by Lina Ellina
“Not really. Homer referred to Cyprus as anemoessa, from anemos the wind, as winds occasionally come inland even from as far as the Sahara, but it hardly ever gets this windy.” She turned and faced him. She hadn’t noticed before, but her client was quite good-looking. He smiled warmly, but there was a touch of melancholy in his smile, she thought.
Soon the rain turned into a downpour, and Lorenzo considered it wiser to keep quiet and let his guide concentrate on her driving. At least, she limited the overtaking of other cars. It was raining buckets, as they got onto the A6 toward Pafos, and he wondered whether he should suggest pulling over, but Marina reduced speed and kept going intrepidly.
A good half hour later, the car came to a complete halt at the portico of the Intercontinental Aphrodite Hills Spa and Resort. Marina opened the car boot as a friendly porter came closer, welcomed them, picked up Lorenzo’s baggage, and had it taken to his room.
As Lorenzo was getting out of the car, Marina said, “I’ll park the car and come and find you in the lobby.”
Lorenzo nodded and walked inside, and Marina looked for a parking space adjacent to the entrance. She locked the car and ran to the hotel with the wind blowing the torrent at her from all angles. The porter opened an umbrella and ran to her, but a big gust of wind blew her hat away and turned the umbrella inside out. She ran after her hat with the cold rain slapping against her cheeks and rushed to the entrance, but the drenching power unleashed onto her left her soaking wet.
When she finally reached the portico, she removed as much rain as possible from her clothes, ran her fingers through her hair, and willed any blasphemies out of her mind. She lifted her chin, straightened her back, and walked to the lobby where he was waiting for her.
29 - 1467
Marin got on his horse, raised his right hand to salute mother, child, and dog, and rode down the declivity to the Cornaro estates, with Elena’s image etched in his memory and a million questions about her springing to mind.
The sun was high up in the sky when he finally made out the estate groves and vineyards in the distance, and he held tighter onto the reins. He suddenly felt somnolent and thought of dismounting but decided to ride on. Luckily, Nikeforos, his friend and stable caretaker, was in the vicinity, saw him afar, and rushed to him.
“What in God’s name?” he said when he reached him. “Let me help you, Master Marin. Everyone’s out there looking for you.”
He helped him ride back and get down the horse. He supported him up the stairs to the terrace with the terrazzo[1] designs and into the mansion.
“I’m fine,” Marin said feebly. “I’ve been bitten by a serpent. I just need to rest.”
His words wreaked havoc amongst the female servants in the house, who hurried to carry him to bed, while Nikeforos dashed to Dr. Brusco’s practice. Marin closed his eyes and only opened them again when the doctor was examining him.
The old man looked at him and shook his head. “You’re a very lucky man, signor Zanetti. Whoever treated your wound saved your life. Blunt-nosed viper bites, although very rare, can be fatal if not treated instantly. I’ll prepare an ointment for you to apply on your wound three times a day. You should be as good as new in a couple of days, although the swelling will take longer to subside. Try to get some rest now.”
[1]The Venetian art of putting to use discarded marble remnants
30 - 2011
Lorenzo looked at Marina from head to toe and shook his head disapprovingly. “And I thought Cyprus is a sunny island,” he said teasingly.
“Most of the time. It may seem hard to believe right now, but Cyprus can boast of three hundred and fifty days of sunshine a year. Today is just not one of them,” she said, wondering at her serenity and broad smile.
As she walked over to the reception desk, Lorenzo couldn’t help grinning at her effort to act professionally despite all odds. When she was done with the formalities, she joined him again.
“What time would you like me to pick you up tomorrow?”
Lorenzo rubbed the back of his head with his palm. He cast his gaze down at his elegant Italian shoes and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Marina…”
Marina, she tried to reproduce the exact way he said her name in her mind.
“You... you’re all wet! Why don’t you take the card key, have the floor valet dry your clothes, and have a shower if you like while I have an aperitif at the bar?”
It sounded really tempting, and, of course, she couldn’t fail but notice she was dripping. “I’ll be fine. Thank you. It’s very kind,” she hesitated.
“I insist. Look at you! You are soaking wet. You’ll catch a cold. And then I won’t have a guide,” he said with laughter in his eyes.
Construing her spontaneous smile as assent, he pressed the card key into her hand. She thanked him and took to walking toward the elevator while he took a seat at the bar, took out his cell, and speed-dialed Sofia’s number.
31 - 1467
Marin meant to pay Elena a visit bearing gifts and thank her for saving his life in the next few days, but unexpected problems at the sugar mill absorbed all his time and energy reserves. A dysentery epidemic, which reduced the number of able workers dramatically, was followed by a series of machine breakdowns causing production holdups. He was laboriously going over the mill books in his chamber late one evening, a fortnight after the snakebite, when Nikeforos knocked gently on his door.
“Come in,” Marin said lost in his calculations, sitting at his desk, half-hidden behind a pile of log books.
“Master Marin, I see you are busy. Perhaps I should come back some other time,” Nikeforos hesitated.
“It’s all right, Nikeforos. What is it?” Marin looked up at him.
The two young men were the same age and height and could even be mistaken for brothers. The sympathy that developed between them from day one eventually evolved into friendship, and Nikeforos became Marin’s most loyal man on the island.
“It’s not important. It’s just that you wanted me to keep you posted of anything that goes on around,” Nikeforos started carefully.
“And?”
“And there are some new girls at the brothel in Limassol, and I thought you might want to know.” Nikeforos hadn’t failed to notice Marin’s flings, especially on his evenings out to Limassol with Jacomo.
Marin snorted. “Thanks. I’ll have that in mind.” He stretched his arms lazily above his head and yawned. “Tell me, Nikeforos. What do you know about the woman who treated my wound?” he asked casually.
“I don’t know how come, but she was born lefteri. Some say she’s a witch. Some say she’s a healer. Sick people go to her for treatment. And she treats them all just the same, even if they have nothing to offer her... I just think it’s strange for a woman to live alone in the wilderness.”
“Well, even if she is a witch, she has to be a kind one if she treats people for free. Don’t you think?” He smiled at Nikeforos who shook his head in agreement. “Is she married?” Marin finally asked.
“She’s a widow as far as I know,” Nikeforos replied, studying his master’s face that resembled a sphinx. He waited discreetly for a moment and then wished him ‘goodnight’.
When the door closed behind him, Marin smirked to himself. Funny, how he had no desire to be with other women. It was all that little witch’s fault, he thought. Who knows what she had put in that broth she gave him? It must have been some kind of a spell on him because her image intruded his thoughts time and time again.
His eyes rested on the letter on his desk. He had received it from home that morning. He had it lodged in his shirt all day, but he hadn’t had the chance to read it yet. Marin focused on the figures in front of him once more, determined to finish the work he had brought home first.
By the time he closed the ledger, everything was still in the house. Even the hound dogs were sleeping by the entrance. Marin took his boots and clothes off and slipped into his chemise. He picked up the letter and let his fingers slide on the fine paper from
the Fabriano[1] paper mill.
Marin sat on his bed with the curtained corniced tester bedstead and rested his back on his pillows. He read the letter once quickly, hungry for his family’s news. He then placed his left arm behind his head and read it over once again, more slowly this time, trying to visualize every detail described until his eyelids felt heavy. He turned and blew out the candle. He would take his time and answer them tomorrow.
[1]The only papermakers in Italy and the most successful in Europe at the time
32 - 2011
Marina inserted the card key into the slot, waited until the light turned green, pushed the door open, and for a moment, she stood stunned. She had never been inside the rooms before - only in the lobby to pick up or drop clients. The junior club suit was larger than her entire studio, she thought and giggled.
She took her boots off and her feet sank into the thick carpet. She let her fingers slide on the table with the fruit basket and the champagne on ice. With swift movements, she got undressed, put on the thick white all-cotton robe with the hotel initial, slipped into the matching slippers, asked the floor valet to dry her clothes, and headed for the bathroom.
She knew she was supposed to hurry, but the temptation to enjoy this luxury that would probably not reoccur anytime soon was too strong. She filled the Jacuzzi and tried all the jets. She then examined the little elegant Korres bottles one by one and indulged herself with a hot vanilla cinnamon bubble bath.
When she finally dried herself up, her clothes were laid out iron dried on the bed for her. She blow dried her moist underwear and her hat and checked herself in the mirror. It took her a while to bring her hair into shape. She refreshed her chocolate brown lipstick and her perfume and glanced at her watch. She had kept him waiting for over an hour, and he hadn’t even had the chance to unpack yet. He was surely regretting his invitation, she feared, and walked to the elevator in brisk strides.
She spotted him sitting at the bar having a shot. He glanced at his watch and then toward the bar entrance and saw her walking up to him vigorously.
“I’m sorry I took so long. The hot water was a temptation I couldn’t resist,” she apologized. She still remembered the fights with George and how he loathed waiting for her.
He looked at her through half-closed eyes for a moment and then gave her a congenial smile. “It’s all right. I had the opportunity to find out everything about zivania from Paul here.” He pointed to the bartender with a slight move of his head, and he smiled back at them. Lorenzo chuckled.
“I knew it took women long to get ready. I guess I hadn’t realized girls also need that long.” He turned and faced her as his grin spread across his face. “Scommetto che sono abbastanza vecchio che potrei essere tuo padre[1],” he murmured under his breath, lifted his glass, and downed his shot, but Marina heard him all the same.
“I doubt that. I’m twenty-four, and you can’t be more than thirty,” she blurred out.
“You speak Italian well!” he said surprised.
“Only a little,” she said, keeping a low profile.
“That’s good… Anyway, I’m thirty-six.” He met her disbelieving stare.
“Uh, here’s your card key... And thanks again... So, I’ll see you in the morning,” Marina broke the embarrassing silence.
“Marina, it’s almost nine. Why don’t you join me for dinner?”
Marina’s lips parted then shut again.
Seeing her hesitating, he added, “If there’s one thing I hate, that’s eating alone. Here I am, in a foreign country. I don’t know anyone - anyone but you that is.”
“Uh, this is very kind, but... uh...”
“Marina, do you know what I do for a living?” Lorenzo looked at her long thick eyelashes that he hadn’t noticed before.
Marina was startled by his deep gaze for a moment but responded wearing her professional expression, “Uh, no, I’m afraid I haven’t been given this information.”
“I’m a chef,” Lorenzo said simply – as if that explained everything.
Hence the interest in the flavors of the island, she thought.
“I became a chef because I love the pleasure of good food. I bet the food here’s exquisite, but it won’t be a pleasure unless it is shared with someone.” He stretched his arms and looked at her disarmingly.
She nodded and smiled. “In that case, thank you.” The truth was that she was famished.
“I’ll just go and have a quick shower first. Why don’t you have a drink in the meantime?”
Without waiting for a response, he turned to the bartender. “Paul!”
Marina marveled at his speed of befriending people.
“Whatever the lady’s having, charge it on my account, will you?”
“Of course,” the bartender nodded.
She watched him walk away, took a seat at the bar, and ordered a dry martini. She picked a salmon vol-au-vent from the silver tray that Paul placed in front of her.
[1]‘I bet I’m old enough to be your father’
33 - 1467
Elena beckoned to the sad-faced young boy to follow her to the window where the light was better, and told him to roll up his sleeves. The young woman lifted the boy’s arms and examined the red and white hues of scaly patches.
She looked up at his worried mother and said, “Don’t worry. It’s just psoriasis. It’s not pretty, but it’s not lethal, and it’s not contagious. I’ll prepare something to rub on his skin twice a day.”
The relieved mother fondled the boy’s hair. “Everything’s going to be all right. Elena will fix you,” she said confidently and smiled at him, and a faint smile cracked on the boy’s lips for the first time that day. He observed Elena curiously as she prepared a mixture of olive oil and oregano oil in a little jar that she gave his mother.
The woman took a small red glazed pot of honey out of her apron pocket and put it in Elena’s hands. “Thank you, Elena. God bless you!”
Elena smiled and watched them disappear. She went down on her knees in front of the wooden crucifix on the wall. She thanked the Lord for sending her a boy she could cure. She always felt sick to her stomach when there was nothing she could do for the people who sought out her help. She had seen so many people die she would have thought she would be immune to the pain of loss and helplessness by now. She said her prayer including the stranger’s safe return to his home. She rose to her feet and checked on Ioanna who was playing with her puppa [1] on the blanket on the floor.
Being a Wednesday, a fasting day, Elena put some bulgur wheat in a cauldron with some water to boil. She rinsed the mallows she had picked earlier, chopped them, and added them to the bulgur wheat along with some bay leaves and rosemary. She squeezed the juice of a sour orange to add before taking the cauldron off the fire.
She dried her hands and came to stand on the porch for some fresh air. She lifted her eyes to the sky, and marveled at the bright orange color of the setting sun, turning into a pallet of pink fuchsia and violet shades. Another moon was about to succeed the sun and not a sign of life from the handsome stranger. She only hoped she had managed to save him.
She went back inside and took to collecting the cocoons of the larvae, to draw off the silk and spin it into threads. She needed to weave more silk and make Ioanna new clothes. It was unbelievable how fast she grew.
[1]A doll made of rags.
34 - 2011
A familiar smell penetrated his nostrils, as Lorenzo closed the door behind him. He grinned recognizing Marina’s discreet perfume and closed his eyes for a moment letting it in. Without wasting time, he got undressed and under the shower. It took him less than twenty minutes to join her again at the bar. Unpacking could wait.
To her relief, he did not wear a dinner jacket. She would have felt way underdressed. But he still looked smart in his black Rogani shoes, black Gucci trousers, black leather belt, and charcoal shirt. Marina admired the ease with which he moved. In her stereotypical understanding of his profession, a chef succumbs to glutto
ny and flirts with obesity - nothing like his athletic figure. Let alone at the age of thirty-six, which was close to middle age in her book, considering that the average life expectancy for men in Europe was seventy-six.
He signed the check Paul presented him with and offered her his arm to help her climb down the stool asking, “Shall we?”
Marina accepted his assistance, enjoying his attention.
“Have you had dinner here before?” he asked while escorting her to the Leandros à la carte restaurant.
I wish! “Uh, no, this is the first time.”
“Good. Then this is a first-time experience to share.” He gave her a beaming smile.
At the entrance, a waiter rushed to show them to a table.
“Thanks. I got this,” Lorenzo told him and pulled the chair out for her.
I can get used to this kind of treatment, Marina thought. George, who had grown up with the egalitarian doctrines of communism, always laughed at the aristocracy relics, as he called them. She had long suspected that this had little to do with communism. It was not more than a sad excuse to avoid treating her gallantly. She quickly sent the thought of George to the back of her mind.
Marina had a quick look around at the stylish decor. A smiling waitress gave them the menus, and Marina browsed through hers. She looked at the prices and the dish descriptions with the exotic names and the fancy ingredients and opened her eyes widely before raising an eyebrow. “I suddenly don’t feel very hungry,” she lied unconvincingly and heard him snort gently.
He found her expressive face irresistibly refreshing. Lorenzo suggested, “Perhaps I could help you choose,” and Marina was thankful. “Do you usually prefer fish or meat?” He enjoyed her futile effort to mask her embarrassment with a smile.
“I don’t mind either way. Just don’t order anything that needs more than a simple cutting, please,” she said in a low conspiratorial tone of voice.