by Barry Rachin
*****
“So how do you like it?” They were standing in the entryway to the church staring at a group of dolphins frolicking in a turquoise, stone ocean. The circular mosaic, done in earth tones and pastel hues, ran twenty feet in diameter and was ringed with decorative brickwork.
They wandered into the church, which was empty except for an older woman over by the confessional, doing the Stations of the Cross. The old woman finished the last station, dipped her fingers in a basin of holy water and left the building.
“That particular design… it’s not Roman,” Curtis said.
“The mosaic?”
He shook his head. “The dolphin theme predates the Roman Empire. It’s more Minoan.”
Becky glanced up briefly. Curtis’ face held that same obsessive, pinched look as when he was trying to smooth the imaginary wrinkle from the underside of his athletic sock. “Minoans flourished around fifteen hundred B.C.. They ruled a vast trading empire, stretching from Greece across the Aegean Sea to Ephesus in Asia Minor.” The blond-haired youth tossed these historical facts off as though they were common knowledge. “The Minoan rulers lived in a vast palace at Knossos on the island of Crete, where the walls were covered with colorful frescoes, watercolor paintings done on wet plaster.” He removed his glasses momentarily and massaged the bridge of his nose with the tips of his fingers. “The dolphin mosaic probably came from one of those original frescoes.”
A priest entered the church, lit several candles near the altar then disappeared out a side door. The air was shot through with acrid, sweet-smelling incense. “You sure are a strange one,” Becky murmured, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. “What else should a teenage girl who works in a bakery on Federal hill know about Minoan culture?”
Curtis’ cracked a dreamy, introspective smile. “Minoans were shrewd sea traders. Unlike the Romans, their success was based on trade not conquest. Their women had more rights than in most ancient civilizations.”
Without warning, Becky lifted up on her toes, snaked an arm around his shoulders and kissed the boy deeply on the lips. “Liberated females – I like that.” Curtis’ jaw sagged open like a gate on rusty hinges. His thin lips fluttered spastically but no sounds emerged. Becky cradled her head on his chest. “What else?”
Curtis’ eyes glazed over. He let all the air out of his lungs in a contented sigh. “Europa the beautiful daughter of the king of Phoenicia was gathering flowers, when she saw a bull quietly grazing with her father’s herd. The bull was actually Zeus, king of the gods, who had fallen in love with her. When Europa reached to place flowers on his horns, he suddenly bounded in the air and carried the weeping princess far off across the Mediterranean Sea to the island of Crete. Eventually Europa married the king of Crete and gave her name to a new continent.”
Curtis bent down and caressed her neck with a flurry of kisses. “But, of course, it’s just a myth,” he added as an afterthought. The exceptionally bright boy had that queer, spaced out look that emerged when his well-ordered universe was spinning out of control. Behind his wire-framed glasses, the pale blue eyes held a limpid sheen such that Becky could see straight through to the core of his being.
