“So, there’s no business center then?” He shot a glance at Daphne.
“No. No business center.” Daphne spun her engagement ring.
“All right, then. I will leave you two alone to get settled. Again, welcome.” Nitsa turned, starting to close the door. “Anything you need, you ask Nitsa, okay?”
“Thank you.” He dismissed her with a nod.
As disappointed in the room as he was, Daphne knew Stephen’s manners would never allow him to show that disappointment to Nitsa. One thing was certain about Daphne’s fiancé; he was a gentleman. He waited at the door until the seismic vibrations from Nitsa’s stomp grew softer and softer. Only when he heard Nitsa bellow from the bar area below, “Hello my new friend, would you like another Mythos?” did he deem it safe to speak.
“Well, it’s not exactly the Four Seasons, is it?” The springs creaked as he sat down.
“I know it’s not what you’re used to. It’s simple, but it’s clean. And it’s not like you’ll be spending much time in the room anyway,” she said. “Remember, that’s what I told you. Simple island elegance. That’s what we’re about here.”
“Well, you’ve got the simple part right.”
He got up from the bed and unzipped his garment bag. Second only to cigarette smoke, Stephen hated unkempt and wrinkled clothing. He pulled open the door to the empty closet. “Hey, where’s your stuff?”
“Back at Yia-yia’s house. Where else would it be?”
“Here, with me, your fiancé.” He paused. “Remember me?” He pointed to himself.
“Come on, Stephen, I explained this to you. We’re not married yet, remember?” She lifted her engagement ring and wiggled it toward him.
“So you weren’t joking then.” He slid behind her and held her to him. “Are you sure we can’t stay together, here”—he motioned around the room—“or anywhere else?”
“No, I’m not joking.” She turned to face him, shaking her head and waving her finger, mockingly scolding him. “This place is very traditional, remember I told you? I can’t stay here until we’re married, honey. I just can’t. Everyone will talk. I know it sounds silly, but that’s how it goes here. And remember, when in Rome—”
“May I remind you that this is Greece.” He grabbed her and threw her to the bed, hovering over her before kissing her gently on the lips. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to convince you?”
“Don’t make this harder for me than it already is.” She narrowed her eyes and shook her head at him. “Things here are very traditional. I know it’s hard to understand. But when I’m here, I respect those traditions.”
She had explained this all to Stephen back at home, telling him how modern life had yet to change the way things are done on Erikousa even though Corfu, just seven miles away, was by comparison contemporary and cosmopolitan. But Erikousa had always been in its own provincial time warp. Certain traditions, prejudices, and customs never changed. To those who loved Erikousa, that was the charm of the island—the predictability and nostalgia of it all. But to outsiders, the culture of the island was difficult if not impossible to understand.
“It would mean a lot to me if you respected those traditions while we’re here.”
“I know, Daphne. And I will. If it makes you happy, you know I will.” He kissed her again and stood up. He walked toward the closet but paused and turned again to face her. “But it just seems funny to me when for so long I’ve heard you talk about how hard all those traditions made things for you when you were a kid. Don’t you think it’s pretty ironic that you’re going back to those same traditions now, as an adult—when you can make your own decisions?” His tone was not angry; he seemed truly confused by the contradiction.
“I know. I guess I never thought of it that way.” She smiled at her fiancé. “But this isn’t about me having to go to Greek school instead of Girl Scouts, Stephen. This is different. And no, a lot of things about this place don’t make much sense. I think maybe I like that right now. I’m so tired of making so many decisions all the time. Maybe it’s kind of nice to let tradition take over and make the decisions for me, at least for a little while.” She smoothed her skirt and shrugged her shoulders.
He shook his head as he shook the wrinkles from his navy blazer.
“When in Greece—”
Twenty-four
“Yia-yia.” Daphne opened the gate and was surprised when she did not immediately see Yia-yia sitting there by the fire. “Yia-yia?”
The door to the house squeaked open, and Yia-yia leaned against the door frame. “Koukla mou, you are back. I missed you.”
“Yia-yia, ella, come meet Stephen. I’ve been waiting so long for you to meet him.”
“Ah, ne. O Amerikanos. Pou einai. Where is he?” The old woman took Daphne’s hand and walked toward Stephen. She wore no shoes, the outline of her bunions clearly visible through the thin fabric of her stockings.
As they walked together out of the doorway and onto the patio where Stephen stood, Daphne noticed how Yia-yia leaned on her a bit more than usual. Yia-yia was a slight woman, without the traditional heft of the other widows who spend their days indulging in a gluttonous cycle of cooking and eating. Although it was impossible that she could have gained any considerable weight in the past twenty-four hours, Daphne was certain that Yia-yia had never before felt this heavy on her arm.
As they approached, Stephen smiled politely and extended his hand.
“Te einai afto? What is that?” She looked from Stephen to Daphne. “Daphne mou. Please tell your young man that this is not a business meeting. This is our home.”
“Stephen, honey.” Daphne reached her free hand out and touched his shoulder with her fingertips. “People here hug and kiss hello, we don’t shake hands. That’s for business.” She looked around and saw Yia-yia, Popi, and even Evie staring back. “This is family.”
Without another word, Stephen nodded and stepped forward. He circled his arms around the old woman and gave her a hug. Yia-yia leaned in and kissed him on each cheek. As she pulled her face away, Stephen smiled at her, his perfect white teeth glowing in the sunlight. Yia-yia’s eyes narrowed and focused in on his.
Daphne bit her lower lip and watched as Yia-yia stared deep into Stephen’s eyes. She looked past his lashes, past the muddy blue of his irises, through the black pools of his pupils, and seemingly down into his very soul. Even the trees stopped their rustling so their soft whispers would not distract Yia-yia from her mission.
“Ah, kala. All right.” It seemed she had seen what she needed to see.
As Daphne watched, she couldn’t help but wonder what was running through the old woman’s mind. Daphne knew Yia-yia well enough to know that she had been searching for something when she looked at Stephen that way. There were no coincidences when it came to Yia-yia. Everything about her—every word, every glance, every briki of coffee—was steeped in significance.
“Popi, Evie.” Daphne stood, still holding on to Yia-yia. “Why don’t you show Stephen around the garden and maybe even introduce him to Jack, okay? We’ll get lunch ready.” She turned toward Stephen and smiled. “It’ll only be a few minutes, and it’ll be nice to have some time with Evie, you know she always needs a little time to warm up.”
“Sure.” He looked around the patio for Evie, who had spotted another spider weaving her trap between the twisted branches of the lemon tree. “Come on, Evie,” he called. “Where’s this famous donkey I’ve heard so much about?”
“Look.” She pointed to the web. “It’s Arachne.”
“Oh, a spider. Well, we have those back home in New York, you know. Come on. What we don’t have are donkeys, or chickens, and from what I hear, you have plenty of those.”
“No, she’s not just a spider.” Evie finally looked away from the web and up at Stephen. “It’s Arachne. She’s a girl who was too proud. Thea Popi taught me that. Athena punished her and turned her into a spider.” She stared at him squarely in the face, her little arms crossed at
her chest. “That’s what you get when you think you’re better than everyone else.”
“Well, little Evie. You sure have learned a lot since you’ve been here.” As he spoke, something small and black flew above their heads and into the arachnid’s trap. “Well, look at that. See, she was smart enough to catch a little friend.” Stephen leaned in closer.
Stephen and Evie both watched the fly struggle against the sticky threads, its small black body and wings twitching, fighting until there was seemingly nothing left to fight for. The spider didn’t move. It sat perched on the opposite end of the web, as if waiting for dinner hour to approach.
“Do you know what happens next, Evie? That fly is going to be dinner. Spiders suck the blood of insects who are dumb enough to get caught in their traps. That’s pretty cool, huh? If you ask me, those little eight-legged guys are pretty smart. They have every reason to be proud, no matter what Athena thinks.”
“Not always.” Evie turned toward Stephen, her catlike eyes ablaze. “Thea Popi says sometimes Arachne is still too proud for her own good. And Yianni told me that anyone who is too proud should watch out.”
“Well, I’d say that sounds like pretty good advice,” Stephen replied. “But don’t forget, little girl, pride can be a good thing—it can push you to do more, be better, be the best. And there’s nothing wrong with being the best—just look at your mom.” But Evie’s famously short attention span had gotten the best of her. She turned and skipped down the stairs and toward the chicken coop before the words were out of Stephen’s mouth.
Just as Evie danced away, Popi was on Stephen like flies on honey cakes. She stroked his biceps with her thick fingers. “Come, I will show you everything. Daphne tells me how smart you are in business, how much she has learned from you. There is something I would like from you as well. After all, we are going to be cousins, and family helps each other, no? I have an idea, and there is no one else on these islands who can help me with it. If I wanted to learn how to gut a fish or make cheese, no problem, I would have all the help in the world. But business—” Popi took her right hand and scraped her fingers along her neck and chin, the Greek equivalent of someone giving the middle finger back in the States. “Business, tipota . . . skata. Shit.”
“Well, you are a spitfire, like your cousin.” Stephen shook his head and smiled at her.
“We are the same, Daphne and I. But she was the lucky one, raised in America. Here, we are not as lucky. We do not have so many opportunities, so many choices. I have worked in the café for many many years and I know I can do better. I have watched and stayed quiet and learned. I know I can do this. I want more than just to work for the malakas who water down the liquor, smoke their cigarettes, bed the tourists, and call themselves big businessmen. I have ideas, Stephen. I want to be like my cousin. I want to be like Daphne.” She glanced over at Daphne, her eyes filled with both longing and love.
“So let’s hear these ideas of yours,” he said as they walked.
Daphne watched as Popi led Stephen away. She strained to hear what Popi was saying to him, but it was no use. They disappeared into the chicken coop before Daphne could make anything out. And perhaps, Daphne thought, it was better that way.
Daphne turned to Yia-yia once again and held her liver-spotted hand a bit tighter, careful not to squeeze too tight, knowing how painful Yia-yia’s swollen joints could be. Yia-yia was the first to speak.
“So, this is your American.”
“In another week he’ll be our American.”
“No, not mine, definitely not mine.” Yia-yia shook her head.
“Why, what’s wrong? Is something wrong?”
“Yes, there is. Something is very wrong, Daphne. He’s too skinny, just like you. This man has so much money, yet he cannot afford to buy food. I do not understand Americans sometimes. Tsk tsk tsk. Come, let’s check the stew. We don’t want it to stick.” And with that, it seemed Yia-yia’s analysis of Stephen was finished.
Daphne desperately wanted to know what Yia-yia had seen when she looked into Stephen’s eyes, but there was also so much more that Daphne wanted to speak to Yia-yia about, so much she wanted to ask. Why she had insisted on making stifado when she knew it would take days for her ailing body to recover from the strain? Why, after all these years of sharing stories and secrets, had she not shared with Daphne the story of Dora and what happened during the war? Daphne knew she could ask anything of her grandmother, and she would be met with the truth. But the more she thought about what the truth might actually reveal, the more anxious she grew. They walked together from one end of the patio to the other, Daphne running through the questions she would ask over and over again in her head, just how she would word them and what she thought the answers might be.
“Look, koukla.” Daphne’s internal dialogue was interrupted by Yia-yia pointing to the lemon tree. “Look, Daphne. See, it’s as I told you. Just as I told Evie.”
Yia-yia pointed to the spiderweb, the same one that Evie had spotted earlier. There, on one end of the ornate web, was a gaping hole where the fly had escaped.
“See, Daphne mou,” Yia-yia said. “Hubris is a dangerous thing. Look away for a moment, and your prized possession may escape even the loveliest of traps.”
Twenty-five
“Here, let me do it for you.” Daphne leaned over the fire and lifted the heavy silver pot from the metal grate.
“Entaksi, all right, koukla mou. Be sure you don’t break the seal.” Still in her stocking feet, Yia-yia sat in her wooden chair.
“I know, I know.” Daphne’s muscles flexed from the weight of the stew. She swirled the pot around and around. She was careful to keep the lid securely fastened on top and not to disturb the tape that Yia-yia had placed around the lid to seal in the vapors. Although she herself had not made stifado in years, Daphne knew that the secret to a rich and savory stew was to seal in the vapors so the simmering vinegar would ensure a pungent sauce.
“There.” She placed the pot back on the metal trivet.
“Do you want coffee?” Yia-yia asked as she lifted her hands to secure several long gray coils that had escaped the confines of her braids.
Daphne leaned over and tucked the strands behind Yia-yia’s ear. “If you like, I’ll wash and braid your hair tonight for you.” She smiled at her grandmother, knowing that Yia-yia’s brittle joints made weaving her long hair into braids more and more difficult with each passing day.
“Thank you, koukla mou.” Yia-yia nodded. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes, but I can wait for the stifado.” Daphne pulled her chair closer to Yia-yia and sat down. Evie’s delighted squeals could be heard from the garden below.
“What is it, Daphne mou? What’s wrong?” Yia-yia could read Daphne’s face like the grounds at the bottom of a muddy cup.
“Yianni told me everything.”
“Ah, kala, all right.” She closed her eyes. “I thought he might.”
“Why, Yia-yia? Why didn’t you ever tell me? Why would you keep that from me? I always thought we told each other everything. That we had no secrets between us.”
Yia-yia’s eyes were heavy and red. “This was not a secret, Daphne mou. This was our history. You have your own.” Yia-yia’s voice was soft, barely audible. “Daphne mou. Koukla. It is a terrible day when a person realizes that there is evil in the world. That the devil walks this earth. I learned this the moment I looked into the terrified black eyes of Dora and saw what those men did to her, what they stole from her. Those animals thought it was within their rights to extinguish people as one puts out an evening fire, a church candle. They stole too many lives already, destroyed too many families. I could not let them do it again. And why—because Dora’s people called their God by another name? God does not judge us by what name we call him. This is not how we are judged.”
Daphne took Yia-yia’s hand and watched as the first tear slid down her hollow cheek, navigating a slick path for the others that would follow. But Yia-yia never let go of Daphne’s han
d to wipe her face; she just held on even tighter.
“Sometimes, it is not just blood which these monsters crave. They want a small piece of our souls—but that too is dangerous, sometimes even more so. Even that is too much to give.” She finally lifted her index finger, crooked and scarred, and wiped clean the wet streak from under her eyes. “Had I not helped Dora that day, they would have succeeded in taking my soul too. I could not lose that, I would not lose that.”
Yia-yia continued, her voice still shaky but gaining strength now, becoming clearer, more powerful and passionate. “Sometimes in facing those monsters, you find your strength, you find your purpose.” She looked out toward the horizon. “I never even knew I had either. I wasn’t supposed to have either, but I did. I found them in the Jewish quarter that terrible, terrible day, Daphne.”
She pulled Daphne closer, and just as she had done earlier to Stephen, Yia-yia looked into the depths of her granddaughter’s black-olive eyes, eyes that were as vibrant and clear yet as confused and searching as her own had once been. “Sometimes facing the devil makes us stronger, Daphne. You’ll never know how strong you are, who you really are and what you are capable of, until you do.”
“So that’s why you and Yianni are so close. He feels indebted to you . . . for saving his family.”
“No, I didn’t save them.” The conviction in Yia-yia’s voice startled Daphne. “They saved me.”
There was so much she did not know about her grandmother, so much she had never bothered to ask. All those years sitting in this very spot, listening to Yia-yia spin her tales of Hades, Medusa, and the unrelenting furies, Daphne had always assumed Yia-yia was repeating old myths for her amusement, a way to pass the evening. But now Daphne realized that there was more to these old stories. Like the greatest heroes in these tales, Yia-yia had come face-to-face with mythic evil herself.
“How did they save you?”
When the Cypress Whispers Page 19