Dominion of the Moon

by Kostas Krommydas

  At the end of the screening, enthusiastic applause filled the room until the lights came back on. The same woman rose, and beckoned the young man sitting beside her to rise as well. He stood up and thanked the audience with a brief bow. She returned to the podium and, once the applause died out, pointed to the same man. “We would like to thank Miltos Ramiotis for his excellent film, shot on Samothrace last summer with his crew, all the way from Australia.”

  Looking straight ahead, she continued. “I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Iro Varvis, and I have been the president of the Axieros Foundation for the past five years. Before officially declaring the symposium open, I would like to thank my father, Alexandros Varvis, for his tireless work in actualizing my grandparents’ greatest wish. The Axieros Foundation’s mission is to make Samothrace the Great Mother of all ancient religions once again, and one of the most important tourist destinations. An idea conceived by my grandparents, who sadly did not live long enough to see it become a reality.”

  She glanced at her father, who was watching her with a look of encouragement, then continued. “Soon, the construction of a large hotel will begin, built according to the architectural principles of Ancient Greece, always based on the evidence we have to date.”

  The strong murmur that rippled through the audience made her pause, but Iro’s stern and irritated expression imposed silence once again. Trying to hide her disquiet, she pressed something on her tablet, and the lights became brighter. “It is my great pleasure to invite Mr. Christos Kanellopoulos, the symposium coordinator, to the podium.”

  She returned to the front row. Her father shook her hand as she resumed her seat. Miltos, the film director, gazed at her intently even though she did not turn to look at him once.

  The first day of the symposium had just ended, and everyone was gathering in the foyer. A large table set up in the center served as a bar, and a woman dressed in black dominated the space, sitting on a small stage set against the wall. She held a cello between her legs, and provided the musical accompaniment to the hushed conversations of the attendees. Her thin fingers slipped on the musical instrument, weaving a gentle melody.

  Iro stood beside the stage, gazing at the cellist in admiration. Her father and Miltos were engaged in conversation beside her. The waiter, failing to entice them with his tray of drinks, made to leave, nearly running into the woman who had suddenly materialized beside them. She grabbed one of the glasses, thanked him, and then extended a hand toward Alexandros Varvis. “Good evening, my name in Alkistis Cosma. I’m an archaeologist. I’ve been working at the Sanctuary of the Great Gods these past few months.”

  Alexandros ignored her hand and nodded indifferently, watching a blush spread from her neck to the roots of her closely-cropped hair as she awkwardly stood there. Trying to make up for her father’s rudeness, Iro took her hand and shook it warmly. “Pleased to meet you. Iro Varvis. This is my father, Alexandros Varvis, and my fiancé, Miltos Ramiotis. Welcome to Samothrace. We hope you enjoy your stay here, and please don’t hesitate to contact us for anything you may need.”

  Despite Iro’s obvious disinclination to engage in anything other than polite formalities, the young archaeologist smiled, undeterred. “Thank you for your welcome, but I’ve been here for a while now. I am leaving for Athens tomorrow to visit the exhibition at the Acropolis Museum. It’s on the mysteries of the Great Gods. When I return, I would like to meet to discuss a matter concerning old excavations that took place on your land. Any information you have on that subject would be useful. I tried to contact you before.”

  Alexandros gave the young archaeologist a look of disdain. “Excavations have never taken place on our land. There has never been a need for excavations on our land.”

  Iro, acting as peacemaker once again, spoke up, handing over a business card. “Please call me at the foundation offices one of these mornings to make an appointment, and we’ll discuss whatever you want. Now, if you will excuse us …”

  “Yes, certainly, I did not mean to interrupt. We’ll talk soon. It’s been a pleasure.” Alkistis moved to the other side of the room.

  “Father, you don’t always have to show what you feel,” Iro whispered to Alexandros. “Everything is under control. Why don’t you go to the evening reception with Miltos? I’ll make sure everyone gets on the buses, and join you later.”

  “I wish your mother could have seen you like this,” Alexandros said. “You were wonderful today. The nine days of the symposium will pass quickly, and as the big day approaches, you seem more and more ready for it …”

  She picked up his wrinkled hand and kissed it respectfully, then turned to go.

  Miltos touched her elbow. “Don’t you want me to stay with you?”

  “No, you’ll be bored. I still have many things left to organize. You’d better go with my father. I don’t want him driving at night.”

  Alexandros had anticipated her reply, and smirked. Looking displeased but saying nothing, Miltos leaned over and pecked her cheek before accompanying the elderly man to the exit.

  Iro turned to the woman playing the cello, and they exchanged a complicit look before she began to mingle with the other guests, urging them to move toward the buses. The music rose to a feverish crescendo, then abruptly stopped, as the musician gathered up her cello and left the room.

  Miltos drove along the coastal road to the reception area. Alexandros sat comfortably in the seat beside him, looking out to the sea.

  "My daughter has too much on her plate. Perhaps you should hasten your marriage," Alexandros said, without turning to look at him.

  Miltos cast him a furtive look, then turned his attention the winding road. "Iro doesn’t seem to be ready, if you ask me. I feel like she's been avoiding me lately."

  Alexandros turned around sharply. "She is not avoiding you, son. She is a perfectionist, and all her attention is focused on work. However, it’s time she took a break and gave me a grandson. It would be nice to set the wedding date tomorrow. Why don’t you get married a month after the big day? Give your family some time to come over from Australia.” He paused, giving his words some time to sink in, and then changed the subject. "What do you know about that archaeologist girl?"

  "She arrived a few months ago, worked with the Americans during the summer. I don’t think her contract will be renewed, so she’ll be gone soon.” With these words, Miltos gave Alexandros a conspiratorial wink.

  The old man gave a satisfied chuckle. “So, I needn’t worry about it, then? You’ve taken care of it? Excellent. Miltos … I don’t know how many years I’ve got left. I want to make sure that the hard work of our ancestors does not go to waste. You are the son I never had, and I want you and Iro to further our vision. You are the guardians of their legacy. What I have will be yours. Everything we own has been paid for in blood and toil.”

  Listening carefully, Miltos pursed his lips and gave no reply. He was well aware of the importance of his fiancée's family. Their meeting had been no accident. Like Iro, he was born on Samothrace, and came from a rich island family. His parents now lived in Australia, having accumulated great wealth. He’d chosen to return to the island after completing his studies, and now spent most of him time travelling all over Europe. He was trying to establish an annual thematic film festival on Samothrace. Space had been allocated to this purpose in the hotel complex the Foundation was planning to build.

  Iro’s father had engineered their meeting, discretely arranging their introduction while Iro studied in Melbourne for two years. Now, with less discretion, he was pushing them to get married. Miltos, madly in love with Iro, was not convinced she felt the same. He tried to keep his possessive jealousy in check, realizing she was an unpredictable woman who would not tolerate being confined. He took a deep breath, trying to decide whether he should confide in Iro’s father.

  "What's the matter, son? If you have something to say, speak up!"

  Alexandros’s perceptiveness caught Miltos off guard. "I do not know how to say
this without upsetting you. Iro mentioned something a few days ago. She asked me how I would feel if we were to leave the island at some point.”

  Alexandros’s mouth twisted in an ugly grimace. They were near the reception venue when he spoke again, sharply. “What did you tell her?”

  "That it’s something we’ll need to discuss, and …”

  "There is nothing to discuss! She will do as you tell her. You are her husband. She must obey you,” screamed the old man, bringing down his fist on the dashboard.

  Stunned, Miltos could only nod his acquiescence before his future father-in-law’s imposing wrath. The old man’s hair may have turned white, but the passage of time had left no mark on his eyes, which still sparkled with the fervor of youth.

  Miltos pulled up by the front steps of the venue and handed his car keys to the valet. Another attendant helped Alexandros Varvis step out of the car, and Miltos caught up with them at the front door. The two men exchanged a glance, but did not say another word.

  Standing some distance away from the milling guests, an elderly man leaned heavily on his walking stick, his keen eyes scanning every guest to cross the threshold. His ascetic stooped form, his whole demeanor, made him an incongruous presence. One of his ears was missing. The other ear protruded through tufts of white hair, making him appear almost comical.

  Noticing him, Alexandros raised a hand in greeting. “Hello, Vasilis! Welcome!” he shouted heartily. The other man reciprocated with an awkward nod.

  Miltos looked at the man with the missing ear curiously, and in a low voice asked who that was.

  "He’s a ghost from the past. I'll tell you some other time," Alexandros replied through gritted teeth. He looked at Vasilis, who was shuffling toward them, flattening his long white hair against his cheek with his free hand, trying to cover the missing ear.

  "Good evening," Vasilis cried out to both of them when he came within hearing distance.

  Alexandros seemed in a hurry to move away from the strange guest. “How come you are here, Vasilis? Will you be joining us?”

  "No. I only came to tell you the news," he said, and looked pointedly at Miltos.

  "Speak freely; Miltos is my son. I have no secrets..."

  Vasilis hesitated, and then uttered a few words with great difficulty. “She … Zoe … passed away.”

  Alexandros froze, but quickly recovered. He pulled Vasilis further inside the room and said, "It was about time..."

  Miltos watched them, curious as to whom this strange little old man could be. Vasilis bowed his head as if he regretted having spoken, turned around, and slowly moved toward the exit.

  With the assistance of the manager of the kennel, I had just completed all the necessary paperwork for Destine to accompany me to Athens. We planned a trip that included a stopover in Zurich, and then a connecting flight to my final destination.

  A beautiful German shepherd, Destine was a trained police dog who had been Eva’s faithful partner. Destine had refused to leave her side, staying with Eva until the very end. I still remember how Destine kept looking for her, whimpered and whined until she could meet her, even for a few minutes, in the hospital’s specially allocated area. Eva, weak, a shadow of her former self, smiled at her beloved dog; her eyes shone whenever she saw her. The cancer had spread rapidly from her breast to the rest of her body, and Eva fought hard. When the end was inevitable, she asked me to look out for Destine.

  We had met two years previously, investigating the disappearance of a couple in one of the northern States. Eva, special investigator with the FBI, and Destine, trained police dog. The two of them were inseparable, the bonds between them as strong as those of a lifelong friendship.

  Following Eva’s death, the bureau had tried to pair up Destine with someone else. The dog refused. She had sunk into a deep grief, mourning the death of her beloved master. They asked me if I wanted to take her in. I did not have to think twice about it. She was my closest link to Eva.

  Although it took us a while to get to know one another, we had been getting along fine these last couple of months. Destine only sulked or became angry if I was away for a long while. Like now, when she did not even deign to look at me.

  She mostly responded to French commands, although I had managed to teach her a few English commands. She had been born in France, and her trainer had been French.

  I decided to take her for a long walk before returning home to pack. The poor animal would be spending most of the next two days cooped up in the belly of a plane.

  I felt rested, having spent most of the flight from Buenos Aires asleep in a large, comfortable seat. I had ignored the Nazi, leaving him to my colleagues. He was one foot in the grave as it was; they would not even have time to punish him. News of his arrest made headlines everywhere. For about seventy years, he had lived his life as any other law-abiding citizen. Nevertheless, I had read all about the horrific crimes he had committed in the concentration camps. Although a young man at the time, he had been one of the most ruthless torturers at Dachau.

  The paperwork regarding Destine’s travel completed, I stepped outside. She followed. I kneeled on the pavement and spoke to her in Greek. “We will be going on a long journey, to a beautiful country. We’ll be spending lots of time together, just the two of us.”

  She pricked her ears as if she had understood what I had just said, and licked my cheek. As soon as she spotted the tennis ball cupped in my palm, she wagged her tail enthusiastically. Around her collar, the silver tag with her name, a gift from Eva, sparkled in the sun. We made our way to Central Park, man and dog strolling in the melancholy autumn breeze, in silent companionship.

  At the old family tower, a young woman was serving breakfast to Alexandros and Miltos. Iro appeared in the courtyard, holding a tray she had preferred to prepare herself. They exchanged good mornings and, after kissing her father's hand first and then Miltos's cheek, Iro sat down with them. They ate in silence.

  Alexandros was the first to speak, complimenting Iro on the success of the symposium. "Everything was wonderful yesterday, and I imagine our guests will enjoy today as well. I think I’ll stay here, though, and rest. I need to prepare for the coming full moon."

  Iro waved her glass of orange juice in agreement. "Yes, father, I was going to say the same. You don't have to attend. Everything is going as planned. "

  "Yes, I know. Now, it is time to focus on other plans. "

  His daughter looked at him, perplexed, trying to fathom what he meant. Alexandros nodded at Miltos, urging him to speak up.

  Miltos’s coffee cup clattered against the saucer as he put it down determinedly. “Your father and I had a long talk yesterday, and then I spoke with my parents. Iro, I believe it’s time we set a date for the wedding. "

  She turned to Miltos in surprise. "That is something you and I need to discuss," she said, nervously fondling her knife.

  Her father was following their conversation with a keen, evaluating eye. He wanted his son-in-law to impose his will.

  "It is not just our wedding, as you know. It involves everyone around us. Our families, I mean. I wouldn’t think you’d want your father excluded …"

  "No, Miltos, I wouldn’t, but some things are best arranged between us. Besides, now is not the right time to be making wedding plans."

  "You're wrong, daughter," Varvis interrupted. "Now is the perfect time. It would be good to hold your wedding after the full moon ceremonies. There is no reason to delay it any longer. You know how important this year is to us. In a few days, you will be anointed. There is an opportune time and place for everything, and your union to Miltos should not be delayed any longer. Do you forget the promise you made to your mother on her deathbed?"

  Iro was clearly uncomfortable, cornered like a rat in a trap. She didn't feel ready to make a lifelong commitment to Miltos. All her instincts cried out that she should wait a little longer, until she felt certain.

  In the early stages of their relationship, everything had been great. Miltos gave
her everything she had yearned for, as if he understood her better than anyone ever had. But in time, that feeling had begun to fade, as routine replaced the novelty of the early days. She was sure that she was not ready to marry him. She did not want Miltos to perceive her refusal to set a date as a rejection. She just needed more time.

  "Perhaps it is better to wait until the end of the symposium,” she said. “Once the full moon festivities are over, we can think about making wedding plans. I don’t think we should be confusing the two. The night of the full moon and the wedding are two very separate things. As far as the wedding goes, I was thinking of next summer. You men think everything is easily planned, but these things take time to organize, time which at present I don’t have.”

  Paying no heed to what his daughter was saying, Varvis mused loudly, "Mid-October would be perfect. It would leave more than a month for preparations. "

  Realizing she was getting nowhere, Iro stood up. "Please excuse me, but I have a lot on my mind and it's time to go. They must be waiting for me."

  She picked up her tray and, apologizing once more, walked to the arched passageway that led inside. Above the first arch, the old inscription forbidding entry to the uninitiated still stood intact after all these years.

  Miltos stood up to follow her, but Varvis grasped his hand and pulled him back down. "Don't run after her. Show her you have the upper hand. She’ll nag a little, but eventually she’ll acquiesce. I give you my word that after the full moon ceremony, she won’t be able to refuse. Then, everything will be as it should be. "

  He spoke to Miltos with the tenderness of a father talking to a son, and of his daughter with all the indifference of someone referring to a perfect stranger.

  “Sir, I think it’s best that we wait for the symposium to be over before raising the subject again,” Miltos said. “I’ll talk to her the day after tomorrow, I promise. I’m sure I’ll manage to persuade her to change her mind.”