The Magic In The Receiver

by Dillon, Paul

“Okay, see you later, bye.”

  Elena hung up.

  Ben’s picking me up at seven. The words echoed inside her head. What am I going to do about Ben?

  Still drowsy, she went out to the veranda.

  The view over the olive grove will help me think.

  Sat at her favorite reading spot, she picked up her book, flipping through the remaining pages.

  About a half hour to finish.

  The late afternoon sun inched towards the Pali Peninsula as the story drew to its conclusion. Outside, summer sounds cascaded over the rich imagery of the prose; together they formed an indelible impression. One passage evoked her dream and she felt again that fleeting moment of bliss, which had vanished at her touch.

  The orchard, the vines in the garden, the insects, Kefalonia; these things were becoming part of her.

  She laid the book on her lap and reached for the bottle of water under her chair. Elena took a long drink, reflecting on what she’d just read. She longed to discuss it with someone.

  Not Greg, she thought. He would never read such a book. Back in Boston, neither would I.

  Tonight, she’d talk with Ben. After all, she thought. We met for a reason…

  Sophia’s voice drifted up from the courtyard. Elena rose, looked over the balcony, and called down.

  Their voices brought Aunt Nicia out from the kitchen. “Come outside, we’re having drinks,” she said.

  “I’ll be right there.” Elena grabbed her bag and hurried down to join Nicia and Sophia under the shady pergola. A carafe of chilled white wine sat on a tray.

  “Where’s Uncle Andreas?” asked Elena.

  “In town. He’ll be back for dinner,” said Nicia. “Will you be joining us?”

  “I’d love to but I promised Ben we’d watch the sunset at the lighthouse. We’re dining out afterwards.”

  “Such a nice young man, did he enjoy last night?”

  Elena took comfort from Nicia’s approval of Ben.

  “Yes, he had a great time. He asked me to thank you again.”

  Nicia smiled and looked at Sophia. “How did it go today?”

  “One of the best days we’ve had in a long time,” replied Sophia. She proceeded to tell Nicia about Ben’s visit to the gallery. Elena paid no attention and wondered if Sophia had already broken the news about leaving on Wednesday.

  Her dream brought Ben back into focus. She looked forward to seeing him, and considered whether something might happen to make her change plans. Now was not the time to tell Sophia of Greg’s marriage proposal.

  “Ben bought Elena one of Dimi’s paintings but she refused it,” said Sophia.

  “It was so expensive,” Elena protested. The wine made her lightheaded. Nicia scooped up the carafe, topping up their glasses.

  “Dimi wants to paint Elena’s portrait,” said Sophia.

  “That’s nice,” said Nicia.

  “I don’t think I have time,” said Elena.

  “Why not?” asked Nicia.

  Nicia’s tacit approval of Dimi’s request made Elena consider the logistics of getting to the villa and back before returning to Boston.

  “Didn’t Sophia tell you? I booked a flight home for Wednesday.”

  Nicia adjusted her glasses. “You’re leaving us so soon? It feels as though you only just got here.”

  Elena explained the problems with her job, blaming pressure from her boss for the decision.

  “Well, we’re certainly going to miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you all too. I’m going to come back to Kefalonia every year and visit you.”

  She imagined staying at the villa, married to Greg, him sharing her bedroom. Greg would like the house but would never see the courtyard, or the orchard, in the same way as Ben.

  Her indecision pestered like a nagging itch.

  Maybe I’ll go to Dimi’s for a couple of days to get away.

  The prospect of seeing Ben every day until Wednesday stirred up decidedly mixed emotions.

  She turned to Sophia. “How would I get there?”

  “Where?”

  “Dimi’s villa.”

  Sophia hesitated, “You can probably hire a car tomorrow, drive to Fiskardo, and come back on Tuesday.”

  “I’ll think about it later, seems like a lot of hassle.” Elena finished the wine and excused herself; Ben was due in one hour.

  Chapter 33

  Elena and her two nephews climbed the steps in front of the Church of Saint Gerasimos. The older boy spotted Nicia under the portico and ran on ahead. Relieved to be back in the shade, Elena let go the hand of her youngest nephew and glanced down. Dust stains on her polished shoes added yet another reason to regret taking the two boys to the gypsy bazaar.

  “Did you buy anything?” asked Nicia.

  “No, there wasn’t much to see, they’re already packing up,” replied Elena.

  “They were just selling junk. It was hot and smelly,” said the eldest child.

  Elena ignored the boy. “Have we decided then?”

  Nicia looked pensive. “Your father wants to visit Stamos’s grave.”

  “I think he should.”

  “Yes. It’s long overdue, he said so himself.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “I didn’t press him. He’ll need some time to collect his thoughts. It must have been quite emotional back there. I’m sure he’ll open up when he’s ready.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I left him over by the monastery, talking with one of the monks.”

  “I’ll call him and let him know we’re ready to leave.”

  The younger child pulled Elena’s sleeve.

  “Won’t be long now,” she said, ruffling his hair.

  Scores of people headed for the parking lot. Cars crawled like a funeral cortege along the boulevard, past the gypsy campsite.

  “Hi Dad, where are you? Everyone wants to go.” Elena paused to hear his reply. “We’re under the portico at the front of the church…”

  She hung up, turning to Nicia. “He’s on his way.”

  Old nephew chased young nephew around and around, repeatedly bumping into Elena. The gypsy camp excursion had sapped her energy, and with it, the last remains of interest in the festival. She longed for the air-conditioned cool of the car, to sit and close her eyes—if only for a moment.

  Relief, in the form of the boys’ parents, took more grueling minutes to arrive.

  Free of her young charges, Elena reached for her phone and dialed Sophia’s number. Her cousin had just rounded the corner of the building, Elena heard the other girl’s phone ring; they looked at each other and laughed. Andreas followed behind.

  “Let’s go,” said Sophia. “I’m starving.”

  “We’re just waiting on Dad,” said Elena.

  “We saw him on the promenade with your mom,” said Sophia.

  “Speak of the devil,” said Andreas.

  Elena waited until her parents were within earshot. “Can we go now, please, I need something to drink.”

  “And eat,” said Sophia.

  “What about something from those stalls across the road?” Elena’s mother asked.

  “I don’t think so,” said Elena. “We’ve already been; it was horrible. Come on let’s go.”

  Confused, Ioannis apologized for spending so much time with the monks.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to complain. I’ve just got really tired suddenly.”

  Walking to the parking lot was like trekking across the Sahara for Elena. Her feet hurt; every stride was an effort. She endured her torment in silence, only to be confronted by a car hot enough for baking bread.

  “This is hellish,” said Sophia.

  “I’ve got the air conditioning on full-blast,” said Ioannis. “Leave the windows down for a couple of minutes.”

  The car pulled out of the lot, turning onto the tree-lined boulevard. People walked in the street, spilling out from the church steps with little regard for traffic.

&
nbsp; Ioannis stopped at the curbside. “We have to wait for Andreas; we’ll follow him to the cemetery.”

  An old gypsy woman sat motionless on a large boulder by the side of the road. She stared into the inferno of the stationary vehicle, right at Elena, trapping her. The woman took no notice of a black haired boy, wailing, a few yards to her right. Tears streamed down the child’s face, his sobs grating on Elena’s nerves. She hoped Andreas would come soon. The people in the car watched the scene with indifference, as though empathy was impossible, burned out of existence in the roasting heat. Nobody spoke.

  Distracted by a flash of white, Elena turned away from the two gypsies as Andreas’s Mercedes pulled alongside.

  “Let’s stop for lunch on the way back,” she called.

  Andreas nodded; speech was too much effort. He rolled up his window and the sedan moved forward, leading the family’s own private cortege.

  On both sides of the boulevard, men loaded trucks, piling them high with boxes, furniture, bedding, every imaginable thing. The gypsies dismantled their camp with surprising efficiency.

  How different the clothes of the gypsy children; reds, oranges, silk sashes, studded belts, gold braid.

  Four girls lay on quilts, strewn over their wares, in the back of a wagon.

  Such pretty girls, thought Elena.

  The youngest pouted, leaning over the side of the truck towards the car. Elena reached for her camera but the moment was lost. Too tired to care, her head lolled back against the seat; she let her eyelids close. It would be so nice to fall asleep.

  ***

  A dull thud, followed by an animal squealing in pain startled Elena, forcing open her eyes. She leaned out of the window. A man, standing in the bed of a high-sided truck, struggled to haul a yellow Labrador onboard. Sophia let out a sigh of revulsion.

  “What just happened?” asked Elena.

  Sophia pointed at a youth by the roadside. “That kid just tried to throw the dog into the wagon.”

  Elena realized the dull thud was bone hitting the metal tailgate. She felt sick.

  Ioannis rolled up his window. The car crawled behind a procession of others, heading away from the monastery. Elena hoped the pace would pick up soon.

  Chapter 34

  The motor churned, sending ripples across the surface of the marina. The ripples turned into a swell as the boat pulled away from its mooring and maneuvered out into the bay. Ben stayed on the quayside until the faces of his friends disappeared around the headland towards the lighthouse.

  With over an hour until sunset, he gunned the Jeep into life and sped off down the port road as if to perform the impossible and wave to the boat on the other side of the peninsula.

  The afternoon had turned out well. After driving Elena home, there’d been a farewell party onboard the yacht. His friends agreed he should stay behind with Elena; they’d hardly even taunted him.

  Away from the main square, the airless side streets remained deserted. Ben followed the now familiar route to Nicia’s villa, letting his mind wander back one hour, to the chinking of cocktail glasses and a farewell chat with his best friend. Good old Eric, no matter the problem, he always found a positive perspective. A couple of mojitos and Eric’s persuasive rhetoric had banished Ben’s sullen mood.

  If Elena decides to leave—fine.

  He would enjoy her company one more time, perhaps the last. Whatever transpires must be memorable. That was his only criteria.

  Ben cruised through the town, resolved to make the most of the evening, his spirits high.

  Passing the stone house with the pine trees, he turned into Nicia’s drive and called Elena. She appeared a minute later wearing the same clothes as earlier; Ben leaned against the hood, as he’d done at noon.

  “Déjà vu,” he said, opening the passenger door. “I was hoping you wouldn’t change.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that outfit all day.”

  She changed the subject. “What did you do this afternoon?”

  He told her about the farewell party, exaggerating how everyone had spoken highly of her. As he slipped the Jeep into gear, a white Mercedes pulled alongside. Andreas rolled down his window. “Will you be joining us for dinner again tonight?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Elena. “We’re going to the lighthouse to watch the sunset. I told Aunt Nicia I’d be dining out with Ben. Don’t wait up for me.”

  The two cars pulled away.

  “I’ll be sorry to leave this place,” said Elena.

  Ben realized she’d intended to convey her fondness for Andreas and Nicia but inadvertently revealed the outcome of her phone call with Greg. He showed no reaction, if she wanted to discuss her decision that was up to her, he wasn’t going to broach it.

  A few minutes later, they reached the northwestern tip of the Fanari Peninsula and a sharp bend in the road.

  “It’s over there.” Elena pointed to a white structure a hundred yards from the highway then swung her hand to the right. “You can park here.”

  She hadn’t given much warning. Ben swerved onto a strip of dirt bordered by a thicket of giant reeds. He brought the Jeep to a halt, plunging its nose into the rushes with a satisfying rustle. By the time he got round to the passenger side, Elena was already sliding out of the car. Her short skirt reminded him of their moment of passion, parked up under the trees by the abandoned trailer. He wondered what the evening might bring.

  ***

  Barely twenty-five feet high, and smaller than Ben had imagined, the Agioi Theodoro Lighthouse stood at the end of a promontory, reached by a concrete pathway. More akin to a gazebo or folly, the tower sat inside a circle of Doric columns, half its height.

  A stiff breeze whipped up as they made their way along the track. Ben thought it strange, for they’d walked less than a hundred yards. Here, the ground covering of vegetation disappeared, replaced by boulders, starkly contrasted in the fading light.

  “This place is sort of wild and craggy but peaceful, all at the same time,” said Elena.

  They stepped inside the Doric columns, circumnavigating the base of the tower. Ben stopped to look at a plaque, inscribed with Greek lettering—perhaps a list of names. Five rusty screws fastened the tablet to the wall.

  “Are you warm enough?” he asked.

  The temperature around the lighthouse was much cooler than he’d experienced anywhere else on the island.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “I see what you mean about wild and craggy.” Ben peered out over the jagged black rocks on the bay side of the building; they had an almost sinister appearance.

  “Uncle Andreas told me the promontory is manmade.”

  “Well they could’ve used some smoother stones.” Ben waved in the direction of Lixouri across the channel. “The sun will set behind those hills. We won’t see much from here.”

  “Just you wait,” she replied.

  A tall boy, maybe eighteen, wearing a black Nike T-shirt picked his way over the sharp rocks. A beer bottle hung lazily from his hand.

  Elena watched the youth’s slow progress. “It looks dangerous out there.”

  “And irresistible,” he said. “I’m going to the water’s edge. Coming?”

  She shook her head and sat down on the only smooth boulder in sight.

  Ben trod carefully over the crags and stared out at the dark water, its surface menacing. To the south, the inlet opened into the Ionian Sea; to the north, it stretched into the distance. Elena was right; a wild spirit inhabited the rocky outcrop, yet it was hard to imagine a more peaceful place.

  Nearby, a young girl and a man in his fifties gazed out to sea. Like the teenage boy, they clutched beer bottles. Ben assumed them related.

  He made his way back to Elena and sat beside her.

  “I wanted to ask you about the book, The Ten Thousand Things,” she said. “I finished it this afternoon.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Well, I didn’t understand it. At th
e end, there were all these dead people—ghosts I suppose, and things like sea shells and somehow everything was connected.”

  He shrugged. “You didn’t get it—that makes two of us.”

  Shadows swept in like a tide. Across the bay, an orange glow shone above the hills.

  “I want to understand what it means—what it feels like to be connected to everything.” She felt comfortable confiding in him. “I’ve been thinking about meditating, maybe taking some classes when I get back home.”

  “You should.” Ben ignored her reference to returning home. “I have friends that swear by it.”

  The father of the teenage boy made his way gingerly over the rocks towards his son; the young girl remained motionless, staring out over the waves.

  “What about you, have you ever tried meditating?” she asked.

  “Not yet, I’m saving the transcendental stuff for a rainy day.”

  “Be serious, don’t you strive for anything?”

  “I can pretty much have whatever I want … go where I want.”

  “Isn’t there something you want that you can’t buy?”

  He touched her arm. “Well, I’m interested in you.”

  “I can be bought,” she joked.

  Dusk, wild and beautiful, was full upon them. The lights of Lixouri twinkled across the bay. Above the town, the sun had begun its descent behind the hills, creating a deep red glow. Now the distant peninsula itself was changing, assuming a dark, featureless dimension, flat like a charcoal drawing. Over the water, a purple cloak smothered the sky.

  “It’s a magical place,” said Ben.

  “Told you so.”

  Movement, over by the lighthouse, caught his eye. He looked back, through the white Doric columns, where a bald man embraced a younger woman against the tower. Ben hoped they were in love.

  Suddenly, he recalled the afternoon cocktail party. “Funny you should mention wanting something you can’t buy. I was chatting with Clotilde on the yacht earlier,” he paused. “Guess what she wants most, something not even Joe’s money can buy?”

  “No idea. What?”

  “Our French friend got all emotional; it seems she’d pay any price to hear Josephina Grassini sing. Think about it, there were no recordings back then—all that is left of the woman that captivated both Napoleon and Wellington are words describing her magnificent voice.”