‘Dogs humping,’ Ioli added, and we all –Homer included-mindlessly turned to see the two shabby strays in front of the empty, dilapidated building next to the museum.
The penetrating honking and slamming of the brakes that followed sent shivers down my aching back. Tracy squeezed my hand while Ioli did what she did best. Cursed.
The car swerved and climbed up the pavement before coming to a complete stop.
The cab with which we nearly crashed, did not bother to stop. It slowed down just enough for us to notice a big-bellied taxi driver flip us the finger and call Homer a malaka. However, the passengers in the back were those that caught my attention.
A well-groomed, forty-something year old bearded man sat next to a black-haired lady who arched two manicured eyebrows at us. Patches of bruises covered her face. The skin on her face looked like it was ripped and then sewed on by my three year old niece. Deep, maroon lines ran freely around her eyes and nose, and all the way down to her neck. You could not distinguish her lips amongst the severe, bloody blisters that covered the lower part of her face.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Homer rushed to apologize.
‘No need to apologize. It’s my daughter’s fascination with dog humping that is to blame.’
‘Thanks, dad. Good to know,’ Ioli replied.
The rest of the twenty-minute drive went by rather uneventfully. We sat tranquilly as the sky wore its charcoal coat and ominous, black clouds gathered and blocked out the stars.
‘Home, sweet home.’ Anna’s cheerful voice was the first to break the silence.
The old truck turned down the muddy, dirt road and won a bumpy fight to reach the two story farm house.
The rumbling in the skies above warned us to hurry into the house. One numb leg after another, I exited the vehicle. I felt a weird pain in my stomach as I tried to stand up straight. First my back, now this… and next year I’m hitting the big 5-0…
‘Costa, quick,’ Tracy’s voice pulled me back to reality. The first drops of rain lazily fell as if out for a stroll. Everyone took a piece or two of luggage and sprinted into the house.
An hour later, with warm, sour frumenty soup resting well in our stomachs, we said our goodnights. Homer left for his family home –two farms down-and not long after, snoring and heavy breathing ruled the century-old house.
It turned out that roosters did not need light to know it was dawn. The animal’s ferocious cry came at six o’clock sharp. I slowly rose and stumbled to the wooden-framed window. Outside, a pitch black sky cried down thin droplets. The tin roofs of pig and cow sheds danced with spray. Sunlight was nowhere to be seen.
I awoke Tracy with a kiss on her rosy cheek –I could never understand how she remained so warm through the cold night, I awoke a popsicle, like always-and opened the oak wood door, letting in the sweet aroma of the Greek coffee brewing in the kitchen down below. Anna apparently beat the rooster on most mornings.
A thick wood, country table filled with nature’s finest breakfast awaited us. Homemade feta cheese graced with pure, Cretan olive oil, three kinds of olives and freshly cut, chopped tomatoes and cucumbers were lined up beside Anna’s home-baked bread. Time had reached the fifties in Anna’s kitchen and has since stood still.
‘Eat up quickly,’ Gianni grunted, as we sat down. ‘The bus leaves in an hour. Homer will be here to pick us up soon.’
‘People tend to say good morning first,’ Ioli said, with a smile towards us. She kissed her father tenderly on the side of his forehead and then sat down beside him.
Unlike a typical Greek, Homer came on time. Great. More time squeezed in the back seat.
Luckily for my knees and most of the boned joints in my body, the bus station lay only a ten minute drive away. Homer’s dated, dented truck fought against muddy puddles forming speedily along the gravel road. Asphalt road came as a blessing to our tossed around stomachs.
The rain grew stronger, hammering against the aluminium kiosk where we ran to take cover and pay for our tickets.
I took out my wallet and Ioli’s eyes widened. ‘Don’t you dare! It’s on me. I invited you, Cretan hospitality and all.’
I tried to protest, but then remembered mama’s ‘golden rule’. Never argue with a Greek woman when her mind has been made up.
Drains were already overflowing, a sign of lazy council workers who only cleaned out the sewer if and when the situation had reached a point of no return.
We dashed through the rain and into the small, yet sufficient bus station building. There, the Cara family had assembled and loud chatter filled the low ceilinged room. Loud good mornings and even louder kisses were exchanged and introductions were rapidly made.
‘You and your elephant memory will have to help me remember everybody’s name,’ Tracy whispered in my ear as a barrel-chested man squeezed my hand.
‘And this is my uncle Thomas and his wife Georgia…’ Ioli continued with the ongoing introductions as two young boys ran around us, using us as a barrier in their shooting games. Ioli suddenly paused and stood still. Her gaze focused on the athletic, tall, handsome, olive skinned man approaching her with a smile as vast as the Pacific. His ‘James Franco’ green eyes were fixed steadily on her.
‘Hi, Ioli,’ he said, stopping his fast pace just a foot away from her.
‘Get the fuck out of here. It can’t be.’
‘You always had a way with words,’ he said. His tongue gently wet his lips and he flashed an awkward smile.
‘Mark? Oh my God. I can’t believe this. How have you been?’ Ioli hugged him, placing her chin on his broad left shoulder. It was the first time, I saw her hug anyone besides her parents. Not one for much social touching.
‘A detective, not informed? I’m the best man.’
‘You’re shitting me. How do you…’
‘I studied in America. Met Homer on our first day at Uni at an unspeakably corny Greek welcoming event. As if we went to America to hang around with other Greeks all day.’
‘And after all those years of university, Homer ended up with a Greek girl and a Greek best man.’
He laughed a heavy, genuine, manly laugh. ‘You do have a point.’
‘So, where is your Greek girl?’
His smile reached his somewhat pointy ears. ‘No girl. Just me. No time for commitments at med school.’
‘You’re a doctor?’
‘Surgeon,’ he monolectically replied, trying not to sound pompous but still hoping to impress. ‘You?’
‘Me, what?’ Her left-hand thumb ran along her sharp, red nails; her right hand casually pushed back a few black hairs on the loose, neatly tucking them behind her ear.
‘Where’s your guy?’ Mark asked, leaning slightly forward.
‘Are we really doing this?’
‘Doing what?’
‘The whole I’m single, I’m single, too situation?’
His smile grew too large for his face. ‘So, you are single? I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘Well, look at little Mark, all grown up and flirting at weddings.’
His smile flat-lined for a second, before the tips of his lips rose again. ‘I…’
‘.. Hate being called little Mark. I know, I know. I must have heard you complain a million times,’ Ioli interrupted.
‘Hey, it wasn’t easy being the smallest kid in class.’
Only then, did Ioli –and Mark for that matter-realize that Tracy and I were standing next to them the whole time. We had faded into the background of the crowded room.
‘Oh, Mark, this is my partner Costa and his wife Tracy. This is…’
‘Mark. We heard,’ I said with a grin, only to receive a watch-it look from Ioli. She received my ‘what-did-I-say’, oblivious look, in return.
‘Pleasure to meet you,’ Tracy said, extending her hand.
‘Old friends, I guess?’ I asked.
‘We were classmates for five years at primary school, but then my family moved to Athens and we haven’t seen each other since.’
‘Bus is here, everyone!’ Homer shouted over the loud group. He herded us through the glass doors and counted us as we boarded the dated, ‘begging-for-a-wash’ vehicle. It was a regular field trip.
The engine roared to life and Kazantzakis’s old hits blasted through the badly-wired, crackling speakers.
I had seen many roads in the nearly five decades that I have roamed this planet and the long, winding, ‘next-to-certain-death-cliffs’ mountain road we were on, was not a road. It was a roller coaster ride designed in hell by the man in charge himself. We journeyed with speed close to rugged cliffs and with horror watched our ‘got-my-license-during-WWII’ driver, talk on his phone, while smoking a pack of Assos cigarettes and scratching all over, while he drove.
The Cretan passengers were oblivious to the mayhem. Greek clichés came alive as women exchanged recipes and talked about their offspring, while the men discussed sports and the new prime-minister. Ioli sat behind us, alone and quiet, gazing towards the vast horizon. Wild nature welcomed the drops of water that free-fell through the sky and splattered against the muddy grounds.
‘Are your sea legs ready for the boat ride to the island?’ I placed my head against Tracy’s.
‘Don’t remind me.’ Her hand fell upon my knee. ‘Just love me and pay attention to me, these days.’
‘Don’t I always?’
‘We have both been so busy lately. This getaway could not have come at a better time.’
We said no more. Shouting interrupted our little moment. The ongoing discussion on politics quickly heated and reached boiling point. Just like every discussion on politics in Greece.
‘I wish he had the guts to leave the Euro zone!’ Gianni said angrily.
‘I wish old people like you really understood what a disaster that would truly be!’ Jason, Homer’s younger brother, replied.
‘Who you calling old, you little piece of…?’
‘And I wish for a mute supermodel that enjoys cooking and cleaning,’ Thomas, Ioli’s uncle, said. Laughter from all drove the argument right out the wet, trembling bus windows. The wind grew stronger, the rain fell heavier and Paleochora -where our boat waited for us finally appeared on the horizon. It lay peacefully by the wavy, deep blue sea. Our ferry teetered upon the hostile waters. Ioli read Tracy’s look.
‘It takes less than an hour to reach the island. By the time we gossip about the bride’s side, we’ll have arrived,’ Ioli joked, receiving a wide smile from my wife.
‘The bride’s side?’ I asked.
‘Yes, her guests have been staying at her mansion since yesterday. There is only one ferry and it runs every morning. She has relatives and friends over from America as well. They arrived …’
‘Ioli, go help your mother,’ Gianni ordered as the bus came to a complete halt.
‘Only in Greece, you never truly grow up enough to not be told what to do by your parents,’ Ioli said with a smile, and went off to help her mother unload bags of silverware and homemade food, presents for the bride’s parents. We were staying at their mansion and as all Greeks know well, you must go all out with presents for your hosts.
The rain had taken a break; the high winds though, apparently had no such plans.
The picturesque, dark brown from the rain, wooden pier welcomed us. Everyone moved speedily, not trusting the threatening clouds releasing lightning and thunder above us.
‘Zeus is surely in a mood today,’ Homer joked, as he helped his parents to board. The metallic, narrow bridge swung side to side erratically; the passengers all calculating the right time to hop on.
‘I always wanted to sign up for Wipe Out,’ a loud woman’s voice was heard. Her uproarious laughter sliced through the air. She wore a tight, red, glittery dress, dark shades, matching high heels, a dead, furry animal wrap and an air of confidence. Her date, a well-preserved forty year old –at least ten years her senior-followed; his body at one with the countless suitcases.
‘Cousin Leonida,’ Homer greeted him with a pat on the back.
‘Kallisto,’ he called ahead, bringing the diva to a standstill. ‘Baby, this is the groom. My cousin, Homer. Homer, this is Kallisto…’
‘Kallisto Ralli,’ Homer said in admiration. ‘I’ve never met anyone famous before.’
Kallisto extended her glove-wearing hand. ‘Leonida, you failed to mention how handsome he was.’ Homer turned a light shade of red.
‘Genes, my dear. He’s my cousin, you should have guessed,’ Leonida joked and walked on; the burden of the luggage grew heavier.
‘Famous?’ I whispered to Ioli.
‘She stars in Dysfunctional Housewives. Played quite a lot of theatre when she was in Greece. Never was the main star though.’
‘Dysfunctional Housewives?’ I could not help but laugh.
‘A low-rated cable show in America, but she seems to believe she is a celebrity.’
The couple approaching caught my glance. A feeling of familiarity was born inside my overworked brain. No way. The couple from the taxi!
‘Where is your A.D.D. mind drifting off to?’ Ioli asked.
‘The taxi we nearly hit today,’ I murmured, and strolled off, acting casual, passing by the couple, overhearing Homer greet the man as cousin George. George then introduced his girlfriend Melissa. Homer showed no sign of paying any attention to her severely burnt face, unlike Kallisto, whose eyes lowered to their corners and her red lips twisted in disgust. She turned before any introductions could have been made.
‘Quickly, Leonidas,’ she ordered and paraded towards the ship.
Leonidas hugged his cousin, George, shook hands with Melissa and dawdled down the pier. A Greek man never shows that a woman bosses him around. When he was sure they we were not watching, he ran and boarded the bouncing boat, calling after his loved one.
The clouds laid low on the horizon, conspiring on tomorrow’s attack. For the time being, they had retreated and blessed us with a clear sky.
‘If the wind would only stop,’ Tracy complained.
‘If only,’ Ioli agreed.
‘Are George and Leonida your cousins too?’
‘Huh?’ Ioli said, unsure she heard right. She was expecting a mindless comment on the weather. ‘Erm, no. Homer’s dad and mine are brothers. They are from his mother’s side of the family. How do you… You were snooping around down on the dock. I thought you needed to walk off your grandpa-back pain.’
‘Don’t call it that,’ I said with a wide smile, enjoying Tracy’s giggle.
‘You really should have it checked out, Costa. It might not only be old age,’ Tracy said, her giggle settling down. Now, it was Ioli’s turn to laugh.
‘You two are having a ball, aren’t you?’
I received no response. With a loud roar, the ferry’s engines came to life and Kallisto’s high pitched voice competed with them to be heard.
‘Did you get the keys to the cabin, Leo?’
‘Yes, dear,’ he replied. ‘Here you are. I’m going to stay and see my aunts…’
‘Do whatever pleases you,’ she said with apathy, waving her hand. ‘I need to lie down, in peace,’ she emphasized. All the loud talking Cretans were working wonders on Kallisto’s morning migraine. They went their separate ways, ignoring us sitting just feet away.
‘A cabin? For an hour-something trip?’ Tracy asked.
‘Some people have too much money to waste,’ Ioli replied.
The ferry picked up speed and water splashed over the rails. The waves were at war with the strong winds.
‘I know you prefer fresh air, but shouldn’t we be heading inside?’ I asked my slightly pale wife.
‘Yes, let’s. I love Cretans when they gather. You never know what you are going to hear.’
‘That’s for sure,’ Ioli said, standing up.
Inside, in a room born out the dark corners of a claustrophobic’s mind, Aristo and Cleopatra Cara –Homer’s parents-worked hard to meet everybody’s needs. A bitter Greek coffee for Gianni, a sweet one for Jaso
n and a lighter for Leonida who enjoyed a smoke with his cousin George, while his girlfriend, Melissa, sat behind him playing with her fingers and staring out to the ever-moving ocean. She could feel the eyes pretending not to see her.
‘Poor thing,’ Anna said. ‘Imagine being on fire.’ Her shoulders trembled at the idea.
‘I heard she was in a car accident,’ Georgia whispered back. ‘The car caught fire and she was trapped inside.’
The boat’s loud horn did not interrupt any of the ongoing conversations.
‘Nothing compared to galas back in New York?’ Ioli joked, as we stood at the door.
‘They do love talking, don’t they?’ Tracy laughed.
‘Excuse me, can you help me?’ a frail voice came from behind me as we entered the room. An old lady, in her early eighties, sat in her wheelchair, unable to force herself up the two-inch step that was blocking her entrance to the room.
‘Of course,’ I replied, and helped her in.
‘Thank you, young man.’
‘Hear that dear?’ I called over to Tracy. ‘Young man!’ I said with a grin.
‘Aunt Myrrine,’ the ladies on the boat came close and surrounded her.
It was a scene taken out of a Greek fifties movie. You had your strong men, your gossiping women, a wedding on the way and now, the elderly aunt from America.
Time melted away like spring snow. Soon, the ferry became a distant memory and the Cara family, plus two, arrived at the Zampetaki mansion.
Chapter 4
The day before the wedding
‘Holy fuck! This place is bigger than parliament,’ Ioli gracefully said, as the bus entered through the freshly-painted gates of Zampetaki manor. Two lines of majestic palm trees ran alongside the road. Grass covered the majority of the vast farmland, while square patches of fine, black dirt indicated that the place truly came alive with flowers during spring. The taxi –or rather a local’s old car that acted like one-that had brought the dysfunctional housewife and her luggage carrying boyfriend was already on its way out.
Greek Island Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-2-3): Gripping, psychological mystery/thrillers destined to shock you! Page 45