by Lina Ellina
“No, everything’s clear.”
25 - 1467
In the pandemonium of the dog barking, his horse neighing, and a donkey’s braying, Marin stopped talking and looked down just in time to see a terrified blunt-nosed viper. He had been unfortunate enough to stand on its tail, and the viper sank its teeth into his calf in self-defense. Marin drew his sword and in a decisive move cut the reptile in two with its sharp blade, but, alas, too late. He looked up and saw the young woman placing her peacefully sleeping baby in her basket and dash to him.
“Hippocrates, be quiet! Sit!” she ordered, and the dog obeyed at once.
Marin felt nauseous. If it was the venom or his fear, he didn’t know. He went down on his knees. A man of the sea, he had never been beaten by a snake before.
The woman reached him and freed her hair from her veil.
“Signore, sit up!” she said firmly.
She speaks Venetian, he thought, and did as he was told. “Is it venomous? Is there an antidote?”
“Yes and no,” the young woman replied while tying her veil above the snakebite with swift, resolute movements.
“What?” Marin raised his perplexed eyes to her.
“Yes, it’s venomous, and no, there’s no antidote, but don’t worry. I’ll take care of your wound. It can be dangerous only if it’s not treated at once.”
Or so she hoped. Against her better judgment, she decided to move him into the house right away, for she did not possess the titanic strength to carry him alone later should he faint. Her curls smelling of roses fell on his face, as she placed his arm around her shoulders and said in an authoritative tone of voice, “Signore, help me carry you to the house.”
Elena helped the stranger inside, rushed to fetch her baby, and came back to help him sit up on her bed. She quickly cut the garment around the viper’s bite. She cleaned the already swelling wound and searched her herb cupboard which contained most of the 673 different kinds of aromatic and healing herbs that grow on the island. She tried to remember what her nana had taught her about snakebites.
She feared that the Aristolochia sempervirens[1] was not enough so she added some Arum hygrophilum[2] in the mixture she prepared. She applied it on his wound, tore a piece of a clean bed sheet, and bandaged it. Only then did she realize the state of her tunic and rushed to make herself decent even though the stranger was already demonstrating symptoms of hypotension shock.
Before long, he fell into the arms of Morpheus. In his restless sleep, the young man murmured “at arms” and “pirates, starboard” and a few other words Elena couldn’t make out. She sat on the bed by his side as he was drifting in and out of consciousness and spoke tenderly and reassuringly to him, holding and patting his hand.
Every now and then, Elena removed a lock of his dark hair and checked his temperature with the back of her hand. When his forehead felt hotter, she undressed him from the waist up, and tried to bring his fever down with cold compresses. She let her fingers slide on the golden St. Christopher hanging from his neck for a moment before she turned him on his side to wash his back. She frowned noticing a nasty scar on his right scapula, probably caused by a dagger.
She turned him on his back again and stared at his pale, yet handsome, face, suddenly becoming aware of the whole year that had passed since her husband’s tragic death in the hands of the pirates on his way back with goods from Syria. That was the day that changed her life. In one day, her husband lost his life and their fortune. In the days that followed, their house in Limassol was lost to the loan sharks her husband had borrowed money from for this trip. Elena barely managed to save nana’s country house. His parents accused her of being cursed and blamed her for their son’s death for reasons beyond her ability to comprehend or accept and refused to have anything to do with her again. Bitter with their unjust treatment, Elena decided not to let them know she was expecting his child.
In front of the wooden crucifix that hung on the wall by the bed, the young mother lit a kandili[3], burned incense in a censer, went down on her knees, and prayed for the unknown young man before she got up to check on him and her baby again.
When his sleep finally became peaceful, she placed his white shirt and his black leather waistcoat with bronze nails, the heads of which were covered with a golden leaf, on a chair. She moved toward the door but stopped in front of the mirror and broodingly looked at her reflection. She picked up the ivory comb, combed her messy hair, and walked outside into the freshness of the rose-scented evening followed by Hippocrates. She leaned against the trunk of an old lentisk at the top of the cliff and gazed at the iridescent waves rolling lazily onto the moonlit shore. She concentrated on the gentle breeze, trying to cool down the uninvited heat inside her.
In the past year, she had been living almost like a hermit. Not only because she feared Ioanna’s grandparents might try and snatch her baby away from her should they find out about her, but she also preferred it that way. Living alone in the wilderness gave her a sense of freedom she could not have enjoyed if she had remained in the ‘civilization’ of Limassol. She had spent most of her life in the wilderness. It didn’t scare her. Her heart skipping a beat when she was around the stranger did.
[1]Commonly known as creeping vine
[2] Commonly known as green arum
[3]A glass container that is filled with water, olive oil, and a wick usually placed in front of an icon
26 - Larnaka International Airport, 2011
Lorenzo waited patiently until the fasten seat belt signs went out, unbuckled, picked up his black blazer from the empty seat next to him and stepped on the aisle. A friendly flight attendant bid him goodbye. He smiled at her and walked in line with the other passengers on board. He got onto the bus that took them to the airport building and quickly cleared the passport control along with all European Union citizens and walked to the baggage claim area.
With a small piece of luggage in his hand, he walked through the ‘nothing to declare’ lane and passed through the sliding doors where people were waiting to welcome their friends and relatives. Among them, a few travel agency representatives were holding up placards with passengers’ names.
He spotted his name on a placard in the hands of a young woman with an elongated neck and rich dark brown curls that occasionally fell naughtily in front of her eyes and which she would push away playfully.
She looked svelte in her black boots, black jeans, a fitted white blouse, an unbuttoned black vest with fine silver stripes and a black hat. She couldn’t have been more than five foot five but must have felt comfortable with her height, Lorenzo thought observing her flat boots. She stood patiently watching the passengers walk through the sliding doors and waiting until someone would react to the name she was holding up.
Lorenzo walked up to her. When she met his gaze, she flashed a radiant smile at him that made her eyes flicker.
“Signor Zanetti?” she asked for confirmation when he came to stand in front of her.
She looked small next to him but with curves in all the right places, he figured.
“Yes, I’m signor Zanetti.” He took the hand she was offering him, surprised at how firmly the soft hand with the slim, long fingers shook his.
Marina removed a curl from her eye and lifted her chin so as to look at him properly. She wondered whether she should reply in Italian but then decided against it. “Welcome to Cyprus, Mr. Zanetti. I hope you had a pleasant flight.”
“Just some turbulence, but it was all right. Thank you.” He shifted his vision from one eye to the other and down to the bridge of her delicate nose on her fresh face.
“My name’s Marina and I’ll be your guide during your stay in Cyprus. This way,” she said, gesturing for him to follow her to the exit while wearing her professional smile.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marina.”
Marina! His Italian accent prolonged the vowels a bit more than in Greek. It was as if he almost sang her name, she thought.
“I believe we
have the same last name,” he ventured as they walked out of the building. The chilly wind stroke against their cheeks, and Lorenzo smoothed his hair.
“Yes, we do. My last name’s Zanettou, but that’s just the Greek ending for genitive to indicate the family origin – usually for women,” Marina elucidated him.
“Is this a common name in Cyprus?”
“Um... Not really,” Marina replied while unlocking the car which was conveniently parked by the entrance.
“Are you of Italian origin?” he asked as she was opening the car boot for him to put his suitcase in.
“I couldn’t honestly say.” Just then, Marina realized she had never had a second thought about her last name. It was just the name her family went by.
“Did you know that Zanetti is a typical Venetian name?” Lorenzo asked while closing the car boot.
“Uh, no.”
“Sometimes ‘Gi’ was changed into ‘Z’ in Veneto. Already in the fifteenth century, the Venetian form of Gianni was Zane or Zuane, for instance, just as Zorzi was for Giorgio.”
“That’s interesting,” Marina said, glad she hadn’t switched to Italian.
27 - 1467
Marin relaxed in his sleep, as an angel sat guard by his side whispering words of comfort. Several hours later, he awoke with the scent of the burned incense in his nostrils. With some effort, he opened his languorous eyes and tried to gather his bearings. Hippocrates, who stood guard by him all night, rested his snout on the bed and licked his fingers. Marin smiled faintly and patted his head.
He looked around the long narrow chamber with a chimney in one corner and a loom in another. It was a humble, plainly whitewashed place, sparsely furnished and adorned, apart from a vase decorated in geometric shapes on a table covered with an embroidered tablecloth and a crucifix on the wall. What astounded him as incongruous, however, were the two books on the shelf: The Holy Bible and The Great Book of Herbs.
The door opened and a young woman came in, uploaded a bucket filled with water, and disappeared into the adjoining room to feed the silkworms with the mulberry leaves she had just collected. She was so small with one of those ageless faces that she could even be mistaken for a girl, he thought, when it suddenly all came back to him.
With agile feline movements, the young woman came back into the room and said ‘good morning’ in a rather formal tone of voice, but with warmth in her eyes.
Stupefied, Marin looked out the window only to become conscious of the dawn breaking. He had spent the entire night there in her house! Jacomo must have organized a search party by now, only he hadn’t told anyone where he would be going. He rested his head on the pillow again.
“Good morning,” he said, half closing his heavy eyelids, with a dim smile on his lips and the sweet memory of her bare soft white breast as the baby was enjoying her nipple.
Elena came and stood by the bed and placed her hand on his forehead. “Your temperature’s back to normal. You can get dressed now,” she said in an authoritative tone of voice and Marin looked at her taken aback. She handed him his clothes, making an effort not to stare at his strong torso, and Marin slipped back into his shirt.
“Where am I? Who are you?” His voice sounded a bit weak even in his ears.
“You’re safe. Best you don’t talk much.”
Marin had gotten used to giving orders to serfs, not taking them. He looked at the serene look on the young woman’s face, trying to figure out why she felt so comfortable ignoring a master’s questions. She walked to the cauldron while Hippocrates lay back down by the bed. She was wearing her hair up this morning, and Marin’s eyes rested on her slim bare neck as she was pouring some liquid into a cup. In the familiarity of her home, she obviously didn’t deem it necessary to wear a headdress.
“Drink this. It will invigorate you,” she said as she was offering him a cup.
Marin wondered where her husband might be. He didn’t see him the day before, and there was no sign of him now. He took a sip of the herb-scented broth and grimaced. “It’s too salty,” he complained.
“So it should be. All of it,” she said strictly.
Marin looked up at her wondering one more time who this mysterious woman was.
“If I drink up, will you tell me your name?” he challenged her and saw the corners of her mouth form an unforced smile.
“Only if you drink all of it,” she played along. Obediently, he drank up, and his face was contorted with disgust. She took the empty cup, and Marin grabbed her hand gently.
“I kept my end of the bargain,” he insisted.
The young woman gave him a smile more mysterious than Mona Lisa’s. “And I will keep mine. I just didn’t say when” came back the unexpected reply.
She broke free from his grip and placed the cup on the table. Marin tried to disguise his disbelief.
“Where’s your husband?”
The moment the question slipped out, the young Venetian realized he was almost rude to his savior and hostess. It didn’t much matter, he thought. She was just another serf.
He clasped his hands on the pillow under his head and let his eyes glide on her lightsome posture and her unassuming features. She wasn’t a ravishing beauty, but she was, in her own quiet way, quite pretty, especially when she smiled. Her broad forehead gave away an analytic mind, and the penetrating gaze of her almond-shaped brown eyes saw right through him, Marin thought, and wondered if she was a witch. After all, she lived like a recluse in the woods. She knew a lot about herbs, and she had that mystic expression on her face.
“Signore, your family must be desperately looking for you. I think you should ride back soon. I’ll go get some eggs to make you breakfast.”
He sat up in bed. “They can wait a while longer… Listen, I’m afraid we started on the wrong foot. Can we start over?”
She eyed him somberly as if weighing his words and finally nodded her consent.
“Signora, may I introduce myself? I’m Marin Zanetti, supervisor at the Cornaro sugar mill and estate. You have saved my life, and now I’m at your service,” he said affably.
As if to introduce herself, too, the baby gave out a cooing noise to let them know she was awake. Elena lifted her from her cot and appeased her. The baby rubbed her little cheek against hers and was quiet again. “I’m Elena, and this is Ioanna,” she said softly.
Hippocrates woofed and their hands touched momentarily, as they both instinctively stretched their arms to caress him. The half-breed wagged his tail happy to be the center of attention. “And this is Hippocrates,” Elena said, smiling fondly at her dog.
28 - 2011
Lorenzo walked to the front door of the car when he heard her ask politely, “Uh, Mr. Zanetti? I don’t suppose you would like to drive, would you?”
“Uh... No, not really.”
“Well, perhaps you would like to come this way then. You see, in Cyprus, we drive on the left. One of the remnants of British colonialism,” she explained.
Lorenzo looked at the steering wheel through the car window and then at Marina. “Right! I’m afraid I don’t know much about Cyprus, but I do expect to leave the island more enlightened.” An embarrassed smile crossed his face, and Marina couldn’t help smiling back.
“When was Cyprus a British colony?” Lorenzo asked, looking out the car window as the sun was trying to find gaps between the clouds.
“Between 1923 and 1959, but the British had been actually ruling the island since 1878.”
“How’s that possible?” he wondered out loud.
“When Russia won the war with the Turks in 1878, the British saw their economic interests - that is the newly built Suez Canal - threatened. In an agreement with Turkey, they rented the island, but when Turkey allied itself with the Austro-Hungarian Empire at the outbreak of World War I, the British nullified the treaty and annexed Cyprus. With the Treaty of Lausanne in 1923, Turkey relinquished all claims to Cyprus, and the island became a British Crown colony,” Marina elaborated briefly.
Lorenzo found the sound of her calm voice soothing and the soft way she pronounced s charming. “And after ’59?”
“Cyprus became independent, but Turkey, Greece, and Britain remained guarantor powers. Some independence, huh!” Marina said, getting onto the A5 toward Lemesos and turned on the windshield wipers, as it began to drizzle again.
Lorenzo looked at her, wondering if he could give an account of Italy’s history in a nutshell - probably not. History had never been his favorite subject at school - the break was. He glanced at the sun setting hastily in the distance ahead.
“We must be heading west,” he observed.
“Yes, that’s right. The Intercontinental is in Pafos in the west. Well, halfway between Lemesos and Pafos. It’s one of our nice hotels, and I’m sure you will find the view breathtaking.”
“You have just put my expectations high,” Lorenzo said challengingly.
Marina locked eyes with him for a fleeting moment, offered him an evanescent smile, and focused her gaze on the road again. “You won’t be disappointed. But you won’t be able to see much today. It will be dark by the time we get there.” Marina checked the mirror before overtaking another truck in the rain.
Lorenzo scrutinized the woman with the girlish face next to him. She seemed confident behind the steering wheel, and that was comforting. All this driving on the left would need getting used to. When he was in London, he preferred to let Beth do the driving. She knew her way around better anyway. He shook his head as if to chase the thought of Beth away.
The light wind intensified and eventually turned into storm as the blue velvet of the evening was spreading around them.
“Is it always so windy?” he broke the silence.