by Laura Rahme
Maurice ran. Fear choked him as he made for the staircase. Daring a glimpse, he saw the ghostly shape rush from the trunks and towards the stairs. It came for him… He thought no more and raced up into the narrow corridor where the past clung to him. Therese’s voice rang in his ear, but still he ran, up the stairs, towards the ornate door, and out of the cellar. Was she close? Was she after him? He did not know. He dared not look. He slammed the door shut and locked it fast, horrified that he might have witnessed the rage of a Greek peasant girl risen from the dead.
No sooner returned to his bedroom, Maurice bolted the door. Tonight, he would rather feel closed in than meet with a remnant. He sought for his cigar case and lit up with trembling fingers, still eyeing the door. He was terrified Calista’s spirit might fly in.
There was no denying it any longer. She was real.
Chapter 9
Calista
Corfu, 1836
“WHEN Calista was born, her grandmother fell ill and died. That’s how her family suspected. Here, we have a belief. People can hurt you with only a look. We call this, kako mati. It is like they have placed a curse on you. With kako mati, anything can happen, usually something bad. You might fall ill or lose property, or even die. Here, we say that those with blue eyes can easily give you the evil eye. At first we did not believe Calista had anything to do with it but her older brother also fell ill and died when she was six months old. You see, Calista was born with blue eyes.”
Aaron could not believe the nonsense pouring out of the villager’s mouth but as always, and as he had done for months, he allowed Calista’s uncle to speak animatedly about his family. It was mid-afternoon and the two men were leading a donkey to the harbour where Calista and her father waited with the fishing boat. Aaron’s grasp of Greek was much improved now, and through conversation with villagers, he was astounded by these superstitious people.
“My brother tried everything,” explained Sakis. “He took her into town. He saw a priest about vaskania. The priest made a special prayer and he spat on her three times. It came to nothing. When Calista was ten, her best friend, another girl from the village, fell ill and died.”
Coincidences, thought Aaron. Nothing more.
“You see, everyone in the village,” continued Sakis, “we all wear mati to protect us.”
“What is that?”
“It is like magic. We wear a charm that looks like an eye. Or else we keep garlic around the house.”
Aaron recalled that when he had begun teaching Calista, her mother, Nectaria, had wrapped a piece of garlic in a thin cloth and given it to him. “Skorda,” she had said. “To protect you.”
He mentioned this to Sakis.
“I always carry garlic,” replied Calista’s uncle. “But most of us wear blue beads or glass necklaces.”
“And if you wear these beads, nothing will happen to you?”
“Yes. You should be safe.”
“Splendid. As it turns out, ever since I arrived in Corfu, over five months ago now, I have spent hours teaching your niece to speak and write in English, yet so far, I’ve not had a spell of misfortune.”
Sakis appeared concerned. He said nothing. He scowled and turned his attention to the donkey. He tugged hard at the stubborn animal who had dug in its hooves and refused to descend the sandy slope towards the beach. “Perhaps… perhaps she has cursed you already and you do not know,” muttered Sakis.
Aaron laughed. “If I must be cursed, so be it. Nikolaos doesn’t seem to like me much, anyhow.”
“My brother thinks it is British foolishness to teach her anything. She’s just a girl,” replied Sakis who was now out of breath. “And what is wrong with you?” he barked at the donkey. “Impossible animal.” He brandished his stick and whacked the animal’s flanks. The donkey shook its head but stood its ground.
“It does not seem to want to budge,” observed Aaron, a keen spark in his eyes.
Sakis redoubled his efforts but the donkey was proudly anchored to the ground.
“Stay here,” ordered Aaron. He walked towards the harbour.
Aaron reached the boat where Calista had been helping her father sort out the fishing spoils of the morning. They hoped to load the donkey and carry the fisherman’s catch home where her mother would prepare it.
As he greeted Nikolaos, Aaron could not help but glimpse Calista’s longing eyes.
Aaron had much experience with duping women. Over the years, he’d learnt to uncover what pleased each one of them, and to peer into their heart’s desire. He sensed when a woman was in love with him and in the last months, he had deployed all his art to captivate Calista. It almost touched him how easily the girl from Kassiopi was won. But he bided his time, conscious of the prize she represented. He understood full well what he had witnessed so far.
He turned to her deliberately. “Alas, it seems we are faced with a difficulty. The donkey does not wish to come.”
Calista smiled. She spoke to Nikolaos in their Greek dialect. Her father scowled as he answered.
Aaron sought only one thing. It was his new source of pleasure – to find occasions where Calista might employ her gift. As she did so, he would witness once more what others in the village frowned upon but which so stirred his passions, that each time, he trembled a little more with delight.
And now was such an opportunity. Aaron was determined to not let the moment slip. He addressed Nikolaos, knowing Calista would already agree.
“We tried everything. It will not obey. Please, give Calista a moment with it.”
“A good whack with the stick and it will move,” protested Nikolaos. What good farmer doesn’t know this? I’ll show Sakis how it is done.”
Aaron stood in front of him.
“You would strike an animal when no force is needed?” he asked, in perfect Greek.
Calista was moved. She stared lovingly at Aaron, the man who understood everything about her.
Nikolaos looked furious but he relented. To waste further time would only spoil the fish. He turned to his boat and waved them away. “Just bring the donkey, here.”
Calista was suddenly enlivened. Her eyes shone bright. She spun around and fled to the spot where her uncle waited.
Aaron knew what would transpire and it was no surprise to anyone when it did.
Calista approached the donkey. She reached a hand to its forehead and whispered to it. The donkey shut its eyes in a docile fashion. There was an exchange between them as the animal meekly lowered its head.
She began to stroke it, and once it was lulled, she stepped back down the slope. Facing the donkey again, she held out her hand, as though she wished it to follow.
It was instant. Without hesitation, the animal moved towards her, taking eager steps until it reached the boats. Before long, it stood at the ready before Nikolaos.
Aaron looked upon the girl triumphantly. She was smiling back at him and he knew at once that it was more than love. Calista adored him for he had been the first to encourage her talents when all in the village shunned her for it.
“That, Sakis,” he whispered to the girl’s uncle, “that is what we call animal magnetism.”
Sakis shook his head. He didn’t understand the term. He shot Calista’s teacher a resentful glare.
“And now, you are happy, English man? You are happy with yourself? Do you think it’s funny?”
“You should not be afraid of something which is perfectly natural,” replied Aaron icily.
“The villagers, here, do not think like you. There are people in Kassiopi who are fearful of her presence.”
Aaron pondered over those words.
Flowers of Kerkyra
UNLIKE England, Corfu was always green. There was the green of the olive trees, the green of the tall cypresses, the green of figs and oaks, and year round, colourful wild flowers dotted the island. One could observe the passing of time with the changing blossoms.
Aaron had arrived on the island during the late summer of 1835. Before he knew
it, it was October, and the pink cyclamens were in bloom. In February the mimosas and cherry trees were spraying pinks, yellows and whites across the village. March awakened the purple and lilacs of the orchids, and these thrived well into the summer. More than a year had passed and it was autumn all over again.
Aaron had filled his time well. Not content with his regular English lessons and his successful courtship of Calista, he’d occasionally sneaked into Albania with English officers, for sport and game. Few people knew that in 1809, Lord Byron had explored Albania on horseback. Aaron had been just as keen to set foot in this fascinating landscape. He found the Albanian locals so unlike the demonic portraits that had been spread of them among the Ionians.
Aaron was now well-known in Kassiopi. Over time he had even made friends with a Venetian descendant. He’d rented a large wing in the man’s decrepit mansion, up on the hill, a little inland from the beach. His new apartments were more spacious than the lodging by the harbour, and their seclusion more to Aaron’s liking.
On this November day, Aaron stared broodily at his swarthy reflection in the mirror. He’d absorbed so much of the sun’s rays on this island, that he seemed unrecognisable. I might even pass for an Albanian, he thought. Kneeling over a ceramic basin, he splashed water over his face.
Tonight, he would win. Upon his arrival in Kassiopi, he’d not guessed what he was capable of. Back then it all seemed out of reach. Then when the village doctor had come to him yesterday and blurted out the scandalous situation, Aaron knew it was just a matter of time.
An hour later, when Aaron stepped inside Nikolaos’ home, a dinner guest of the Argyroses for the first time in over a year, he was surprised by their welcome.
He was greeted with kindness and respect, not just for having taught Calista wonderfully over the past months, but because a tragedy had struck, and on account of this calamity, Aaron had not seen Calista for weeks.
It was a curse, had bemoaned the village doctor as he’d shook his head. Aaron suspected everyone in the village might have learnt of the violent event by now, even if no one spoke of it in public. There were likely whispers in every home in Kassiopi. The word, bandits, was on everyone’s lips.
Aaron sat himself down at his hosts’ table. He could still hear the rhythmic sound of the waves outside. He let himself be soothed by its gentle breath, his keen eye studying the home where Calista had grown up and where he’d been invited for a meal at last.
It was a simple tiled home with an arched ceiling, built in thick white-washed stone. Beside him, bordering the hearth, was a stone ledge where pink geraniums were arranged in blue vases. Candles glowed within tiny alcoves along the walls. More candles were lit along the mantelpiece, while a larger one presided in the middle of the table.
Nikolaos sat beside him as Nectaria brought an earthenware dish of stewed beef and diced potatoes.
Aaron cleared his throat.
“You physician has shared some distressing news about Calista,” he began, a look of concern painted upon his face. “May I ask when this attack took place?” His manner was almost priestly. Privately though, he reflected on the tastiness of the sofrito dish; the beef, swimming in a zesty garlic sauce, made his mouth water with each bite.
A weighty silence followed his question. The couple looked upon each other and then Nikolaos made a brief motion with his hand to let his wife know they had no choice but to speak.
“Six weeks ago,” admitted Nectaria, her voice lowered, for she spoke in shame. She poured Aaron a glass of homemade wine.
Despite the seriousness of the subject, Aaron could not suppress a feeling of triumph. Part of him enjoyed seeing the couple trying to please him. It was his reward for all the time he’d striven to pass as an English professor. With the villagers’ scorn upon them, the Argyroses were desperate.
“We must think of Calista’s safety,” said Aaron, his face more solemn than ever.
“It is the right thing to do,” replied Nectaria.
Nikolaos nodded. But he seemed conflicted.
“Do we know who they were?” asked Aaron.
“No one does. The police think they might be Albanian bandits. But now the harm is done. Calista refuses to remain alone. She is afraid to go outside. She fears for her life here. Who are we to trust? Who in the village hates her? We don’t know. We do not know anything. But the harm is done.”
“What does the priest say?” asked Aaron, savouring his meat.
“The priest…” grunted Nikolaos. “He has recommended that Calista be married. But what are we to do if no one will take her? Death follows her, Mr. Nightingale. Now she has brought us shame.”
“The men who raped her knew what they were doing,” said Nectaria. She was near tears.
There was a long pause as Nikolaos rubbed his wife’s arm to comfort her.
Aaron took a deep breath. “In what curious position you seem to have found yourselves,” he said at last. He drank his wine.
“I don’t know what to do,” pleaded Nikolaos. “The British, they have suggested Calista be taken to the asylum. At least there, she would be safe.”
Aaron raised an eyebrow.
“To an asylum? I do not understand,” he asked coldly.
“In the past,” explained Nikolaos, “it was tradition to send the mad and those who are ill of mind to the monasteries. But not Calista. The monks do not want her. She is bad luck. You see now how hard it is for us.”
“But…Calista’s not mad,” protested Aaron.
Nikolaos and Nectaria exchanged a quiet look.
Nikolaos suddenly grasped Aaron’s arm.
“What am I to do, Mr. Nightingale? What am I to do with her? You tell me.”
Aaron reflected on what he knew. “To send Calista to that prison now, is unwise,” he said. “Who knows what ill treatment she might receive? It is too dangerous.”
The couple looked confused. Nectaria brought a hand to her mouth and fought back tears.
“If you send Calista away now, she would remain one year in a prison,” explained Aaron. He sighed, as though this truth burdened him. “Let me make this clear. Firstly, it is not my opinion that Calista is a lunatic. I find this difficult to believe. But to employ the term psychopath, you must know that for now, in the United States of the Ionian Islands, as in all of Greece, psychopaths and criminals are housed together in the same prison. Do you understand what this means? What if she is carrying a child?”
“She cannot stay here!” cried Nikolaos, revealing his true feelings at last. He seemed more alarmed at the thought of a bastard Albanian child than for his daughter’s safety.
Aaron seized on this. He drew on all he remembered from his encounter with the doctor in Athens. “It would be wiser,” he said, “if she were sent away only once the new British asylum opens its doors. Then she might benefit from proper hospital care and be treated with respect. In the meantime, if it turns out she is carrying a child, at least it will be born in your home, in a better place.”
A look of utter contempt drew itself on Nikolaos’ face.
“Could she not go to the new asylum, now?” pleaded Nectaria.
“I’m afraid not. It is not yet operating.” Aaron looked gravely at both parents. “It might not open until another year.”
Nectaria looked weary, conscious of the village status to which Calista had lowered her. “What will we do?” she cried.
“She cannot remain in this house,” muttered Nikolaos under his breath. He could barely face Aaron.
Aaron saw what he had suspected all along. Nikolaos would be dishonoured for as long as his soiled daughter remained under his roof. His honour would not permit the young woman to remain in the village, let alone in his home.
“Perhaps I may be of some help,” said Aaron.
That was all it had taken. Nikolaos and Nectaria had looked at him as though a great burden had been lifted off their shoulders. And if, for weeks later, Calista remained secluded inside her home, Aaron pressed on with plans fo
r their departure.
The day came when Calista stood outside the very courtyard where Aaron had first set eyes upon her. Nectaria embraced her daughter by the gate. As for Nikolaos, he stood on the threshold of his home as though he feared Calista might run back inside.
Aaron waited near the donkeys. He noted the regret in Nectaria’s eyes. He glimpsed the weathered hands she brushed against her daughter’s face, watched her smile and whisper the last Greek words Calista would hear.
But as he looked past her, and past Calista, his attention caught onto a flurry of red and rust feathers. For the rooster paced wildly around the courtyard, fluttering its wings as though in anger. And it was not just the rooster. The courtyard had acquired a menacing atmosphere. All the animals that had gathered there seemed restless, and to Aaron it appeared the goat had never bleated as loud, nor had the cats ever emitted such high-pitched cries.
Aaron’s hand tightened around the donkey’s harness. He had a fleeting presentiment. It came as a warning, as though nature bore a secret message and he had been summoned to listen. But then Calista drew away from her mother, dispelling his doubts. She glanced at him, flowers in her hair, oblivious to how they would wilt on the long journey.
“Come,” he said, reaching out to her.
A timid smile drew itself on her lips as she welcomed her new life.
“I will take good care of you, Calista,” whispered Aaron. As he spoke, he helped her up on the saddle. His firm grip took her by surprise and he felt her tremble at the memory of her tragic ordeal. When she looked upon him again, her gaze was one of stolen innocence.
“Mr. Nightingale, you have saved me,” she whispered back.
“I will soon be your husband, Calista. Please, call me Aaron.”
He noted the blue beads around her neck and as a man of science, he felt it his duty to speak up. So he slipped a hand under the necklace.
“Where we are going, my dear, you’ll have no need for these superstitious baubles. But wear them, if you like. It changes nothing.”
