in his prime.’

  Her heart went out to Damian. The consequences of his bravery had indeed been grave.

  The fisherman turned his enigmatic gaze on Oriel, once more seeming to read her thoughts. ‘He has more to live with than I ever will.’

  Oriel stood next to Mattias a moment longer, looking across the beach and out to sea. Suddenly she was reminded of how late it was getting. The shadows had lengthened; a couple of fishing boats, leaving the port for their night work, steered darkly across the luminous sea. Those jewel-like tints of blue and green had faded from the water, and the cliff scenery had caught a fiery glare. She noticed, too, that Damian’s caique was back at its mooring. She no longer felt a pang of jealousy, she realized. Her speculations over Damian and Yolanda seemed almost trivial now, compared with what she had just heard.

  Oriel said goodbye to Mattias. ‘I’d better be going. I’ve a long walk back to Heliades. It’ll be dark, I expect, by the time I get back.’

  ‘I’m sorry if I let my tongue run away with itself. You’re a good listener, you know.’ He peered up at the skies before fixing his kindly gaze on her. ‘My cottage is not far from here, I can ask my son to accompany you. He must have already arrived with the children for supper.’

  Oriel smiled. ‘No, no, thank you. That’s very kind but if I walk briskly I’m sure to get back before nightfall.’

  ‘As you wish. Well, it was nice meeting you, Despinis.’ The fisherman took her hand and pressed it in his. ‘Helios can be a hard place for foreigners. If you ever feel lonely or need to speak to somebody, I’m usually here or in the taverna.’

  ‘Thanks, Mattias, I’ll bear that in mind,’ said Oriel. ‘I hope to see you again sometime soon. Maybe, next time, you can teach me how to spear a fish.’

  As she turned to go, Mattias stopped her. ‘I don’t know if you have plans, but it’s the Epiklisi parade tomorrow. If you aren’t bored of hearing an old fisherman’s stories, why don’t you meet me in the main town square?’

  Oriel thanked him and arranged a meeting time, grateful for the hand of friendship he had offered so freely. She shot a last look at the sea before walking up the narrow path to the road. The sky was an arc of crimson, reflected in the water as the sun sank slowly down towards the horizon, and suddenly the scissoring of cicadas, the shimmer of sea and rock were absent, as if short-circuited. Oriel took out the long-sleeved shirt she had packed in her bag that morning and put it on. Head down, she walked in the evening coolness, her mind preoccupied with the tale Mattias had just told her. Vassilis had said that Damian had changed since his accident. Had Cassandra been rep
elled by him? Maybe Yolanda too? Human nature could be cruel and women – like men – could be callous and uncaring.

  Somehow, Oriel was not surprised by Damian’s bravery. It wasn’t just his litheness and his god-like looks that were impressive, he had immediately struck her as someone strong, invincible – a giant mountain that could face the fiercest winds. She felt more admiration than pity for him, she was sure. Still, she was puzzled. On her arrival, Yorgos had described Damian as hard, with a heart of stone. That wasn’t the way the fisherman had spoken about him. The Kyrios is a good man … a courageous one too, he had said, but of course he would be biased.

  In the past two days, she’d learnt there were many facets to Damian’s personality but how much did she really know him? A frown crinkled her brow. Perhaps his childhood sweetheart, Yolanda, knew him far better than she ever would. Jealousy pricked at her emotions again and she berated herself for her weakness over this man, who was still such an enigma.

  It was the hour of the evening star, before the moon flooded the island with silver radiance and sharp shadows. Oriel walked quickly through the eerie darkness. It was beginning to get misty. Silence had descended over this ancient land. From time to time a dog barked in the distance. The few cottages that she had passed in the arid part of her walk that morning were dark, except for a few sparse dots of light and spirals of smoke curling into the air. Here, the countryside was almost savage in its harshness. The branches of the wild carob trees creaked in the breeze as if some tormented soul was struggling to get out and the rustle of the leaves seemed to whisper, like a multitude of strangers watching her curiously. Bats were whirling in the sky, quite low over her head, catching invisible moths, and from out of the night came a sound like a wolf howling.

  Why hadn’t she taken the car down to the port? From there she could have explored the countryside at leisure. This wasn’t England; she must always remind herself of that in the future. She should have taken a pair of jeans with her but she hadn’t expected to be heading back in the dark.