Athora, page 18
He smiled and took another sip. “Well, it’s windy enough to power the whole of Europe at the moment,” he joked. “It’s a shame we can’t harness it.”
“We human beings could do wonders if we understood our full potential, whilst realizing how insignificant we are in the face of nature and the universe,” Gabriel chimed in. He turned to me as if we were the only two people in the room and added, “If we think that, this very moment, there are other disasters way more terrible than this taking place in a vast universe, we might feel a little bit better. Stars are turning to dust in the space of a few minutes.”
“What we call a disaster depends on how it affects us personally,” said Azim. “My personal disaster might be insignificant to you because it does not affect the universe but me personally, or the people around me at most. To me though, it’s still a total disaster. When the danger we face is common, that is when people forget what is personal and look at how it affects them as a whole. Now, for example, we have set aside all our small problems and differences and have focused on the urgent need to survive, which requires us to work together.”
He seemed like an educated, intelligent man, and I felt sorry that whatever had happened in his life had forced him to escape the Turkish regime on a refugee boat.
The wine, its taste, the scent that filled the small space around our table, seemed to make everyone relax a little.
“You are right,” Gabriel agreed and pointed to me. “We’ve just been at a conference on Ikaria. It was about longevity and life spans, but some scientists, like Fotini here, raised other important issues that have nothing to do with the present but with our presence on earth over thousands of years. Our survival instinct and a series of disasters have led us to where we are today. We survived, in part, thanks to the destructive force of the elements, on earth and the Universe as a whole. As we were saying on the boat with Fotini, we are lucky the dinosaurs became extinct. Every disaster has contributed to the rise of our species.”
He paused and drained his cup. The bottle was now empty, and looking at their faces, I realized they were up for another round. I fetched another bottle and, as soon as I uncorked it, I was surprised to see Azim hold out his cup. “If it’s the end of the world tonight, I might as well be too dizzy to notice,” he joked. We all giggled, and then fell silent again, each one of us lost in our own thoughts.
I looked at the three men and still could not convince myself that one of them might be the man who butchered Father George. I pretended to study my cup but cast furtive looks at Gabriel, who was gazing absent-mindedly at the candle flame at the center of our table. I thought about how intimate our conversation had been the previous night and how we both acted as if nothing had happened the following day. The instinct to survive had overwhelmed all other instincts… Well, maybe not in my case, as I watched his lips part to take another sip.
I topped up everyone’s cups and raised mine. “To tomorrow! May we once again brave it!” I said and took a large gulp, then reverted to our previous conversation. “Stephen J. Gould, an American scientist, once said that extinction was the natural destiny of all species. In other words, survival is the exception and extinction is the rule.”
Gabriel nodded, showing he was familiar with the concept. I glanced at him and continued enthusiastically, feeling a little tipsy and enjoying the lightheadedness. “Seventy-five percent of all water life disappeared during the Permian. Seventy percent of all land life too.”
“When did that happen?” Carlo asked, surprised.
“About two hundred and fifty million years ago.”
“So could it happen again? At any moment?” he asked.
“Maybe it is happening already and we just don’t know it,” I replied, thinking of Professor Marcus’ theory. “The Permian was the last Paleozoic era. All of the earth’s landmass was joined in a single continent. It’s still unclear whether the mass extinction was due to a meteorite or a volcanic eruption. The fact is that at the end of that period, the planet was decimated. Very few life forms survived.”
Gabriel looked at me as if he wanted to say something. I smiled and took a sip of wine, letting him continue. “The chances of another disaster or even our extinction occurring is a worrying prospect, but only to us,” he said. “What I mean is that it’s an event on our scale, not the scale of the planet. Earth is not in the same kind of danger as we are, as a species. To an ordinary person, reaching his maximum lifespan on this planet is a momentous achievement. To a scientist like Fotini, however, who knows a bit more, the lifespan of a human on this planet is so small, it can’t even be measured.”
“If a similar disaster to that happened now, how long would it take for the Earth to recover?” asked Carlo, looking fascinated by what he was hearing.
Gabriel and I exchanged a look and he nodded at me to answer. “Based on what we know, around seven million years. But that doesn’t mean life will look anything like the world that preceded the disaster.”
“Meaning?” Azim asked.
“Chance would decide which life forms would evolve following a disaster; chance and circumstances. Humankind owes its existence to series of completely random events. It’s important to remember that five-sixths of Earth’s history took place before even the first life form appeared. That’s when, miraculously, the first living organisms appeared—and they had no resemblance to life as we know it today.”
“So, if something similar happened now, it’s not certain that man would rise again in a few million years,” Azim said.
“It’s unlikely,” I agreed. “The most likely scenario is that other randomly decided life forms will dominate. Like I said, chance and circumstances. In any case, throughout the history of the planet, there have been at least five mass extinctions and life still went on. We are very lucky none of them happened during our era.” I paused and gazed at the ceiling, where the clattering continued. “Let’s hope it’s not happening now.”
“Couldn’t we foresee such an event?”
Gabriel replied this time. “We don’t have the means to predict something like that yet. The history of humanity is the most unpredictable thing you can imagine, not because it lacks reason or is the result of random events, but because it is not governed by any law of nature.”
“Knowing all of this, I wonder why people follow dogma and religion that goes against everything science has proven,” Carlo said, distributing the last of the wine.
“The world wouldn’t be as we know it if it weren’t for religion,” Gabriel said shaking his head at the proffered bottle. “All religion arises from a fear of death and the afterlife. The notion of resurrection makes many people anticipate that they will find some justice in the afterlife, that they will meet everyone who departed before them or will join them later. It’s very soothing to believe you will be resurrected someday… even if you spend a lot of time being dead,” he said pulling a funny grimace that made us all smile.
“The fact is that the fear of punishment after death has acted as a deterrent for a lot of people. On the other hand, the thought of an impending end of the world has led many people to acts of insanity. You’ve all heard of cults and mass suicides just before the new millennium. What happened in the end? Life went on as normal. This insane idea that some kind of catharsis comes through disaster has other dimensions too. Did you know that the Xhosa people in Africa, Nelson Mandela’s tribe, did not resist the slavery imposed on them by their occupiers because they were waiting for the arrival of their ancestors, which would lead to a new world order where they would all live on the fertile prairies happily ever after?”
“How can you be sure, though, that it will not happen?” asked Azim intently. “How can you know there is no life after this one? Who can say for certain that the life we live isn’t the preparation for another life after death when we will be rewarded with all sorts of happiness?”
Gabriel listened to him with a wry smile. “As a scientist I must rely on proof. Based on the evidence available to me, death is the end. So we should live this life in the best way we can, as nothing proves there is an afterlife.”
“So, if there is nothing after death, all sins must be punished in this life,” Azim noted, staring at Gabriel intently.
For a moment, I wondered if there was another hidden layer to their conversation, some meaning only the two of them could grasp. I felt as if they were communicating in some kind of secret code.
“We all hide small or large sins. For some of them, yes, we should be punished. The point is who will be the judge of that?” Gabriel said.
Azim leaned forward on the table. “The man killing people here on the island. He is punishing them, right?”
“Maybe he thinks he is or maybe he is mentally unwell and nothing more,” Gabriel said with a shrug. “I can’t know what his goals are or what has led him to commit these acts.”
“That’s a nice, cheerful conversation we are having,” Carlo teased, interrupting the intense exchange between the other two. “Disasters, death, the afterlife, punishment… I thought we were drinking to cheer up.” He seemed a little tipsy, but he wasn’t wrong. Things were gloomy enough as they were.
“He’s right, you know,” I said. “It’s getting late; we should all get some rest. It’s going to be a hard day tomorrow.” I stood up slowly, stretching my stiff limbs. Azim and Gabriel followed suit. Carlo pointed to the nearly empty bottle. “I’ll finish this off and find somewhere to crash. Goodnight.”
We left him at the table and half-walked, half-felt our way through the dark room toward the couple of smaller rooms at the other end. They had been converted into dormitories. Azim wished us goodnight and disappeared into one of them.
I looked at Gabriel, suddenly at a loss as to what to say. I awkwardly asked, “Did you manage to get through to Lesbos?” I did not want to say “your wife.”
He seemed taken aback by my question. “No. No contact since yesterday,” he replied. “I guess things are bad there too. I wonder how all those thousands of refugees and poor immigrants are doing.” He seemed unwilling to discuss anything of a personal nature.
My body, heavy with exhaustion, screamed at me to go lie down. I could barely stand on my feet. Gabriel seemed to notice. “Go rest, Fotini,” he said tenderly. “Tomorrow will be better, you’ll see.”
“I wish…” I replied. Without thinking about it, I stepped forward and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” I whispered. “I’ll never forget what you did for me today.”
Our bodies were almost touching, as we stood near each other, neither one of us taking a step back. He took my hand and held it low, between us. “We have a lot to talk about, Fotini,” he whispered. “When all this is over…” He turned and walked toward a shelf stacked with blankets. He picked one up and turned to the men’s dormitory, smiling before he disappeared into the darkness.
Although I could not be sure what he meant, my heart skipped a bit. I raised my hand to my cheek, still feeling his warm breath on it. I caught Petros, half raised on a bench, staring at me with a jealous look in his eyes. I ignored him and walked to where my parents were already asleep and lay down beside them. I felt relief flood through my limbs as I stretched out on an old quilt beside them. After the day I had had, it felt more welcoming than the most luxurious mattress.
The flickering candlelight, the closeness of my parents, and the peace that had descended over the room lulled me and I felt my eyelids grow heavier. My brain, however, refused to follow suit. I opened my eyes once again and watched the shadows on the ceiling. The events of the previous day danced around my mind. I felt exhausted but too overwrought to sleep. I was curious about what Carlo was doing. Had he returned to the small room I had caught him in earlier that evening?
I got up quietly and looked at the table where we had been sitting before. No one was there. Only Stelios and a couple of the coastguards were huddled at another bench, having a hushed conversation.
I thought about alerting him for a second, but in the end, I decided not to cause an unnecessary commotion. I tiptoed out to the hallway and turned left down the corridor by the front door, creeping toward the room at the end. The further away I walked, the darker it got. Soon, I would not be able to see enough to make my way to the room. I scanned the darkness ahead and listened carefully. All was still. Maybe he had just gone to lie down. Maybe I was so tired I was not thinking straight.
“Are you looking for me?” Carlo’s hoarse voice rang out just in front me and I jumped in fright. I had not seen nor heard him walk down the corridor toward me.
I tried to think of something to say and drew up a blank.
“I really can’t understand why you’re watching my every move, Fotini.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked aggressively, ignoring the question.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” he replied frostily.
“We were all asked not to leave the designated rooms. Why should we make an exception for you? We can’t all start acting as we please. We have to follow the rules or we’ll lose any sense of order.”
“What are you doing outside the designated rooms, then?” he retorted.
“Looking for you; you disappeared first. What are you doing in here again?”
“Same as before, Fotini—I’m trying to make contact with the outside world.”
He put his hand into his pocket and I felt my throat constrict with fear. He pulled out his phone and I tried to hide my relief. “Did you manage to speak to anyone?” I squeaked.
He shook his head no and put his phone back into his pocket.
“Can I see your phone?” I asked suspiciously.
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“If you are not hiding anything, why won’t you show me?”
“Because it’s an unreasonable demand. Don’t worry. If I manage to call anyone, you’ll be the first to know.”
He smiled and turned back down the dark corridor toward the room. I stood there at a loss, not knowing what to think. It’s not unreasonable to be trying to contact your family, to find out what is happening, I told myself. I’d be doing the exact same thing. But why be so secretive about it?
I wondered whether I should let Stelios know. Know what exactly? That I was suspiciously following the man who had saved my life just because he seemed to have a satellite phone and wandered off without telling anybody? I decided to keep it to myself. Stelios had enough on his plate as it was. However, I was sure to keep a watchful eye on Carlo for as long as we remained trapped in here.
Chapter 12
* * *
The sound of children’s voices woke me from a deep, dreamless sleep and filled me with a sense of happy optimism. For a few minutes, caught in the state between sleep and consciousness, I could not recollect where I was.
I lay buried under my blankets, listening to the other sounds that slowly emerged around me—adult voices talking softly, benches scraping the floor, the clatter of cutlery. Everyone was already up and moving about.
My mother saw me raise myself on my elbow and rub my eyes. She pointed to a plate and a mug of coffee on a nearby table. I stretched and sat up, pulling my shoes on. My body felt stiff and I ached all over. A sudden sharp pain on my forehead brought back all the events of the previous day.
I went and kissed my mother good morning. Looking around me, I saw some of the locals and the refugees, but none of my companions from the previous day. I imagined they were milling about in the main exhibition space and I sat down to breakfast.
The warm coffee hit my taste buds and chased away the lingering cobwebs in my brain. “Where are Stelios and the others?” I asked.
My mother smiled. “Do you know what time it is?”
I had lost all sense of time in the windowless room. “It’s nearly ten, Fotini,” she said. “You were sleeping so heavily you didn’t even hear Stelios call you this morning. I scolded him for trying to wake you up, so they went outside without you.”
I hastily swallowed and nearly choked. “They did what?” I shouted. “What do you mean outside?”
“Outside, in the Chora. One of the coastguards went outside this morning and said the weather was better. Others have gone outside too, to see what’s happening and bring back more food.”
I jumped up, picked up the last piece of bread, and headed for the exit. My mother called out for me to wait. I turned and saw her come toward me holding a jacket. “Put this on, Fotini, and be careful. I don’t think you should be going. Your father has also gone outside. Tell him to come back, please, I don’t understand what’s gotten into him.”
I grabbed the jacket and nearly ran out. Outside, by the front door, Azim stood looking up at the sky. He smiled the moment he saw me and said, “If you are going out, I’m coming with you. It looks like the weather is getting better.”
I remembered Professor Marcus’ e-mail about the eye of the storm and shook my head. He’d warned the storm would last for days and that we shouldn’t be deceived by any temporary lull.
“I’m going to find the others. Let’s go,” I said buttoning up my jacket. It was still very windy, although nothing like the previous day.
We didn’t have to walk far for the full scale of the damage the storm had wreaked to hit us. The Chora looked like it had just survived a massive airstrike. Leaves were raining down from the sky, like injured birds no longer able to fly. The small cobbled street that led to the square was smashed and littered with debris. Looking at all the shattered pieces, it was impossible to tell what objects they had once belonged too. The roofs of many houses had blown away, defenseless against the violent gusts, and the bell tower had collapsed through the church roof, which gaped like a crater.
Picking my way carefully through mounds of rubble, I saw the corner of an icon peeking out from beneath what looked like broken bricks and plaster. It had all been deposited there by the tornado. I bent down and brushed the rubble away, then picked the icon up. The carved wooden frame looked familiar—it was the icon of the Virgin Mary, which Father George had been holding during the procession to the chapel. I gently wiped the dust off and hugged it to my chest as I carried on walking toward the square, Azim beside me. “This is what my country looks like, with the war,” he said sadly, looking around him.
