by Dillon, Paul
Elena laid her hand on his arm; Ben still gripped the steering wheel.
The road was deserted except for the occasional passing car. Tall trees bordered the lot, sheltering the Jeep from the merciless sun. The woods were alive with cicadas, their noise so loud as to make conversation difficult.
Had he heard correctly, did she really just tell him she was going home?
A flurry of emotions surfaced as he struggled for a response. His disappointment was hard to conceal—she must have noticed it. The rational Ben argued: two days isn’t enough time to become emotionally attached. A twinge of heartache was all he needed to bear. It was a good thing, then, to say goodbye as soon as possible.
When he spoke, the words seemed to come automatically; he didn’t consciously make a decision; the outcome was inevitable—he had no say in the matter.
“I don’t care about Zante, it’s just another island; it can’t be any better than this. Those guys are flying out in two days; I’m not missing out on anything. I’d rather spend the time with you.”
“I just want to be honest with you,” she said.
“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away from you,” he bent over and kissed her. Moved by his words, she responded.
The screeching insect cacophony melted away as a car horn blared, abrupt and insolent. It blasted again then again, keeping time with shouts and cheers. Ben tore himself from Elena’s embrace to watch a blue sedan, packed with teenagers, speeding away. She pulled down her skirt, brushing Ben’s hand away, hauling him out of his delirium.
Chapter 31
Elena sat at a large oak table under the shade of a cluster of pines. She rocked an empty coffee cup back and forth in its saucer and contemplated tomorrow’s excursion. Earlier, over breakfast, Sophia had invited her to visit the studios of two artists. Elena looked forward to seeing more of the island. Sophia’s description of Fiskardo and the scenic coast road painted a vivid picture.
A pale, scrawny cat stretched out, sunning itself, on the steps by the iron gates at the back of the house. The cat sidled away as Nicia appeared carrying a tray of coffee and pastries.
“Where were we?” asked Nicia as she sat opposite her niece.
“You were trapped under the floor of Uncle Andreas’s store and you’d just found the seagull,” said Elena.
“Ah, the seagull, I held on to that bird all through the ordeal and wouldn’t let go, even after the rescue.”
“What happened after they pulled you out?”
“We waited in the garden for my father to return. You can only imagine our shock when he arrived carrying Ioannis but without Stamos. Mother never recovered from losing Stamos; none of us did, especially Ioannis.”
“What were my dad and Stamos like as children?”
“Your father idolized Stamos. It was always, Stamos this, Stamos that. And Stamos was very protective of him.”
“I’ve never experienced loss, it’s hard for me to imagine.” Elena noticed tears forming in her aunt’s eyes and changed the subject. “So, if all the buildings were destroyed, where did you stay?”
“I remember the first night like it was only yesterday. We went down to the harbor with everyone else. Fortunately, it was the middle of summer, so sleeping outside was bearable. We had casualties; all our neighbors did. The only option was to wait at the port until help arrived. I didn’t sleep that night, the ground wouldn’t stop shaking,” Nicia sighed. “The first rescue ship arrived early in the morning, just after dawn. I’ll never forget it, a British Navy vessel, the HMS Daring. The whole town assembled on the quayside, waiting silently for the crew to come ashore; it was quite surreal. Some of the wealthy families approached the captain first, trying to buy passage off the island. Thankfully, he refused to negotiate; his first priority was helping the injured.”
“Did my dad get help there?” Every time Elena thought of her father as a boy, she brought to mind the sole photograph from his days on the island.
“Yes, and your Grandmother too; it was such a terrible time. You have to remember, there wasn’t any drinking water. Everywhere you could hear people calling out for water. It was like a vision of hell.”
“What about water for the injured? Did they get priority?”
“We bathed their wounds in seawater. I remember your grandfather bringing buckets from the bay to wash mother’s leg. Early the next morning, at around eight, more ships arrived from the Israeli Navy. We were fortunate—they were in the area on a training exercise,” Nicia paused. “The Israelis started ferrying the injured to Patras, on the mainland. Andreas’s mother left on one of those ships. Andreas and Larissa stayed with us. The British gave us food and water—I’ll never forget the freshly baked bread they handed out every morning. Anyway, the medics patched up mother’s leg and made a crutch for your poor father, he was hobbling around everywhere. After the British and Israeli ships landed, a huge American cruiser arrived. It was too big to dock in the harbor and stayed out in the middle of the bay. All the ships dispensed provisions and the Red Cross dropped supplies from the air.”
“And you still had the seagull. What happened to it?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Nicia poured herself more coffee. “We ended up living on the farm in one of the big black tents handed out by the sailors. I woke up one morning and the seagull was gone. I was heartbroken that it had left me.”
Elena tried to picture the young Nicia, searching the fields for the bird.
Nicia continued, “Father told me it got better and flew back to its family. I heard mother talking about it years later, she said the bird had died and father buried it before I found out.”
“Do you remember its name?” Andreas leaned against a pine tree.
“Morning,” said Elena. She hadn’t noticed her uncle arrive.
Andreas sat next to his wife.
“Do I remember its name? Of course,” said Nicia.
“No. Does Elena remember? Her father told her the story often enough,” said Andreas.
“Tutankhamen,” Elena smiled.
“The days following the earthquake were the saddest of my life,” said Andreas. “I still remember the beauty of old Argostoli, the majestic bell towers, the elegant mansions with jasmine cascading down from the balconies, its scent filling the air. It hurt so much, seeing our town turned to rubble.”
The pale cat slunk back to his sunspot, stretching out his front legs with a yawn.
“Ioannis didn’t speak for days, we were worried sick,” said Nicia.
“He didn’t start talking again until he was able to walk without the crutches,” said Andreas. “But he wasn’t quite the same boy. I never heard him mention Stamos again. The young Yanni disappeared along with his brother that summer. I think your grandfather hoped I might become a surrogate brother, but then we got separated.”
“How did that happen?” Elena asked.
“The economy of the island was ruined,” answered Andreas. “There was no work. Eventually, everyone left on the ships bound for the refugee camps in Patras. One hundred thousand out of a total population of one hundred and twenty-five thousand; most ended up in Athens. My mother didn’t survive. Larissa and I went to live in Athens with my uncle. We were lucky; things worked out well for us.”
Nicia brushed an insect off her husband’s shirt and picked up the story. “My father wanted to take Andreas and Larissa to America but getting the paperwork proved impossible. Nobody wanted to take responsibility for tens of thousands of refugees.”
“You ended up in Boston because of grandfather’s brother, didn’t you?” asked Elena.
“That’s right,” said Nicia. “My father’s younger brother—his name was Stamos too—made his way to America after the war. He sponsored us through one of the relief agencies.”
“I hardly remember him,” said Elena. “He died when I was little.”
“Uncle Stamos was a hardworking man; by the time we arrived in the States, he’d built the bakery into a thriving business and was
able to offer father work.”
Elena rocked backed on her chair and caught sight of the large ferryboat crossing the channel to Lixouri. She imagined the scene in the bay, fifty-six years ago to the day.
“Where was the big American cruiser anchored?” she asked.
Andreas pointed to a spot, over by the lighthouse. “That was the USS Salem, but we didn’t leave on that ship.”
“We had to wait for the Greek Navy to arrive,” said Nicia. “It took them nearly two weeks to get here. Father wouldn’t let Andreas and Larissa look for their mother alone, so we all left on a Greek ship bound for Patras. Father planned to return … he didn’t know, at the time, that he’d never come back.”
“For a while, we lived in a refugee building, a school in Patras. We hated that place; it was hot, crowded, and there was no privacy,” said Andreas. “We found Mother at the nearby hospital. She managed to get word to her brother who came to collect us. Mother died a few weeks later.”
Elena had no words of consolation to offer. There was so much tragedy. She let the couple continue reminiscing. Each took their turn with a snapshot of memory; this time Nicia. “I wanted to go back to Argostoli, but the authorities wouldn’t let the evacuees return. That’s when we contacted the relief agencies; they got word to Uncle Stamos in Boston.”
“Larissa and I left for Athens two months before Nicia sailed for the States,” said Andreas.
“Yes, we traveled from Patras and boarded the big liner at Athens. We had an address for Andreas, so we were able to contact him.”
“Larissa and I were there to wave you off to the new world.”
The old couple smiled; a lifetime of shared memories brought a tear to Nicia’s eye. “For me, it was very sad, I didn’t want to go to America, I missed Andreas. At the port terminal, he promised to find his way to America and bring me back home.”
“That’s just unbelievable,” said Elena. “It’s the most beautiful thing I can imagine. Hold on, I have to take a picture.”
She pulled the camera out of her bag, taking a couple of snaps of her aunt and uncle.
“Back then things were different, so different than how you grew up in America,” said Andreas. “We didn’t have arranged marriages or anything like that but our families were close; we just knew.”
“I knew,” said Nicia. “I knew one day Andreas would come, when the time was right, and he did.” She placed her on her husband’s arm.
“Nicia had my address in Athens. Once the family got settled in Boston, she wrote and we kept in touch. My uncle’s business expanded and I worked my way up. I was fortunate to have the resources to travel to the States a few times and visit Nicia. When she turned twenty-one, I asked her father for her hand and we returned to Athens. Then my Uncle died, I took over the company, ran it from Athens for a couple of years until we moved back to Argostoli.”
“We raised our children in this house,” Nicia said.
Elena glimpsed life’s purpose in the contented faces of her aunt and uncle. She shivered at the beauty of the moment, and yet, a touch of sorrow crossed her heart. Two white butterflies flew out of the orchard, capturing her attention. They disappeared in the pine branches only to reappear, circling the breakfast table above her head. Spiraling around each other, the delicate creatures drifted towards the house, over the flowering vines that blossomed on the courtyard wall, their wings touching, gently kissing in a timeless ritual dance.
Chapter 32
Ben’s Jeep pulled into the driveway outside Nicia’s villa. The mid-afternoon sun had dropped behind the house, leaving the forecourt in shade.
“What time should I pick you up?” asked Ben.
“Seven. It’s only a few minutes to the lighthouse from here,” replied Elena.
“Seven it is.”
She opened the door, swinging her legs out of the car. Ben grabbed her hand.
“You won’t change your mind when you call Boston?”
“No. Sunset and dinner, come what may.”
She kissed his cheek and stepped down, striding towards the house without looking back.
Weary, Elena went directly to her bedroom and opened the veranda doors; sunlight streamed into the room. She read Greg’s message one more time before texting a reply.
‘Hey sleepy head you must be up by now call me’.
She hit send and closed her eyes.
If he’s awake, he’ll ring straight back.
The handset rang within a minute.
“That was quick,” she answered.
“Yeah, I tried to get hold of you earlier.” Greg’s tone was friendly, yet insistent.
“Sorry, I couldn’t talk this morning; Aunt Nicia had just made breakfast. By the time we’d finished, I figured you’d be asleep. It wasn’t urgent was it?”
“Well sort of. It’s got to the point where I’m done waiting, so I came to a decision.”
“What decision?” Elena looked over the orchard to the bench at the edge of the bay, sparking memories of the night before.
“I’m going to fly out there. We can spend some time together,” he continued. “I could use a break.”
His determination reassured, yet disturbed her.
“I said I’d let you know in a few days.”
“I can’t wait any longer—it’s killing me. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“You’re crazy; you can’t just come out here. What about your clients?”
“Just watch me. Here’s the deal; either you tell me that you met someone else or I book you on the first flight home. If you say there’s no one else, then I’m coming out to bring you back.” His tone struck a balance between calling-the-shots and concerned lover. “So what’s it going to be?”
Elena was impressed; Ben would never say anything like that. She kept silent for as long as comfort allowed, letting him sweat. She pictured him standing in the kitchen of his big house, phone against his ear, dreading to learn of a rival.
“I haven’t met anyone. What are you thinking?” Elena spoke with as much indignation as she could muster.
“I’m sorry. I’m not accusing you but…” A moment’s silence followed. “Listen, I know this isn’t the time or the place, but I think we should get married.”
“Are you serious?” Elena didn’t doubt that he was.
“Yeah, I mean—you don’t have to decide now. I’ll ask you formally when you come back, but, hell yeah, I’m serious.”
Even though Elena realized how much Greg loved her, she was genuinely surprised. Her first thought was to break the news to Sophia, to Nicia, to anyone who would listen.
“Greg, I don’t know what to say … let’s talk after I get back. I was about to tell you I’d decided to go back.”
“Amen to that … when?”
“Anytime you like, just book the ticket. I’ll leave it all up to you.”
This was the moment when Elena resigned herself to leave Kefalonia.
“All right, you got it!”
Elena didn’t feel elated, only relief in finally reaching a decision.
“Greg, I’m tired, we walked all over town today. I’m going to take a nap. Would you mind?”
“No, you go right ahead. Get some rest, I’ll send the flight details later. Bye, I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
She hung up, not even caring that a return ticket sat on the table beside her.
He can buy another. I don’t care anymore. I want this to be over.
Elena lay down on the bed. A slight breeze blew from the bay bringing the scents and sounds of the garden into the room; she fell into a deep therapeutic sleep.
***
Somewhere close by, a phone rang, startling her. Elena desperately wanted the ringing to stop; the shrill, unnatural sound disturbed everything around her. She was with Ben in a meadow; the air teemed with the richness of summer. A line of tall trees bordered the pasture, which stretched into the distance, tapering to a point on the horizon. Ben’s hand tugged he
rs and she crouched beside him in the long grass. Their eyes met, level with the wildflowers, making the meadow appear to stretch on forever.
“If you listen,” said Ben. “You can hear the grass … the flowers growing.”
Bees hovered everywhere, attracted by the festival of color. Elena listened until the drone of insects faded into oblivion. Pollen grains, at first unnoticed, danced before her eyes. For an instant, she became one with the life around her, feeling indescribable joy. The phone rang again, making the insects rise in unison, a few inches above the meadow. There they floated, momentarily, only to drift back down. She wanted to keep listening to the flowers but the phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
Elena opened her eyes. She longed to return to the meadow and recapture her moment of elation.
Deflated, she picked up the handset. Greg’s number topped the recent call list, a message notification flashed. She dialed the service.
“First new message, received at four thirty-five pm on August twenty-second, two thousand and nine, from 617…”
“Get on with it!” she yelled. “Stupid cyber voice.”
“Hi, it’s all taken care of. You fly out Wednesday via London, to Logan. You get in at 6:50am. I’ll pick you up at the airport. Talk to you later. I’ll email the tickets.”
Dates and times made going home real. Elena chose to remember her dream; reality came with a touch of sadness.
The phone rang again.
“Dammit.” She found herself yelling once more.
Sophia’s caller ID lit the screen.
“Hi.” Elena switched to a friendly voice.
“Where are you?” asked Sophia.
“At home, I fell asleep.”
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No, I spoke to Greg, it’s all settled. He’s booked my flight.”
“Oh … great,” Sophia didn’t sound too pleased.
“Listen, I’m still half asleep. I’ll tell you about it later. What time will you be back? Ben’s picking me up at seven.”
“I’ll be back by then.”
