I see the dark eyes of Steffanakis. Critical eyes. Are these the eyes of a normal man or of a man possessed? Are these the eyes of a scientist observing or a demon conducting the forces of the deep? How stupid I must be, or appear, falling to the ground, weakened by inexplicable winds and strange events. Of course God tests me. I reacted terribly out of fear and weakness and I collapsed before his eyes. Oh my God in heaven, forgive me my weaknesses and transgressions. I have failed you.
The priest’s thoughts were interrupted by the anxious voice of Semele, the church attendant, asking to enter his chamber. The door opened slowly. Out of the darkness she stepped, followed by Perdos who was trembling in a sweat, stinking of raki. He was being held up from the back of his jacket by the enormous hand of Captain Dionysos.
“Perdos?” quizzed the priest.
“He can barely speak,” barked the captain, while trying to polish his shoes on the back of his pants leg. “I found him in the street looking for you, calling you name. He’s in a bad way – and drunk.”
Perdos lunged for the priest, grabbing hold of his robes. He began to sob uncontrollably. “I did not … kill … my son,” he bellowed. He crumbled to the floor still clutching the priest’s vestments. “I did not … He was dead. But now he comes back to life. He is with Angalia. You must come now.”
Dionysos shook his head, distressed by the state of the man. “He has finally gone crazy, I think.”
Perdos pulled hard on the priest’s robe. “You must come. Quickly! Pharmacos is back. Poor Galia …”
Father Dimitrios asked the captain to lift Perdos from the floor and to put him on the front pew. There the priest told Perdos that he would be left alone so he could speak to God.
The priest and the captain walked quickly from the church. Moments later, Dimitrios returned for his Bible and left again. A light from the taverna could be seen as they approached. The priest breathed heavily as he came to the door, rapping his knuckles quickly on a pane of glass. He looked to Dionysos when there was no answer. The big man pushed in front, opening the door, and walked inside.
“Galia,” he shouted. There was silence.
Father Dimitrios made his stavro many times as he entered, muttering a prayer.
“Galia,” the Captain shouted again, approaching the kitchen. He peered inside. “Galia?”
Angalia was leaning against the kitchen sink, talking to herself.
“Father,” the captain whispered. “She’s in here.”
The priest motioned for the captain to leave the kitchen, pointing to a chair nearby. He slipped the curtain away with one hand and entered, both eyes darting from side to side.
“Angalia? I was told—”
“Schhhhhhhhh!” she whispered. “You made him go away.”
“Who?”
“My son,” she snapped, then closed her eyes with contempt. “Ahhhhh. He’s gone now. Just when he was telling me about his new life – out there.” She threw her hands to the ceiling. “Out there!”
“Pharmacos?” he whispered.
“Yes. Pharmacos. He was right here in front of me with a big smile on his face. He gave me a kiss right here on the top of my head.” She wiped a tear from one eye and whispered: “He said he heard my voice calling him to come back. Such a sweet boy. Sweet, sweet boy. I feel much better now he has come for a visit.”
“Did Perdos see him?” asked the priest.
“Don’t talk to me about Perdos. I almost threw him out. Almost. Yes, of course he saw him, but he got scared and ran away.”
“Angalia, this must be such a difficult time. Can I pray for you?”
“Pray for me? Why not? Do what you like. Pharmacos told me about the ancient life up there on Oaxsa. He found the way to them and tells me I can go there, too. But it is difficult.”
The priest crinkled his face with a frown. “You heard him speak? You heard the voice of your son speaking from the grave?”
“Not the grave! He was here! Here in this kitchen, right where you are standing.”
“What were his words? Exactly.”
“I don’t know exactly. I think he said: ‘Momma, I have come to say there is a way.’ Those were his words. And then he said: ‘Come now. Don’t wait until you are dead.’ ”
The priest whispered, as if to himself. “Impossible.”
“I did not see a ghost, you know,” she said. “I saw my son.”
“Of course. Of course you saw him, but did anyone else?”
Angalia shrugged. “I saw him. Perdos, too, but he won’t remember in the morning. It doesn’t matter. Life has come back to me. Sweet Pharmacos.” She paused. “Now leave me, please. I want him to come back again. I have so many questions.”
Angalia closed her eyes, and with a big sigh, tilted her head toward the heavens. The priest’s eyes scanned the ceiling of the kitchen. Feeling distraught and confused, he bade farewell and meekly departed past the curtain, immediately meeting the eyes of Dionysos.
The captain stood from the table and the two men walked out into the evening air. Dionysos lit a cigarette, the flame of the match lighting both their faces. Their eyes met at that moment, the captain holding the match until it burned his fingers.
“I listened,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I heard almost everything. Is the whole village going crazy, or just her?”
“I don’t know,” the priest whispered. “There are things we must try to understand or simply forget.”
The captain lit another match and held it between them, staring into the priest’s eyes. “Well, is it God or the devil that brings him back?” The big man smiled, raising his thick, bushy eyebrows. “I know what Demetra would say. She would say that the other world is right there – beside you. Invisible until you call.”
“Or click the stone,” the priest said to himself.
The match went out.
Dionysos raised his face to the heavens in joy and laughter. “See, Father, you are more than just a pappas.”
The blood drained from the priest’s face. He felt a chill as he recaptured the image of Steffanakis placing Pharmacos’ pebbles on the table with apparent disinterest, claiming they meant nothing to him. Deception? Dimitrios’ eyes tried to pierce the mind of Dionysos. “What do you know of the clicking of the stones?”
“I know nothing,” he said. “But remember I worked with Mimis for many years on many excavations. Mt Ithos. Psychro. Thossalki. I think he found two stones in a tomb in Thossalki; smooth, soft stones. And I know he found some hidden in the temple up there. Hidden inside the wall.”
“What is their meaning?”
Dionysos shrugged. “I don’t know. You rub them or hit them. I forget. Maybe the wind comes. Not a little wind. A big wind. Other than that, ask Mimis.”
“I did.”
Captain Dionysos shrugged. “Maybe that’s all there is to know. It calls the wind. Nothing more. Maybe the less a priest knows about the people and gods from ancient times, the better.” The captain put his face close to the priest. “Unless you make love with ancients, don’t go where they are. It might take you a long, long way from home.” He smiled a devilish grin.
Angalia turned off the lights of the taverna and stepped outside to lock the door.
“Perdos is in the church, Angalia,” said the captain.
As she walked away, she said, “Let God awake to the smell of his breath for one morning. Then he will understand me better.”
The warm and gentle night passed slowly. As Elefsis slept, a tiny light in the rectory of the church stayed awake. Throughout the rest of the peaceful evening, Father Dimitrios Vassilio carefully entered his own labyrinth.
Often he would lie in his bed and, through the window, watch the moon and the stars pass across the heavens. The small window seemed to be his conduit to God, a tiny porthole.
He lay in bed fully clothed during this night. He could see the blinking stars and he could hear Angalia’s voice: “Momma, I have come to say there is a way. Come now. Don’t wait till you
are dead.” Over and over he heard her voice until it became the voice and face of Pharmacos. “Call and I will come. Seek and ye shall find. Call and I will come. Seek and ye shall find. Call and I will come. Seek and ye shall …”
Father Dimitrios opened the drawer to the cupboard beside his bed, retrieving the two sea-washed stones given to him by Angalia. He held them gently in each hand above his face where he lay, softly touching the stone to his lips, his nose. In the darkness of the night, he smelled them, inhaling deeply.
The Turkish Courtyard
September 21, 1980
M
imis Steffanakis sat in the courtyard of his home. His burly friend, Captain Dionysos, was sound asleep nearby on a metal lounge. The captain was more than an old friend, having traits the archaeologist cherished above all others in a man: honesty and loyalty.
Once, long ago, Mimis had hoped Demetra might marry the captain. They were both fearless, strong spirited, with a raised eye for adventure. Yet there was one important way in which they differed. Dionysos set out to conquer the world and the universe beyond. Demetra enfolded herself within the world, not to conquer but to become part of it, the spirit of life.
Mimis thought about what Demetra had said to him a few weeks before: “You are on a journey with this excavation, more so than ever before. Maybe your brain is too cold to feel the warmth beneath your feet, too stiff to move with the wind. You are not the master of the ship. You can only go so far. Let go, my friend. Go further. Until then, Mimis, you are not a free man.”
The red glow of Mimis’ cigarette flared into the darkness and then subsided. It was followed by another. These were unintended beacons sent out into the night.
An image of the ancient priest again entered his imagination. In the secrecy of his thoughts, he allowed this man to trespass, but only for a moment. He questioned if the criss-crossing of their paths was accidental or by design. If the excavation site on Oaxsa was chosen because of a feeling or a sudden insight, he would prefer, in the light of day, to explain with humility that he stumbled upon the site by luck. “Finding the temple on Oaxsa was mostly luck,” he often said. To those who knew him or followed his career, the word “luck” would have seemed deceptive. They knew he did not believe in luck at all.
Mimis thought of the many years and the many excavations he had undertaken.
There were so many bones he had uncovered, each of them meticulously brushed and removed from the soil. He knew each of them formed a part of an ancient human life, yet after each excavation was completed, he wanted them to be only bones. He did not want anything special from them. But the ancient priest from Oaxsa was different from all the others. He wanted more from the bones of this very special man.
In the light of the moon, he walked across the courtyard to the steps above the perivoli. The leaves of the old fig tree glowed white from the moon. It was beneath this tree that, as a young boy, he had made his first discovery. Buried in the earth all around him were the gifts of the giant ancient man.
Mimis lit another cigarette, imagining, as he did as a young boy, the ancient man who had touched his face. The words of Demetra returned: “Too stiff to move with the wind. You are not the master on your own ship. Go further, Mimis. Until then, you are not a free man.”
The voice of Demetra abruptly ceased in his mind. It was interrupted, and then replaced by the voice of a stranger.
‘Dig Mimis. Dig here!’
He was startled by the words, the voice was so unfamiliar, and yet in the reaches of memory, recognizable. These were words from his childhood. His eyes shifted quickly from side to side. His drowsiness was slapped away in an instant.
“Who’s there?”
“Dig, Mimis, dig. Dig here!”
“But I have dug up there. Why do you repeat and repeat in my ear?”
“What do you see?”
“I see the sky explode, looking northward … black clouds billowing miles into the air, and with it, burning ash that swallows the sun. I see the acid air choke the living and burn their lungs black. I see the earth shake and split open, split open and swallow Eleus. I see a giant wave approach.”
“Look further. Look deeper. What is there?”
“I see a young man sacrificed so others would be spared, his carotid artery severed by a large bronze knife. I see the hand that holds the knife. I see a seal stone strapped to his wrist, a ring of iron and silver on one finger. A large man with large hands. I see him. I can see him. I can see – you.”
“Be brave, Mimis. You are almost here.”
“Where – are you?”
“Be brave, Mimis. Not in body and spirit. Not in life or death. Neither matter nor energy. Neither one nor the other. We are joined by the wind.
We are one. Not out there beyond the stars, Mimis. Not out there, but here. Right here. Beside you. It is a journey and to travel it, through it, you must be brave. Deeper Mimis. Dig deeper!”
“Why me?”
“You have reached out to me, Mimis. I have not grabbed hold of you. The conduit opens when your senses are asleep. Leave all your senses behind you. Step out of yourself, your pride; step out beyond your keen eyes and ears. They are of no use where you want to go. Kill them. Sacrifice them. Make the journey, Mimis. Make the journey while you are in life, like the ancients. With reason as your guide you can never enter this world, right here, beside you. You can never step through. Failure will beset you as it does the others, the others of your time.”
“You have a choice. You came from nothingness and darkness, and when you die you can return to this abyss or go now, in life, through this sphere of luminous light that points to where you want to go. It is so close. So close beside you.”
“Is this your voice I hear or mine?”
“Neither one nor the other. We meet now, at the edge where the earth’s darkness opens out through the entrance you have found, the conduit between you and me; two worlds that, when found, are one. Not life nor death. Not body nor spirit. Neither one nor the other, but both together.”
Demetra’s words returned to Mimis: “… too stiff to move with the wind. You are the fig tree …” and dissolved, as did the voices. He heard the sweet songs of sleep calling him back, back to his bed inside the house.
Mimis’ courtyard garden awoke in the fresh morning air as the bougainvillea yawned and opened outward to the sun. One eye of Captain Dionysos awoke before the other. Someone was tickling his lips. The beautiful widow, Ariadne had come to him in the night to share his bed. Often, at sea, he dreamed of her full breasts touching his face for his pleasure. How he would remember those nights at sea, those dreams, Ariadne’s large nipples touching his lips, hard but so soft. She rode him like a bull while he bucked and squeezed at the same time. The dreams were as good as the real thing. Better. He could make them last all night. Do with her as he wished.
He opened one lazy eye searching for Ariadne. There was nothing above him but sky and one small fly crawling across his mouth in search of breakfast. He spat and wiped his mouth in disgust. There was a flutter of wings and the chirp of a mountain partridge that peered down from the roof. Another joined it. An unusual sight below the mountain scrub, he thought. “Mimis,” he shouted. “Mimis! Come look.”
The chair where Mimis had sat the night before was empty. On the table was an almost empty bottle of raki and two glasses. Dionysos poured what remained into one glass, which he tapped on the table to toast himself and then gulped it down. Baring his teeth, he moaned, “Arrrgh!” and wiped his lips. “Mimis! Where are you? Get up! This is going to be a good day.”
The captain went to the well and brought up a bucket of water, scooping handfuls to his face and wiping himself dry with his shirt. He walked to the edge of the courtyard and descended the stairs into the perivoli.
Mimis lay in his bed cursing Dionysos’ loud voice for yanking him from sleep and from his dreams. His dreams had taken him to Athens with his wife. They were alone in a dim, firelit room. He felt small within
her grasp, protected in her embrace. When the captain yelled, he had been holding her, kissing her bare skin. As she moaned, her breasts began to heave with delight.
“Ta kerratah,” he swore under his breath. “You wife stealer.”
Mimis carried two cups of metrio coffee to the empty courtyard, placing them on the table. “Captain, where are you?”
A faint voice replied. “Here. In the perivoli. ”
Mimis walked across the courtyard to the top of the stairs and waved him back with looping gestures. “Coffee.”
“Professor, this place is full of the past. Everywhere there are signs.”
Mimis smiled. “Of course. Come up for coffee.”
Dionysos was on all fours scratching the earth with his fingers, grumbling to himself. “What does he mean, of course? As if all this is nothing. There are things everywhere. Everywhere! Is he an archeologist or is he not?” The captain stood, dusting off his trousers, and walked to the top of the steps where he barked, “All your life you knew what was down there, and what do you do? Nothing. You left everything buried.”
Mimis pretended not to hear his friend and chose instead to smell a bright red flower, burying his nose in it. The pleasure spread across his face, closing his eyes with a prolonged inhalation.
The captain chuckled. For many years he had watched this serious man of science embrace a flower’s scent as though it was a woman, making love to it with such tenderness, such delight. To watch him seemed an intrusion into an imaginary bedroom. For years Mimis extracted joy from the sun, the moon, the shepherd’s feast on Mt Ithos by inhaling each moment. This sensuous man aroused a passion deep within Dionysos which made him want to sing, to sing loud. He began a mantinade:
You have the wings of an eagle
and a partridge’s soul
and your golden beauty is
envied by the moon.
With the sun you
are brothers. I see
Digging at the Crossroads of Time Page 14