One Summer in Crete

by Nadia Marks

  ‘Bruce over there,’ Christian gestured with his chin, ‘is taking care of the music. We’ve each chosen one song we like. I’m sure it’s not too late to put in your request.’

  The longest total lunar eclipse of the twenty-first century proved to be every bit as magnificent, magical and as awe-inducing as had been promised. At first the moon rising from the sea was no more spectacular than the other two ascents Calli had witnessed on the island, but as the upward journey progressed, so did its audience’s excitement and anticipation. As the hour grew late, Maya leaned close and whispered into Calli’s ear.

  ‘When the eclipse begins, you must enter into the sea and make your wish.’

  ‘What? Why? What wish?’ she stammered, confusion evident on her face.

  ‘The wish you want to make, you know . . . the one that always brings the tears to your eyes,’ she replied. ‘You must walk into the water facing the east,’ Maya instructed mysteriously, ‘and ask Raphael to grant you your wish. But be specific. Don’t be vague. Ask for exactly that which you desire, and he will hear you.’

  Calli, once again thrown by Maya’s words, said nothing. Her head was swimming with unfamiliar thoughts, as it had done earlier at Icarus’s rock. She sat silent and motionless, gazing at the constellations in the night sky for a long while. Then, as the earth’s shadow slowly began to pass over the moon, masking and transforming it into a dark crimson globe, Maya’s words suddenly became clear. She scrambled to her feet, stripped off her shorts and T-shirt and ran towards the water.

  She stood for a moment in the shallow surf, looking up at the ‘blood moon’, then slowly started to walk into the sea, murmuring words almost like prayer. The evening breeze blew through her hair and caressed her arms which were raised to the sky. She stretched them higher and felt weightless: the wind seemed to pull her up effortlessly by her extended arms towards the moon; the deeper into the sea she waded, the more the sensation of being lifted increased, until she was floating above the water as if she had grown wings.

  ‘Please, Raphael,’ she whispered and looked down at a silvery beam of light illuminating the sea. ‘Please, Raphael,’ she repeated into the hot night air and closed her eyes, ‘by the power of this moon send a good man to love me and a baby in my womb.’

  8

  When she reopened her eyes, Calli was lying in her wet bikini on a blanket on the beach. She had no idea how much time had lapsed. She turned to prop herself on one elbow and watched her companions joyfully singing and dancing to the dulcet sounds of Carlos Santana’s ‘Black Magic Woman’.

  ‘Calli! Calli! Come!’ she heard Maya call as she ran towards her. ‘It’s time to dance,’ she cried and seized her arms to pull her to her feet.

  By now the moon had once again resumed its normal silver glow and was hovering above them, illuminating the beach like an enormous spotlight. Calli held on to Maya’s hand to steady herself and then, lightheaded and elated, joined the dancing crowd.

  ‘They must be singing about you!’ she called over the music to Maya, laughing, and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. They danced barefoot on the warm sand through the night, song after song, Greek, English, French, Italian, melody after melody, voices and laughter mingled together, drifting into the night air; once in a while one or two dancers would break away and run into the sea for a refreshing dip before returning to the party. As if they were a single organism not separate individuals, the company stayed on the beach until the faint light of day started to break. Only then did some people begin departing; many stayed on the shore for their early morning yoga.

  ‘My bed is calling me,’ Calli yawned, bending down to pick up her flip-flops and discarded clothes.

  ‘What! No yoga?’ Sylvie teased, giving her a playful nudge.

  Later, by the time Calli walked down to the beach bar for her morning coffee, the hour was well past midday. She had had a fretful night; it was way past sunrise before she finally fell asleep, and even then she hovered between dreams and wakefulness. She was eager to see Maya and to discuss the strange events of the night before, but her new friend was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Kalimera, Miss Calli,’ Stavros greeted her as she climbed onto a stool, looking subdued. ‘Was a good night last night, no?’ he continued, looking from her to a man sitting where Maya normally sat.

  ‘Ciao, I’m Paolo,’ the stranger said cheerily and offered his hand. ‘I saw you dancing last night but it was all such a big casino I didn’t get a chance to speak to you . . .’

  ‘Casino . . .?’ Calli looked perplexed.

  ‘Ah! Yes! Sorry,’ he laughed, ‘I mean a big noise, a big . . . how do you say . . . too many people! This is what means casino in Italian.’

  Calli smiled, shaking his hand and her head in agreement.

  ‘Are you staying at the camping?’ Paolo swivelled round on his stool to face her better.

  ‘No, at the hotel – and you?’

  ‘Yes! Me I do!’

  Evidently Paolo’s English needed some improving, but his accent and smile made up for it. He lived in Verona, he informed her, and had arrived the night before just in time for the eclipse.

  ‘Do you know Maya and Enzo? They come from Italy too,’ she asked.

  ‘Of course, we are old friends! We meet here every summer.’

  It didn’t take long for Calli to find out that Paolo was a yoga instructor and travelled twice a year, first to Greece, spending three weeks holidaying at the campsite in Ikaria, then to India for longer over the winter, teaching yoga at an ashram in Goa. He chatted easily, sometimes asking questions but mainly volunteering information about himself.

  ‘Yoga is easy to learn if you are already used to Pilates,’ he told her when she informed him that she wasn’t really a follower. ‘I teach you if you like,’ he offered with a smile so charming that she found herself agreeing. The yoga discipline he practised, he began to explain, if possibly with a little too much detail for her liking, was called the panchakosha system which, he said, restores natural health and balance to those who practise it. Calli, surprising herself, sat attentively listening to Paolo explain the benefits of this school of yoga. His deep-set brown eyes and good looks, she realized with some amusement, were of more interest to her than the subject itself, although the idea of regaining her health and balance wasn’t entirely disagreeable. ‘If you had a past trauma or live stressful city life you lose the balance,’ he continued his monologue, edging a little closer to her while he spoke. ‘And this can cause . . . how do you say, many psychosomatic illnesses. But then you see, Calli, yoga wakens the body’s ability to heal itself.’

  Did she see? She was doubtful. Nor did she follow all of Paolo’s explanations, despite the fact that his English when talking about his preferred subject seemed to improve miraculously. Nevertheless, Calli did understand one aspect at least, which was that once again since arriving on this island she was talking to somebody with an alternative lifestyle and view of the world that until now had been unfamiliar to her.

  ‘So, you come tomorrow at dawn for yoga?’ He leaned in a little closer. ‘Or you prefer this evening when moon rise?’ He smiled again, and two intolerably attractive dimples formed on either side of his cheeks making her incapable of saying anything but yes!

  Calli spent the rest of the day interviewing and photographing islanders who had been recommended to her for her story, meanwhile counting the hours until her return to the beach to see Paolo again. She had met Sylvie for a quick coffee before dashing off to meet the owner of a local taverna and his family and took the opportunity to ask her about her new acquaintance.

  ‘He is the best yoga instructor I have ever met,’ Sylvie enthused, ‘and not only that,’ she giggled, ‘he’s pretty hot too, don’t you think?’ Calli, suddenly flustered, picked up her coffee cup and averted her eyes. Yes, she had to admit, Paolo was pretty hot! This Italian man made her heart race and her cheeks flush; he had caught her attention in a way that she had long forgotten. She had agreed wit
h Maya that her face needed more colour, but she had hardly expected to acquire this by meeting a sexy cosmically attuned Italian. She could hardly believe herself. She had never been remotely interested in any of the alternative hippy stuff that she was now meeting in Ikaria – and that, apparently, despite herself, she was starting to enjoy.

  ‘Paolo has offered to teach me some yoga,’ Calli said, looking at Sylvie over the rim of her coffee cup. ‘I’m meeting him on the beach this evening.’

  ‘Lucky you!’ her friend replied with a mischievous smile. ‘What was it we were talking about before . . . Something about the secret of longevity around here?’

  When Calli arrived on the beach Paolo was already there waiting for her; he had just finished his own yoga session and was sitting on a mat laid on the sand, evidently the one he had been using earlier.

  ‘Come, Calli,’ he said kissing her on both cheeks and taking her by the hand, ‘first we take breath . . . fill our lungs with sea air . . . feel the energy.’

  They stood side by side facing the water and as they did, she stole little glances at him. He looked strong, with wide shoulders and slender limbs; his eyes were closed and his arms lifted to the sky as if in prayer. She raised her arms too and as she did, she remembered her plea to Raphael the night before. Could it be that her guardian angel had something to do with sending this fabulous man to her so swiftly? She closed her eyes, smiled to herself, dismissing the thought, and silently thanked the angels and the moon for this moment of peaceful bliss, whatever it might be.

  ‘The physical, the mental and the soul are all believed by many spiritual traditions to be part of our true selves,’ Paolo began to explain again as she lay on the mat while he knelt beside her. ‘The ancient Greeks called this the soma, psyche and nous – maybe you know this, Calli, as these are Greek words?’ But Calli was oblivious; all she knew or was conscious of at that moment was his hand on the small of her back.

  It didn’t take long for Paolo to recognize the effect that he was having on Calli. It was hard for her to hide it. She hadn’t been exactly blatant, she thought with a slight sense of embarrassment back in her hotel room later that night, but she hadn’t been too subtle about it either. But she was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake. She was free. She had no need to justify her actions. She could do anything she wanted. Above all, she told herself, it was time she felt the surge of sexual desire run through her veins – she had been too long without it. If sex was one of the secrets of longevity, then she wanted plenty of it. She wanted to live again, and she intended to do that for a good while yet.

  She’d had plenty of boyfriends when she was younger but it had been a while since then, she’d been with James so long she had forgotten the thrill of a new romance. Besides, Paolo was no ‘boy’, he was very much a man. He was forty-two, he told her, and although he had never married, he had a seven-year-old daughter called Anna, with a woman who was now one of his best friends.

  ‘Serena and I lived together for three years after the baby was born,’ he said later that evening as they sat under the vine with the circle of friends during their usual dinner at the taverna. ‘Then we realized we want different things: I want to go to India, she wants to be in Milan; I want to teach yoga, she wants to paint . . . It is better to be free – now it is good for all of us.’

  Calli sat silently absorbing this information from him as alarm bells began to ring in her head. How is that good? a voice in her head nagged. What of the child? How is that good for her without her father? Is Paolo another irresponsible quitter?

  ‘Well, yes, freedom is good, but it also has its price,’ Calli suddenly heard Maya interrupt as if she had read her mind. ‘I know that you and Serena do the best for your girl, my friend, but there are many who don’t, and there is always a cost.’

  Paolo sat back in his chair, and before replying he gave Maya a long lingering look. ‘I think you of all people, as Anna’s godmother and my good friend, must know very well that my daughter always comes first.’

  ‘Yes,’ the older woman retorted with a smile, ‘I do know that, but then I believe you are something of an exception, my friend.’

  Calli, watching them, wondered if perhaps Maya’s little sermon had been for her benefit. Had she sensed Calli’s attraction to Paolo and wanted to make a point of emphasizing that Paolo was a good man? She wouldn’t have been surprised if that was true. The woman seemed to sense so much else about her, she was a regular little sorceress – so why not this? Her mother always boasted that she could predict the future in dreams and in the coffee cup, but Maya was something else. Her name alone, Calli suddenly realized, sounded like the Greek word for magic. This new friend of hers, she thought with wry amusement, was like a modern-day Circe, goddess of magic, the daughter of the mighty Titan Helios.

  ‘Drink up, everyone!’ someone suddenly called out and stood up. ‘A toast to the moon!’ he cheered, lifting his glass.

  ‘And to love!’ a voice from the other end of the table added. And they all raised their glasses in agreement, eager to continue with the previous night’s festivities, putting an end to the conversation which was beginning to become a little too sombre for the occasion. More wine was brought to the table, after which Kyrios Tassos, the owner of the taverna, appeared from the kitchen carrying a guitar in one hand and a bottle of raki in the other. Not long after he was followed by his son-in-law, who had an accordion slung over his left shoulder and was dragging a couple of chairs to the table.

  ‘Time for song,’ the old man shouted, and sat down.

  ‘We are all in for a treat.’ Sylvie clapped her hands, shifting to make space for the two men.

  As soon as the music and singing began, a sweet wave of nostalgia washed over Calli, bringing to mind warm Cretan evenings under the stars in her grandparents’ garden. Aunts and uncles, cousins and neighbours, all eating, drinking, singing and dancing. There had been countless memorable nights like that during her summer visits to her beloved grandmother’s house. Children playing hide and seek with a myriad of places to hide, women diving in and out of the kitchen with plates of food while the men, when enough raki had been consumed, would bring out the musical instruments and the assembled company would sit down and start to sing – the Cretan harp, she remembered, had been her brother’s favourite. The little boy was capable of sitting transfixed, listening to his uncle play for hours; later, when he was older, he tried to learn it.

  Eleni would take the children to stay at her mother’s house for the entire summer. Sometimes Calli and her brother would be sent on ahead while Keith would join them later with Eleni and stay for as long as his work permitted. Calli remembered her excitement as the summer holidays approached, knowing she would be spending carefree weeks in the sun and sea and have her every whim granted by her yiayia. In the absence of Keith’s mother, who had died before she was born, the little girl adored her Greek grandmother, so much so that when she died Calli refused to go back to Crete for years, much to Eleni’s despair.

  ‘What about your bappou and Thia Froso?’ she pleaded. ‘They want to see you.’ The old man and her sister were still living in the family house, but Calli couldn’t imagine the house or the village without her yiayia. She loved her grandfather well enough and her thia Froso was nice, if a little overbearing. In fact, the sadness of losing her yiayia followed Calli through to adulthood and she maintained a warm affection for old ladies, always looking for a grandmother substitute.

  ‘You can share my grandma if you want,’ Josie had offered when they first met at school, sealing their friendship for life. Josie’s Jamaican family seemed not unlike Calli’s own Cretan relatives, and her friend’s grandmother ran the household and looked after Josie and her siblings in a familiar way. There were plenty of similarities in the generous meals, love, laughter and the old women’s ample size.

  That balmy Ikarian night brought Calli’s childhood memories flooding back, and when Kyria Erini finally freed herself from her kitchen duties and joined t
hem, she fancied that one of her older relatives could be sitting across the table from her. A plump, lively and mischievous-looking woman, she sat as close to her husband as she could, their knees touching as she joined in the singing with as much kefi – zest – as the two men. ‘We eat well, we sleep well, and we love well here,’ she had told Calli with a wink earlier that day when she interviewed her. This woman had many characteristics that were reminiscent of the women in Crete, Calli thought, especially her easy way of exploding into laughter, making the younger woman all the more nostalgic. Perhaps it was time to pay them a visit – it had been a long time since she had last visited her relatives there. Her grandfather was long gone but her thia Froso was still living on her own in the old house. She felt a pang of guilt when she thought of her aunt – a kind woman who had shown far more love towards her than she had ever reciprocated. Ikaria wasn’t so far from Crete. She could easily pop over once she had finished her assignment, perhaps persuade her mum to join her. They could make the return journey to the island together. Mother and daughter both deserved a break.

  There was much genial bonhomie at the taverna that night; the group seemed to linger on even longer than usual, reluctant to break the spell, until the musicians at last decided it was time for them all to head for their beds.

  ‘Shall we take a walk on the beach?’ Paolo asked Calli, reaching for her hand as they stepped onto the road. The silver moon played on the water, and high up in the sky Mars glowed like an orange beacon of light.

  ‘Do you remember ever seeing Mars so clear and so bright?’ he asked, slipping his arm around her waist as they walked along the shore.

  9

  The attraction between them was electric. They strolled along the shore holding hands, talking and laughing and sat until late under the night sky. Calli felt like a young girl again, the pain and heartache that had been weighing so heavily on her for so many months seemed to wash away, cleansing her like waves over a rock.