by Tony Kaplan
Then, with a degree of bashfulness, I hand Agapi the felt-covered presentation box which the nice assistant at the jewellery had found for me. Agapi hesitates, then kisses me lightly on the cheek (she must not be intimate in front of her mother) and with eyes bright with expectation, opens the lid. She gasps and extracts the necklace, without raising her eyes to me, ties the chain around her neck. The plump pendant hangs at the apex of her exulted cleavage, the light of the green perfectly matching her enchanting eyes. Mother or no mother, she comes to me and kisses me on the mouth.
The she looks at me seriously. “You are leaving today?” she asks.
“I must,” I say. “I have to go back to work.”
“You will come back?”
I hesitate. “I will want to, but I don’t know if it will be right,” I say softly. I look deep into Agapi’s sea green eyes. Is she the one? Can it be? If there is anyone who can help me inhabit my Greek soul, it is this gentle woman. “I must have time to think about it,” I say, as I take her hand in mine. “I hope it will be.”
Agapi’s mother senses the conversation (or knows more English than she has let on). She says something to Agapi, who turns to her and then back to me. “My mother says you must remember to come back for the Psychosavato, the All Souls’ Day, when it is the Springtime – to free the spirit of your friend. You must come back because before then, the spirits will not rest,” she says with a wan smile.
I know she is talking not only of Lucy’s spirit, but also her own. She is also speaking of mine.
59
Antonis has come to join me for lunch and to say goodbye. For one last time I take my usual table at To Meltemi, with its tamarisk-shaded view of the turquoise sea. The retsina is chilled, its scent of mountain pine evokes so immediately this Greece, shade from the harsh sun. We order grilled octopus, which, when it comes, is glistening with lemon juice and coarse pepper and is almost obscenely succulent.
Antonis tells me that last night, after he had done the paperwork for Stavroula’s and Hektor’s indictments and signed the order for police bail for Stavroula, Calliope had called on him, together they had gone to the harbour. Mavros had decided to catch the late-night ferry back to Athens. He would not say where he was headed. He did not wish to be found. He had done what he needed to do. There was no point in staying. He had left with the quiet dignity that seemed to be his nature. Already Nektarios was working on the drawings for the statue to be placed on the grave of Eleftherio, when the body was returned to the island. Mavros indicated that one day in the future he would return to visit his son’s grave, but for now he entrusted his son’s entombment to his old comrades.
Word had come from the Mayor this morning that he and the Municipal Council had agreed that it would be fitting, under the circumstances (and politically expedient for the Mayor it must be said), for a statue to be commissioned for the fallen heroes of the Civil War and wars there had been in the island’s history, for justice and liberation from oppression. The statue would be called “Eleftheria i Thanatos”. Freedom or Death. Eleftherios would be doubly honoured. Nektarios Gavras had been invited to submit a proposal.
He tells me a Forensic specialist had looked at Lucy’s computer. All the files had been wiped clean. Did Christos crack the encryption after all? If so, why scrub the files if they were favourable to the Poseidon? Had Lucy been playing a double bluff all along? Had she led Christos along, maybe even sending a misleading e-mail to Radagast to persuade him of her sincerity? Is that why she wanted me to come? – so she could get me to publicise the true story? Will we ever know? The hard-drive is being sent to Athens for further analysis. Something may yet turn up.
Poor Lucy. Her astonishing beauty barricaded from my mind by the insistent intrusion, when I think of her, of my last sight of her, dead and disfigured, cold in a morgue. Will I ever be able to remember her again, as she was - sleeping next to me, that weekend in my flat in London; in Amsterdam, dancing at the Melkweg; beautiful in the spotlight at that fortuitous conference, her life just beginning? Such a tragic life, lived bravely, vibrantly. I had come to Mythos looking for the love of my life. Would things have worked out between me and Lucy? How can I know?
Yet, I found Agapi. Is this love, this feeling of belonging she evokes in me? As I left her, she held me to her and made me promise that I would come back in the Spring. We shall see what happens then.
The Inspector and I look out over the settled sea. I turn to study his face, this man, Antonis Ionides, who has become my friend. His eyes are hooded by his deep lids, but he looks content, philosophical. He sips his wine meditatively. We have, both of us, come from far away, to converge on Mythos; soon we will go our own ways. He sees me regarding him and raises his glass to me silently to respect the depth of our bond. He will miss me as I will miss him. It was Antonis who declared to me in the car on the night of Kosta’s arrest, “Now you are Greek!” I had drawn blood, I had joined the Struggle. He was acknowledging the mark I had made on the island - I have become a part of the story of this island, part of its history, unspooling into the torturous history of the country, my country now, my Greece. The eternal waves land themselves gently on the shoreline and are gone forever. New waves come.
Some way along the beach, where the surf arcs languorously, I see, at the water's edge, two young people, bare-footed and browned by the sun. The boy doesn’t seem to mind that the water dampens the ends of his blue jeans. He does not give way to the tide. The boy says something to the girl and she laughs and moves in closer. She links her arm in his. Her blonde hair catches the light. They move on further down the beach, carefree, in love. Even at this distance, I recognise them by their manner, by their shapes. Bobby and Xanthe. They walk together, hand in hand, as if this is the way it was meant to be and always will be.
GLOSSARY.
andantespartisans
archaiologoiarcheologist
arketaenough
asteri moumy star
babagrandpa
baklavadessert made with pastry, leaves, nuts and honey
demosiografosjournalist
dhen katalevenoI don't understand
dhen peirazeiIt doesn't matter
dhespeneedhamiss
dio kafedes – metriotwo Greek coffees- medium sweet
dolmadesstuffed vine leaves
efcharisto polithank you very much
elacome here
eleftheriafreedom
eleftheria i thanatos. freedom or death.
EllinikaGreek (language)
enaone
ena leptoone moment
endaxiokay
fascistisa fascist
fascisti skata!fascist shit!
file moumy friend
fiisiika!of course!
geia souhello
giagiagrandma/nan
hero poleepleased to meet you
ise poli oraiashe is very beautiful
istoriahistory
kafenioncoffee bar
kalawell/good
kalimeragood morning
kali orexibon appetit
Kalisperagood afternoon/evening
kapitalistescapitalists
kiriosMr
loukoumadesdoughnuts
kommounistikacommunist
kori moumy daughter (affectionate)
logariasmo. the bill
malakaswanker
mia biraone beer
milate Anglika?do you speak English?
milate Ellinika?do you speak Greek?
mnemosynomemorial
monoonly
naiyes
nerowater
ochino
parakaloplease (also: 'with pleasure')
paterouli mou my daddy darling
patriotispatriot
pio argavery slowly
philoxeniaa love of strangers; hospitality
poli oraiavery beautiful
Pos se lene?”what is your name?
proikadowry
psomibread
PsychosavatoAll Souls Day
rebetikasad folk songs, described as the Greek 'blues'
retsinaa fragrant white wine infused with pine needles
risorice
rousfetibribes
se parakaloif you please
sigga-siggain time
soloby itself
souvlakigrilled meat served with flatbread and salad
signomisorry
sintrofecomrade
Sinxorese meforgive me
sosialistessocialists
Sti zoi!to life!
tavernarestaurant
teleioseit's over
ti?what?
ti kaneis?how are you?
ti thelete?who is it?
theouncle
trothotiztraitor/quizzling
yammas!cheers!
