Aphrodite's Tears

by Hannah Fielding

  ‘I was thinking about this lake,’ she said, quickly aware of the colour running up to her hairline, betraying the lie. ‘It’s such a pity that it’s been left to dry up.’

  ‘It was drained in 1925 because it was a breeding ground for mosquitos carrying malaria. In winter, after the rain, it takes on another aspect and one can hear the croak of green tree frogs in the ancient cisterns.’

  A couple of wasps came hovering around them, attracted by the food. Oriel shrank away from them with a little gasp.

  Damian shooed them off her. ‘You mustn’t be afraid of them, they’re part of nature.’

  ‘I’ve never liked wasps.’

  ‘The interesting thing about the countryside is that there’s always something going on in nature. Look at that queen wasp there, busy making paper.’

  ‘Making paper? Where?’

  ‘On that shrivelled-up, diseased olive tree stump right beside you.’

  Oriel could see the bright-yellow-ended insect at once.

  ‘If you listen carefully, you’ll hear her chipping away and pulping up the fragments of wood. Once she has all she can carry, she’ll take it back to her nest to make the first cells of the comb, where she will lay her eggs.’

  ‘Somehow I didn’t expect you to know this much about life in the country.’

  ‘I love to watch nature at work, always have done.’

  Oriel savoured every moment of the present alone with Damian, spending time in easy conversation until they had finished their sandwiches and the bottle of wine. Once or twice she had been tempted to steer the dialogue towards more intimate subjects but she always refrained from it, fearing to draw a cloud over this beautiful day.

  The afternoon went by as if in a dream. The ruins near the lake were beautiful, full of primitive echoes and the amazing phosphorescence of Apollo’s light. Oriel found herself walking softly in this enchanted land, as if the ghost city could still feel and hear. She listened to Damian telling her what each edifice would have been – and he spoke so vividly that she could see them in her mind’s eye, in all their former splendour: the temples, the stoas, the luxury villas, like the House of Masks and the House of Dolphins. And walking among the ancients would have been Marcus Sestius, the Roman who became more Greek than the Greeks, according to what little they knew of him.

  As Damian spoke, Oriel could imagine the rise and fall of the power of these people; the coming of pirates, the devastation as the island was looted and plundered, falling gradually into decay.

  ‘All we have now are these ruined buildings … and the myths, of course,’ she said faintly.

  ‘And the myths have served a purpose through the centuries,’ remarked Damian. ‘I know, as you’ve studied them, you’ll be perfectly aware that the stories were told to caution the public against immoral behaviour. Incest, adultery, that sort of thing …’ He gave her one of his devilish smiles. ‘That is why, agápi mou, we are such a moral people today. Believe it or not, the old laws still hold sway over the emotions of the Greek people. The worst aspects of civilization haven’t yet ruined our sun-drenched land.’

  Oriel gave him a sidelong glance, wondering at her own sense of protective caution. ‘So what do you do when all your senses, all your instincts, compel you to do something you know is wrong?’

  The breeze ruffled Damian’s hair and he lifted his head. Oriel’s question seemed to have disturbed the mask he had kept on all day. His eyes suddenly looked dark and turbulent with emotion, his jaw tightened a little and, for a moment, she was almost tempted to forget everything but his obvious need of her. It would be so easy to tumble into his arms, let him make love to her and experience once more the rapturous thrill only his possessing her could bring. But she couldn’t let that happen – not now, not after the lecture she had given him the night before on the boat. Where was her dignity, her self-respect?

  ‘Oriel,’ he breathed, and his eyes were narrowed and sensual, alert to every nuance of her expression. ‘What are you saying?’

  Again she was afraid of what might happen, of what she might not be able to control. ‘Don’t read anything into my words, Damian. I was curious, that’s all. A woman’s prerogative.’

  His features hardened into the neutral countenance he’d worn since their talk and the slight bow of the head he gave her told Oriel that he would continue to respect their pact. As he got to his feet and moved over to hoist the rucksack on to his back, she stayed on the rock for a moment, staring at his lithe body topped by broad shoulders, the muscles flexing under his shirt. That hard, stern back was like a stone wall shutting her out for his own good, she thought with a heavy heart.

  They walked silently for a while in the late afternoon and, for Oriel, the day seemed drained of its earlier beauty. She no longer heard the cicadas or saw how passionately blue was the sky or how turquoise the sea, with its white horses racing each other. From time to time she threw Damian a furtive glance only to see a cool and distant profile. An icy reserve had descended upon him as if he didn’t want to speak or be spoken to, and she respected his silence. How could she handle him in her present state of nervous tension when she had fared no better the night before?

  As they came to the stone-cut staircase that provided access to the summit of Mount Cynthus, Damian stopped. ‘I think it’s really worth your while to climb to the top. The view will be one you’ll always remember. Shall we do it?’

  Oriel’s first impulse was to say no. He was regarding her, his face grave, waiting for her answer, not elaborating on his last few words. Damian had said the same about the sunset at Santorini and she hadn’t been disappointed. This would be another souvenir she would be able to recall when she’d left the island … Greece … Damian.

  ‘I would like that very much, Damian.’ She had spoken softly, her face upturned to him, her eyes wanting to read his, but they were once more hidden behind his sunglasses.

  They started up the trail. There was so much rubble around it was almost impossible to imagine that it had once been honeycombed with sanctuaries and temples to various gods. Although the ascent was gentle, the grade was difficult because of the gravel that made the going slippery. It wasn’t helped by the meltémi, which blew relentlessly, assaulting them with violent rushes of howling air that could make them lose their balance at any moment. Oriel stumbled from time to time and, although she tried to ignore it, Damian’s protective hand was always within reach if she wanted to steady herself.

  Along the way, a path cut through groves of ancient, truncated pillars. They passed a sanctuary of the Egyptian gods, with its façade largely intact, and then, treading on fallen Cyclopean masonry, they came to the Grotto of Heracles, a cave formed by five pairs of enormous stone slabs.

  ‘This place is considered the oldest site on the island,’ Damian told Oriel. ‘It’s probably where the oracles were delivered, although the most important oracle of Apollo, as you know, was the one at Delphi. Archaeologists found fragments of a statue of Heracles in the cave, so they knew it was formed in his honour.’

  ‘It belongs, I suppose, to those Hellenistic times when they were returning to nature and more ancient forms of worship.’

  ‘Exactly. Would you like to go in?’

  The entrance faced towards the harbour and a round, white, stone altar stood just outside, embedded in the tufts of dry grass. Oriel peered up at the gigantic stone slabs, fascinated. ‘Yes, if you don’t mind.’

  Inside, the space was darkly ominous, with natural grey granite walls and a great opening in the slabs at the back that let in the sunlight. The stone plinth in the cave was the base for the statue of Heracles, which was now, according to Damian, safely housed in a museum. There were some plants growing at the back of the cave and there the atmosphere was fresher than outside.

  Damian and Oriel came out of the cave and, just as they were going to move off to continue their climb, they saw crouching on a step a shrivelled hag – a gaunt, forbidding figure with a hooked nose and parchment-brown skin
. Tousled grey hair, like that of a Skye Terrier, hung over her forehead, half concealing a pair of coal-black eyes.

  As Damian and Oriel approached she stood up, scrutinizing them, and barred their way with a claw-like hand. She was much taller and stronger-looking than she had first appeared when seated, and it was as if her presence suddenly seemed to take up the whole of the island: the sky, the rock and the surrounding sea.

  Damian immediately put a hand into his pocket and drew out a handful of coins. ‘Here, take these and get yourself a hot drink and something to eat.’

  ‘Keep your money, silver-eyed son of Aphrodite and Ares. You are generous hearted but Delia does not need your handouts.’

  Damian leaned in to Oriel, murmuring in English: ‘I’ve heard of this woman, they call her the Oracle.’

  The woman’s deep voice echoing in the wind seemed to be coming from the underworld. ‘You are well named … a tamer of men … but you could just as well have been called Achilles, Heracles, Jason or Perseus for the feats you have faced. And those you will still have to meet. Your journey is long, handsome Odysseus, in your toil for happiness. It might be in reach but treachery, fire and destruction surround you. I can sniff the scent of death in the air, coming from afar. Only your courage and your determination will carry you through the dark times ahead.’

  Damian’s face was an unreadable mask and Oriel noticed he seemed completely unfazed by the antiquated speech of the old woman, which was as oblique as if she had been the Oracle of Delphi herself. ‘And the outcome?’ he asked.

  ‘Tò peprōménon phygeîn adýnaton, it is impossible to escape from what is destined.’ This woman was straight out of a Greek tragedy, like a modern-day priestess of the gods, and Oriel saw in Damian’s eyes that he was taking her seriously.

  ‘What is my destiny? Will I know how to deal with these dark times you predict?’

  ‘Man is the measure of all things.’

  The shrewd black eyes turned and fastened on Oriel’s face, which had grown pale at the Oracle’s prediction for Damian. She knew she shouldn’t believe a word of such nonsense, nonetheless something about the woman sent an uncomfortable prickle down the back of her neck. ‘You have the fair skin and soft hair of those born to luck and love. It’s normal that the fair be attracted by the dark and the dark by the fair. But eínai polloí mia olísthisi metaxý tou kypéllou kai tou cheílous, there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip.’

  Oriel felt the powerful energy emanating from the woman overwhelm her. Suddenly she wanted to run away, fearing what this strange creature was going to say. The disquieting prophecies surrounding Damian were unnerving enough, she didn’t need any more spine-chilling omens. ‘Please, don’t go on,’ she protested. ‘I don’t really …’

  But the old woman, Delia, lifted her hand and Oriel felt a strange radiation emit from it on to her face, rendering her mute. ‘Your fortune is changing, mermaid of the North Sea. Your Christian name begins with an O, the O of amazement that men utter at your beauty. A beauty that captures their hearts and twists them in knots that can never be undone. And though your beauty can be compared to that of Calypso, the fair nymph of Ogygia, or Selene, goddess of the moon, your fate could be that of the dark and passionate Antigone if the gods are not on your side. They are silent today but remember, it will not always be summer. Gather the harvest while you can.’

  Oriel’s brows knitted. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘You are looking for water in the sea.’

  Having said her piece, the Oracle moved aside to let Damian and Oriel pass. Taking her place on the step again, she once more became the shrivelled-up, gaunt old woman, a faint shadow of what she had metamorphosed into a few moments earlier.

  Damian didn’t seem rattled by the encounter. He held out his hand to Oriel and this time she took it, too shaken by the uncanny words of Delia to protest about anything. His hand was strong and comforting, his fingers transmitting a natural warmth that spread up her arm. Her heart fluttered treacherously and danger signals rushed through her veins. She knew exactly what her senses were saying. How could she ever resist?

  She felt secure with Damian. The Oracle had been right about one thing, for sure: he really was the personification of all those brave gods Delia had named. Oriel remembered the words Yorgos had told her, describing his boss on the first day of her arrival at Helios: master, tamer and conqueror … he hunts in the moonlight with the wolves, and swims with the sea monsters in the deep and dark waters surrounding the island. Characteristically dramatic, like many of the islanders’ utterances, but somehow it fitted Damian’s dominating and charismatic persona.

  Still, even though Oriel knew she was protected from the outside world when she was with Damian, how safe was she from the emotions that bubbled between them?

  The meltémi had quietened down and it was almost sunset. They moved much more quickly now that the wind had subsided and Oriel’s holding on to Damian’s hand helped their progress too.

  ‘Do you believe in all this mumbo jumbo?’ she asked suddenly.

  Damian drew a deep breath. ‘You need to read between the lines.’

  ‘So what does she mean by all those blood-curdling omens she was dishing out to you?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, agápi mou. It’s business as usual, I’m used to that sort of ominous prediction. This is Greece,’ he said wryly.

  Damian might be used to the double-talk of oracles but Oriel was definitely not; Delia’s gibberish had filled her with a deep sense of foreboding.

  When they reached the top of Mount Cynthus the sun was already low on the horizon, flushing the sea with rosy, pearl hues; the sky was striped with green, pink and smoke-grey. At the summit the plateau was adorned with small, simple stone shrines and dedications to Apollo from modern pilgrims.

  ‘It’s unbelievable!’ Oriel murmured, catching her breath as she stood in wonder, feasting her eyes on the spectacular view. The sun slipped out of sight and the mellow colours of dusk spread over the island. She turned to look at Damian. He had taken off his dark glasses and was watching her intently. The undeniable love she read in his eyes filled her with such emotion that she moved towards him with an impulse to throw herself into his arms. He did take hold of her but only to push her gently from him, his arms rigid barriers preventing any movement.

  ‘Oyhee, no Calypso, not again, not tonight.’

  Oriel spoke then, stammering. ‘But I am … I mean, we are …’

  Damian winced. ‘Yes, we’ve been lovers and I do love you more than life itself. At this moment you’re moved by beauty so you are overcome by passionate feelings, that is all. At other times, if I so much as touch your arm to help you over rocky ground, you flinch. Sometimes it’s as if you’d rather sit in any chair but the one beside me. Forgive me, but I don’t like being made to feel my touch is distasteful to you, even if you happen sometimes to want it.’

  Her lips parted in dismay. ‘But Damian, I don’t … you know …’

  ‘Hush, agápi mou, let’s remain just companions for a while.’ He smiled. ‘Come, look at this wonderful view. Enjoy it … there are not many that equal it … at least, that’s what I think. Our sunsets are the most beautiful in the world and, if you let me, I will take you to watch all of them.’

  Oriel stared at him uncomprehendingly for a few seconds. Her wide green eyes questioned him earnestly. He was telling her he didn’t want to take her in his arms, didn’t want to make love to her. Somewhere, deep down, she was hurt. Yet what did she expect? She had only herself to blame.

  The first blush of a rosy-bronze moon had risen across the water, sky and sea mingling in a universal softness. The evening light was radiating over the islands of the Cyclades, dancing like a chorus around the sacred isle of Delos. Looking down from their promontory, Damian and Oriel could see alternate strips of indigo sea between ridges of land and, in this, the peculiar beauty of the landscape lay.

  Damian had moved a little away from her and was now stan
ding, arms crossed, looking out to sea. Oriel felt suddenly abandoned, missing him even though he was still there. But then his voice came softly out of the silence and he began to tell her about Apollo, the god of pure sunlight, patron of music and poetry, who at the age of four took his bow and arrow and went out in search of the snake that had tormented his mother during her pregnancy and, finding Python, killed it.

  ‘Listen carefully,’ he whispered without looking at her, ‘and you might hear the musicians and pilgrims, their music and paeans echoing among the stone as the great procession moves slowly into the Temple of Apollo. Close your eyes, Oriel, can’t you hear the lyre and the chorus?’

  And then he began to recite Callimachus’s verses in the original ancient language of his ancestors, which she was able to understand:

  The sacred isle its deep foundations forms

  Unshook by winds, uninjured by the deep.

  High o’er the waves appears the Cynthian steep;

  And from the flood the sea-mew bends his course

  O’er cliffs impervious to the swiftest horse

  Around the rocks the Icarian surges roar,

  Collect new foam, and whiten all the shore

  Beneath the lonely caves, and breezy plain

  Where fishers dwelt of old above the main.

  No wonder Delos, first in rank, is placed

  Amid the sister isles on ocean’s breast.

  There was silence as Damian’s sonorous voice died away. Oriel opened her eyes, feeling that her heart might burst with the wonder of it all. She would always be grateful to him, grateful for the most beautiful memory that nothing could ever erase from her mind. She turned to Damian but for a moment was unable to speak, and then smiled ruefully. ‘I could listen to you forever but it frightens me. It’s so lovely here now, just listening to the peace.’