Dominion of the Moon

by Kostas Krommydas

  I walked up to the car carrying my grandmother’s lifeless body and placed my palm against the tinted window. Unlike Eva, Zoe had lived a full life, despite the difficult war years. A couple of other passengers gave me strange looks as they walked toward the stairs leading to the decks, but made no comment.

  I turned to my car and saw Destine anxiously looking at me. It was a brief crossing, so I preferred to leave her in the car with the windows rolled down. She would initially go with Vasilis once we arrived, until I checked the hotels to see if any of them accepted pets. Vasilis’s house had a large, enclosed garden, and he had offered to host us for the duration of our stay. I had politely declined, saying it would not be easy with Destine. Vasilis had no children. His wife had passed away a few years ago, and he lived alone. However, I needed to spend time alone. I wanted a quiet, peaceful break.

  I walked to the lounge and found my travelling companions gathered around a coffee table. As soon as I had taken a seat beside Vasilis, my cousin came near me, asking if I wanted a drink. I politely declined, but Vasilis replied that he would like a coffee, despite not being asked. She gave him a look of displeasure, but got up and went to the bar.

  “That buys us five minutes of quiet,” he said in a low voice, suppressing a chuckle.

  “I think I’ll step outside,” I said. “It’s stifling in here.”

  “You do that.” He winked.

  I stepped onto the deck, and suddenly felt as if I had been transported to another decade. A large group that sat on the floor reminded me of people in the sixties, with their hair and clothes and guitars, which they strummed in an indeterminate melody.

  I heard someone clear his throat behind me, and saw a middle-aged man with a thick moustache. He asked me, in English, if I was Zoe’s grandson. I nodded. He introduced himself, and I shook his hand warmly; he was the head of the American team of archaeologists on Samothrace. He mentioned Alkistis, and said that Vasilis, whom he knew, had pointed out who I was.

  He spoke fondly not only of Zoe, but of my grandfather, too. He had been in France, at the Louvre, when he had heard about Zoe’s death. They were attempting to make a digital map of the Winged Victory statue, so that two exact replicas could be made. If they succeeded, one of the replicas would be placed at the Sanctuary, and the other at the port we had just left.

  We chatted for a while, sharing news of New York, and agreed to have a coffee at the Sanctuary the following day. His parting words left an impression on me. He said he might be able to trace something that might interest me, in which case he would send it to me. I could not understand what he meant, but I caught sight of my cousin determinedly striding toward us, so hastened our goodbye.

  It did not take me long to fathom my relative’s sudden interest in talking to me. My cousin informed me that a small plot of land on the island now belonged to both of us. She felt it was best to make use of this visit to settle all the paperwork and divide our inheritance. I understood full well that she just wanted me to let her have the whole plot.

  She was so pushy that I told her I would give her my answer after the funeral. I wanted to discuss the matter with Vasilis first. Not that I was interested in owning property on the island. She ignored my request and kept pushing her case, forcing me to tell her abruptly that it was inappropriate to discuss such matters before Zoe had even been laid to rest.

  I remained on the deck, mulling things over, then returned to the lounge. I sat beside Vasilis, who had seen my cousin follow me outside. He said, “Now that you understand why your cousins have suddenly remembered Zoe, make up your own mind. I know you will ask for my advice, so here it is. Give them everything. That place is cursed.”

  I did not ask him why. Instead, I turned to look at my relations, who smiled at me across the table, waiting to see whether they had gotten what they were after.

  My grandmother’s funeral had been scheduled for early afternoon. As soon as we arrived on Samothrace, we stopped at Vasilis’s house to drop off Destine, then drove to Paleopolis. The cemetery was situated on a beautiful spot overlooking the sea, and I immediately understood why Zoe wanted to be buried here.

  I did not know most of the funeral guests, but saw that most were familiar faces from Maronia, along with a handful of locals. The American archaeologist and Alkistis were among them. I appreciated her coming, and thanked her profusely.

  It was a brief service. I lingered on as everyone made their way to the coffee shop, where refreshments awaited. Vasilis walked up to me and said, “All your ancestors on your grandfather’s side are buried here. All except one.”

  “My grandfather.”

  Vasilis bit his trembling lip, then changed the subject by pointing further up the hill, to a spot sheltered by two cypress trees. “That one is booked.”

  I looked at him questioningly, and he laughed. “I kept a nice little plot for myself.”

  Vasilis turned to go, but something made him freeze to the spot. He stood, gaping, at the top of a hill across the cemetery, where a man stood looking down on us. It was too far away to see who it was. I could just make out a silhouette in dark clothes. “Who is it?” I asked.

  He did not immediately reply. “I can’t see; it’s too far away. I’m going to the car.”

  His evasiveness surprised me. The man at the top of the hill did not move, and we both stood rooted to the spot, staring at each other as if in a standoff. Then the man abruptly turned and disappeared down the hill.

  How odd, I thought to myself, as I turned to look at the mound of fresh soil that covered Zoe’s grave. I had already buried three people I desperately loved; I was almost becoming used to it. I’ve always believed that those we love only die when they are forgotten, when the last person who knew them passes away, taking any last memories with them.

  I kneeled down, leaving a yellow rose beside the grave, and placed my palm on the moist soil. Then I stood up, impatient for the formalities to be over and to find myself on my own at last.

  Even though I had an eerie feeling, I felt I would like this island. Vasilis had been a treasure trove of information on what to visit, and I intended to make the most of the water pools and woods the following day. I would be visiting the museum and the Sanctuary later in the afternoon. First, I had to deal with my cousins and their demands …

  When all the post-funeral formalities were over, I dropped Vasilis off at his house to rest, and we agreed to meet the following day. With no outstanding matters to attend to, I could not wait to finally be left alone. I followed his advice and, without even going to see the plot of land I had inherited, I told my cousin I waived all my claims and I would sign everything needed for the land to pass to her in its entirety. As politely as possible, I asked her not to bother me with this matter again.

  In the meantime, Vasilis had managed to both surprise and move me. He asked me if I wanted to stay at the house Elizabeth had lived in during her time on Samothrace. It had been renovated, and was now rented out to tourists. It had a large, secure garden, which meant I could safely leave Destine alone, and it was immediately available. We went to the house with the owner and, after a brief tour, he handed me the keys and left me there.

  Yellow roses covered one of the garden walls in its entirety, and the garden was cool and shady, dotted with fruit trees. A hammock hung between two tree trunks, the perfect picture of a relaxing holiday. By the staircase, a large pomegranate tree stood, laden with fruit round and bright like the decorations on a Christmas tree. The courtyard was filled with all kinds of potted plants, mostly geraniums and herbs. I ran my hand over a basil plant and brought my palm to my nostrils, a movement I had learned from my grandmother, inhaling its delicious aroma.

  So many memories woken by a simple scent! At afternoon Greek classes in New York, my teacher’s name was Basiliki, and I’d always thought she was named after the plant.

  I set my memories aside and admired the beautiful house. Made of old stone, its two floors were exceedingly well maintained. I would
stay on the first floor. The basement had not been used in years. Even the door keys were those giant iron keys you rarely found these days.

  Destine could not get enough of the place, sniffing everything. As soon as I stepped inside, I was met with the sweet smell of jasmine. I looked around, but there were no flowers in the house. Walking further in, I was overjoyed at the sight of an antique four-poster bed standing in the middle of the high-ceilinged bedroom.

  The house was old, but so warm and welcoming it immediately felt familiar. Its walls were covered with old black and white photos, possibly left behind by Elizabeth. They showed the group of archaeologists who had been there in the forties at work. I stood before a photo I had seen thousands of times at our home in New York. It was one of the rare photos we had of my grandfather. He stood beside Zoe and the rest of the team, around the headless statue of the Winged Victory they had just discovered. Only the date was written beneath. I did not know whether any of the people in that photo were still alive. My grandmother was probably the last of the group, and now she was reunited with them.

  As soon as I unpacked, I left Destine in the courtyard and headed out in search of lunch. I would then visit the archaeological site. I pulled the carved iron gates shut behind me, and my beautiful German Shepherd stuck her nose between the bars and watched me until I turned the corner. The people I passed on the way to the car seemed friendly and polite; welcoming.

  A few minutes later, I drove to the Chora, situated on one of the most beautiful locations on the island. Here, too, people seemed kind and warm. Only once I was at the square did I notice a woman pointing me out to a group of elderly men, who then turned to stare at me with odd expressions. I paid no attention, and sat at a small taverna Vasilis had recommended. The weather was splendid, and the shade beneath the enormous plane tree soothing. A few tourists milled about, taking photos of the old houses covered in red bougainvilleas.

  I asked the waitress to pick my lunch for me. I’d never forgotten the wonderful taste of Greek fish dishes, and looked forward to tasting them once again. The elderly men who had been giving me odd looks were now marching in my direction like a firing squad. A few others had joined their ranks. They walked past me, and looked at me as if they had just seen a ghost. I did not want to add water to the rumor mill, so I ignored them, picking up my phone to check my mail.

  I saw an email from Jill asking for photos of the island. I lifted my phone and turned the camera in the direction of the elderly men. They looked great against the scattered coffee tables in the square and the old buildings. They were startled to find themselves photographed, and quickly dispersed. I smiled and raised my wine glass at them. Obviously, that was not the response they had been expecting. A few minutes later, they had all left the square.

  Jill emailed me back quickly, enthusing over the cute, little, old men, and bringing a sarcastic smile to my face. I settled down to a hearty lunch of fresh fish and local vegetables and then returned to my car, to head down to the famous Sanctuary of the Great Gods.

  I was finally inside the museum at the base of the hill. Although I had expected it to be bigger, it was still imposing. I had just spoken to the American Head of Excavations, and Alkistis was kindly giving me a tour of the museum, which was being renovated.

  Her voice echoing against the walls, she filled me in on the museum’s history. “Building began in 1939, but was only completed after the war in 1955 by the American School of Classical Studies in Athens. It was designed by Stuart Shaw of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. The building was expanded in 1960, with the addition of the northern wing. As I told you in Athens, it mostly houses the finds discovered at the Sanctuary of the Great Gods. Most of them are at the Acropolis Museum for the exhibition right now. They are returning tomorrow.

  “Your grandfather came here at the end of the war, and his contribution during his brief time with the team was significant. The work of those people continues today, and is the basis of many of our present discoveries, teaching us how the past is reflected in the present. Inspiring us to continue their work …”

  Alkistis walked further ahead and paused before a wall. “Normally, the inscription that was found then would hang here. It forbade entrance to the uninitiated. I think you saw it in Athens, though. Let’s go to the storeroom, where you can see the plaster replica of the Winged Victory. The original is in the Louvre, as you know.”

  I nodded and followed her. Covered in a large white sheet, the famous statue stood at the center of the room. Alkistis tugged at its corner, and it fell away, revealing the headless statue. “Your grandfather was fascinated by this goddess. I read the entries in the Americans’ logs, and I could tell how desperately he hoped that the head of one of the Winged Victories would someday be found.”

  “All the statues have been found headless?” I asked, surprised.

  Alkistis nodded despondently.

  “Isn’t that strange?” I insisted.

  “Strange as it sounds, many statues are found with missing parts, either damaged in earthquakes or vandalized. We could well find a head at some point in the future. It could be anywhere. It could be buried somewhere on the island, at the bottom of the sea, or even decorating the home of a wealthy collector anywhere in the world.”

  Filled with zeal, and eager to impart knowledge, she spoke animatedly. “The island of Samothrace was one of the most important religious centers of the ancient world. The cult of the Great Gods revolved around the figure of the Great Mother. There is an impressive lack of detail as to what the Cabirian Mysteries actually entailed. There is a theory that Phillip of Macedon met Olympias here, and that Alexander the Great was conceived after their union at the site. Homer refers to Samothrace as Zathay, meaning venerable, holy. He also calls it the Sacred Land. ‘Venerable Samothrace, where ceremonies strike fear, performed for the sake of the gods and remaining hidden to mortals …’”

  Despite the warm day, I felt a shiver at those words. Alkistis pointed to a photo on the wall, showing a ring evidently discovered many years ago. “The power of the Mother of the Rocks was expressed in the stones and magnetite they used to make these rings. Every prospective initiate received such a ring while preparing for initiation into the Holy House. They believed that wearing the ring brought mortals in direct contact with the divine.”

  She led me outside the room, speaking in a low voice. “We know very little about the past and the present. In any case, shortly after your grandfather’s disappearance, the Lehmanns formed the theory that the temple was, and may still be, the most important site of the secret religious rites of ancient Greece. During excavations in 1949, the bones of sheep and pigs were discovered at the Hieron Temple. The altar where the votive sacrifices took place was constructed so that the blood of the sacrificial animals would descend straight to Hades. Animals played an important part in those rites. Homer adds that witches would turn the marrow of the slaughtered animals into love potions.”

  We stepped out into the sunshine, and my attention was caught by a curious sight. I felt Alkistis tense beside me. A group of visitors, all dressed in white, was making its way along the narrow path and would soon be passing before us. In their midst, I noticed a woman wearing a scarlet belt. The long scarf draped over her head hid her features. Like a flock of swans, they drifted in front of us. For a moment, the woman with the headscarf raised her eyes in our direction, casting me a glance. It was so fast that all I could see was the spark in her eyes.

  As soon as they were out of sight, Alkistis explained with a smile, “Many ceremonies take place on the island on the night of the full moon. People come here and celebrate their own religion, interpreting whatever information we have on cult rites whichever way they like.”

  “And how is this group of people related to …”

  She looked around to make sure no one was listening, and pulled me away from the building. “Some of the people you just saw are locals. The rest are delegates, if you like, from other sacred sites of
Ancient Greece: Eleusis, Delphi, Athens, cities in Lower Italy, and other areas that were cult sites of the Ancient gods. I have been told that these ones claim to be the heirs of the cult of the Cabeiri. Of course, none of them will confirm that.”

  “What are they doing here, then?” I asked, trying to understand.

  “As I told you, I am doing research on cult rites and ancient initiation ceremonies. For some reason, this year and this month’s full moon is very important to them. The fact is, I don’t know exactly what they will do, because the whole thing is shrouded in complete secrecy. Remember what I told you? Those participating would take a vow of silence. Punishment for breaking that vow was death.”

  What she said was intriguing, but I was preoccupied by something else. “Who was the woman with the red belt?” I asked with forced nonchalance.

  “I didn’t see her face, but I imagine she is a high-ranking member of that group. I feel I’ve seen her before, but I can’t put my finger on it,” Alkistis replied, frowning in their direction.

  I was impressed by what she had said. My travels and my work had shown me that there were many who still believed and practiced various ancient religions. In many Latin American and African countries, black magic rituals had spread like wildfire, and they were beginning to show up in the West, too. Based on the cases that were coming to light, it was easy to see that most times people were just satisfying their sexual perversions under the cloak of a cult or an invented, misleading religion.

  A man stepped outside the museum and called Alkistis. “How long will you be staying, in the end?” she asked, looking at me intently.

  “Still undecided, if you can believe it,” I said evasively.