He put his coffee down and leaned in closer. “How do you know it’s not?”
Daphne choked on her drink, the hot liquid scorching her throat. “You’re joking with me, again? Right.”
“No, I’m not.” His face was unflinching. “Daphne, when I first came here, to this island, I was coming merely to fulfill my grandmother’s dying wish. She had always told me stories about Evangelia. She had always wished to see her old friend one last time, to sit with her and hear one last story by the firelight. She asked me to bring her back to Erikousa, and I always said I would, I promised that one day, one day I would bring her home to Evangelia. But I was too busy. My head stuck too deep in my books, so consumed with the past that I never once stopped to think about the present or even the future.”
The picture was now growing clearer. She finally understood. No wonder he was so angry with her for staying away. He knew. He knew because he’d broken Dora’s heart. He’d made the same mistake. Like her, he’d stayed away too long.
“When I got the call that she was close to death, I finally left my studies, but it was too late. She passed before my flight landed, before I could tell her how much I loved her. She passed before I could thank her for all she had done and bring her home to Evangelia one last time. I had failed the one person who never asked me for anything—who never did anything but love me. She had fought so hard for her family’s survival. Dora had suffered so much, and in my selfishness, I didn’t do the one thing, the only thing, she had ever asked of me.” He turned away from her, but it was no use. The tearstains on his face glimmered in the dawn’s first light.
That morning on the kaiki, Daphne had recognized that this was a man crippled by pain. But now, watching as he spoke of Dora, she realized that he was consumed with guilt as well.
“I knew then that although Dora could not sit again by the firelight with Evangelia, I could, and I would. I would do this for Dora. The day I arrived, I found Evangelia and sat with her. After we drank our coffee, she turned my cup upside down and looked inside. ‘Your search ends here,’ she said. At first, I thought it was nothing more than a dear old woman having a bit of fun with a young visitor. But then I went back to school, back to Athens to finish my thesis. I had already left Columbia by this time and returned to Greece. I was like a madman, obsessed with my research, at odds with the head of my department, and in jeopardy of being kicked out of school for what they called my frivolous attempt to rewrite history. But I didn’t care, I was convinced I could prove my theory.”
“What theory?” Daphne was once again confused, wondering what the hell his thesis could possibly have to do with Yia-yia.
“I was just another eager graduate student”—he ran his fingers through his thick tuft of hair—“excited about the beauty and history of the ancient world. I became fascinated and consumed with the image of the Pythian priestess, and how this one woman could sway the hands of man and lead him to war or sacrifice. But in the course of my research, I began to believe that there was more to learn about the oracle, more than what was written by the historians.”
“What does that have to do with Yia-yia?” Daphne was confused, her patience disappearing along with the final traces of predawn darkness.
“There have been murmurs for years among classicists that there was a forgotten oracle from ancient times. That there was an oracle so pure, so cherished, that its existence was kept secret so as not to be corrupted like the Pythia. The existence of this mysterious oracle was much debated and pondered but never proven.
“So many years, so much research, but the greatest minds in the classical world could come up with nothing more than a rumor—hearsay no different than your typical island gossip. It was an embarrassment—for the universities, the scholars, and mostly, for the pigheaded professors who claim to know all there is about ancient civilization but are far more well-versed in their own hubris than any in a classical text. But I couldn’t forget. I always had a romanticized idea that this place and these women did exist. Years ago, there was a historian who claimed the answer lay somewhere in Homer’s Odyssey, but it was never proven, and there were so many stops Odysseus made on his way back to Penelope.”
At the mention of Odysseus, Daphne thought about her many trips to Pontikonisi, how she would fantasize about him walking the very paths she loved to explore each summer.
“But sitting there with your yia-yia, she began to tell me the stories of how she and my family survived, how she heard a voice telling her to save my mother and grandmother and take them to safety. She told me how she always knew it was time for them to go into the hills and hide as the soldiers approached to search the homes for dissidents. And then she read my cup. . . . It wasn’t until weeks later, when I was once again poring through old manuscripts, going through all of Homer’s writings, that it dawned on me. Your search ends here, she had said. And finally, I knew that she was right.”
“Oh, come on, Yianni.” Daphne stood, not realizing or caring how small and low the cabin was. The hollow thud of her head smashing against a wooden beam reverberated through the small room. “Shit,” she shouted. “Shit, shit.” She brought her hand to her head and rubbed. There was no blood, just a sharp pain followed by a pulsing throb that mimicked the thud of the waves against the boat’s hull.
“Sit down,” he ordered. This time she did as she was told. “I know it sounds crazy.”
“It is crazy.”
“Why, Daphne? Why is this so crazy to you? Why won’t you open your mind to the possibility that there could be something here?”
“You really have spent too much time in the sun.” She got up to leave, but he stood too, his body blocking the narrow passage between the bench and the wall. “I have to go.”
“Let me ask you this.” He put his hand up, palm facing her face. “Just answer this. You believe in God, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a Christian—you believe in Jesus, don’t you?”
“Well, yes . . . I . . .”
“And the agios, you believe in the agios, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“I know you do. I saw you praying at his side that evening in Kerkyra, while your boyfriend looked around, trying to figure out what was going on.”
I saw you too.
“So you have faith. You don’t need to see something to believe it. You feel it.” He lifted her hand with his fingers and placed it on his heart. “Here. You feel things here.” She could feel the pounding of his heart through his shirt.
“Trust her, Daphne. I’m asking you to put your faith in her.” She felt her own heart pumping furiously in her chest and wondered if he could hear it too. “Put your faith in both of us.”
It was as if there were no oxygen left in the cabin. She needed to get out, she needed to go abovedecks, she needed to escape and to breathe . . . now. This is insane. I have to get out of here. She slid past him, her hips turned sideways, brushing his as she passed. It’s the wet dress—I need to get into some dry clothes, she tried to convince herself as the electricity shuddered through her body like a chill.
He called out to her as she made her way abovedecks. “Did you ever stop to think, Daphne, that it’s not Thea Evangelia who is losing her mind . . . but you who won’t open yours?”
She didn’t stop, nor did she answer. Only once she was safely back on deck did she turn and look down the narrow stairs at him. His eyes were black, wild.
“You’re making a mistake, Daphne.”
Not as big as the one I’ll make if I stay here any longer. She scanned the port to make sure no one was around. Once she saw that all of the fishermen had already pulled out, Daphne jumped back to the dock and ran all the way to the hotel.
Thirty-one
Daphne didn’t stop running until she reached Hotel Nitsa. She stood there for a moment, one hand on the sign, the other on her hip, doubled over and trying to regain her breath as well as her composure. God help me, what is happening he
re? She stood like that outside the hotel a little while longer, grateful that it was still early enough that no one was outside yet. This cannot be happening. I’m getting married. I’m finally getting my life in order. I’m losing my grip on reality, right there along with Yia-yia.
She had never expected to react that way to his touch. She didn’t see it coming, and it had scared her, terrified her actually. When his hand reached out and grabbed hers, the unexpected shivers reverberated through her body. Even here, on solid ground, away from him and his kaiki, she still felt unsteady on her feet. She leaned her forehead against the sign and tried in vain to control her breathing.
“Look who it is. Up so bright and early, Daphne mou.” Nitsa burst through the double doors. “You can’t stay away from your man, can you?”
“It’s still early—he must be tired from the trip. I don’t want to wake him.” Daphne tried to compose herself by smoothing her dress but it was no use.
Nitsa looked Daphne up and down. She placed her watering can on the ground and fished a cigarette from her apron. “He is already awake, on his second cup of coffee and working on his computer on the patio. So . . .” She inhaled, lifted her head to the sky, and let out a thin, long stream of white smoke. “So . . . what is this?” She tilted her head back and waved the cigarette in circles toward Daphne.
“What? What is what?”
“You, Daphne—what is wrong? You have a crazy look in your eyes.”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “I’ll just go inside and find Stephen.” She leaned in and gave Nitsa a hug as she passed her on the steps. Daphne knew she wasn’t quite fine yet—but she would be, she had to be, she had no choice. What had happened with Yianni was plain and simple a repercussion from the difficult conversation she had had with Yia-yia the night before; the sad reality that Yia-yia’s age was finally catching up to her, and the fragile state that realization had left Daphne in. There was no other way to explain it. This was all a misunderstanding. In fact, it was as if the three of them—Yia-yia, Yianni, and Daphne—had become entangled in a holy trinity of mixed signals and mistakes.
“Your dress is wet.” Nitsa dropped her cigarette and crushed it beneath her foot. “And your cheeks are bright red.” She looked over her shoulder to where Daphne had one hand on the door handle, ready to enter the hotel. “I’d be sure to get my story straight before you open that door.”
“Nitsa, really there’s no—”
“Daphne mou, I’m not going to ask, and you don’t have to tell me.” She turned and faced Daphne. “All I know is, your yia-yia has her gift and I have mine. I see it in your face. You look exhausted, like you haven’t slept in days, and you have the burden of the world on your shoulders. But yet there is something underneath it all as well. There’s a spark in your eyes, Daphne. I remember this beautiful spark from when you were a young girl—but it has been missing from your face. I’ve been looking for it since you arrived, but it was nowhere to be seen. Gone . . . poof, like that.” Nitsa waved her cigarette, a puff of smoke rising to the heavens like the incense from Father Nikolaos’s scepter. “All I know is, something brought that spark back, Daphne. The light in your face is here again . . . and it happened while Stephen was asleep in my hotel.”
“Oh, Nitsa. You do love the gossip and the drama, don’t you?” Daphne laughed, trying to shake off Nitsa’s comment.
“Yes, yes I do,” she admitted with a snort. “But I also love you and your yia-yia like my own family, Daphne. And since I do, I will say it again. Think about what you are going to say when you open that door. Think carefully before you piss it all away. Eh?”
“Don’t worry. I’m fine.” She blew Nitsa a kiss and stepped into the hotel.
She heard him before she spotted him.
“No, small specialty shops. There’s nothing like this outside of the islands—I know what I’m talking about here.” His voice echoed across the marble foyer. He sat at a corner table with a cup of coffee, his laptop, his iPhone, and Popi.
“Popi, what are you doing here?” Daphne walked over to where her cousin and fiancé sat. Stephen tilted his head up toward her, phone still attached to his ear, and kissed her. She leaned in and gave Popi a hug. Her cousin’s soft arms felt warm against Daphne’s cool skin. Daphne pulled over a chair and sat down between them. Stephen was too immersed in his phone conversation to notice the quizzical look and arched eyebrow Popi shot at Daphne.
“What are you doing here?” Daphne repeated, thankful for whatever had brought her cousin here this morning.
“Stephen asked me to meet him here. He liked my ideas last night and wants to help me.” The room was barely big enough to contain Popi’s excitement. “What happened to you?” she leaned in and whispered.
Daphne waved the question away with the swipe of her hand in the air as if it were an annoying fly. “So what’s this grand plan?” Daphne asked.
“Frappe,” Popi announced.
”Frappe?”
“All right, it’s settled. Great. We’ll see you in New York.” Stephen put down his cell phone and turned to Popi. “Is your passport valid?”
“Yes, I think . . . I’m not sure. Why?” Her voice was trembling, as was every dimple and fold on her body.
“You’re coming back to New York with us. I got financing, and we’re going to do this.”
Popi jumped up and practically jumped into Stephen’s lap. “I’m coming to New York. I’m coming to New York.” The entire building shook. Daphne placed her hands over the coffee cups to keep them from spilling their contents all over Stephen’s electronics. “I’m going to be in business, like you, Daphne mou. Just like you. We’re going to open little frappe shops with Greek sweets, small cute little shops—Frappe Popi.”
“Seriously?” Daphne looked from a tearful Popi to Stephen.
“Seriously. It can’t fail. Not with my business plan.” He turned to Popi. “You, my soon-to-be cousin, are soon to be very, very rich. Just do what I say, and this can’t go wrong.”
“Did you hear that, Daphne mou?” Popi reached out and grabbed her cousin. “Very, very rich . . . very, very rich,” she chanted as she pulled Daphne close and squeezed.
There he is, the man I’m going to marry. Daphne watched Stephen dive back into his laptop as Popi clung to her. This is a man who makes dreams come true, who takes care of me and makes things happen . . . and this is the man who loves me. Yia-yia’s just confused. How can she think I shouldn’t marry him? It makes no sense.
“Popi, come here. Look at this. They’ve already wired the money to our account. It’s done. You should be proud, Popi. I saw something special in Daphne, and now I see it in you. This, Cousin Popi, is the beginning of great things for you.” He reached for Daphne’s hand. “For all of us.”
Daphne didn’t have to look at her cousin to know she was once again jumping up and down; she could hear the slap of her sayonares against the marble floor and feel the seismic tremors of her jig. Instead she tilted her head back to look at Stephen, a Cheshire-cat grin splayed across his face.
“I’m telling you, Popi, I know a good business plan when I see it, and this one can’t fail. This one is guaranteed to make us all rich. I’m telling you, the three of us working together will be magic. This cannot fail.”
Gazing up at her fiancé, Daphne again thought of Yia-yia and what she had said as they stood together and gazed at the gaping hole left by the escaped fly in the spider’s web. See, Daphne mou, Yia-yia had cautioned. Hubris is a dangerous thing. Look away for a moment, and your prized possession may escape even the loveliest of traps. She might have been an old woman who was losing her grip on reality, but Daphne still couldn’t get Yia-yia’s foreboding words out of her mind.
Thirty-two
“Mommy, where have you been?” Evie rushed into Daphne’s arms the moment she heard the gate open.
“Hi, honey.” She scooped Evie up. “I had to go to the hotel for a little while.” She placed Evie back on the pavement and took her tiny hand
in hers. “And I didn’t want to wake you.”
They walked hand in hand to the indoor kitchen where Yia-yia stood at the counter, mixing warm water with yeast. She wore a white apron over her black dress. Her handkerchief was draped on the back of a kitchen chair, and her gray braids fell down her back to her waist.
“Koukla mou. I missed you. Come, sit, have some kafes. I’m making loukoumades for Evie—you should have some too.”
Daphne pulled a chair from the table and sat down. Evie was already off and running, entertaining herself as usual with the animals and bugs that brought the patio—as well as the little girl’s smile—to life.
“I saw Popi at the hotel.”
“Popi, at this early hour? That girl usually puts the roosters to bed.”
“She was with Stephen.” Yia-yia didn’t respond to the mention of his name. Daphne continued chattering, uncomfortable with the silence. “He’s helping her open a business. He thinks her ideas are good and he wants to help her.”
“Good for her. She’s a good girl. She deserves it.” Daphne noted how Yia-yia praised Popi but never once mentioned Stephen. “In New York, Yia-yia. She’s coming to New York.”
“Ah, New York,” was all Yia-yia said in reply. “You didn’t sleep, did you?” she asked, changing the subject as she added the dissolved yeast to the flour along with raisins, more warm water, and a pinch of nutmeg. When it was mixed, she covered it with a clean dish towel and placed it inside the oven to rise.
“No. I didn’t sleep,” Daphne answered as Yia-yia sat down next to her at the table. She knew she couldn’t lie to Yia-yia—she never had, and she wasn’t about to start now. “No, I didn’t. How could I?”
When the Cypress Whispers Page 24