Aphrodite's Tears

by Hannah Fielding

  He then stooped slightly to answer some remark of Yolanda’s, something that was obviously both intimate and mischievous. And they laughed, Damian and this young woman who was utterly at home on the island, among these people – a diva adored by a worldwide public, who was more beautiful, more sophisticated than Oriel could ever hope to be. She wasn’t sure whether Vassilis was watching her and she tried as hard as she could to keep her expression impassive. Meanwhile, pain tore at her with sharp, lance-like fingers.

  ‘She enjoys dancing too,’ Vassilis said. He had turned his head, probably because he had sensed Oriel stiffening in his arms. ‘Come, let’s return to our table.’

  Dry-eyed yet torn apart by a storm of emotion she had never known before, Oriel allowed Vassilis to lead her through the crowd, relieved that the suggestion had come from him because she wouldn’t have been able to muster the presence of mind to ask him to take her away. She moved like a woman in a dream, listless, without volition. She only knew that seeing Damian like that, across the crowded stage, had stabbed her to the core. She was ashamed, too, of her wild desire to be dancing with him instead of with Vassilis: to be in Yolanda’s place.

  You fool! You damned idiot! Oriel cried to herself. Hadn’t she learnt her lesson?

  Oriel turned the knife in her own heart; she couldn’t take her eyes off the couple, wondering how happy they were really. She could hear Mattias’s words, intimating that Yolanda had thrown away Damian’s love, and that he had continued to hurt at having lost her. Maybe Damian didn’t want to commit to a deeper and more serious relationship after all the pain he had been through, but it seemed clear to Oriel, watching them now, that they were lovers.

  Her thoughts kept her silent, more subdued than she had been during the earlier part of the evening. She couldn’t see her own eyes, but she knew they must have appeared troubled because Vassilis’s expression appeared crestfallen. Had she hurt him?

  As soon as they were back at their table, Nitsa brought over their order. Oriel felt the beginning of a headache probing her temples. She would have difficulty swallowing anything and instead toyed with the food on her plate, wishing she had not allowed discord to spoil what had promised to be an excellent evening.

  A crease deepened between Vassilis’s dark eyebrows and he looked at Oriel in a puzzled way. ‘Are you okay? We don’t need to stay for Yolanda’s performance if you don’t want to.’

  Oriel felt a burning at the back of her eyes. ‘No, no. I’m fine really. Thank you. It’s been a long day and weariness has just caught up with me. I’ll be all right after a good night’s sleep.’

  Once Damian and Yolanda had left the dancefloor, Oriel couldn’t see them: the place was too crowded. She tried to catch sight of Damian in the sea of people but to no avail. The meal staggered painfully to its conclusion. There was the cutting of the birthday cake and the distribution of free champagne for everybody in honour of the diva’s birthday, during which Oriel excused herself and went to the cloakroom.

  Just as she was coming back to her table she spotted Damian. He was walking towards her with the easy assurance of a man who was accustomed to getting his own way. He was dressed less formally tonight, with a sky-blue polo shirt and pale, faded jeans, which moulded themselves to him like a second skin.

  Oriel’s nails curled into the palms of her hands. Her legs felt weak and there was an agonizing hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. Damian stopped a moment to say a few words to a group of people who had called out to him. She tried to deviate from her path so she wouldn’t have to go past him but in no time he was next to her, blocking her escape in the same obstructive way he had done six years ago on Aegina.

  Something flashed in Damian’s eyes as he looked down at her, then his dark lashes cut across his gaze, concealing it. ‘Tomorrow we have a heavy day in front of us so I hope you haven’t indulged in too much wine,’ he said softly, icily. ‘We’ll be leaving before seven.’

  ‘I’ll be at the quay on time.’

  ‘There’s been a slight change of plan.’ And before she could ask any questions, he added: ‘I’ll explain tomorrow.’

  ‘Fine.’ Oriel tried to pass, but he barred her route and gave her an insolent look, his mouth pressed into a hard line. ‘Frankly, I’m surprised you have the energy after last night. I hope you’re not leading my friend astray. Maybe later you can tell me how Vassilis compares in the bedroom, eh?’ His eyes were luminous with silent wrath.

  Oriel bit her lip until she could taste blood and her face became tinged with self-conscious colour. She should have known that he would not react well to seeing her at the taverna with Vassilis, however innocent her motives. No matter that Damian was the worldly, educated leader of Helios. He was still as Greek as the next man: hot-blooded, passionate and with an easily wounded pride to match.

  She looked up at him steadily. ‘Can we stop right there, please? I find this conversation thoroughly abhorrent.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Damian’s voice was like tempered steel. ‘And I find the thought of you with Markopoulos equally so.’ He gave her a derisive look. ‘There’s something to think about next time you’re in his arms. Maybe it’ll spice things up for you.’

  Oriel glowered at him, loathing him for his unfounded and hurtful insinuations, particularly when he had the gall to be there with Yolanda. ‘I’d rather you didn’t say anything else,’ she replied raggedly. ‘I see you’re not—’

  Vassilis didn’t let her finish her phrase. Neither of them had seen his approach but it was clear he had heard some, if not all, of Damian’s distasteful words. He stepped forward and interposed himself between them.

  ‘That’s no way to speak to a lady.’ His manner was politeness itself, but there was no misunderstanding the veiled anger behind his words.

  An amused, half-mocking smile played round the corner of Damian’s mouth. ‘Just like you to come to the rescue, Vassilis,’ he said. ‘You’ve always managed to charm women with your knight in shining armour act. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.’

  ‘You arrogant kátham, son of a bitch.’

  Now they were standing opposite each other, Vassilis seemed much shorter than Damian and was having to stare up at him, although it didn’t stop him from looking as if he was about to lose control, his temper and recklessness fuelled by Metaxa. Oriel licked dry lips. The last thing she wanted was to cause a quarrel. Among Greek men, this didn’t take much. Insults poured out of them without restraint when they were angry, even between friends. She was aware of the curious scrutiny of some of the guests and guessed that they were wondering what part she had played in this heated argument.

  ‘You’re a lout. She may be your employee but you’ve no right to speak to Oriel that way.’

  People had started to gather around them, whispering, obviously looking forward to the addition of a juicy spectacle to the evening.

  ‘And what are you going to do about it, eh?’ Damian taunted, an unpleasant smile twisting his lips.

  Vassilis answered him by putting the flat of his hand against Damian’s face and giving it a shove. Then as Damian staggered back, he waited, fists up. Damian, who had been taken by surprise, recovered his balance immediately.

  ‘Ah, you want a fight, do you?’ He raised his fists likewise, dark fury etched on his face in a way that Oriel had never seen before.

  They danced round each other, then Damian led with a left hook and brought his right fist round in a heavy swinging blow that landed on the side of his opponent’s head. Vassilis grunted but bore in on him. Damian took another swipe and, but for a last-minute dropping of his head by a fraction, Vassilis would have taken the blow between the eyes. Instead, it landed on his forehead. His head went back. That gave Damian another opening and he took advantage of it: his right connected with Vassilis’s jaw. It was a heavy blow and it shook him.

  Some of the guests tried to separate them now, but the enraged pair were having none of it. Oriel was shouting, ‘Stop it, both of you! Pl
ease, stop!’ but her voice was lost in the noise of the melee. Yolanda was nowhere to be seen, she noticed, probably not wishing to be tainted by this unsavoury brush.

  Vassilis had now brought his forearms and fists closer to his face but he wasn’t giving up. Damian drove a punch to his stomach that made him gasp but, in striking the blow, he left himself open for a moment. Vassilis saw his opportunity and put the whole weight of his shoulders into a solid punch that caught Damian full on the nose. Immediately, blood poured down over his mouth and chin.

  Furious, and obviously in pain, Damian came in with a quick, springing lunge. Pushing Vassilis back towards the wall, he pinned him against it and, as though a mad fury had suddenly taken possession of him, smashed home punch after punch, without ever troubling to guard himself. Hopelessly cornered, with blood streaming down his face, Vassilis continued to fight back like a trapped and maddened wolf.

  It was too much. The next thing, Vassilis’s arms came down to shield his torso and, as he did so, Damian struck his opponent’s jaw with a terrific punch, sending him spinning half round, leaving him for a moment wobbling on his feet, hands at his side. Then Vassilis crumpled to his knees.

  Sirens were heard and someone was crying out, ‘Ee ahstinomeea, ee ashtinomeea, the police!’ and within minutes two policemen had made their way through the crowd. By now Vassilis had staggered to his feet and both men were breathing heavily. The lower part of Vassilis’s face was covered in blood and his right eye was closing fast. The skin on Damian’s forehead had split and there was a swelling at the side of his mouth. When the police glanced nervously at him before asking if either wanted to press charges, both men shook their heads and, as there had been no damage to the taverna, the police merely told them to stop brawling and go and patch themselves up.

  The owner of the taverna clapped his hands a few times. ‘Look, folks, the cabaret is over,’ he shouted at the top of his voice. ‘Everybody go back to what you were doing and enjoy the evening.’

  As the onlookers dispersed, Yolanda suddenly appeared, rushing to Damian’s side, the picture of tender sympathy. ‘Damian, agápi mou, are you hurt?’ she simpered. ‘My poor glyké mou, sweetheart. Your head, so much blood … let me look after you.’

  Oriel turned her back on them both, not wanting to witness Yolanda’s sudden fawnings, and helped Vassilis back to the table. ‘You need compresses of ice to stem the bleeding and the swelling,’ she said. She took out of her bag a small white handkerchief and, pouring some cold water over it from the jug on the table, she dabbed at the eye that was swelling fast. ‘I’m sorry, this is all my fault.’

  ‘Damian is arrogant. He should never have spoken to you like that. A boorish lout, as I said.’

  ‘I feel so guilty.’

  Lifting his sleeve, Vassilis tried to wipe away some of the blood trickling down his face. ‘Please, don’t feel bad. I’m fine. For once it gave me great pleasure to stand up to that conceited pagoni, peacock, friend or not. Sometimes he just goes too far. I just wish the police hadn’t turned up, I would have knocked him out.’ Vassilis took Oriel’s hand, which was lying on the table, and turned it over, brushing his lips to her palms. ‘No one has the right to talk to you the way that bástardos did.’

  The musicians were taking their place on the stage for Yolanda’s performance. By now, Vassilis was looking very pale. Oriel could see that he was suffering although making a valiant attempt to put on a brave face. His nose was still bleeding slightly, and he had placed his own handkerchief against it to stop the dribbling. His right eye was all but closed, the swelling extending to his cheekbone. Oriel tried to order some ice from a waiter but there wasn’t any left.

  ‘You need a doctor, you can’t leave these wounds unattended. Is there a hospital we can go to?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll call the doctor when I get home. I’ll be fine.’ He tried to smile at her and winced. The sight of his white teeth in his tanned and bloodied face looked almost gruesome.

  ‘I think we should leave now before the beginning of the show. It’ll probably go on for another two or three hours. That’s too long, with the state you’re in.’

  ‘You’re a sweet girl, Oriel. Look, I’ve been irresponsible. I should have handled Lekkas differently. Settled our scores somewhere else. I’m fine. I promise I won’t spoil your evening further.’

  ‘Well, then, do as I say and be wise. There’ll always be another party, another show … We’ve just started on the excavations. I’ll be around for another month at least.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure. Anyhow, I’m tired and Kyrios Lekkas has just told me that we have an early start tomorrow.’

  ‘Thank you, Oriel. I promise to make it up to you.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. Are you all right to drive?’

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s nothing. My cuts are not very deep, but I should get cleaned up.’

  Oriel picked up her shawl and bag, and together they left the taverna.

  * * *

  It seemed that the day was destined to provide Oriel with one disturbance after another. Even before putting her key in the lock, as she stood outside her apartment, she drew a startled breath, alarmed by a noise she could hear behind the door and aware of a flurry of sound that rose in volume as she listened. She hesitated, knowing that someone had once again violated her space. What was she to do? Go in search of Irini and ask for her help? Let everyone know she was afraid? She could always say she’d lost her key, but Oriel thought that sort of cowardice beneath her.

  Taking the bull by the horns, she turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. The noise was coming from her bedroom. She walked across the sitting room and opened the door. The chirping, chattering and shrilling that filled the darkness was deafening; it sounded as if she had entered an aviary. When she switched on her bedroom light she saw, hanging over her bed, an ornamental cage like the ones she had seen swinging from the ceiling on Helena’s veranda the night she’d had dinner with her. Now Oriel had no doubt that the dead canary was Beshir’s work too, performed on the sick orders of Damian’s cousin.

  Fear and fury mingled in Oriel’s mind. They washed over her: wave after wave of violent emotion. For a few shocked seconds she stared with huge eyes in frozen horror at the golden jail full of small birds. The screeching was unbearable. She paused, pondering her next move. All she could think of was her own sharp aversion to going near the cage but she knew that setting free the poor captive creatures was the only sensible thing to do.

  Oriel shut the door behind her and, heart thudding, made her way to the small aviary. Dread gathered about her like shadows, paralyzing her body so that she could barely move. She managed to extend an arm towards the cage and, with shaking hands, seized the loop at the top and took it down. It was heavy and swung from side to side, the birds going berserk, twittering in terror, fluttering their wings as they beat frantically against the bars of their prison, injuring themselves as they did so.

  Oriel was just as terrified; fear was burning a hole in her. Still, her determination to release those tiny frightened souls from their golden prison gave her the courage to carry the cage to the terrace outside her bedroom. She stumbled over the threshold, almost letting it slip from her hand, but righted herself immediately. Then she laid it on top of the stone balustrade.

  The birds had become frantic now and she waited, uncertain. What if, when she opened the door, in their panic they flew at her? A few minutes passed. The birds calmed down. They had stopped twittering but were still quivering, huddled against each other, their beautiful feathers ruffled, pupils shining as they darted here and there, desperate for escape.

  Taking a deep breath, Oriel pushed up the catch and the little door swung open. Nothing happened at first then suddenly away they flew towards the sea, one after the other, and into the sheltering trees. Oriel went back inside and closed the French windows. As she did so, Irini’s ominous words played in her head like the maddening refrain of a po
pular song. Someone wishes you ill. You need to believe it. This is a troubled house … So much for Damian warning his cousin off. If Helena was now defying Damian himself, what lengths would she go to? Suddenly she was afraid for her safety. Afraid for her life, perhaps! The whole dark, looming house seemed like a cage about her, shutting her in, stifling her … She felt like a piece of thin crystal, which the barest touch would shatter; she wouldn’t stay one minute more under this roof.

  Grabbing her handbag, Oriel ran down the stairs and out of the cursed house. This time she made no effort to be quiet and, in her haste, slammed the heavy front door behind her, little caring if she woke Helena and the other strange inhabitants of Heliades. She ran and ran, heedless of the darkness about her … down the drive, down the hill, running as if the devil himself were at her heels. She didn’t know where she was going, and she didn’t care.

  * * *

  As he drove back to Heliades, Damian’s muscles were tense, his head aching and his jaw was stiff. He felt it gingerly, wondering if Vassilis’s driving right fist had broken it. His cheek felt hard and swollen. He worked his jaw gently, as though eating tough meat or tackling one of those hard paximadakia Lent biscuits. He welcomed the feel of the cool night wind as it played on his bruised forehead and soothed his brain, which was full of confused thoughts, making him feel hot and bothered.

  He had wanted to leave the taverna immediately so as to be at Heliades when Oriel returned but he needed to speak briefly to the two police officers, Stelios and Pantelis, as well as Thanos, the owner of Limenarkhees. Damian did not tolerate corruption of any kind and so he had instilled a cardinal rule in the island’s local force that everyone, no matter their background, should be treated in the same way if they caused a disturbance – and that included him. He’d apologised for his outburst and then cursed himself for displaying such a lack of self-control in public.