The Magic In The Receiver

by Dillon, Paul

  “Well, I'm doing something now. I'm enjoying life,” he said. “I'm enjoying the act of existing.”

  “How Zen-like.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Actually, that’s why I bought this book. Isn’t the Ten Thousand Things a Zen or Tao expression for the way everything in the universe is interconnected?”

  “Something like that; is that what interests you?” he asked.

  “You could say that. I’m kind of in my Zen-karma phase. I get the impression you think the same way.”

  Reluctant to continue the topic, Ben didn’t answer.

  “I’m interested in what you think. I want to be able to,” she paused, “just enjoy existing too.”

  He searched for a hint of mockery in her remark but detected none.

  “I don’t know much about Zen or karma, so it’s hard to say. From what I’ve read, Zen is, like, gaining knowledge or coming to some realization from within—maybe without a doctrine—I’m okay with that. Karma … well, I flat out don’t get karma so can’t help on that one.”

  “So what do you believe in, then?”

  “Zen can’t be taught, my child,” he teased.

  “No seriously, I believe we met for a reason; I think you’ve been put here to help me.”

  “Well, I’m enjoying the task.” He smiled. “But there is no one-minute explanation. Even if I talked for an hour, I doubt I could answer your question.”

  “I have vays of making you tock.”

  “You certainly do.”

  The conversation faded; Elena went back to her book.

  While she read, Ben walked around the garden. He paused in front of the sundial, examining its design. A rough-hewn stone, three feet square formed its base. On top of the base, sat another slab; rose-hued, cracked, and etched with markings. A bronze triangle, fashioned into an indicator, cast its shadow on the weathered marble below.

  In the corner of his eye, he caught Elena waving her hand in the air, chasing off a troublesome insect.

  As he walked back to the bench, he thought it time to find out more about her, about her plans.

  “How long are you going to stay on the island?” he asked.

  She stopped reading and looked up. “I’m not sure.”

  “Don’t you have to get back to Boston?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “I guess I need to make decisions too. After today, the yacht moves on to Zante,” he paused. “What if I wanted to keep seeing you?”

  She let the book rest on her thigh.

  “And how long might that be for?”

  “I can stay as long as I like, I don’t work, remember?”

  “What about your friends? I don’t want to get in the way.”

  “I’m more interested in you. Will you stay with me again tonight? I’ll get a room in Argostoli.”

  “I can’t. I don’t want to have to explain to Sophia or Aunt Nicia why I’m not going to sleep at the house.”

  Her words disappointed him even though he’d expected such.

  “Well, we could have dinner at my aunt’s villa. I’d like you to meet her. How about tonight?”

  If he accepted her invitation, he wouldn’t be able to spend the evening with his friends, which would be awkward. A dreadful thought crossed his mind; now might be his last chance to make love to her. He would have to try again, later in the room.

  “Yeah, I’d like to have dinner at your Aunt’s. I remember you told me about the courtyard. Will it be okay, do they speak English?”

  “Yes, they all do. Aunt Nicia spent ten years in the States. She’s such a sweet lady; she’s part of the reason I’m still here. I’ll call and let them know. I’m so excited.”

  She reached into her bag, pulled out the phone and walked over by the pines.

  Deciding not wait, Ben started back to the hotel.

  “I’ll see you in the room,” he said.

  Elena raised her hand then nodded.

  ***

  Being alone gave Elena the chance to leave a message for Greg; there might not be another opportunity later. She didn’t want to talk, just keep her promise to call. Greg usually turned his mobile off at night; it wasn’t yet dawn in Boston. She dialed the number, hoping not to hear his voice. The phone rang, for what seemed like an age, until a recording finally answered.

  “Hi Greg, sorry it’s so early but I promised to get back to you. I’m going out for the day with Sophia. I don’t think I’ll get chance to ring again so voicemail’s all you get. I’ll try you again tomorrow.”

  Next, she dialed Sophia’s number, her cousin answered immediately.

  “Hi Sophia, are you at work?”

  Suddenly Elena shrieked.

  A huge black flying insect landed on her shoulder. She panicked, flicking it off. The insect pressed its attack, dive-bombing her head; she flailed her arms frantically in a desperate bid to keep it at bay. In the commotion, her phone fell to the grass.

  Overcoming the creature left her flustered and she stood, watching its retreat, until it disappeared into the cypresses. In the midst of her fright, she was surprised to have imagined Ben, amusing himself at her antics from the room.

  Recovering her poise, she bent down and picked up the phone, plucking a tiny buttercup in the same movement.

  “Sorry—no, no, I’m okay. I just got attacked by a giant black bee or something.”

  She looked up to the balcony, Ben was nowhere in sight.

  ***

  Ben lay on the bed. Memories from the night before filled his mind. He closed his eyes, bringing back a vision of Elena, semi-naked in the candlelight. Surprised by the power of his lust, he prayed she wouldn’t be long.

  Lust; wasn't it the first stage of love? Love; wasn’t that a mystery well on its way to being solved? thought Ben.

  His musings led him to recall Clotilde’s conversation over dinner at Spiro’s and he searched for oxytocin on his phone. It didn’t take him long to skim through the first few articles and there it all was; the three stages of love.

  Lust, he read. Testosterone and estrogen…

  Then an attraction phase with adrenaline, dopamine and serotonin. Finally, attachment and oxytocin. Eric was right, mothers produce the hormone in childbirth and so do both sexes during orgasm.

  Whatever the names of the chemicals, he’d once produced them by the bucket load for Maria, and that concerned him. Like an addict daring to test his resilience, he would experiment and felt powerless to do otherwise.

  ***

  Elena had no key; she would have to knock. It was hard keeping his mind off her. For the umpteenth time, he calculated the minutes before they must leave. Eric had told him to be at the boat before one; they had over an hour. Now would be a good time to freshen up, the knock would come at any moment.

  He emerged from the bathroom, anxious, impatient, even reckless, and gulped down a glass of water.

  This isn’t like dating, he reasoned. Today might be the last time I see her. Even if I don’t go to Zante, surely I’ll have only one or two days more.

  Walking out on to the balcony, he checked the garden. She was not there. The reading chair stood back from the table, bringing back the memory of her legs.

  The knock finally came, ending his frustration. He opened the door, letting her walk into his arms.

  “I missed you, already,” he said.

  She snuggled up to him, raising his hopes.

  “Everything’s set. Dinner’s at ten; Sophia will bring her boyfriend. Aunt Nicia will cook for us. It’ll be such fun.”

  She broke away, his hand held her arm, only letting go when it reached full stretch. She stood between the two beds.

  “I have nothing to pack. When are we leaving?” she asked.

  “We have plenty of time.”

  She pointed at a carrier bag by the veranda door.

  “I’ll put my laundry in there.”

  Her olive dress lay stretched out on the spare bed. She lifted it up, exposing the black linge
rie underneath.

  “I’ll get it.” Ben picked up the bag, holding its string handles as she dropped the clothes inside; the lacy underwear landed on top.

  Elena moved to brush past; Ben reached across, dropping the carrier on the bed, forcing her to walk into his arms. He put his hands on her hips. “I might not see you again, after today,” he said, feigning a childish tone.

  “Ah, poor Ben,” she sighed.

  She looked up at him; her head tilted back, wearing the look from the night before. Their eyes remained locked together as Ben lifted the hem of her T-shirt above her waist. She raised her arms over her head and in a flowing movement, the white shirt lay strewn across the duvet. He undid the straps of her bikini; this time she didn’t resist. He pushed her gently down on to the bed.

  Ben caught a glance from the eyes of Hedy Lamarr, watching him through ruffles of white cotton as he followed Elena down.

  Chapter 21

  Ben and Elena lay entangled together, drenched with sweat. The room was hot. He didn’t move; maybe he would never move again and lie there, forever, wrapped around her wet body.

  He wasn’t sure how long they’d been making love. In the depths of his passion, time ceased to flow; making love to Elena became his only reason to exist.

  “That was incredible,” he said.

  “I know. I love doing it like that,” she whispered.

  His phone beeped with a message, Elena wriggled free.

  “I’ll have to take another shower,” she said. “You’ve made me all sweaty, you hog.”

  “Actually, it was the other way round.”

  She whacked him on the arm, gathered up her bikini and slunk off to the bathroom.

  The text was from Eric. “Don’t forget we leave at one.”

  “Hey Elena, we’re running late,” he shouted.

  “That’s your fault.”

  Ben typed a reply.

  ‘I thought you said one thirty be there soon.’

  A tangle of thoughts circled his head as he threw clothes into the suitcase. Plenty had happened in the last twenty-four hours, yet it seemed only moments since he’d opened his eyes and stared at the bands of sunlight through the veranda doors. He dropped the lid down, checking it would close, and stepped out to the balcony for one last look at his garden.

  Elena came out of the shower clad in her bikini. He caught a glimpse of her in the corner of his eye and went back inside the room.

  “Don’t you dare touch me, you’re still sweaty,” she said, preempting any attempt to grab her.

  He made his hands like claws and chased her, screaming, back into the bathroom. She stood against the sink, arms outstretched. “Get away!”

  His frivolity jostled with a desire to have her again as she cowered in front of him. He got in the shower, letting her escape.

  By the time he stepped out of the bathroom, Elena was dressed and reading on the patio.

  “I’m clean now, can I grab you?”

  “That’s way enough grabbing for one day.”

  “Have you got everything? I think we’re ready.” He threw his toiletry bag in the suitcase and zipped the lid shut.

  Only the green carrier remained; Elena plucked it off the bed and followed Ben as he wheeled his case towards the door.

  “It’s a pity to leave the flowers. Spiro will have to come and reclaim his champagne bucket,” she said.

  “The maid can have them.” Ben took a twenty-euro bill from his wallet. “Here, slide that under the bucket.”

  After one last sweep of the room, they left.

  Ben’s dash along the corridor left Elena struggling to keep up. He arrived at reception before she’d descended the stairs.

  Two small boys played chase around a set of matching blue suitcases in front of the registration counter. The children grew increasingly noisy as they waited for their father to check in.

  “Carlo. Pazientare!” The mother grabbed the older child by the arm, lifting him off the ground.

  Ben reached for his phone, checking the time. He would not make it to the boat by one-thirty.

  Elena sensed his impatience. “Hey, it’s Greece; fifteen minutes late, an hour, no worries.”

  “No kidding. What’s mañana in Greek.”

  Carlo’s little brother tripped and crashed into Ben’s legs. Carlo stood still, feigning innocence, hoping to avoid another tongue-lashing. The father took no notice, leaving the mother to pick up the fallen boy and drag him across the floor next to her husband. She turned to Ben.

  “I apologize. The boys are tired.”

  The woman’s English was impeccable though Ben detected no sincerity in her voice.

  “No problem,” said Ben. He touched Elena’s arm. “Hey, there’s a diving board at the back of the yacht. I’m looking forward to the beach; it should be fun.” He spoke to keep his mind off the delay rather than to initiate conversation.

  After what seemed an eternity, the receptionist handed over a room key. Ben wheeled his small case past the pile of blue luggage as the girl behind the counter wished the Italians a pleasant stay.

  Ben had prepaid his room. There were no additional charges. Two minutes later, he and Elena traded the cool of the lobby for the stifling August heat and started back to the boat.

  “Is it far? I can’t remember how we got here last night.” Elena flipped on her sunglasses.

  “It’s a three-minute walk.”

  Once out of the hotel, Ben relaxed, slowing his pace to match hers. They soon entered the narrow side street with the leather goods store.

  “You don’t even remember looking at the handbags over there; were you drunk?” he asked.

  “I’m just messing with you,” she replied.

  A minute later, they emerged from the alley onto the harbor front. The sight of sparkling blue water reinvigorated Ben.

  Eric and Sean stood on the jetty, by the boat. The engines hummed gently as they stepped aboard.

  “Hey, sorry we’re late,” said Ben. “We were reading in the hotel garden—lost track of time.”

  “Sure you were,” said Eric. “Sean, do you want to get the line and we can cast off?”

  Sean untied the rope then jumped on board; Eric started the winch motor, hauling up the gangplank.

  “Give me your bags, I’ll stow them,” said Eric. He reappeared a minute later. Ben and Elena followed him up to the flybridge cockpit as Sean went aft, looking out over the guardrail from where he signaled the all clear.

  The Lamia IV eased into the harbor, gradually picking up speed as it found open water. Soon they reached the middle of the bay. Turning starboard, Eric opened up the throttle and the powerful craft surged forward with a judder.

  “We’ll have to go back there one day,” said Ben. He held Elena’s arm and pointed to Spiro’s taverna.

  The pastel colored buildings receded as the yacht headed southwest out of the harbor and into the channel separating Kefalonia from Ithaca. Elena looked to the hills in the west, searching for Dimi’s villa. She imagined him, at the cliff edge, smoking a cigarette and leaning on the balcony, thinking about her, wondering if she’d ever return. So much had changed since arriving in Kefalonia anything seemed possible. As the boat rounded the headland and turned north, the velvet couch flashed into her thoughts.

  “What are those?” asked Ben.

  “Lighthouses,” replied Eric. “Closest to shore is the old lighthouse. According to the guidebook, the Venetians built it.”

  Now little more than a ruin, Ben thought the circular beacon looked sad without its cupola. Further up the hill, a much taller, square tower stood about fifty feet high.

  “The other one is nineteenth century,” Eric continued.

  Above the rocky shore, small pines stunted by sea winds surrounded the towers.

  Some twenty minutes later, the yacht reached the tip of the peninsula at the most northerly point of the island and steered a course south along the wild and rugged western coast.

  Ben turned to his
friend. “What’s the top speed?”

  “Twenty-five knots.”

  “Where are we going, again?” asked Elena.

  “Assos,” replied Eric. “It’s a small village in a sheltered bay about five nautical miles from here. We’ll anchor there and have lunch; maybe take a dip.”

  “Assos is where the Venetian castle is, right?” asked Ben.

  “Yeah, but it’s quite a hike, especially in this heat.”

  At a half mile out to sea, the air became cool and pleasant. Ben rested his hand on Elena’s; they fell silent, awed by the majesty of the mountainous coastline. She looked up at the cliffs, soaring hundreds of feet above and thought about yesterday’s drive with Sophia, the hairpin bends, the precipice below. How strange that she should return to Argostoli on the same turquoise water she had admired from on high.

  Down on the aft deck, the two wives basked in their swimsuits on the sun-lounge. Elena looked around for Clotilde, wondering what costume the model would wear today.

  Attracted by a deserted cove, Eric steered the boat towards the shore and slowed to a crawl.

  “The coastline is certainly spectacular,” said Ben.

  “You got that right,” said Eric. “I’m always on the lookout for the perfect hidden beach. Did I tell you about the one in Corfu?”

  “I’m jealous already,” said Elena.

  “We found this really small bay, too shallow for the boat. The entrance was so narrow it almost formed a lagoon. We anchored close and swam to the shore. The water was only waist deep, with a temperature like a warm bath. We hung out there for hours, didn’t want to leave. It was one of those magical, unexpected places you always hope to find on an island cruise.”

  “Sorry I missed out,” said Ben.

  “Yeah, you’d have loved it. The cove was sheltered with pines; it was like our own private beach. Oh, and then Alan found this taverna along a dirt path through the trees. There was like nothing for miles around, no tourists, just a taverna. I had the most amazing shrimp dish, just plain, freshly caught shrimp cooked in olive oil, garlic, lemon…”

  “Knock it off, you’re making me hungry. I want that exact same shrimp dish, right now,” said Elena.