But, her best years were behind her now. Her husband had died many years ago, and she was almost eighty years old. Both her children lived far away. Her daughter was in England, happily married, and she hadn’t seen her in years. Her son was an engineer in the Greek Merchant Navy, who was mostly at sea but visited for a few days at a time.
Mrs. Sofia loved working in Pallada and was like a mother to Ksenia and Manos, having raised them on her own for the past eleven years at the children’s house. These days, she lived in one of the rooms in Pallada. Her nights were sometimes lonely there, in the solitary company of aged, black and white photos, and the framed painting of Dying Achilles on the wall. In a corner next to her bed, she often stood praying before the mounted icons of Virgin Mary and various saints. Among them, one icon held a prominent position. It was the icon of St Spyridon, the patron saint of Corfu. Over the years, she’d pressed her lips on its glass frame countless times during her prayers. These prayers had requested the well-being and protection of others but, somehow, they had granted the same blessings back to her, too.
Unlike the lonely nights in her room, throughout the day people always surrounded Mrs. Sofia: the customers, Ksenia and Manos, and the whole neighborhood as well. She was very sociable, caring, and everyone loved her for that.
Once Mrs. Sofia finished her frantic speech, Ksenia explained to her that the newcomers were Greek guests of hers who had no place to stay. When she heard about the stolen luggage and Daphne’s accident, the old lady approached them with compassion in her eyes. She patted Daphne’s hand and offered them magazines from the coffee table to read while they waited. She treated them to orange juice and swiftly returned to her chores upstairs accompanied by Ksenia. Twenty minutes later, Ksenia appeared at the top of the stairs and asked Phevos and Daphne to come up, then led them down the corridor. Mrs. Sofia was standing at the open door of one of the guest rooms. With a warm smile, she beckoned them all inside.
The interior was bathed in sunlight thanks to the large window that had a lovely view of the tiled roofs of Plaka. In the background, the Lycabettus Hill dominated the skyline with the whitewashed church of St George on its top. According to legend, the hill was created when Athena accidentally dropped a massive rock while carrying a handful of them across the city in order to build a temple. Phevos smiled to himself at the thought of this myth, as he gazed at the hill. This city was indeed his eternal home, and he felt truly welcome in this room.
The furniture was just as old as the ones at reception, but these were in much better condition. Doilies with intricate designs decorated the mirror dresser, the chest of drawers in one corner, as well as the nightstand that stood between the two single beds. Many knicknacks on the furniture and on the walls added character to the room, giving it a warm, homey feel. Daphne smiled with appreciation, albeit with a tint of wistfulness in her eyes. The warm glow in Phevos’s eyes indicated he felt the same.
“We keep it for returning customers as a special treat,” Ksenia piped up breaking the awkward silence. “It has a great view and ample sunlight throughout the day. My mother bought most of this furniture from the Monastiraki flea market. I thought this room might cheer you up after your unfortunate adventure yesterday.”
“Thank you, indeed, this is marvelous. We will pay for this as soon as possible,” promised Daphne with a tremor in her voice.
“Don’t worry about the cost, Daphne! As I said, there is no rush.”
“This is very kind of you, Ksenia,” said Phevos, and then he gave his sister a solemn look that she returned with misty eyes. Ksenia and Mrs. Sofia left the room without further ado, closing the door behind them.
In the first moments of silence that followed, emotion escaped from Daphne’s heart in one big sob, and her brother’s arms closed in around her. Softly, he whispered to her words of encouragement as she cried. Caressing her hair, he sang to her a lullaby they both knew from childhood. It was the one thing that had always calmed her when she cried, and over the years he’d been singing it to her in times of happiness too, when they played in their gardens. It was a song that had stayed with them at all times, like an old friend you call on whether you’re happy or sad, but mostly when you need comfort. It was a song their nanny used to sing to them when they were little. It spoke of sweet-smelling mountain herbs, of cool river waters and colorful singing birds.
The melody gradually eased the shudder on Daphne’s shoulders as he wiped her tears away. Soon enough, her crying stopped, and she looked up with sorrowful eyes to meet his. And then, in unison, as if responding to an invisible stimulus, they both turned their gaze to the same spot on the wall. There, beside the window, a copperplate engraving of Goddess Athena was smiling down at them, as if to praise them for following the first of many signs on their way. Phevos exchanged a meaningful glance with his sister and wiped away the last tear on her face.
Chapter 5
A month had passed. Phevos and Daphne had found a new life in the narrow street of Plaka. If you didn’t know, you would think they’d lived there all their lives. That’s how settled they were by now. During the first few days, they had sold most of their jewellery for cash. Daphne’s golden earrings and necklace had gone first, followed by their expensive rings. They didn’t mind this at all. The cash had allowed them to buy clothes, food, and some basic items.
As for the necklace that Phevos’s father had given him, this still hung around his neck, for that was far too precious to part with. They’d both grown very fond of their room and the whole guesthouse. As it was named after Athena, it felt right to stay there for good. They had both managed to get jobs soon enough, and from the way it all happened so easily, they’d become certain they were treading the right path.
During the very first week, Ksenia had mentioned to Daphne that she was looking to hire someone to help Mrs. Sofia with her duties. Daphne jumped at the chance and asked her if she could have the job. Ksenia was taken aback, as at the time she thought they were only going to be in Athens for a short while. When Daphne announced they had decided to stay, Ksenia was thrilled.
And so, Daphne had become Mrs. Sofia’s helper in Pallada. It was the first time she’d ever worked and relished the feeling of accomplishment at the end of the day, the knowledge she’d been useful. Even on a slow day that didn’t involve the upheaval of departures or arrivals, she’d find joy and purpose simply by directing the odd passer-by to one of the many landmarks in the area.
Daphne nurtured in her heart a feeling of debt toward humanity. She was driven by the urge to repay the kindness she’d known all her life. Fate had been kind to her. She wasn’t a biological sister to Phevos. Efimios had found her in the street when she was only eight years old. Her parents had been slaves and so was she. Her father used to be a citizen of Athens, who had lost his freedom due to debt and later ended his own life driven by shame. Daphne and her mother wound up as slaves in a mansion. When her mother got sick with high fever and skin lesions from an infectious disease, her masters mistook it for the plague. Fearing for their lives, they threw mother and daughter out in the street on an extremely cold night. Efimios found little Daphne early the next morning sitting in the dirt next to her dead mother, sobbing inconsolably. He picked her up in his loving arms and took her home.
As he had expected, his father did the right thing for her. Being a rich merchant and a prominent member of the Athenian society, he used his influential power to legally free Daphne from slavery, adopting her as his daughter. Although this made Daphne Efimios’s sister, because of the age difference, and as his parents died a few years later, inevitably their relationship evolved in time to one of father and daughter.
Phevos was only one year older than she was. Daphne found in him a loving brother, and in Efimios, the father that she needed. And so, through their hearts, they became a family. As she grew up, Daphne never wanted for anything. She’d wear dresses and jewellery that would put a princess to shame. Situated below the Acropolis, their rich estate provid
ed her with a home and long stretches of land. She was particularly fond of their olive grove. She’d often wander there as a child taking in the beauty and the heavy shadows of the trees. Their land contained orchards too, which provided fruit generously. Both she and her brother would rest in the cool, under the trees, after running and playing in the summer heat. Their father would often sit with them for hours, teaching them Philosophy, Latin, Arithmetic, Geometry, and lots more.
Efimios was a great teacher. He taught young men and received generous rewards from their grateful parents, who saw in their children considerable changes in their reasoning, knowledge, and ethics. Since his father’s death, Efimios had taken on his merchant business, although with a lesser involvement. He’d rent out free of charge to his father’s main associates the ships he’d inherited, and in return, he received part of the imported goods and a standard percentage of the overall sales profit.
But Efimios hadn’t always been just a teacher and a merchant. In his youth, he had been a devoted servant to Goddess Athena for the protection of Athens. This was a secret that he had initially shared only with his parents. Later, he also shared his experiences from his time travels with little Phevos and Daphne. They perceived his fanciful stories about life in Athens centuries later like a fairytale, but they had never doubted him.
Who else, other than a child, could ever accept fanciful stories about steel birds that can carry people, ships that sail underwater, or other contraptions that can shoot up beyond the end of the sky? They had honored the vow of secrecy they’d made to him in return for all the amazing stories they relished to hear.
Like Phevos, Daphne was also highly educated because of her father’s thorough teachings. However, her acquired wisdom reflected mostly in her modesty and silence. She preferred to listen rather than to speak, for that was her way to learn more and to know people better. She tried to put herself in people’s shoes and hearts, in effect earning more compassion and a greater understanding of the world.
Phevos had roamed the city in the first few days since their arrival, looking for a job but to no avail. Two weeks later, he was passing by Mr. Giorgis’s shop one morning when he noticed a large image of Athena on the side of a delivery van that stopped and parked outside. Startled, he stopped dead in his tracks. A man came out of the vehicle and began to unload crates of produce onto the pavement by his feet.
Every single one had a depiction of Athena on it, helmet and all, stamped on the wood. He then turned to look at the fruit on display in the shop and was astounded to see that most of the crates had the same stamp on them too. Phevos couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed this before.
Mr. Giorgis appeared from inside the store and wished him good morning. As he greeted him back, Phevos saw a large sign by the entrance that read ‘Help Wanted’. Before he even got to comment on it, Mr. Giorgis pointed to it and asked if he’d be interested. Picking up yet another sign on his way, Phevos shook the man’s hand with gladness and, early the next morning, he was there to start work.
There are forces out there that conspire to bring you anything needed to serve a purpose, and as they do, they sow signs on the way for you to follow. Others call these forces saints, others angels, or many other things. Phevos, on the other hand, saw only Athena behind these signs because she used to guide his father in the same way. He firmly believed that for whatever purpose his father had sent him there—and he had a secret wish for what that might be—he had a protector watching over him. He felt it deep in his heart that something divine was leading the way. It wasn’t a coincidence to him that they were living in a house called after Athena where his sister had also found a job. And now, he worked in a store where he could see an image of the same goddess throughout the day.
The very city they lived in was a constant reminder of Athena. References to her could be found everywhere: on food labels, newspapers, magazines, shop signs, works of art and even medicine packets. Phevos and Daphne felt safe in this city, even though it was extremely different to the one they used to live in. But it was still Athens, Athena’s beloved godchild that she cared for and protected through the ages.
Phevos loved this modern city and felt far more comfortable here than his sister did. Yet, he had his moments of confusion when things he didn’t really know, seemed like déjà vu to him. He had such experiences ever since he was a boy, and his father always said it was because of the cloud in his head after the accident. All he knew is that something terrible had happened when he was nine years old, something that hurt his head to the point that he had no memory of his life before that, not even of his mother. He didn’t even know her name as, for some strange reason, his father never spoke of her or of their lives together before the accident.
Although he didn’t remember her, Phevos missed his mother with a longing that was beyond words. In the first year after the accident he was often tortured by agonizing dreams that brought on memory flashes of a previous life that didn’t seem right to him and frightened him. His father never helped him understand those memories but on the contrary urged him to forget them and let them go. He advised him there was a reason why he couldn’t remember his mother or his life before the accident. He told him it was the Gods that had taken them away, and so, fighting the fading memories was like fighting the Gods, which was futile. He gave him hope that one day the wrong would be made right again. As Efimios held him in his arms in the middle of the night, after every upsetting dream, he’d cry with his son the same tears of pain and undying hope.
Phevos hadn’t experienced déjà vu in years, but now he was here, they’d come back, and he had them all the time. It came as a strange feeling of familiarity, although his sensible mind told him he only knew about these things through his father’s stories. For example, one day at work, a tourist had pointed a camera at him as Phevos was crossing the street to deliver vegetables to the taverna. When he saw him, Phevos stopped to pose, knowing immediately what the tourist wanted of him. What surprised him the most was that it felt natural to him although he knew he had never posed for a photo before in his life. One Sunday morning, he was walking around the National Garden with Daphne when a traffic helicopter flew overhead. Daphne was panicked by the deafening noise it made and rushed to his side. Yet, Phevos had remained calm and stood to watch it until it disappeared behind the trees, and the sound slowly faded. He couldn’t remember the name of that strange object in the sky, but he had identified it immediately, as if it were another fragment of his lost memories, behind the cloud in his head.
Now he was here, Phevos often wondered if his father had taken him along—and possibly also his mother—during one of his time travels to this age. If the accident had happened here, then perhaps his father felt guilty. That might explain why he didn’t want to talk about the past. Phevos still couldn’t understand why his father had chosen this silence, but he respected his wish all the same. As a result, he hadn't broached the subject again since childhood. He hadn’t forgotten about the cloud in his head or his mother though, and still waited for the Gods to right the wrong as his father used to promise.
It was gloriously sunny that April morning and, around midday, Daphne left Pallada to take a sandwich and a glass of juice to her brother. She brought him food every day during her break with Mrs. Sofia, and when she returned from the shop, she and the old lady would have their quick lunch too. Each time she went to the store, Mr. Giorgis wouldn’t let her leave unless she took two fruits with her back to Pallada.
As for Mr. Giorgis, his attentive wife always packed a lunch for him the day before. He loved his family, and the wall behind the counter was always full of photos that he often changed so most of them were relatively new. There would be his son riding his bike or kicking a ball, his daughter with their dog at home or with the rest of the family on the beach. But among all the recent photos, there was one in a wooden frame that was as old as the frame itself. It was a black and white picture of his engagement day to his spouse. Mr. Giorgis would prou
dly show the latest pictures of his children to his old customers and in the end, he’d always touch the glass of that wooden frame as if to acknowledge its presence too, as if it had feelings he might offend if he didn’t. He spoke no words when he tapped the glass, but the look on his face said far more than words ever could.
That specific morning Mr. Giorgis was in an even chirpier mood than normal, if that were possible. He gave Daphne two juicy oranges and then took a plastic tub of fresh strawberries from the counter. Smiling widely, he offered it to her.
“They’ve just arrived, straight from the farm. Enjoy!” he said to her with a wink.
“Thank you, Mr. Giorgis, but I couldn’t possibly take all that!” Daphne gave a little wave, refusing to take the strawberries, too. He never let her pay for any of this.
“Nonsense! Take them to Mrs. Sofia! They are her favorites! Go on, that’s a good girl!”
One minute later, Mrs. Sofia appeared at the entrance of Pallada.
“Hey, Giorgis! Thanks a lot!” she cried out as her melodic voice echoed across the distance. “I promise you, on your wedding day, I’ll be carrying water for you with the wicker basket,” she added, chewing on a strawberry. She liked to tease him, and for some strange reason, whenever she used that Greek idiom in order to express her gratitude to him, the result was always an explosion of his amusement.
Today was no different, and as soon as he heard her absurd promise of the wicker basket, his laughter echoed like thunder in the street. It lifted into the air, reaching up to the pointed roofs overhead where wild pigeons took flight with a single flap from their wings. Whole flocks of them would suddenly take to the sky in panic each time Mr. Giorgis filled the air with his uproarious laughter.
Chapter 6
It was mid April, and the campus of the Economics University of Athens was bustling with the energy of youth. Students were sitting on concrete pavements or lying on the patches of grass, reveling in the midday sunshine or chatting whilst gesturing wildly. Laughter and the buzz of loud conversation made it impossible to be heard without shouting. It was Friday. Another week within the gloomy confines of the university’s corridors and auditoriums had nearly ended.
The Necklace of Goddess Athena Page 6
