The Sea King’s Daughter

by Barbara Michaels

  When Jim appeared I hadn’t made up my mind whether to tell him or not, but one look at his face decided me. He had enough worries of his own. He produced an artificial smile when he saw me, but I could tell the smile had been a scowl seconds earlier.

  After we had exchanged greetings-and I don’t mean just “hello”-I asked him what was bothering him.

  “Sssh.” He looked over his shoulder like a stage villain. “I think your girl friend listens at doors.”

  “Probably,” I agreed. “She would. So what?”

  “Everything okay?” He looked at me a little oddly.

  “Great. Now that I know how the other half lives, I think I’ll start looking for a millionaire. I could learn to like this kind of life.”

  Before I knew what he was planning he reached over and tugged at one of my hair ribbons. A whole side section of hair came down.

  “God damn it!” I grabbed at my head. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Nothing to get that excited about,” Jim said.

  “Well, damn it, Kore put in a lot of work on this, and I don’t think you ought to mess it up. Of all the dumb, childish-”

  “What’s happened to my girl with the hair in her face?”

  “Oh… Forget it. I guess it’s not important.”

  “No,” Jim said. His eyes went over me, from my ribboned hair across my bare shoulders and down to where the sheet lay neatly folded back over my lap. His expression annoyed me. I was showing a lot of healthy-looking skin, and I expected some signs of interest and approval instead of that cold, appraising stare.

  “I talked to Chris,” Jim said. “He agrees that you ought to leave. The transcontinental flights are pretty full this time of year, but he thinks he can get you on a flight from Athens this weekend. You could catch the boat from Phira on Thursday and be in Athens -”

  “Wait just a bloody minute,” I said. “What gives your boss the idea he can run my life?”

  “It was pretty decent of him to offer. He doesn’t like to use his influence-”

  “Like hell he doesn’t. He adores being Sir Christopher. I bet he can hardly wait for the next title.”

  When Jim got mad he forgot about eavesdroppers, common courtesy, and care of the wounded.

  “God, you’re in a bitchy mood,” he shouted. “I don’t know why I should stick around here and be insulted.”

  “So leave,” I said. My voice wasn’t exactly a whisper.

  Jim stood up. Then he sat down. He took six deep breaths. I could see his lips move as he counted.

  “We’ll try again,” he said. “If you give me any more lip, I’ll belt you one.”

  “You and what army?” I snapped; and then, because it had sounded so silly, even to me, I laughed.

  The door opened and Kore’s head came in.

  “Ah,” she said, grinning. “You laugh. You are friends, that is nice.”

  The door closed.

  Jim stopped laughing. “Damn that woman,” he said.

  “She’s all right,” I said tolerantly.

  “She’s a menace,” Jim said. “ Sandy, I’m sorry I got off on the wrong foot. I ought to know better than to sound as if I’m trying to give you orders. May I respectfully inquire what your plans are?”

  I shrugged. One shoulder strap slipped down. I let it hang. “What’s the hurry?”

  “No room at the inn,” Jim said.

  “What?”

  “Sorry if I blaspheme. I mean I tried to get you a room at the hotel. Angelos says they’re full up.”

  “Maybe they have a tour coming.”

  “No. The place is half empty.”

  “And you think that’s significant or something?”

  “I know it is. I offered to move in with Chris and give you my room. Angelos practically gibbered trying to think of reasons why that couldn’t be done. You are persona non grata in town, love.”

  “But why?” I asked in bewilderment. “I haven’t done anything.”

  “The only thing I can think of is that you’ve gotten friendly with Kore.”

  “What a bunch of superstitious peasants,” I said scornfully. “Who cares about the hotel? I’ll stay here.”

  I shrugged again. The other strap started to slide. Jim pulled it up and adjusted the first strap too, scowling like Martin Luther admonishing a harlot. His hands still on my shoulders he shook me, none too gently.

  “For God’s sake, Sandy, what’s happened to you? You’re acting like a-like-somebody else. You look like one of those dummies in store windows. Even your face is blanking out. Will you come with me, now? I’ll drive you to Phira this afternoon.”

  “Why bother?” I asked coldly. “For a big blank-faced doll-”

  Jim made an exasperated noise. He slid his arm behind my back and pulled me away from the pillows so that my head lay in the curve of his shoulder. His free hand ran roughshod through my carefully arranged hair, till it hung loose. I yelped with the pain and he stopped my mouth with his. I couldn’t help responding; but after the first moment or two I began to get angry, not because he was rough but because he didn’t seem to care whether I responded or not. I started to struggle. Finally I brought my hand up in a wild swing, and felt it connect.

  Jim let me go. I fell back, gasping and disheveled, puzzled and furious. There was a patch of red on Jim’s cheek where I had slapped him. He was smiling.

  “That’s my girl,” he said approvingly. “You don’t like it, do you-being treated like an inanimate object?”

  “Was that the point of that little demonstration?”

  “Yes.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed, his breathing still uneven, his cheek flaming and his eyes anxious. But he didn’t say any more.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go. This weekend.”

  I had forgotten about Kore. Maybe Jim had not; he didn’t look startled when the door burst open.

  “Now,” said Kore, advancing like an infuriated duenna. “What is this? You have hurt her, Jim. Ha! She hit you. That is good, you deserve it. You go now.”

  “Okay.” Jim stood up. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  He grinned at Kore. The corners of her mouth quivered.

  “Men; they are all the same.”

  After lunch, when I was left alone, I did my exercises instead of sleeping. Kore had announced I had a big treat coming. I would be allowed to go downstairs for dinner.

  Early in the afternoon she started getting me fancied up. She worked on my hair for an hour, and then produced one of her silk caftans for me to wear. It was pale green; apparently she had decided that was my color.

  I went downstairs supported by Kore and the silent maid. I felt a little giddy at first, but the feeling soon passed away, and I studied my surroundings with interest. I had not seen the interior of the villa, except for my own room. It was a beautiful place. The floors were made of those smooth shiny tiles that are common in the Mediterranean countries, cool deep blues and soft greens-sea colors. The wide staircase had a handsome wrought-iron balustrade. The drawing room was a large, low-ceilinged chamber, with wide windows opening onto a courtyard; not the one I had seen from my window, but a small space, with a little fountain in the center and exotic trees in big pots. The furniture was a mixture of European antiques and local peasant work.

  After I had been settled in an overstuffed chair, the maid left and another woman came in with a tray of drinks and hors d’oeuvres. Her face gave me a start; it was so like the faces that had passed through my field of vision the night before. She was young, probably not much older than I; but it’s hard to tell people’s ages in the islands, they grow old so fast.

  I said, “Efkaristos,” and took the glass that had been offered to me. Usually the islanders responded with big grins when I said anything. This girl didn’t respond, except to duck her head, as if she were bowing.

  My start and my stare had not gone unnoticed by Kore.

  “They are so shy, these people,” she said, after the girl ha
d left. “Like animals, fearful and silent. Prosit!” and she lifted her glass.

  The German word, which I always associate with enormous steins of beer, sounded unnatural coming from her. I said “Cheers,” or something, and drank. The liquid didn’t taste like anything I recognized. It was a sweet, thick substance that made me long for a glass of water. Kore saw my grimace.

  “A true antique, this wine,” she said. “I have made it as the Greeks and Romans did. Our wines to them would be vinegar, too thin, too sour. Theirs were sweet, so always they mix with water, with honey and herbs. It is interesting, yes?”

  The wine was too sweet, but it was potent. Kore kept refilling my glass and urging me to drink up. She continued to talk, at first about Greeks and Romans and antiquities; but then the topic changed. As I listened, I was reminded of some of the nature freaks I had known back at school. I believe in a lot of that sort of thing, actually: the unity of living creatures, the great underlying life force, life and death as part of an unending circle. For what is death but reabsorption into the universe? And if the body is absorbed, what happens to the soul-the spark of life that animates the body and makes it something more than a collection of molecules?

  I had heard it all before, from different people. The Hare Krishnas and the back-to-nature types, and my roommate, who was reading Sybil Leek and studying to be a witch-you name it, you can find it on a college campus. I knew about reincarnation, too. That was what Kore was talking about, although she didn’t use the word, but kept referring to rebirth. When I was young I used to think the idea made a lot of sense. It explains so many things-the seeming waste of life, only a few short years of enjoyment before you get old and senile and sick; the queer memories of things you couldn’t have experienced in your present life; the sudden, unreasoning antipathies and affections you feel for people and food and other things. It’s an old, old idea; a lot of people have believed in it.

  “I had a boyfriend once, named Joe,” I said.

  “Yes?” Kore said softly.

  “He believed in reincarnation. He used to tell me we had been lovers in medieval Italy.” I giggled. “Like Romeo and Juliet.”

  “But why not?”

  “He used to quote me things,” I went on dreamily. “From Nietzsche and other people who believed in it too. He made me read that book about Bridey Murphy. I didn’t really believe it, but I’ve had some queer experiences. A couple of weeks ago when I was in Crete…”

  I stopped. The room was getting hazy as the sun sank lower. Broad streaks of light lay across the floor like a carpet of gold.

  “I’m getting drunk,” I said distinctly. “What’s in this wine?”

  “You are not drunk,” Kore murmured. “What happened in Crete?”

  “Funny,” I said. “Funny dreams, about the Minotaur and Theseus. I was there, watching them. And when I went to Knossos… They callit déjà vu. I’ve read about it. Scientists can explain it-”

  “Scientists know nothing,” Kore said scornfully. “You know Knossos? What is so strange about that? You have lived before, you will live again. Many lives. One of them in ancient Crete. You were Greek, like me. Perhaps we know each other, then. I feel this.”

  “Ariadne wasn’t Greek,” I said grumpily. “She was a Minoan, Cretan.”

  “No. She lived in the last great days of the palace, after the destruction, after the Greeks came from the mainland and made a new palace and new dynasty in the ruins. What you see now in Knossos is the remains of this dynasty-all Greek. It is the Greek Minos who has subjugated Athens; to him are sent the boys and girls for the sacrifice; it is his daughter who loves the stranger prince. Only now are scientists learning this is true. You read, in the books-it is true! But I have known. Always I have known. Why do you shiver? It is not cold here.”

  “It was horrible,” I said. “That slimy, dark, stinking hole… Why did I let him go? Hecouldn’t have found the way if I hadn’t helped him.”

  I had not been aware that Kore had risen, but she was now standing beside me. Her hand was on my forehead.

  “The sin,” she whispered. “It haunts you, all these years, yes? You must expiate the sin. Soon-”

  The door opened with a sound that echoed like a pistol shot. I jumped halfway out of the chair. Kore stepped back.

  Keller stood in the doorway. His eyes moved from me to Kore.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “She is not feeling well,” said Kore calmly. “I have told you, it was not wise for her to come down.”

  Keller crossed the room with long, angry-looking strides. He reached for my wineglass.

  “Why do you give her this? No wonder the child is sick.” He turned to a tall cabinet and came back with a glassful of clear liquid. “Drink this.”

  I drank it. It tasted foul. As soon as I had emptied the glass, Keller dragged me roughly to my feet.

  “Come to the window. You need air.”

  The window was of the French type. It stood half ajar. Keller kicked it open and pulled me out into the courtyard. I was feeling better, but I was still staggering. We stood by the fountain, his hand tight on my arm.

  “Breathe,” he said harshly. “Deeply. Again. That is-”

  The sound-a blend of crack and whine and crash-cut through the last word. The crash was that of broken glass from the window behind us. Keller went down, dragging me with him. I thought he was hit, and tried to get to my knees; his hand slammed into my back, knocking me down behind the low parapet of the fountain. A fusillade of shots rang out, but these, unlike the first, came from the house. Turning, I saw Kore standing amid a sparkle of broken glass. She was holding a rifle.

  Keller shouted at her.

  “I cover you,” she shouted back. “But I think he has gone.”

  “Stay here,” Keller said to me. He stood up and ran a zigzag course toward the gate on the south wall. My skin crawled, but nothing happened.

  I stayed there. Kore stood in the doorway, the rifle at her shoulder. After a few minutes the gate opened again and Keller came back.

  “No one,” he said.

  I stood up, very, very slowly. Kore dropped the gun with a clatter and ran to Keller.

  “He has hit you!”

  “It is only a scratch,” said Keller.

  We went back in the house. Keller seemed unconcerned about the reddening slash that had slit his shirt sleeve; he waved Kore away impatiently when she tried to fuss over him. She was as white as a dark-skinned woman can be.

  “I kill him,” she muttered.

  “How do you know it was a man?” Keller asked dryly. “I am not so popular that a woman might not try to shoot at me. Kore, sit down and drink some wine. It is not the first time.”

  “You mean people go around shooting at you all the time?” I asked curiously. The excitement had cleared my brain; I felt quite alert and inquisitive.

  Keller shrugged. “When I first came here, there were a few incidents.”

  “But not for years,” Kore said. “I thought…”

  “You thought you had learned how to deal with these people,” Keller said. “It seems you were mistaken.”

  “No,” Kore said slowly. “I think I was not mistaken.”

  At Keller’s suggestion we had brandy all around. I barely sipped mine, figuring I needed to keep my head clear. And I was right. The fun and games weren’t over.

  We hadn’t been sitting for long when there was a loud knock at the front door. Keller and Kore exchanged startled looks, and Kore reached for the rifle that was leaning hazardously against her chair.

  Keller clucked disapprovingly. “You must not be so nervous,” he said. “Put the gun away. It was foolish, what you did. You might have been killed, standing in the open.”

  The knock was repeated. I heard footsteps in the hall as one of the servants went to answer it, and then the sound of voices. I almost dropped my glass. I recognized one of the voices-the louder of the two. Keller stood up, but made no move to go to the door. It w
as opened by the young Greek girl who had served the wine. She was flushed and distraught. Twisting her hands nervously, she started to speak. Someone pushed her out of the way.

  “She did try to keep me out,” Frederick said. “I take it you do not encourage visitors.”

  He looked at each of us in turn, his face registering no particular emotion. I waited curiously to hear what he would say to these ghosts out of his past. In a movie it would have been something like, “So, Herr Kapitan, we meet again!” But Frederick, as I ought to have learned, never wasted his breath on meaningless speeches. Instead, he spoke to me.

  “I’ve come to take you home,” he said.

  He tossed me a bundle. Reflexively, my hands went out to catch it. It seemed to be a shirt and my sneakers, wrapped in a pair of jeans. One of the sneakers fell out as I caught it.

  Keller laughed.

  “Is that all you have to say?” he asked.

  “What else is there to say? An emotional speech of thanks for saving the girl’s life? Consider it said. She has been here long enough. Go and change your clothes, Sandy. You look ridiculous in that-that thing.”

  I let out my breath in a long sigh.

  “You know,” I said, “I’ve missed our fights, Frederick. I can’t imagine how I’ve managed these past few days, living in peace and comfort with kind, civilized people who are trying to make me happy.”

  Kore clapped her hands. “Very good,” she said, smiling broadly. “You know how to deal with him. He has not changed.”

  Frederick looked her over. “You have,” he said brutally.

  Kore’s face quivered, more in anger than in pain. Keller took a step forward. His face had lost its smile.

  “That was unkind and unnecessary,” he said. “Sit down-Minos-and let us talk like adults.”

  “Oh, very well,” Frederick said. “But if you want adult conversation, I suggest you avoid nicknames. They were childish in any case, and after all this time-”