Athora, page 4
My abrupt stop must have startled him. Lowering his face, he hid his features under the bill of his baseball cap before I had a chance to see his face.
I was on high alert, my pulse racing and my adrenaline skyrocketing, as he came nearer. He wore headphones and I could faintly make out the lyrics to the song playing, even at a distance. Keeping a steady pace, he indifferently moved past me and walked ahead.
I stood still, cell phone glued to my ear, until he was much farther ahead. He did not look back once.
Feeling my heartbeat return to normal, I realized his presence had been accidental and that, evidently, he was not following me. Maybe he only meant to make a pass at me, seeing me walk alone at night, but my determined stance had dissuaded him.
I put my cell phone back in my bag and, carefully observing what was happening around me, hurried toward the hotel, now visible just around the next corner. Memories from many years ago started to stir inside me, but I refused to surrender to fear. I took a deep breath and released them into the cool summer breeze, so it could blow them far away.
Back in my hotel room, I pulled off my clothes and flung them onto an armchair. In my underwear, I moved to the bathtub and turned on the taps. While the bath filled, I turned off the ceiling light and moved to the window, where I carefully scanned the street below. It was empty. I pulled the heavy curtains shut and returned to the bathroom.
As I let the warm water soak my tension away, the lyrics of the song I had heard through the man’s earphones came to me. Nevermind. Of course, that was it! I picked up my cell phone and pressed play. As the tune filled the bathroom, I sang along, accompanying Leonard Cohen’s incredible voice with a whisper.
I had to leave
My life behind
I dug some graves
You’ll never find
The story’s told
With facts and lies
I had a name
But nevermind
Nevermind
Nevermind…
* * *
The professor’s words concerning the strange weather phenomena on the island and the wider area of the Aegean, which were supposed to continue, did not preoccupy me any further; the updates reaching me from the island giving me no cause for concern.
Nor did I pay particular attention to what the dean confidentially disclosed to me when we met on the day following the reception, namely that Professor Jose Marcus was part of an international committee of “wise men” that observed and discussed unusual occurrences on the planet, not necessarily meteorological.
I eventually managed to find a house I really liked and make all the necessary arrangements for my stay. I completed the round of meetings that had been set up and everything was ready for me to start teaching in about twenty days. All that was left was for me to enjoy my vacation back home and I couldn’t wait.
* * *
It was still warm in Ikaria. My father had told me that the sea had been unusually calm these past few days. Sitting on my hotel balcony, I could now see for myself. Only the fishing boats returning to the harbor and the occasional dive of a seagull hunting for fish rippled the tranquil surface of the water, as still and smooth as a mirror.
It was too early for me to have any chance of enjoying a strong cup of coffee and a hearty breakfast—nothing seemed to happen on this island before nine o’clock.
I had arrived late the previous night on the last ferry from Piraeus and my brief exchanges with the locals seemed to confirm the island’s reputation for a laid-back attitude, to which their exceptionally long life expectancy was attributed. In fact, life expectancy was the topic of that afternoon’s conference.
Feeling my stomach rumble, I decided to go down to the dining room to see if, against all hope, breakfast was being served.
The corridor was dark and, before my eyes could adjust to the feeble light, a man holding a suitcase suddenly appeared before me. His unexpected presence startled me and a small, frightened cry escaped my lips. I heard him whisper, “I’m sorry” in English, hastily apologizing for giving me a fright.
Realizing that it was just another hotel guest, I fumbled along the corridor wall to find the light switch. The man remained standing in the corridor and a strange expression came over his face, as he looked at me in the bright, artificial light. I smiled and moved toward the stairs, feeling somewhat puzzled. As I walked downstairs, the sound of a door being unlocked echoed down the deserted hallway.
The reception was bathed in sunlight. I noticed all the details I had missed the night before when, in my exhaustion, I only thought about getting to bed. Old nets dotted with seashells, starfish, and driftwood alluded to the main activity of the islanders and added a touch of sea freshness to the room.
The young woman sitting behind the reception desk greeted me and let me know that breakfast would soon be served.
I was the first person to arrive in the dining room, so I picked one of the best tables, enjoying the spectacular view and the double espresso the waiter brought over. In just a few minutes, the dining room was heaving with people carrying plates to and from the buffet tables.
“Excuse me, may I join you?”
Startled, I looked up to see who was addressing me and realized all the other tables were already full. Holding a tray, the man I had crossed in the corridor just moments ago was asking me if the seat across the table was taken. Without hesitating, I gestured that he could sit and with a rather curt “Good morning” turned back to my laptop and my correspondence. I felt awkward and thought that maybe I was being rude to him. At the same time, I did not want him to think that I was looking for company just because I sat on my own.
The sweet coconut smell of his sunscreen hit my nostrils and I peeked at him over my laptop. He did not look to be over forty and his slim, athletic frame made him pass for an even younger man.
The few words he had spoken were in an accent that I couldn’t place. His black hair, closely cropped, accentuated his high cheekbones, a detail I always found attractive in men. He turned to watch the sea and I admired his sculpted profile, with its angular, broad strokes.
My inquisitive gaze must have rested on his face longer than I thought, and before I could look away, his dark brown eyes met mine when he abruptly turned toward me. He gave me a tight little smile and carried on eating his breakfast.
Despite his discretion, I found his presence distracting and could not concentrate on what I was writing. I logged out of my e-mail and started browsing through the news.
A headline caught my attention. It referred to the Harpies and I instantly recalled Sophie’s words at the time of Lukas’ accident. I could tell from the opening sentence that it was a very interesting article and I didn’t want to read it in a rush, pressed by the presence of the charming man sitting across the table. I saved it for later and turned my gaze toward him with studied indifference. He was looking at the sea and sipping his coffee with evident enjoyment, as if I was not even present.
I had finished my breakfast, so I decided to resume work on my balcony where there would be no distractions. I gathered my things and rose from the table, feeling his eyes take in every movement I made. I saw him smile, and, just as I was about to say goodbye, he turned to the young waitress to ask for some more coffee.
I hovered for a couple of seconds, but he carried on ignoring me. Feeling bilious indignation rise inside me, I turned my back to him and moved toward the dining room exit.
Walking up to my room, I felt angry with myself for getting so annoyed. What did I expect? That he would be overawed by my beauty, succumb to my charm, engage in flirtatious banter as if we were starring in some romantic comedy? Then again, I did feel the need for at least one small sign of admiration on his part. The realization hit me hard. Wanting a man’s attention was something I had not felt in a long time. The past ten years spent with Petros had dulled any such desire. Now here was a man, a complete stranger, who had managed to rouse it without actually doing anything.
Petros had informed me that, as soon as the tourist season was over, he would be coming to America for a month. It was a decision I would be overruling in a few days’ time. We had not really been in touch lately, but I wanted to put an official end to the relationship. I was more upset about not having had the time to see Lukas. My flight had been delayed and I had narrowly managed to catch the boat to Ikaria. Luckily, his condition was improving, slowly but steadily. I wondered whether I should find some time to visit him before returning to America. Once on US soil, my visits to Greece were sure to become more infrequent.
I finished replying to all my e-mail and contacted the conference organizer. He asked me whether I wanted to join some of the other participants in a guided tour of the island he was giving. I preferred to spend the day by myself and simply asked that someone pick me up from the hotel in the afternoon. I wanted to relax and enjoy whatever little free time I had at my own pace.
Anthropologists from all over the world would be attending the conference. I would be commenting on the locals’ longevity from a paleontologist’s perspective, examining the phenomenon through the millennia based on the paleontological finds on the island and the Aegean. I went over my speech and, having made sure everything was in order, prepared to go out.
The receptionist was willing to help me find a place for a quick swim. The beach she recommended was called Armenistis, and she stressed that the water there was rarely as calm as that morning and that it would be “a great shame” for me to miss such rare tranquility and the unparalleled view from the peninsula. To underline her claims, she mentioned that the locals had nicknamed it “the washing machine,” because it was always choppy there.
When the taxi dropped me off, I realized how right she had been to insist. Like a retouched photo, the shades of blue merged so harmonically on the water’s surface and were so transparent that I could make out the tiny pebbles on the sandy seabed.
I could not wait to feel the water wrap around me. I flung my clothes onto a lounger and rushed to its welcoming coolness. I lay on my back, feeling my long hair spread around me like a loosely woven mantle. Taking a deep breath, I dove under; eyes wide open, I watched the tiny fish flitting fearlessly around me.
I had swum in similar waters before, on the remote shores of Athora. Its mountainous landscape and sharp cliffs meant that most of the beaches could only be reached by boat. There, I used to swim naked. I looked around to make sure that no one was near and took off my bathing suit, slinging it around my shoulder. I felt my body become one with the sea. How I’d missed that feeling! I had forgotten how uniquely, delightfully free being in the water felt.
I closed my eyes and turned my face to the sun. The warm sunrays burnt my skin and dried the salty droplets on my face. Their glow spread under my eyelids, turning everything bright red. I remembered my mother telling me, when I was young, that if you did that and then suddenly opened your eyes, you would go blind. Although I had never really believed it, her words seemed to have stuck—I had never dared.
When I turned to face the beach a few moments later, my eyes were blurry. With difficulty, I noticed a man bending over my things. I blinked trying to focus on the figure, but for a few seconds it was impossible. I hastily pulled on my bathing suit and swam toward the shore, seeing the man’s silhouette disappear behind the beach bar.
As soon as I stepped on the sand, I ran to my lounger to check whether anything was missing. Everything seemed to be in its place. Cell phone, wallet, laptop were intact. The only thing that troubled me was that my bag was unzipped. Had I left it that way in my hurry to get to the water?
I walked to the end of the wooden deck trying to spot the man but had no way of being certain whether one of the dozen people on the beach had just gone through my things.
I returned to my lounger perplexed and then noticed a cold bottle of water on the table under the umbrella. The waiter must have dropped it off just when I had turned to look at the shore and I had misinterpreted what he was doing.
I soon forgot about the incident as I relaxed, sipping a mild cocktail. This is the life, I thought, stretching luxuriously on my lounger and enjoying the tranquil view before me.
Strains of salsa music burst through the beach bar’s speakers, adding an exotic hue to the ambiance and luring a couple to the deck, their steps following the beat of the bongos. The woman, feet slightly apart, swayed against her partner, who followed her movements with similar sensuality, turning their dance into a seductive, erotic dialogue between their dancing bodies.
Soon enough, a bacchanalian, ecstatic scene started to unfold before me, as others followed the example of the first couple and joined them on the dance floor. The louder the music got, the more intense the swaying movements became, merging in a rising crescendo.
I could not take my eyes off the couple that had roused everyone from their loungers. I envied the way the man led his partner. He held her almost trapped against him, expertly synchronizing his rhythm to hers. It was hard to tell who set the pace or led, as every move was a wave of absolute synchronicity. Their coordination showed intimacy and familiarity since they both seemed to know what they were doing, but the passion between them was that of a couple meeting for the very first time.
I closed my eyes and pictured myself in the woman’s place but the song ended abruptly before I could complete the image in my head. I wished I could dance like that, even though there was no way I could let myself go in front of so many people.
I drained my glass in a single gulp and, despite being tempted by the thought of a second cocktail, decided to pass and return to my hotel. I was on the island for purely professional reasons, so my head had no difficulty ruling my heart once again.
The taxi driver recommended a pretty taverna near the hotel where I could grab a quick bite and, an hour later, I was back in my room. I closed the blinds and stretched out on the big bed, feeling the sea salt rub into the sheets. I could not get the couple dancing at the beach out my head, only this time I was the man’s partner…
Chapter 3
* * *
The sudden storm had forced pedestrians to seek shelter under the shop awnings. They had merged into a single mass of bodies as they tried to squeeze under them and protect themselves using whatever was at hand. The provident among them had unfurled their umbrellas, but even they did not dare walk in the torrential rain.
The weather had been prone to sudden outbursts lately. Although such outbursts were not uncommon around Lake Como, they had recently increased in frequency, intensity, and duration.
An elderly man slowly approached one of the shop awnings, under which the startled pedestrians had packed themselves like sardines, trying to keep dry. His long, shoulder-length white hair was dripping wet, further soaking the collar of his trench coat.
People shifted right and left to make space for him to join them. While the small crowd rearranged themselves as best as they could, he stood on the edge of the pavement, getting drenched but seemingly not caring about the torrential pounding of the heavy raindrops.
In the meantime, a young man wearing a black baseball cap and holding an open umbrella appeared behind him like a guardian angel, protecting the elderly body from the rain, which kept getting stronger.
He gave a look of surprise at his unexpected savior and smiled when he realized the young man was just being polite. He started walking along the edge of the pavement, making his way through the throng, in the direction of a large house a few meters away. Now and then, he glanced at the stranger who still held the umbrella above his head and was gently pushing away those who stood in the old man’s way, to allow him to reach his destination faster.
A short while later, the old man stopped before the front door and wiped the water from his face. Then he turned to his escort and, with a smile, spoke in Italian. “This is where I live. That was very kind of you, thank you.”
The other man nodded without a word, half his face still hidden under the black cap.
“I would invite you in for a cup of tea until the storm blows over, but maybe you are busy. Although you, too, are drenched, by the look of it,” he added, pointing to the wet clothes.
The young man looked around him, troubled by the prospect of walking away in the downpour and asked in a low voice, “Do you speak English?”
The elderly man nodded yes.
“A cup of tea sounds good, but I don’t wish to impose on you…”
“Not at all! It’s rare to meet a true gentleman these days. I’d be happy to return your kind gesture. Tea will be ready in a minute,” he replied in excellent English and, without waiting for a reply, turned to punch in the entry code on the panel by the door.
The young man, standing behind him, raised his head ever so slightly to align his line of vision with the wrinkly fingers slowly touching the number keys. A few seconds later, a soft beep indicated that the door was open and the old man held it open for his guest to pass through. The young man furled his umbrella and entered the hall, head bowed.
The loud, sharp bark of a dog came from somewhere farther inside. Before his owner had a chance to restrain him, a small beagle launched itself toward the stranger. With great difficulty, the old man bent over and picked the growling dog in his arms, trying to sooth it. “He does this with everyone he doesn’t know, but he’ll calm down in a little bit, don’t you worry about him. Come on in… Take a seat while I make the tea. The weather has gone crazy these days. The lake will overflow if it keeps on like this. Imagine what will happen when winter comes,” he said moving inside the kitchen.
He opened a door, placed the dog inside, and clicked it shut. He slowly removed his trench coat, shook it out and draped it over a chair. Then he busied himself preparing tea.
The man in the cap was still standing near the entrance as if needing permission to take the first step and move farther inside. The house was rather dark and the air stifling with the scent of artificial pine.
