Aphrodite's Tears

by Hannah Fielding

  She slid off the bed and reached for her dressing gown, putting it on as she walked across the terracotta tiled floor to the cage. There, the sight that met her gaze made her gasp and for a few seconds she stood transfixed, her hands at her mouth, wide-eyed in horror. The little bird was lying on its back, tiny claws spread limply against the bars, eyes glazed. A few drops of blood had trickled down the side of the cage, leaving a minute red splash on the floor. Oriel’s hands, spread over her mouth, held back the scream that froze in her throat.

  The first moment of shock past, she forced herself to examine the bird more closely. She didn’t need to open the cage or handle the body to see that its neck had been deliberately slit. She shivered. Who could have done such a cruel thing, and why? What should she do now? Maybe she should just bury it in the sand on the beach and try to erase the whole incident from her mind? After such a wondrous night, it seemed like something sacrilegious, a desecration almost. Irini would surely miss the creature when she tidied the room and would ask questions.

  Oriel didn’t need to ponder for long; there was a knock at the door and Irini came in, carrying her breakfast.

  ‘Kaliméra, Despinis,’ she said, with a smile that froze as her eyes fell on the tiny body of the slain bird. The kamariera put down her tray and joined Oriel next to the cage. To her amazement, the maid seemed neither surprised nor particularly shocked.

  ‘I found him like this when I woke up this morning.’

  ‘He was all right last night?’

  ‘When I went out, he was fine.’

  ‘And when you came back, he was still alive?’

  Oriel shot her a furtive glance, feeling as guilty as a schoolgirl about to be caught on one of her secret escapades. ‘Well, I came back quite late. I was tired and did not turn on the light, I went straight to bed.’

  If Irini had guessed where Oriel had been, her eyes didn’t flicker. Her voice was expressionless when she spoke: ‘It is the work of Beshir.’

  ‘Beshir?’

  ‘You know … the eunuch.’

  ‘But I don’t understand.’

  Although Oriel did understand: her mind conjured the imposing, silent figure of Beshir, obeying Helena’s every command. After the two evil-eye incidents, she could imagine Beshir killing the canary only too well. She almost felt relief that Irini had voiced her suspicions – it made things a whole lot plainer in her head.

  Helena hated her and wanted to keep her well away from Damian, that much was clear. Yet was it because she couldn’t bear the idea of a potential threat to her status as queen bee in the hierarchy of the island? Or did she think that Oriel, as a blonde foreigner, might taint the blood of her precious, noble family if she became involved with her cousin? This place was like something from the last century. The Lekkas family was obviously proud of its family name and in a narrow-minded, conservative community like Helios the rumour that the head of the island was fornicating with the hired help under his own roof could create the sort of scandal that brought discredit on everyone in the house.

  To Oriel it was no surprise that Helena was mentally unstable but this was madness with such cruel intent, she mused. Could Damian’s cousin actually be dangerous? Especially with Beshir only too willing to do his mistress’s bidding …

  Irini looked as if she had said too much already. She hesitated before lowering her voice. ‘Maybe it is a warning, Despinis.’

  ‘What are you telling me?’

  ‘I don’t know, I don’t know,’ the maid said hurriedly. She looked nervous, almost afraid. ‘I am accusing no one. It might not be him. Maybe someone is trying to frighten you, or give you to kakó máti.’

  ‘I don’t believe in the evil eye,’ Oriel returned sharply.

  Irini looked at the young Englishwoman standing in front of her as if she had said something totally absurd. ‘You are wrong to think like that, Despinis,’ she said fervently. Then she crossed herself. ‘You know, I saw the salt on your floor, under your bed. Someone wishes you ill. You need to believe it. Pou pas xypólitos st’ ankáthia? Why do you walk barefoot on the thorns? This is a troubled house. You would be wise to remember that, Despinis. There is a lot of kakóvoulo koutsompoliá, malicious gossip, going around here. Heliades’ walls have keen ears and sharp eyes that never sleep.’ She gave her a look charged with innuendo.

  ‘Why? What do you mean?’

  ‘Because the Kyrios insisted that you should stay here instead of the staff house … there is talk, jealousy and … evil. You are a kind Kyria, and I would be very sad if any harm came to you.’

  Oriel gave a shaky laugh and assured Irini she would be absolutely fine. But all the while she was imagining the dark, panther-like shadow of Beshir coming in from the sea into her room, through the windows, which she never thought to close when she went out. What if she had been in her room? Would it have been her throat he’d have cut? She suppressed a shiver. No, that was a step too far. They had only wanted to frighten her and they’d succeeded in doing so remarkably well, she admitted to herself ruefully.

  Irini, who had said all she would say, busied herself with taking down the cage. ‘I will take it away, but you need to tell the Kyrios when he gets back from Athens tomorrow. He will want to know, I am sure.’

  Oriel’s heart gave a little jolt. She had forgotten that Damian was planning to visit the Minister for Culture to report the news of their latest find in person. Despite this knowledge, she still felt a wave of insecurity. Why hadn’t he sent a note or come to see her to say goodbye? Had he regretted their night of passion? They had both been so uninhibited, so intimate in every way … perhaps he didn’t want to face her this morning. She could understand that; she felt a little that way herself, remembering some of the things they had said and done to each other.

  ‘I will go now, Despinis,’ the kamariera’s voice drew Oriel from her momentary distraction and she watched her pick up the cage and the dead bird that she’d wrapped in a teacloth. ‘Remember, please, you must be careful.’

  ‘I will talk to Kyrios Lekkas about the canary on his return,’ Oriel said to her shortly, suddenly desperate to be on her own, away from Heliades. ‘Thank you for your concern.’

  When Irini had left the room, Oriel drank her coffee without really tasting it. Though still hot, it didn’t melt away the ice that had formed in her stomach, sending waves of coldness through her body. She pushed away the breakfast tray, unable to stomach any food. Again, she felt uneasy thinking about the night before. What if the servants had overheard their rapturous groans when she and Damian had been in the throes of lovemaking? She remembered now that the windows of the room had been open as she left the veranda and headed for the beach. True, the candles had long gone out and the terrace was in darkness, but she couldn’t remember noticing the remains of the dinner they had shared. Had someone cleared the table while all this was going on? Had a servant heard them, seen them even? The thought made her blush to the roots of her hair.

  Anyway, what that had to do with the dead canary she didn’t know, except that perhaps a witness to her night of passion could have reported it to Helena and then … Anyway, whatever the truth, someone – or several people – were very keen to see her out of Heliades, even off the island. Oriel’s thoughts drifted to the Frenchwoman, Chantal, who had left so abruptly, and, before her, the Dutch student. She recalled Irini’s strange words on the day of her arrival: It’s happening all over again. What do you expect with these loose foreign women? They must have excited the anger of Hades. And again: Chantal looked afraid.

  It was no good going round and round in circles, she would have to talk to Damian about it all tomorrow. In the meantime, she needed to get out of this house. She would go down to the marina, she decided and, with that in mind, Oriel put her bikini on under a long sundress and collected her things together, packing her rucksack with some sun lotion, a towel and a bottle of water. She wanted to spend as much of the day as possible away from Heliades. That way, at least, she wouldn’t chan
ce running into Helena and her two sinister servants.

  Fate, Oriel thought to herself wryly, had no intention of letting her off so lightly. As she was about to cross the hall to the front door, Damian’s cousin appeared from the direction of the dining room, blocking her way. She had a newspaper in her lap and was flanked by the sullen-looking Marika and Bashir, the latter resting a large dark hand on the handle of his mistress’s wheelchair. For a moment Oriel marvelled at what a strange sight they presented: Bashir as black as night and Marika with her sallow skin and dry ashen curls while, between them, the lustrous raven-haired Helena stared at her with glittering slate-coloured eyes. How Oriel ever could have thought that she and Damian’s cousin might become friends was beyond her – or that she should ever have had any fellow feeling for the woman at all. Noticing the vicious, manic glint in Helena’s eye, she thought with a degree of alarm it was so very clear that she was completely unhinged.

  ‘I’m surprised you have the nerve to show your face this morning,’ Helena said, getting straight to the point.

  Oriel turned a little pale. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she answered stiffly.

  ‘You had dinner with the Kyrios, yes?’

  Oriel swallowed the dryness from her throat. ‘The Kyrios and I had some business to discuss.’

  ‘It must have been very private business.’ The Greek woman regarded Oriel sardonically. Then something flickered in her fevered gaze, like a scorpion deliberating its next venomous strike, and she narrowed her eyes. ‘To mystikó domátio, the Room of Secrets, has been closed for a long time, ever since the Kyrios’s accident. I should have known when my cousin ordered for it to be cleaned and aired only a few days ago that he was preparing a special treatment for his latest conquest.’

  Helena gave a twisted smile and wrinkled her nose as if at something distasteful. ‘I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know that it has been the main topic of conversation in the servants’ quarters.’

  Oriel felt too angry and mortified to speak. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. So the entire household had been aware that ‘the Kyrios’ was intending to take her to his bed – everyone, that was, except her – and now they knew that he had actually succeeded. How could Damian do something so public, so utterly humiliating? She had thought that he’d acted spontaneously last night but, come to think of it, candles were already lit in the room. She had naïvely taken it to be his bedroom, even though it had been rather bare for a room that was lived in. How blind could she have been?

  But Helena had only just begun. ‘He brought that Yolanda woman there, of course, in the beginning, although now I doubt he’d bother. It’s a bit of a ritual with Damian, you see.’ She held up a hand. ‘Not one I approve of, I assure you. It is vexing, after all, when he ends up losing members of his staff because he can’t control himself.’

  Her eyes were glittering wildly as she spoke and there were flecks of spittle on her lips. Marika bent down to try to intervene – to soothe her mistress – but Helena batted her away. By now she was one hissing shriek of bitterness. ‘All men are the same, slave to their lusts! They don’t stand a chance against you sluttish gold-diggers. Pericles was ensnared, I know it was against his will. Now Damian has succumbed too … Who else can protect him except me, eh? Protect the island. … I have to!’ Her breast was heaving now, her eyes bulging alarmingly.

  Oriel made a dash for the front door. She had to get away from this madwoman … from her poison … from the things she was saying about Damian … from the things she was saying about her. As she pushed past the wheelchair, Helena bent forward, darting like a snake, and lashed out at her, hitting Oriel as hard as she could with the rolled-up newspaper she was holding in her elegantly manicured hands. Oriel gave a shocked cry that was half a sob as the newspaper caught the back of her leg but she kept going, wrenching open the front door and running outside. Without looking back, she headed for her Volkswagen, parked in the drive, and jumped in, fumbling to turn the key in the ignition before the engine roared into life.

  She took off down the driveway and drove towards the port, breathing rapidly. Her mind was in chaos. The woman was insane. Yet Helena must have been right about the servants knowing about the room. To think Damian had planned to bed her in advance, as if she were simply his next concubine – just one in a string of conquests. How utterly humiliating!

  Oriel glanced in her mirror: the road was empty. Abruptly, she pulled the car over on to the dry, dusty verge in an effort to calm down. She took a sip from her bottle of water and closed her eyes. This whole situation was becoming unbearable but she refused to be cowed, she promised herself with grim determination. She was made of sterner stuff than that, capable of withstanding anything that Helena could throw at her, or Damian for that matter …

  After a few minutes she started driving again. The further she got from Heliades, the calmer she became. Oriel couldn’t help taking in the unearthly beauty of Helios and it restored her spirits like a soothing, magical balm. The sun had climbed into the heavens and was now high in the sky. Its beams diffused over everything with a dense coppery hue, turning the water to lead far below her.

  Oriel parked her car at the top of the cliff under a plane tree and got out to stand a moment, feasting her eyes on the view, watching the light playing upon the scene. The air quivered above her; it was hot. The beach at the marina was busy although it was midweek. A procession of sailing boats moved slowly out of the harbour with the gait of queens; three little girls in one-piece bathing suits of blue, red and yellow stood arm in arm, watching them. Further along the sand some fishermen were pushing a catamaran into the water; they spread its russet sail, one man squatting on the large outriggers as it bobbed about on the sparkling waves. A boy, clothed only in a loincloth, sauntered by, swinging a bundle of dried fish. He stared at Oriel with his jet-black eyes, obviously curious to see a foreigner. By now she was used to being noticed: an English rose among the dark Ariadnes and Iphigenias on Helios. Some of the more insular islanders couldn’t help but gape at what appeared to them an outlandish stranger.

  Oriel grabbed her rucksack from the car and made her way down to the marina. She bought herself a feta and tomato sandwich and a bottle of Avra mineral water at the taverna, which was packed with customers and employees busily carrying crates to and fro, and walked down to a shady part of the beach. Preparations for the evening’s entertainment were in progress; the bustle was on. Men were walking up and down the steep path, laden with chairs and benches, which had been brought over by big trucks that were parked at the top of the cliffs. Hordes of workmen were erecting posts and hanging up coloured lamps in the trees. Waiters were already laying tables along the front of the beach. Some were trestles, others long planks placed on large plastic olive barrels and cinder blocks.

  Seeing the festive preparations made Oriel remember that she had phoned Vassilis at the weekend, agreeing to accompany him to this party at the beach taverna. She had completely forgotten. Now, for a split second, the thought of putting him off crossed her mind. She seriously doubted she would feel up to going out tonight, not after everything that had happened in the last twelve hours. Still, she sensed an evening spent in his company would be a refreshing change from Damian’s intensity and the confusion of her own feelings. Anyhow, Damian was away this evening, and anything would be better than being alone at Heliades.

  Oriel walked along the edge of the sea, next to the breaking waves and foam. The brilliant glare flooded the seashore, glancing off shells and shining stones. The beach’s loveliness, she thought, held within itself all the transient beauty she was now used to seeing and hearing: the tide and light, the sound of the waves and the crying of the gulls. How strange that on Helios there was such magic and enchantment – so much so that the island seemed to reach out to her very soul – but at the same time, so many dark emotions. It seemed to her that the ungovernable passions of these strange silver-eyed islanders had haunted her the whole time she had been
a guest on the island. She had always considered herself a positive, happy, stable person but now she could barely remember how that felt.

  Her gaze meandered as the melancholy edge to her thoughts melted into wonderment at the exquisite natural world lit up in front of her. One shell in particular caught Oriel’s attention: thin and rather fragile, it was elongated and pear-shaped, measuring about three inches from end to end. It had a low spire with a large whorl, whitish in colour, with darker axial lines running over it. A painter makes his sketch, a poet writes his line, but what can an ordinary person do at such a moment to capture such beauty? Oriel picked up the shell. It was so smooth and there was a tactile and sensuous satisfaction in just holding it. She put it in her pocket, subconsciously wishing that, this way, she could hold on to the purity of its perfection like a magic talisman, and keep at bay the unsettled thoughts that assailed her.

  She sat down on a band of red rocks sheltered by a mantle of sea pines. For the last hour or two she had tried not to think about Damian, the dead canary or Helena but it hadn’t been easy. Far from the noisy crowd at the marina, the only sounds were those of the orchestra of cicadas filling the afternoon with their deep humming and the roar of the surf hitting the rocks a little further down the beach. Now she was alone, the undesirable thoughts rushed back to haunt her.

  In daylight, the memory of her night of passion shocked Oriel’s sensibilities. In Damian’s arms she had rediscovered strange paths of sensuality, and she would never have believed herself capable of being so crudely wanton. How could she now stay on Helios and work with him? Yet how could she not? The pain of shame caused her whole body to ache but the desire for him made it burn.