More people had gathered and the photographer asked them to move back, so everyone could fit in the frame. They parted reluctantly but were back in each other’s arms once again the moment they reached their designated place. Eleni closed her eyes once more, resting in Manolis’ embrace.
The photo taken, the crowd split up and they returned to her father. Captain-Andreas hugged his daughter tightly and kissed her forehead. She held on to him and returned the kiss on his wrinkled cheek. He looked at Manolis for a moment, silent and pensive, then pulling the donkey’s reins started to walk away from the port.
He’d been in this mood since the previous evening, when Manolis had come to their house and asked for Eleni’s hand in marriage. Captain-Andreas had known the two were in love, but wanted his daughter to complete her studies and then marry. His was a rare point of view that went against all local customs, which dictated that girls should be married as soon as possible and have a family.
The scholarship awarded by the Italian state to Eleni was a great opportunity, and Captain Andreas had pressed his daughter to go to the University of Pisa and train as a teacher. Eleni had different plans. She intended to register at the School of Fine Arts there.
She’d learned Italian on the island; it was the language in which classes were taught. Greek was optional and only taught in the early grades.
The idea of studying in Italy was not unwelcome, although it spelled a long separation from Manolis. She kept telling herself it wasn’t forever. She would graduate and then return, marry him, and then the two of them would move to Athens.
She hadn’t shared these plans with her father. She was his only child and he loved her dearly, having single-handedly raised her following his wife’s death in childbirth. He was Eleni’s mother and father. Refusing any further help from female relations, he’d brought her up on his own ever since she was a toddler.
When Manolis had asked for his permission to marry Eleni, Captain-Andreas realized there wasn’t much he could do. He could see his daughter loved the young man and was wise enough to understand that any objections he raised would only make the two lovers more determined, maybe even leading them to elope. So he turned to Manolis and said, “You have my blessing on one condition only. You will become engaged when Eleni graduates, and then we’ll arrange the wedding. Until then, nothing must stand in the way of my daughter’s education.”
He then stood up, gave Manolis a warning look and shook the young man’s hand to seal the deal. Manolis took the proffered hand and gave the old man his word of honor. He didn’t have much choice in the matter anyway.
He knew his decision to marry Eleni would meet with opposition in his own home. His brother Yiannis was not supportive. A married man and the father of a young son, Yiannis kept saying it was wrong that Eleni had been taught Italian; that she was going to Italy. He was increasingly hostile to the Italians. Himself a teacher of Greek, he was aware that he would soon be out of a job, as the Italians were gradually phasing out Greek in schools. He had been forced to help Manolis out at the mill more and more as his teaching hours diminished.
Owning the only mill on the island, Manolis was a clever young man, interested in technology and good with his hands. He read everything that he could get his hands on and was often busy constructing contraptions that excited the curiosity and gossipy nature of his fellow islanders, who viewed him as something of an eccentric.
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Eleni and Manolis watched the older man move away, then turned and gazed at each other in silence. Both were dressed in their Sunday best, Eleni wearing a long gray dress and a red jacket, Manolis in a dark suit and a white shirt, its collar turned over the jacket lapels.
They looked at each other intently but with a slight awkwardness. Like a young couple who want nothing but to fall in each other’s arms but are holding back, frozen in time. People were milling about them noisily, but there they stood, eyes locked in longing.
The spell was broken by the long whistle of the distant ship, which made them jump. Eleni bent down to lift her suitcase, but Manolis, more agile, picked it up before she could reach it. He took her hand with sudden determination and started to pull Eleni toward the tugboats which were beginning to fill with passengers.
His hand was squeezing hers so hard it almost hurt, but Eleni did not even think about letting go; did not want to let go for a single moment. It was as if this was her only way of letting him know all the feelings that were welling inside her, by holding tightly onto his hand.
A voice from the boat called everyone to hurry and they, instinctively, tightened their grasp and moved closer together. Seized by a sudden daring, by the realization that they were soon to part, they moved even closer and their lips met for the first time, there on the port, in full view of the others. The quay, the waiting boats, the remaining passengers all melted away as they tasted their first kiss.
The voice from the boat put an unwelcome end to their kiss. Reluctantly, she pulled away, placing her hand on Manolis’ lips as a last farewell. Manolis somberly picked up her suitcase and handed it to the waiting sailor, then helped Eleni onto the boat. Eleni felt something cold and hard in her hand. She looked down and saw that Manolis had placed a small mirror in her palm and a photograph. She heard his voice sing softly:
My beautiful island girl
Leaving these shores behind
Leaving me alone to wander
On a lonely isle…
She smiled bravely, but her smile faded almost as soon as it appeared and her eyes welled up. She placed the mirror and the photograph in her pocket and kept her hand there, as if to still hold on to him. The sailors picked up their oars and the boat started to pull away from the shore.
“Take care of yourself, Manolis,” Eleni shouted. “I love you,” she mouthed silently, a message from him to her and for no one else to hear.
From that point onward, she never lost sight of him. Manolis stood still on the quay, watching the boat carry Eleni further and further away. He tried to appear calm, but a tear escaped down his cheek. Eleni was weeping openly now; Manolis could see the tears streaming down her face.
The boat soon reached the side of the great ship and hovered there while the luggage was unloaded. Then, one by one, the passengers started to climb aboard on a ladder. Eleni stood up in the tugboat gazing at Manolis’ direction, the last one to leave. Even when she was climbing the steps to the ship, she kept pausing and turning back to look at him. She disappeared from his view for a few moments and then reappeared on the deck, hoping to catch sight of him once more.
Both knew it was going to be a long separation; Eleni would not be back the following summer. But they both had faith in the love that had grown between them, the love that had been born on the evening of the panegyri of the Virgin Mary, a few months before.
It was one of the few festivals the Italians still allowed to take place. The moment Manolis saw Eleni dance, he was spellbound. The way she moved, the way she closed her eyes as if to shut everyone else out, mesmerized him. Enchanted, he stepped up to dance with her and she succumbed to an overwhelming, unexpected sense of belonging. They both knew then that destiny intended for them to be together.
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As the ship gave one final, sharp whistle and started to move away, Manolis caught a glimpse of Eleni’s red jacket amidst the other passengers who had now gathered on the deck to take one last look at their beloved island. He kept his gaze fixed on the jacket, occasionally making out her face as the ship became smaller and smaller, until it shrunk into a faint dot on the horizon.
Manolis sprinted past Eleni’s father, who gave him a stern look of disapproval at everything he had witnessed from afar. The young man paid no heed; all that mattered to him now was getting to Mantani, and seeing the boat one last time from the high vantage point of the spring.
He ran to the spot where his horse was tethered, a black mare with a white heart-shaped spot on her forehead. Karme, n
amed at his brother’s suggestion after the mythical demi-goddess of the harvest, neighed in recognition and picked up on his impatience as he untied her reins and sprang onto her back. As soon as his heels dug into her sides to spur her on, the mare dashed through the port and headed for the top of the hill.
With a tug of the reins, Manolis guided the horse and they both galloped on the plateau in a parallel line to the direction the ship had taken. Fearlessly they streamed ahead, man and horse now one, an intrepid centaur coursing through the sparse tree copses that stood on their path. Only when they reached the point where the rocks joined to make a narrow short tunnel did Manolis dismount and walk, pulling Karme behind him through the dark opening. As soon as they came out the other end, he jumped back onto Karme’s back and spurred her on with even greater urgency than before.
They made it to Mantani with time to spare. This was their secret meeting place, where they would spend hours together, talking. He’d never so much as dared take her in his arms or hold her hand, even though he could sense Eleni would not resist. The memory of that first kiss at the port still made his heart beat like the ringing of church bells on Easter Sunday.
He dismounted Karme, who was shaking with exhaustion, her dark coat glistening with sweat, and he walked to the edge of the cliff, his feet getting soaked with the water from the spring as it made its way to tumble down the mountainside. With trembling hands he fumbled in his pocket, trying to get to the small mirror he had been carrying on him all day.
He stood there, in the water, and raised the mirror, angling it to catch a ray of sunlight and direct it toward the boat which had now appeared on the horizon. He gave a silent prayer that she would notice and stared at the boat hoping for a sign. He did not have to wait for long. On the side of the boat, he caught a glimmer of light, shaky at first, then steady, strong, beaming in his direction. He raised his hand, waving frantically and saw the beam from the boat shake.
Maybe she was waving back, sending her love and light in a last farewell, with the promise that they would meet again. The boat slowly drifted away and Eleni’s light disappeared. Manolis stood still, the mirror turned toward the now empty spot. The light breeze cooled his face, still hot and sweaty from the ride. He did not want to turn back to an island which now felt empty and barren. As if sensing his mood, Karme approached and gave him a nudge. Taking her reins, Manolis shook the mud from his boots and guided her to the spring. Man and horse drank thirstily and rested, then started to make their way back.
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As soon as Anita finished shooting the scene, she grabbed her handbag and pulled out her cell phone. Still no signal. With a frustrated sigh, she put on her hat, holding the mobile tightly in her hand, and looked at the road that led to the monastery.
“I’m going to head to a higher spot, Electra. Maybe I’ll get a signal there. You can pick me up on your way.”
She then set off determinedly, pausing every minute or so to look at the phone. Five minutes into her journey, a small bar appeared on the screen and her heart fluttered with hope. She hastily dialed Dimitri’s number and covered her left ear with her free hand to block out the noise coming from the crew, who were busily packing up their equipment and preparing to move. She longed to hear Dimitri’s voice. The brief time they’d been apart had seemed like ages. She could not stop thinking about him; she fervently wished he could be there with her, right then. This was the first time they were apart since the beginning of their affair. Even when a scene did not require them to be together, he always found some excuse to be on set. And she never missed an opportunity to watch him film his scenes.
Waiting for the phone to ring, she watched the crew load their equipment onto a waiting jeep and start toward her. It was a narrow and sharp turn, and the jeep was struggling. The driver pulled open the side door and stepped outside to get a better idea of how wide the road was. He moved to the back of the jeep, motioning one of the crew members to come up and help him.
Anita gave a sharp cry of warning. The jeep started to move back downhill toward the drop at the edge of the road. The driver, alerted by her cry, barely had enough time to jump out of the moving car’s way. The car kept moving toward the edge of the road, its descent luckily stopped by a great rock it promptly crashed into.
Running at full speed toward the driver and the car, Anita arrived before anyone else. The driver, visibly shaken, stood gazing at the jeep, alternately swearing and lamenting, wondering how the hand brake could have possibly slipped. The car did not seem to be greatly damaged. The equipment it had been carrying, however, was. Cameras and other machinery were now strewn all around the car. Chaos ensued as the crew arrived and tried to salvage whatever they could, arguing tensely all the while.
The driver, seeing smoke come from the jeep’s engine, shouted at everyone to step away and pulled out a fire extinguisher. They all started to walk back up the hill toward the monastery. Before they reached the gate, they met a couple of monks and the old Abbot, who were making their way toward the scene of the accident.
Anita fell into step with the abbot, who was walking pensively beside her. The old man suddenly stopped, bent down, and picked something from the ground. He examined it for a moment and then handed to Anita, who had stopped mid-track and was watching the jeep.
“This must be yours, my child.”
Anita absent-mindedly picked up the proffered black object and realized it was her cell phone.
“Thank you. I don’t even remember dropping it.”
She looked closely at the cracked, dead screen and sighed. “How unlucky,” she mumbled as she placed the broken phone in her pocket.
The Abbot heard and turned toward her. “What’s important, my child, is that no one was hurt. Everything else will happen in its own time.”
Anita smiled politely, her attention still focused on the jeep. She declined the Abbot’s offer to come wait in the shade inside the monastery and decided to wait there, in the sun, a worried frown on her face as she watched the crew approach the jeep once again and start unloading whatever equipment remained.
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Half an hour later, they were joined by the director and the producer. They could tell from their somber expressions that the news was not good. The producer spoke first, speaking loudly so he could be heard over the noise of the small tow-truck that was trying to pull the damaged jeep onto the road.
“We have to stop for today. Probably until Monday. We’ll head back to the hotel now, and know more in a couple of hours.”
Disappointed, everyone started to disperse, going to gather up their belongings. The director approached Anita and spoke softly, “Our main camera and other equipment have been damaged, and they’ll have to be replaced. And we’ll probably have to reshoot today’s scenes as well. I hope there won’t be any more delays, but in any case we won’t be able to do anything before Tuesday. We’ll have to start over from the scenes of you and Dimitri on the boat. If we are lucky, we might get a replacement camera on Monday, but it’s unlikely.”
“I’m sorry, I wish there was something I could do. These things happen, please don’t be disheartened,” Anita replied.
“Take this break to rest for a couple of days. Next week will be quite intense, as we’ll try to make up for lost time. We’ll go back to the hotel, you have the interview with the German channel in the afternoon, and then I guess you’re free.”
Anita gave him a small compassionate smile and started to move with everyone else toward the cars that would take them back. She did feel disappointed, but did not want to show it. As she pondered what to do with the time she suddenly had on her hands, a small knowing smile began to form on her lips. She looked at the broken phone once more, and the smile became a grin, as the idea she’d just had took hold.
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Everything Thekla had prepared looked delicious. It was all homemade, using local produce. An omelet, jams prepared by the hostess herself, fru
it and honey and butter and warm bread… it had been a while since I’d tasted such delights.
I dug into the small dish filled with a local dessert made from rose petals that she’d just placed on the table before me. Rose petals! Who knew? I sighed, perfectly content to be enjoying this meal in the shade of a large vine, surrounded by her neatly tended geraniums. It reminded me of my mother’s balcony and felt comfortingly familiar.
The longer I sat here, the more at ease I felt. Only one thing marred my good mood. It was nearing three o’clock and I still hadn’t heard from Anita. I wanted to call Electra and check everything was okay, but I felt embarrassed and was trying to come up with a good excuse for calling her. At that moment, my phone rang and Electra’s name and number flashed on the screen. I laughed out loud at such ludicrous serendipity and picked it up.
Electra quickly brought me up to date with everything that had happened, and reassured me countless times that Anita was fine. She then told me that I could call Anita later at the hotel where we had been staying and hung up.
I put my phone back in my pocket and tried to calm down. When Electra told me there’d been an accident, my heart missed a beat at the thought that something had happened to Anita. That’s when I realized I could not bear the thought of anything happening to her. It was blindingly obvious that I was well and truly in love.
For a moment I thought about leaving the island and heading back to be with her, but then I remembered the metal box waiting on the bedside table in my room upstairs. I would be calling Anita at the hotel soon enough. Seeing my troubled expression, Thekla approached my table and asked if everything was okay. I reassured her that yes, everything was fine, just a mishap at work.
“Would you like a coffee, Dimitri?” she asked.
“No, thank you, I’m probably going to head to Thomas’, go for a walk. Will you add this to my bill?” I pointed at the small pile of empty dishes.
Cave of Silence Page 7
