Dominion of the Moon

by Kostas Krommydas

  It was a balmy evening and I had arrived on foot. Standing at the edge of the path leading to the Varvis tower, I waited for Elizabeth to arrive so we could be punctual, as per our host’s instructions. A large torch burned brightly against a wall. The flickering flames licking the wall mingled with the moonlight, radiating an imposing aura of mystery.

  The only worry to cast a shadow on my mood was the rumor that some of the locals were still secretly selling illegally procured artifacts to foreigners. Order had not yet returned to Samothrace, and certain high-ranking families were still running the island. One of them was the Varvis family. Pressed by time and more urgent affairs, we had thrown ourselves into work these past nine months and allowed the need to excavate the land of the man we were about to meet fall by the wayside.

  The time to resolve this matter had finally arrived. I was dying to see how he would treat us. My mother had urged me to avoid the meeting and let the Americans bite the bullet. I, however, felt that facing him was my duty. It was our homeland, and it was time to take responsibility for it, rather than let the foreigners always do the talking on our behalf.

  I would often see Varvis ride by us, watching us astride his black horse. Although he had not attended my sister’s wedding the previous month, he had sent us all the meat for the wedding feast through Vasilis. I had been impressed, not only by the gesture but also by the way it had been done: he had sent the livestock and his steward, Simon, to slaughter and skin the animals, then collect all the blood in casks, as if he did not wish to soil our fields. We had invited the whole island to the wedding but, unfortunately, many had chosen not to come. The terrible suspicion that had hung over me ever since my arrival had not abated, and was now hurting everyone related to me.

  The latest news to reach the island finally foretold the imminent end of the civil war. My intention was to take a short leave in mid-autumn, before the weather turned cold, and travel in search of the woman who had been haunting me ever since the day our paths had crossed. So many years had passed, yet her memory had not faded. Her face appeared before me every day, as vivid as that fateful moment.

  I was nonetheless very happy; our excavations were progressing in the best possible way. Piece by piece, astounding finds were coming to light, changing much of what we knew about the temple and the initiation rites of the Cabirian mysteries. A feeling that we would soon be making a significant, life-changing discovery grew stronger with every passing day.

  A white, ghostly figure appeared in the distance, reflecting the moonlight. I immediately recognized Elizabeth. Her blond hair, shimmering under the silver moonbeams, made it easy to spot her from afar. She was the only woman on the island with such fair hair. She quickly came beside me and greeted me with a wide smile. Then, slowly, she kissed me on the cheek, her lips brushing the edge of my mouth just enough to confuse me as to her intentions.

  We had often come close during this summer, but neither one of us had crossed the bounds of propriety. She was a beautiful woman, and had aroused the interest of many men on the island. In her polite, cold way, she had discouraged every prospective suitor and, devoted to her work as she was, did not add water to the local rumor mill. We spent hours together, and many thought there was something more going on between us than there was.

  Although very attractive, she kept her personal life very private. She tended to associate only with her fellow Americans and avoided contact with the locals. It was not surprising; she was not planning to settle on the island, after all. She seemed to enjoy all her time spent working with the other mission members. She would be returning to Athens before next summer. There, she would wait for her next archaeological post to arrive from the American School of Classical Studies.

  I offered my arm, and we started climbing up the cobbled street leading to the large wooden door of the Varvis tower. Her hand slid down, and our palms met. Once again, I felt the hard, long scar that crossed her palm. Despite being curious as to its provenance, I had never managed to ask how she got it.

  As we crossed the final yards to the front door, small ancient lanterns lit our steps on either side of the narrow path. We had unearthed similar lanterns at the site of the temple, and I wondered how they had come into Varvis’s possession. I felt my temper flare when I saw them exposed to the elements outside like an everyday oil lamp. Elizabeth also seemed surprised to see them. She picked one up and examined it closely, before replacing it with a frown of displeasure. She gave me a look of annoyance, but we kept walking without exchanging a single word. As if an unseen eye had been watching our arrival, the door swung open with a long, low creak, revealing an inner courtyard lit by torches, candles, and tall lanterns.

  A long, monastery dining table stood on a raised dais at the far end of the courtyard. We hovered by the entrance, waiting for someone to appear. The first person to greet us was Simon, Varvis’s steward. He looked different than his usual self. Dressed in his Sunday best, he no longer looked like the coarse giant that made grown men on the island quake with fear.

  Nicholas and Marika Varvis appeared on the landing, bestowing beatific smiles of welcome. I had never seen either of them smile. Both were dressed in white, as was Elizabeth, and the darkness of my clothes stuck out like a sore thumb. As soon as we reached them, they hugged us warmly as if we were old friends. I tried to hide my astonishment as they stood there, well to do and cheerful, so different to how I had become accustomed to seeing them.

  I cast a quick, furtive look around me and spotted numerous artifacts that had no right to be there: amphorae, marble fragments of ancient buildings, and small statues. I felt my temples throb in anger at the sight of all these small treasures. I would not be leaving this evening without raising the matter. Lost in my thoughts as I took it all in, I missed their conversation with Elizabeth, who had succumbed to the enchanting atmosphere the hosts had created.

  Nicholas was holding her hand, palm turned upwards, observing her scar. He did not shy away from asking the story behind the sharp, hard line. Years ago, on a mission in Italy, she had tried to hold onto a rope to prevent a statue dangling at its other end from falling over a cliff. She had stood there for quite a while before someone came along to help her. She did not think of letting go of the rope for a single moment, trying to save the statue from smashing against the rocks, all the while risking great damage to her hand.

  As soon as Elizabeth finished telling the story, Marika offered her a drink. Then she turned toward me, proffering a cup of red wine. There was a strange glow in her eyes as she kept looking at me intently, having evidently divined my agitation and trying to fathom what I was desperately trying to hide. A thin woman, her hair was piled on her crown in an intricate knot. She seemed to enjoy my momentary awkwardness.

  Behind us, Simon was lighting large torches along the walls and casting furtive glances in our direction, making sure nothing was amiss. I don’t know why, but I had a strange sense of floating in a fog, not being truly present in the courtyard but watching what was happening from a distance high above.

  I took a sip, felt the strong red wine warm my chest and wake me from my strange, slumberous state. At Marika’s invitation, we all took our seats around the table. Varvis smoothed down his thick mustache and raised his cup. “Welcome. We are honored by the presence of such distinguished guests in our home. May tonight be the beginning of a warm friendship.”

  We all raised our glasses and took a sip, and I wondered what had caused this sudden show of affection and conviviality. A child appeared at the other end of the courtyard. He solemnly walked up to the table and stood beside Varvis. I guessed he was their son, Alexandros. I had heard about him but had never seen him before. With the exception of his blond hair that reached his shoulders, he was the spitting image of his mother.

  He looked at us indifferently as his father made the introductions. He did not look older than nine. As soon as his father finished introducing us, he bowed and kissed his hand goodnight, without uttering a single word.
He then approached his mother and repeated the gesture, before disappearing up the stairs that led to the first floor.

  I followed him with my eyes as he walked along the balcony and stood before one of the doors. As if sensing my gaze, he turned toward me and stared at me with such hatred that I gave an involuntary gasp, wondering what could have caused such animosity.

  The first dishes were being served as we resumed our conversation. “How good to finally have the war over,” I said. “I hear the guerilla war will end soon.”

  “Every war happens for a reason,” Varvis slowly replied, and looked at Elizabeth. “Your government has invested a lot in our land.”

  “Yes, and they intend to continue,” she replied. “We love Ancient Greece, the civilization that was born here and shone its light on the rest of the world.” My American colleague gave me a knowing look. “For our part, we thank you for welcoming us on your beautiful island.”

  “It will become your island too, soon,” Varvis said, raising his glass. “Our island carries ancient stories, unique stories … So many people have passed through the island since those times. Some looted whatever they could find; others lived peacefully with the locals for a long time. Our ancestors made sure to safeguard our heritage. Their legacy passes from generation to generation, a legacy no occupier or war has ever managed to spoil.”

  Hearing his last words, I was about to seize the moment to raise the issue of all the antiquities he kept, which could fill a museum on their own. As if reading my thoughts, he looked at us and raised his voice. “My wife and I have decided to donate everything in our possession to your museum. When it is completed, they should take their place where they belong. For many generations we have kept these treasures and traditions safe. Now, it is time for all Greeks to enjoy them. Well, at least the treasures.”

  He paused and savored the surprise on our faces. It was completely unexpected. It all sounded so perfect, even I believed him. Elizabeth was the first to let out a cry of joy. She had been drinking steadily throughout the evening and seemed a little tipsy.

  Varvis turned to his steward with a small nod. Simon immediately approached the table. He held a small chest, which he placed with near religious solemnity beside Marika. She opened it carefully and removed two small cases. She gave one to Elizabeth and handed me the other. Inside were pieces of bronze eyelashes, evidently removed from statues.

  My colleague placed her wine on the table and examined the eyelashes attentively, suddenly alert. Her eyes glimmered with the familiar thirst for discovery as she looked at them. The other case contained coins and small objects.

  “A Bulgarian had collected all these and was about to sell them years ago for a pittance,” Marika said. “Luckily, Simon, our steward, found out and bought them for a slightly higher price. They will be among our donations.”

  She offered Elizabeth her hand. “Come, let us leave the men to talk and I will show you what else you will be receiving shortly.”

  As if in a trance, my friend put the case down and took Marika’s hand to stand up. The drink made her unsteady on her feet, and she lost her balance, falling into her arms. Aware of my companion’s state, Marika held her up and smiled as if nothing was amiss. Putting an arm around her waist to support her, she gave me a reassuring look. She then led Elizabeth away through an arched passageway that led inside.

  As they passed under the vaulted arch, I noticed a piece of marble bearing an inscription mounted above it. The light was too dim, and I sat too far away to make out what it said. On either side of the arch, the heads of two rams with oversized horns stood guard. As the two women moved further inside, their laughter echoed under the stone roof and bounced back into the courtyard, so altered that it sounded like it came from the depths of the earth.

  Once alone, Varvis and I resorted to polite conversation that had nothing to do with excavations, before succumbing to an awkward prolonged silence. He stood up and asked me to accompany him to the other side of the courtyard, where the moonbeams on the sea stretched out as far as the eye could see. I got up and followed him without thinking about it. He must have been two years older than I was, but his lean physique made him look younger. The wine dulled my thoughts, but I still felt in full command of myself.

  “Some people arrived today by boat just to enjoy the full moon. They’ll spend the night in the forest, apparently, and return to Alexandroupolis on the mainland tomorrow.”

  I had heard of that group, but had not seen them arrive. We had been told that they might visit the archaeological site, and were asked to be prepared to give a small guided tour. “Many people will start visiting our beautiful island from now on,” I said.

  Varvis’s next words had nothing to do with the topic he had just introduced. “Tonight is a very special evening for my family. Every full moon in August, we celebrate the circle of life and fertility. We will hold a wake until dawn. Tonight, and tomorrow night when the moon starts waning, we confess all our sins so that we may find catharsis,” he said, looking up at the moon.

  I had no idea which festival he was talking about, but I waited for him to continue. “I picked tonight so that the grace of the gods could be with us,” he said. “They come closer to us on evenings such as this. The ceremony will take place tomorrow, and you are welcome to join us.”

  I knew some people on the island believed in the dodecatheon, the twelve Olympian gods, but I didn’t think that was what Varvis was referring to. I could sense Simon behind us, discreetly following our every word.

  “I’ll get straight to the point, Andreas Stais, because I know you are an intelligent man so you will understand. I don’t know what business all these foreigners have to be on our land; what gives them the right to decide what will happen to the legacy of our ancestors.”

  Even though the same thoughts had sometimes crossed my mind, I had never placed the Americans in the same category as the others who had occupied our land. I decided to keep my mouth shut and see where he was going with this.

  “As I already mentioned, we will donate much of what we have safeguarded for years, what we protected from thieves and looters. My family has been keeping tradition alive for centuries. Some of my ancestors gave their lives for what is here today.”

  Trying to nudge the conversation in my favor, I said, “I appreciate your gesture, and I promise that, as soon as we have catalogued all the artifacts, I will propose that part of the new museum be named after you. We could even construct a new wing to house everything discovered on your land, now that excavations will be underway …”

  Varvis tensed and stood very still at these words. He slowly turned toward me, his face hard and unfathomable. The familiar glassy film descended over his eyes. “There will never be excavations on my land. You will make do with what I give you, and you can forget all your schemes, you and your Americans. You will make sure they never take place. In return, I will make sure you and your family lack for nothing. Anything to be found on my land has already been found. If you start digging, you will just end up seizing the largest part of my property for who knows how many years, all for nothing. I cannot allow that. Most of the land you are already digging on was taken from my ancestors anyway.”

  I tried hard not to let my unease show. I turned toward the passageway, looking for Elizabeth. The two women had been gone for quite a while, and I was beginning to worry.

  My composure regained, I turned back to Varvis and spoke determinedly. “Everything you say you will gift us is not yours to gift. I understand you kept it safe all this time, but the antiquities belong to the island. They are not your family heirlooms; they are the heirlooms of humankind. If the Archaeological Service approves excavations, they will go ahead. It is beyond anyone’s influence …”

  “You have no idea who you are talking to!” he shouted, and I felt Simon creep up behind me.

  I did not know how to react. At a loss, I tried to diffuse the situation. “I think we should leave now and arrange for a meeting with ev
eryone another day.”

  “The matter is closed,” he said flatly.

  I realized that the best thing to do would be to take Elizabeth and leave. I turned to go look for her, but in the blink of an eye Simon stood before me, barring my way. Varvis’s menacing voice rang out behind me. “I will only say this once. If you don’t want an archaeologist to dig up your carcass in the future, call off the excavations now.”

  I had anticipated many things, but I never dreamed he would have the gall to threaten me directly. A woman’s voice cried out in pain from the depths of the passageway. Elizabeth! I shoved Simon aside and ran in that direction. Just before I reached the first arch, I felt him grab my arm and pin me to the spot. I saw Elizabeth appear. She stopped before me, out of breath, holding her wrist. A tight red belt circled her waist. Walking slowly, Marika appeared behind her, looking as inscrutable as ever. Elizabeth’s hand was bleeding

  “W-what happened?” I stammered.

  “Nothing,” Elizabeth whispered, and came nearer, looking puzzled at Simon, who was still gripping my arm. Only then did I feel him slowly release his grasp. She flung herself in my arms as if looking for a place to shelter.

  With shaky hands, she nervously fumbled with the red belt, trying to undo it. I helped her and, as soon as it came loose, she grabbed it and flung it in a nearby flowerbed. Nicholas and the steward walked around us and stood beside Marika under the arched entrance. Marika bent down and picked up the belt, straightening it ceremoniously and giving Elizabeth a look of annoyance. It was time to leave.