The Greek Persuasion

by Kimberly K. Robeson

  In my tennies, jeans, T-shirt, and fleece jacket, I move him gently, “Gabriel, Gabriel.” Nothing. With a final, strong push, “Gabriel!” I startle him awake.

  “What?” he sits up, alert, worried. Not a very romantic waking on my part, but it seemed the only way.

  “Sorry, I was trying to wake you up …”

  “Oh,” he plops back down on the pillow, opens one eye, looks over at me, “Thair, what are you doing? Why are you dressed?”

  “Gabriel, I’m starving. Do you want to get up, so we can get something to eat?’

  “Okay, but one kiss first.”

  This looks dangerous, but I go over and give him a quick peck. He chuckles, then hops up and walks to the bathroom. No modesty. I guess most men, regardless of size or weight, are much more comfortable than women with their naked bodies. “I will take a shower fast. Do you want to wait here or maybe go to the lobby and have a drink?”

  I have read online about the local wine and can picture a glass. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I’ll go down. So I’ll see you in a bit?”

  “Yes, okay, Thair. I’ll be about twenty minutes.” He winks and then closes the bathroom door.

  “Okay, Gabriel. I’m leaving the key here on the desk, okay?”

  An echo from the bathroom, “Si.”

  Down in the lobby, I see a small bar that is connected to the restaurant. There are about fifteen wooden tables in the restaurant with white linen tablecloths. I see an older, hirsute man behind the bar, a man so hairy he seems to be covered with fur. He’s got a dense beard and looks like Dionysus reincarnate—the more stereotypical version, not the sensuous, androgynous youth. He approaches me with a huge grin, and I can see more hair coming out of his nose and ears. His jolly, festive attitude is contagious as he holds up a jug of wine. I inquire about it, so he brings me a glass. He pours me the house red, and it is very good, a bit sweeter than I normally like, but it goes down smoothly and has a wonderful berry aftertaste. While I am sipping my wine, I hear my stomach growl; I think the man hears it too because he disappears and returns with a basket of warm bread. I devour it, one piece after the other. Christo, the waiter, serves me another glass of wine without asking, and I happily accept. After another sip of this second glass of wine, Gabriel comes down the stairs wearing a black Columbia jacket and a huge grin.

  “Hola, amor,” he says.

  I am a bit taken aback with the word “amor” as I know it means love, but since it is not my language, I don’t know the seriousness of it, so I simply respond, “Hola, Gabriel.”

  He pulls up a barstool, takes a sip of my wine, asking if it’s okay with just his eyes, and then digs into the bread basket. His actions, at times, are a bit barbaric, not delicate at all. I find myself watching him, thinking a million thoughts a minute. Making love was intense; at one point I felt like he would eat me alive, Cronus in my bed. Then he would transform into Yogi Bear, a bit oafish, silly; heavy paws, but a tender heart. The one emotion I could not shake was the feeling of completeness. When we finished making love, I felt round.

  “Mmmm good bread.”

  “Yeah, I know. I had three pieces already.”

  “Three pieces! Do you have space for dinner now?’

  “For sure!” I say while flipping through the menu. I see some dishes that I don’t recognize, so I ask for a suggestion from the waiter. He tells us that they have excellent kontosouvli and kokoretsi; I know Gabriel will probably love these rotisserie meat dishes, so I order one of each. The few times I had kokoretsi, I ate it greedily until I found out it’s lamb meat wrapped in caul fat and yards of cleaned intestines. I have to admit, I still love the taste, but I just don’t eat it the same way I used to.

  We get a carafe of the house wine and sit outside. It’s bit cool, but there is a heat lamp, and the view is spectacular. The hotel’s restaurant is on a balcony overlooking a small park that is utterly green with colorful wild flowers. From our table we can see the village’s center, and there’s the bench with what looks like the same old people from hours ago. Happily glued in the same spot, none of them are talking, just sitting calmly, with not a worry in the world.

  In the far distance, the mountains create a majestic lining to the horizon. It is quickly getting dark and cold, but the wine is keeping us warm. Gabriel takes the seat beside me, so although I can’t look at him, his shoulder and leg are touching mine. As we eat, the discussion centers around the flavors that we are ingesting, the fabulous wine, and other light topics. After a very tranquil dinner, he leans back and puts his arm around my shoulder and asks a loaded question, “So Thair, why are you not married?” It should be a simple enough question and yet, for me, it’s so entirely complicated.

  Sitting here in this romantic village of Metsovo, beside a man to whom I have just made love, my independence is being tested once more. It is an uphill battle that I am quickly losing because hypocritical feelings are emerging. I find myself regressing to that girl of the Zeus stories, picturing myself marrying this stranger—not just living with this man, but marrying him. For the first time, I feel like I could dive headlong into this relationship and give everything of myself. And it scares the shit out of me. I should be so happy right now; instead I find myself overanalyzing, and the outcome seems less than rosy.

  Despite my caustic thoughts, my intuition tells me something else. Maybe he is feeling the same way. We seem to have a lot in common. I can’t remember ever laughing this much with a lover. He seems to have this incredible ease, a simplicity that is infectious. When we are together, there is no place I would rather be.

  Doubt, as well as love, fills my heart as I sit next to this man and he calmly waits for a response, but I am not sure how to answer his question. I don’t feel like telling him all about James or Ravi, or Jessica for that matter, but I know that the day will come to explain who I really am if I am ever to have anything serious with Gabriel. But is tonight the night to really put it all on the table? And how will he take my sexuality? Even though he seems open-minded and has gay friends, will he really understand since he is from a conservative country with conservative values?

  “Thair, do you not want to answer?”

  “It’s not that, Gabriel. It’s just that, for me, it is such a layered question, and I am not sure you want to hear the whole story.”

  “Yes, I want to hear! Please tell me. I am serious. We have all night. I want to know you.”

  He says this with such intensity that a floodgate of emotions, ideologies, and histories pour out onto our table. Just like our first dinner in Kamena Vourla, the more I talk, the better he listens. He questions my philosophies, agrees with some of my ideas, and disagrees openly with others. At one point, we start talking about kids, and I wonder if this will be our splitting core value. We go back and forth, and after an hour of intense kid-talk, the conversation does not get any lighter.

  He asks about past loves but says he does not want details; that is, until I mention the name “Jessica.”

  “A woman, Thair?”

  “Yes.” A part of me is defensive, wondering how he will take this new information, if this will change how he feels about me, how he sees me.

  “So was this … how you say … an experiment part of your life?”

  I can feel the hairs rise on my arms, blood rushing to my face, sometimes I think being a lesbian would be easier, how to explain that gender does not matter without sounding like a nymphomaniac?

  “Gabriel, it was not an experiment, and I am not a lesbian. Obviously. But I am not entirely … straight either.” He’s staring at me, waiting for more, so I continue: “I found out, quite surprisingly actually, that I could be attracted to women, in a very real and intimate way. And that it is not wrong. Or bad. Or weird. Or strange. I loved Jessica very much and when we separated, I was open to finding love with another woman, or if I loved a man, then that would be okay, too.”

  “So you love me?”

  He listens closely and holds on to words
that I say. I am giving him, with language, more than I want to.

  “Gabriel, I did not say that. I just said I would be open. Anyway, how long have we known each other? Five days? Two, maybe three dates? How could I possibly love you?”

  “Because love can happen right away … what they say …‘love at first vision’?”

  “You mean ‘love at first sight.’ How about ‘infatuation at first sight’? Love is much more complicated.”

  “Thair, you make it complicated.” He states calmly.

  I am fidgeting now, the wine hitting my head. I ask if we can change topics. Instead, he says with a slight smile, he wants to know more about Jessica. And this makes me irritated, the alcohol making me too antagonistic. I begin firing a salvo of questions at him: “Why do you not want to hear more about James? More about Ravi? Why Jessica? Because she is a woman? And why should that matter? Why are you so interested?” But he is. And I know why.

  I do recognize that, seemingly from the beginning of time, men have been fascinated to see women together (maybe because women’s bodies are so beautiful?). I can just imagine two cavewomen bonding, falling into the throes of love, and a caveman sitting in the corner, whacking off while watching them. Ugly thoughts penetrate my mind, and the longer I sit here, the worse I feel.

  Because I loved a woman, but also love men, what does he think? Sometimes I wish my sexuality were more defined, but it isn’t. I could be anywhere on the Kinsey scale on any given day depending on with whom I am interacting. And if I am single. How can I make him understand that monogamy with the right person is more important to me than the sex of my partner?

  “Gabriel. I really don’t want to talk anymore about this. At least not tonight.”

  “Okay.” I can tell from his voice that he is a bit perturbed that I cut the conversation.

  “Do you want to take a walk?”

  “Yes.”

  We gulp down an entire bottle of water, he pays for the bill, and we get up ever so slowly, moving through a thickness in the air. From the restaurant, we walk down some stairs and around the plaza. Some stores are still open, so we go in and browse, lots of souvenirs, lots of products made from wood. I see a key chain of a heart made with wood that says “Metsovo.” I buy it while Gabriel watches.

  “What you buy?”

  “A key chain.”

  “Can I see?”

  “Of course,” I say and pull it out of the brown bag.

  “It’s nice,” he says while he caresses it with his index finger and thumb.

  I look at it: “Yes, it is nice, isn’t it? It’s for my mama; she collects key chains.”

  “Thair, it would make me happy to meet your mama.”

  I don’t say anything, just put the key chain back in the bag, grab Gabriel’s hand as we exit the shop, and walk around the center. It’s cold, so I hold onto him tighter and with each embrace, security envelops me, and despite the very uncomfortable dinner conversation, I’m uncomfortably secure because no one should feel this safe in such an unstable world.

  “Shall we go back?” I say.

  “Are you cold?”

  “Yes, what about you?”

  “Yes. A bit,” he responds.

  We walk in silence and he stops for a moment. “Look at the moon.”

  I look up and it’s a full moon, a dark sky, a few stars but a full moon is hanging treacherously close to us.

  “Thair?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can I tell you something … strong?”

  This time I am ready to hear a strong comment. Looking into Gabriel’s eyes, I sense my life unfolding. Despite everything I shared tonight—not wanting kids, having loved a woman, all my philosophies—does he still want to pursue this ‘thing’ we have?

  “Okay, tell me something strong.”

  “You have a great butt.”

  A laugh bursts from my mouth, but it’s more from surprise because, when it comes down to it, what he said was not funny. Standing there in the moonlight of a terribly romantic night in Metsovo with a handsome man to whom I am losing my heart, the words I hear out of his mouth are not declarations of love and happily-ever-afters, or that we’ll work it out despite our differences, but you have a great butt.

  After my first explosive laugh, I stand there dumbfounded, with no reply, no expression. All my life I have wanted a lover to appreciate my curves (James never noticed, Ravi thought I was too thin, and Jessica wanted me to work out more) and now that I seem to have one, I am conflicted. My heart is swelling with love, and my mind is doubtful. I choose to stand there and not say anything, and he seems to be fine with this. His strong arms wrapped around me, he continues to look up at the round, curvy moon, the moon that I presume reminds him of my ass.

  After a few minutes, he asks me if we should go back to the room. I need to lighten up, so with a barely-there smile I respond, “Yes, let’s go back. But I am really tired. I just want to sleep.” The side note in that is clear: I do not feel like having sex.

  As we walk back to the room, my embrace is still a bit frigid; finally, he stops and asks me, “Thair, something is wrong, yes?”

  The easy answer is no. But instead I say, “Gabriel, I just don’t know what this is. I met you a few days ago. And, yes, I have crazy-strong feelings for you. But … I have to admit … I doubt your sincerity at times. Then I believe you. Then I think you are going to tell me how much you care for me and instead you talk about my butt.”

  He laughs loudly. So much so that he lets go of my hand and holds his stomach for a minute.

  “Ayyy, Thair, you are so funny. So sensitiva.”

  Funny? I don’t feel funny. But, yes, I do feel sensitive.

  “I am sorry that I think you have a tremendous ass. If you prefer, I will not tell you again how much I like it. Okay?”

  “No, that’s not okay. I want you to tell me that you like my body but … shit … shoot … I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t think that you were going to say that. I mean, right NOW.” I drop my eyes, feeling foolish, unreasonable, looney-tunes: “You must think I am crazy.”

  “Yes. A little.” A smile crosses his face. “But I also like you very … very much. So, I have a question for you.” He stops and unzips his jacket. He is wearing his T-shirt of Machu Picchu. “This is your last chance.” He chuckles. “Tell me what mountain this is, and I will take you there.”

  I can’t help it, but my mouth is pulling towards my ears, and I want to smile, even laugh; he has this way of taking a touchy situation and making it light, making me happy. But first I say, “Are you sure you want me to answer? Especially after our conversations and what I think about everything?”

  Without any hesitation he exclaims, “Yes, for sure! Because, you will see, we will work it all out. Now tell me what this is called, and I take you there!”

  So I state very clearly, a bit too loudly for a silent night: “MACHU PICCHU!”

  “BRAVO! Now tell me when will you come to Peru, so we can visit Machu Picchu … and you can meet my family?”

  A huge smile and then a kiss, “We’ll see, Gabriel … we’ll see.”

  Back in the room, I disappear to wash my face and clear my head. Even though I am completely attracted to Gabriel, my body and mind are exhausted from a long day; we saw so much, said so much. I am hoping my new lover will not try to romance me because I can easily be tempted, but what I want more than anything is a warm embrace and a night of spooning. While in the bathroom, I hear a train pull in. I wonder whether I am tired enough or if Gabriel’s snoring will keep me up. I put on my thick night cream, peek around the corner, and smile when I see him soundly asleep with what looks like a smirk on his face.

  He is lying halfway under the covers, with one leg on top of the duvet. He is wearing white underwear that say Hugo Boss (his singular purchase from Italy) and a white T-shirt. He looks angelic save for the noise that is expelled from his nose that turns him from a cuddly cherub into a wild bear. I lie down beside him slowly, thou
gh it seems nothing can wake him, and pull the covers because I am starting to feel the chill again. Despite the heaviness of the night, I can’t ignore what else I am feeling. He opens one eye, grins, and gives me a kiss, “Buenas noches, pretty Thair.”

  “Kalinihta, Gabriel.” My soul feels light as a big heavy hand pins me to the bed, a loud snore, and the bear is back.

  31

  It’s about 8:00 a.m. and I can’t sleep anymore, so I get dressed, grab my notebook, pull out a piece of paper, and leave a note:

  Kalimera Gabriel,

  Happy Peruvian Independence Day! (See? I was listening last night! ) I hope you slept well. I am in the restaurant having some coffee. Come down when you get up.

  Filakia, Thair

  I sit in the restaurant with a warm cup of coffee and begin to relive last night’s conversation. So much was said, and though I’m at ease today, I need to see the words written to make sure I’m not hearing them the way I want.

  Thair’s Story

  Thursday, 28th of July

  At dinner the night before, even though Thair didn’t know where to start, one thing she knew was that she wanted to talk about children with him, and sooner rather than later.

  “So, Gabriel, tell me more about your niece and nephew. Do you get to spend a lot of time with them?”

  “I wish I would spend more time, but it is hard. My sister lives on the other side of Lima, and I work long hours, so I don’t see my nephews much.”