by Lina Ellina
“Need a hand?” he asked, kneeling right next to her.
Elena cast him an astounded, perplexed gaze. A master who does chores and wants to help with children!
“Just tell me how,” he insisted and flashed a smile at her.
“Just put your left arm under her head and hold her tight from the underarm and wash her with your right hand,” she said almost in a whisper.
She looked at the grin on her daughter’s little face. She was obviously amused by Marin’s little waves and splashing water around her. Unexpectedly, he turned Ioanna over supporting her chin on his arm.
“What are you doing?” Elena asked with concern and curiosity.
“I’m teaching her how to swim.”
“Oh!” For the first time, Elena was speechless.
Marin studied her face. “Do you know how to swim?” Most men didn’t know how to swim, let alone women, but he would have expected anything from her.
“Swimming spreads infections and causes epidemics!” she protested. That was the general belief, although her nana always thought of this as plain nonsense.
“If that were true, I would have been dead by now,” he said and smiled at her.
Elena rose to her feet and brought a bed sheet to wrap her daughter in.
“I could teach you if you like. It’s an amazing feeling!” he said, lifted Ioanna up, and placed her in her mother’s arms.
Elena, who had always enjoyed the sensation of water on her body while bathing in the stream, found the prospect of swimming too exciting to worry about the proximity of his body. She thought it wiser, however, not to respond to his suggestion, at this point at least, and took to dressing her baby.
“Would you be so kind as to step outside, signore? I need to feed her now.” Elena made an effort to keep her voice steady. She could use the time alone.
“Why? It’s not like I haven’t seen you before.” He found her jumpiness at the words of intimacy amusing.
“You make a wonderful picture the two of you. There’s nothing to feel embarrassed about. Actually, I’d like to sketch you if you allow me,” he encouraged her. He hadn’t met a woman yet who did not feel flattered at the thought of being sketched.
The last thing Elena had expected that day was for the handsome stranger to show up at her doorstep again, asking to sketch her feeding her baby. “Signore,” she started to say, but Ioanna was getting impatient searching for the nipple that would still her hunger.
“I think she’s hungry,” Marin said, enjoying himself.
He grabbed the piece of paper and the charcoal he had brought along and took a seat at the table. It was obvious to her that he was as determined to sketch her just as Ioanna was in her quest for her mother’s milk. She looked at Marin, who raised his open palms in front of him as if asking what she was waiting for, and then at her daughter who was getting agitated. She turned her back to him and took to feeding her baby.
Patiently, Marin grabbed his chair and took a seat a few paces further away so as to sketch her profile. Elena never lifted her eyes to him. With the adrenaline pumping the blood faster through his veins, he observed every single detail about her undisturbed. At first, his hands shook slightly, but as he started to draw the first lines on the paper, he relaxed fully. He worked with fast movements setting the outline of her profile first, and then taking it more slowly, he refined the details of her facial expressions. It suited him just fine that she wouldn’t look at him. It would have made him nervous if she had.
He was adding the final touches when she put Ioanna in her cot and made herself decent with her back turned to him. She walked up to him, but he hid the drawing playfully.
“Not yet, Elena. You have to be patient.”
He had said her name a hundred times when he was alone, but the intimacy of calling her by her first name still sounded exciting in his ears. He concentrated on his sketching.
She looked up at him as if weighing the whole situation and then took to busying herself with her knitting. Marin knew she could hardly wait. Women, he thought and smiled to himself. When he was satisfied that he had depicted her tenderness for her baby, he rose to his feet and came to stand right behind her. He placed one hand on the back of her chair, leaned into her, and stretched his arm with the drawing in front of her. He nuzzled her curls and closed his eyes taking in the smell of lavender, causing every muscle in her body to flex.
“You are very good, signore,” she started casually. “You must have had a lot of practice,” drawing intimate moments of women, she was about to say but managed to bite the inside of her cheek just in time. How many have you drawn already, she wondered pursing her lips?
If Marin had read between the lines, he didn’t show it. He chose to simply thank her. Needing to put some distance between them, Elena got up and tasted the stew. Just then she realized that most of the ingredients she had used for their supper that evening had one thing in common; they were all highly aphrodisiac.
[1] A mud-brick oven
46 - 2011
They stepped outside the hotel and walked to the car. Marina lifted her eyes to the sky and said, “If the weather forecast is correct, it may only drizzle in the coastal areas today.”
“Good. I think I’ve had enough rain for one visit... You should wear red more often,” he added casually before getting into the car.
Marina cast a glance in his direction, murmured “thank you”, and got in, too.
The car rolled toward the freeway, and Lorenzo glanced at his watch. “It’s almost eleven now. Is it ten or twelve in Italy?”
“Ten. It’s one hour behind,” Marina explained as she was accelerating.
Lorenzo picked up his cell and held a short conversation in Italian, but Marina could tell he was speaking in a dialect. When he hung up, he turned to face her.
“That was Sofia, my sister. She’s taking care of Paola while I’m gone. She actually takes care of Paola quite often.”
Marina returned his smile, surprised by the effortless way he was opening up to her. “The two of you must be very close.”
“Yes, we are. How about you? Any siblings?”
The smile on Marina’s face faltered, and Lorenzo held her in an inquisitive look.
“I don’t know,” the unexpected reply finally came.
“What?” Lorenzo’s eyebrows arched.
“It’s complicated.” Marina fidgeted nervously.
“Try me!” he encouraged her.
47 - 1467
Marin raised his wine goblet. “To my lady savior,” he proposed and the corners of his lips went up in a warm smile that lit his eyes.
“Anyone would have done the same,” Elena said, casting her gaze on the goblet in her hand.
“I’m not so sure everyone would know how. I, for one, wouldn’t.” He put his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Tell me, Elena, how come you know so much about herbs? How come you speak Venetian or can read in the first place? Most importantly, how do you get to live as lefteri?” Becoming conscious of his bombarding her with questions, Marin stopped talking.
Elena’s lips formed an unforced smile. “Are you always so impatient?”
“Not really. I just want to find out everything about you.” He looked at her intensely.
“Okay. But for every question you ask, I get to ask one, too. All right?”
Marin nodded his consent.
“Let’s see. The herbs. Well, my nana spent half her life in the wilderness. She wrote down everything she knew from her mother about herbs, so that I wouldn’t forget.”
Marin wondered if that was a brief shadow of sadness he detected on her face. “So, your nana knew how to read and write, too!”
Extraordinary, he thought! In the middle of nowhere, women could read and write. How was that possible in a world of analphabetism where the vast majority of men were illiterate, let alone women?
“My turn now!” Elena had her own agenda.
“Sure, go ahead. I’m an open book. Ask me a
nything,” Marin encouraged her enjoying himself. He was so looking forward to unveiling the mystery encompassing her.
“How long will you be staying in Cyprus? I mean, foreigners, especially merchants, come and go. What are your plans?” She was satisfied her voice sounded casual enough.
“I’ve done some trading, but I’m not a merchant, Elena. Like I told you when we first met, I’m the supervisor at the Cornaro mill and estates. The Cornaro have been here for a hundred years. So how long do I plan to stay? Quite long I’d say.”
He knew he sounded evasive, but just then he realized he had no inkling. He only knew he would be staying for as long as Andrea Cornaro needed him. Was she worried about that, he wondered?
“So how come your nana could read and write?”
Elena took a sip of her wine to give herself more time to contemplate her answer and to prolong his hanging on her every word. She was enjoying his company and his attention. She hadn’t dined with a man since the evening before her late husband embarked on a catastrophe.
48 - 2011
Marina ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. “My parents used to live in Vokolida. That’s a tiny village in the Carpass peninsula in Famagusta district, in the occupied areas… I wasn’t born then. My parents had a boy, Alexandros. I never met him. I don’t even know if he’s alive.”
Lorenzo wasn’t sure he understood what she was saying exactly. “What happened?” he asked gently and waited patiently until she was ready to continue her narration.
“When the Turks invaded my parents’ village in ’74, they were out in the fields, while Alexandros, he was nine then, was playing football with his friends in the schoolyard. They had to flee from the planes bombarding them and the soldiers closing in on them. My parents desperately searched for my brother everywhere, but they never found him. Not even later in the free areas through the refugee message exchange programs on the radio. Not through their endless pleas and petitions to the UN for the missing people. Nothing. No one could help us.”
Her voice broke and she paused for a moment to recollect herself before she went on. “Somebody said he saw Turkish soldiers taking the boys from the schoolyard and forcing them onto a military truck that day, so we don’t know what happened to them. We don’t know if they shot them, or if they’ve been rotting in a Turkish prison ever since. We just don’t know,” she said with apprehension in her voice.
“That’s terrible!” Lorenzo said sympathetically.
Marina shook her head.
“Do you have a photo of him?”
“No. You know, in ’74 people were fleeing for their lives. Some walked tens of kilometers in their flip-flops and shorts just to get away from Turkish tanks. They didn’t have time to take anything.”
Talking about her missing brother always left a tart taste in her mouth, and Marina changed the subject after an awkward silence.
“See here? This exit leads to Episkopi, where the Cornaro sugar mill I told you about last night used to be, and the next one leads to Kolossi castle. Right next to the castle there still stands a part of the sugar warehouse of the Hospitallers.”
49 - 1467
“Well? Is it a state secret?” Marin tried to lighten up the conversation, but Elena didn’t smile.
“When nana was young, she used to live close to Aphrodite’s temple in Yeroskepou. In Greek, ieros kepos means holy garden. It is holy because it has been linked to the worship of the goddess. You say Venus, but we call her Aphrodite. You know, in Greek, Aphrodite means emerging from the foam of the sea. Anyway, my nana, just like her mother and her grandmother before her, was a member of the secret cult of Aphrodite - hence the knowledge of herbs.”
The mere notion that such a cult was still alive, even if just underground, excited his imagination. Yet a sudden, vague feeling of jealousy took him unawares. “You mean you’ve been initiated in these rituals?”
“My turn. Tell me about your family.”
“My father is a galley captain, and my mother is... a beautiful person. And I’ve two brothers, twins, and two sisters,” he answered quickly before pressing her to answer his question, “Have you been initiated in these rituals?”
Elena looked at him through half-closed eyes, weighing the flame in his intense gaze. “No, but I know about them.” She offered him an enigmatic smile and went on. “When nana fell in love with a clergyman, she abjured the pagan customs and lived a Christian life for his sake. He was probably too high in rank to marry her. High-ranking priests cannot marry. In fact, he must have been pretty high in rank because he could read and write... Nana said he was considering rejecting his office and becoming a simple priest so as to be able to marry her, but she didn’t let him, out of fear he would regret it some day. He was the one who taught her how to read the Holy Bible you see on that shelf. That was his gift to her. He was the one who bought nana her freedom. A compensation for not being able to marry her, I suppose. When nana realized she was carrying his child, she decided to keep it, a part of him I guess, so she came to live in the wilderness. He would come and see her as often as he could, but the plague took him early... Nana taught my mother how to read and write, and she taught me. My turn now! Tell me about your life here in Cyprus.” Her voice lilted across the room.
“I sometimes miss my family in Venice, but other than that, it’s great! I love what I do. Not just the running of the mill and the estate, but also the fact that I’m given free rein to start up new enterprises! It’s like the sky is the limit, you know.” His eyes sparkled with excitement as he gave her a full account of his daily routine.
“How come you speak Venetian?” he finally asked.
“I don’t speak your language that well, but I understand a lot.” Elena folded her hands on the table.
“You don’t make as many mistakes as you may think. What strikes me, though, is that you use some words typical of Florence.” He looked at her, wearing an inquisitive face. He decided to hear her out before jumping into conclusions.
“My father was a merchant from Florence, doing business mainly in Famagusta.”
Marin’s eyebrow arched.
“It was summer when one day, he was on business in the area. He lost his way and drifted close to nana’s place. A snake scared off his horse, and he fell off, hurt his head, and lost consciousness. My mother found him and treated him. They fell in love, and before next spring, I was born... We had joyful moments whenever he came for a visit. My mother insisted upon learning his language and teaching it to me, too. It seems they had this plan. He was supposed to make enough money, marry my mother , and we would all go and live in Florence.”
The corners of her mouth formed a bitter-sweet smile as she took a stroll down the memory lane. Elena looked up at him, saw the pensive look on his face, and rushed to add in her mother’s defense, “That wouldn’t be the first mixed marriage!”
True as that might have been, it was more often than not the case of people of the same rank, at the higher echelon of society.
“But they never married,” Marin remarked softly. He knew of all the promises men would make.
“No, they never did.” Elena’s voice was now bitter. “When he stopped coming, my mother was sick with worry, fearing something might have happened to him. She even rode all the way to Famagusta all by herself to seek him out or find out news about him.”
Marin wondered if Elena’s mother had been that brave or that desperate and reckless. “And? Did she?”
“My turn!” Elena said assertively.
“What do you want to know?” His lips formed an enticing smile. This self-disclosure dance, which resembled the Dance of the Seven Veils, inflamed his brain and body with desire. He had always suspected she had an intriguing story to tell, but that was beyond his imagination.
“Mm... How was your life before you came to Cyprus?”
“I traveled the seas and saw many different places, people, and customs. I’ll tell you one day all about it,” he promised.
&n
bsp; Ample anecdotes that he wanted to share with her sprang to mind, but there would be time for that later. She was already worried he wouldn’t be staying. Too much passionate talk about the thrill of traveling to the corners of the world might scare her off.
“Don’t you miss that?”
Elena had always wondered what lay beyond the sea. Her husband had promised to take her with him to Syria on his last voyage, but the pregnancy put an end to her travel plans. In fact, it saved her life.
Marin tilted his head to the side and snorted. “Sometimes.” He tried to read her eyes, surprised at his need to reassure her. “I can live without it,” he heard himself say. “Did she find him?” he repeated his previous question gently after a moment of silence.
Elena sighed. “No. Apparently, he met someone of his own with money and status. What chance did my mother have? Against all odds, she waited for his return. She was devastated when she found out that he had left for Florence with his new wife. At first, she refused to believe it. Then she got angry and later depressed. In the end, she faded away.”
Marin watched her lower her eyes as if the memory were too painful. He tried capping her hand with his, but Elena pulled her hand gently away.
“How come you have that nasty scar on your shoulder?”
“How do...? When you treated my wound,” he answered his own question shaking his head. “I’ve a pirate to thank for. Once, off the shore of Limassol, pirates assaulted the Miramare. Actually, I was lucky I got away with just a scar. We lost eight good men that day.”
“I’m sorry,” Elena said, considering how she, too, had suffered the loss of a beloved one in the hands of pirates.
“How old were you when your mother died?” he asked softly.
“I was just a child. My nana raised me. She spent the rest of her life blaming herself for everything. She was convinced we were being punished for her love for the clergyman. Even before I grew up, she turned it into her life mission to find a good husband for me to break the vicious circle... I hope she’s now resting in peace. She died a few days after kissing my wedding wreath. I’m only sorry she didn’t get to see Ioanna.”