Dad was looking at the figure thoughtfully.
“You’re right sweetie, I never thought of that.”
“That’s because you don’t do ballet, Dad!”
“Fair enough,” he conceded. “But what is he or she doing with their arms?” The arms of the figure were stretched out in front, fingers extended as if reaching for something.
“Well,” Leda said slowly as her brain raced, “she seems to be reaching forward…to the person on the bull’s back?”
“She does, doesn’t she? So what might she – actually I think it is a he but no matter – what might he be doing? What does he look like he is doing?”
All three girls were looking intently. It was Ilia who responded first:
“He looks like he might be reaching out to catch the one on the back.”
“Exactly,” Dad agreed. “That’s what a lot of people think. So, if he is actually waiting to catch that person, what does it meant that person is doing?”
“Jumping over the bull, sort of like off a springboard?”
“Yep.” Dad was smiling now, glad they had worked it out for themselves and somehow validated the conclusion of a century of debate over the picture. “That’s why they call it the Bull-Leaping fresco. Scholars think – or have thought – that it depicts some ancient ritual. Those three figures are thought to be the same person, or else one following the other, showing the different stages of the bull leap. The bull itself isn’t still – you can tell from the legs that it is active, probably galloping. The person runs up to the front, grabs the bull by the horns, it tosses the person up into the air and they do a somersault over the bull, touching lightly on its back, and then land behind it. That figure at the back looks like one of those gymnasts in the Olympics, doesn’t he, you know when they land on the mat after a tumble?”
“Oh yeah! He does. Just before he throws his arms back and sticks his chest out!”
“The only thing is, scholars now think that what they are doing isn’t really possible. I was reading that, apparently, lots of people have actually died trying to recreate this feat. The bull just sticks them with its horns or they miss the back, fall off and get stomped. So, we could have it all wrong. Or perhaps it means something totally different.” Dad paused now, contemplating the picture.
“Well we could find out,” Danae suggested with something that bordered on a wicked grin. Dad looked confused for a moment.
“Oh, of course!” he smiled. “Well, you won’t find out by touching this fresco, because this one is just a copy!”
The girls all looked deflated.
“You never know though,” Dad added, “we might find something else that allows you to answer this ancient riddle! Imagine that. The most learned experts in the world debating it for a century, and then some upstart kids come along and solve it!”
Unfortunately, the rest of the day followed the pattern of the one before. The girls enjoyed exploring the palace and creating the live overlays by touching various objects, seeing the place for what it had been in its splendour, but they had no luck in locating anything that would progress their quest. The shifts as they called the translocations, were interesting, but nothing as poignant or impressive as the one Ilia had experienced in the throne room. The day wore on, the sun rose higher, the glare became unbearable and the heat within this palatial crucible escalated until it felt like they were in a furnace. Finally, having searched the entire remainder of the palace, as well as having revisited the parts that they thought held most hope, they abandoned the search for the day.
“Beach time?” Dad had suddenly asked during a pause, when they stood together, not quite sure where to try next, squinting around and shading their eyes from the sun.
“Absolutely!” they had replied.
That evening over dinner they agreed to take the next day off and just enjoy themselves by the sea. There were a number of beaches that were highly recommended and they had all got the snorkelling bug. It was just so lovely to float weightlessly near the surface of the cool water and study the life that went on below on the rippled white sand and among the bearded rocks. Fish of all sorts drifted around or swam by, perhaps on missions of their own, but darted off when startled by these huge beings that reached out to touch them. The cool and the colours and the relaxation were a wonderful combination. And it was only the start of the holiday still, so plenty of time remained to search the palace further.
The following day was so pleasant that they even discussed postponing their return to the palace by a further day. But in truth, no matter how enticing were the pristine sands and translucent blue sea, this quest was an unique excitement and they all wanted to find out what happened next. None of them fully realised how serious a matter this was; in truth, as they had never experienced misfortune in waking memory, it was impossible to comprehend what was in store for them. They had all seen enough fantastic films and read enough adventure stories to remain convinced that the heroes of every tale come through unscathed and that this would be the case with them. If they truly had any idea what was waiting for them, then they would have abandoned their search immediately. But, as it was, it was with a light heart that they all awoke and prepared for what would be the last day that they would all be together for a very long time…
…It has been so long…
Picnic in Corfu
Typical Greek beech – Corfu
Corfu
Corfu
Spaghetti Trapanesi
Reproduction frescoes in The Palace of Knossos
Throne Room, The Palace of Knossos
Bull-Leaping fresco, The Palace of Knossos
Chapter IV
The Shades of Death
…Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other kingdom
Remember us - if at all - not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men…
– T.S. Eliot, The Hollow Men
“I’ve got a good feeling about today,” Ilia said through a mouthful of peach, the tips of her fingers delicately hiding the otherwise visible mastication process that was occurring behind them.
“Me too!” agreed Leda. “I think we’ll be flying by nightfall. Dibs on first flight!”
“No way Leda…” Danae objected emphatically.
“It’s too dangerous…” was Ilia’s simultaneous response. Dad attempted to adjudicate:
“Well there’s no point arguing over it girls, as we don’t have them yet!”
They did not argue as they were too excited. Besides, they were much closer than they had been; the girls had always been close, but their situation and experiences had engendered a very clear sense that they were all in this together, and this had only enhanced their sororal unity. They were much less likely to argue now and were certainly rarely serious when they did. They would sort out such details when the time came.
The drive to Knossos seemed slower than the previous days, and the water and sunshine seemed more enticing than ever, as if nature were trying to deter them from continuing. Dad said that a red light had appeared on the dash controls that signified the car needed a service, which was also odd as usually the hire cars were either too new to need servicing, or were watched very closely by the hire car company. Even the queue to enter the ruins was discouraging, being around three times as long as on the earlier visits. However, the girls were keen and optimistic about their chances today and refused to be discouraged by these minor obstacles.
Once through the entrance and clear of the dispersing crowd the girls all paused, surveying the area in a slightly startled manner.
Dad noticed the apprehension:
“What is it girls?”
They did not answer immediately; they seemed too distracted.
“Girls?” Dad was slightly concerned now. It was Danae who engaged with him first.
“The shadows, Dad, they …aren’t shadows.” Whether this vague answer was the result of distraction or genuine confusion, Dad was not certain.
“That makes no sense.”
“They’re real.”
“Yeah,” was all that Ilia could add. Leda was silent.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” here Danae looked to Dad and the trance seemed momentarily broken, “they look real. Like real people, only dressed in old clothes and, well, sort of separate from all the modern people.” She pulled a face, aware she had not explained herself particularly well. Ilia made an attempt:
“We can see all the detail now, Dad. They aren’t shadowy any more. We can see hair and faces and clothes. They look nearly solid. They are moving around, going about their business, and don’t seem aware of all the tourists among them.”
“And the road has changed,” Danae continued. “It’s new. The stone is all sharp and smooth. The trees on the slopes are gone. There are gardens in terraces up the hills on either side of the road now. And there are some fountains and statues. It’s beautiful! But these aren’t solid like the people, they are a bit shadowy…I mean I can see through them. But I can see that they are there. And they have colours.”
“I can’t hear any of it though,” Ilia added, “so it’s all silent as if they were ghosts. And the people are wandering with the tourists, even through them – it’s very weird.”
“Yeah, and a bit creepy.” That was Leda’s first contribution. She seemed very unsure about it all and had sidled in closer to Dad, holding his hand.
Dad was looking around and saw nothing different. The same straight road through the shallow defile; the light fir woods giving off their lovely pine scent in the heat; the tourists milling around everywhere. But he could see his girls were genuinely discomforted by it all, so he did not doubt them for a moment.
Distracted as they were, none of them noticed there was a man standing nearby, observing them keenly. Eventually he approached them and, because they were so preoccupied, he suddenly appeared within their zone of awareness. It was slightly startling.
He was an older man, probably in his mid-sixties or early seventies, quite short and a little rotund, with grey hair and curling white eyebrows that must have once been black. He was blessed with sun-loving skin that had been tanned to leather over the years. He was dressed in linen shirt and trousers, a white panama hat shaded his head and he was wearing dusty sandals. His demeanour was a little like that of a used-car salesman. None of them remembered him, but he was the same man who had been observing them in the throne room two days prior.
“Good morning my beauties!” he greeted the girls with an exaggerated bow and a flourish of his sweat-stained hat. His accent sounded more Spanish than Italian, although the girls would not have picked that. “You need a tour guide through the ancient ruins of Knossos, I can see!” This was phrased as a statement, not a question. Dad stepped between the bowing figure and his daughters.
“Actually no, we don’t, thanks, we’ve been here before. We can find our own way around.”
The old man turned to Dad and his aged eyes were twinkling like a school boy’s.
“Of course you think that, everyone does! But I can show you secret places that no one else can see!”
Dad regarded him for a moment. They had all noticed the word secret. But this man was no doubt after easy earnings from some gullible foreigners; Dad had a lot of experience with a great array of people who fed off tourists, and had learned that the only way to manage them was to contradict his natural instincts and resort to being blunt from the outset. Through his travels he had learned that if you did not start by being direct, they would never leave you alone, and eventually you would have to be even ruder to them in order to be rid of them.
“Not today, thanks.” Dad broke eye contact and walked straight past the man, pulling Leda behind him, with Ilia and Danae close by his side.
“Very well, as you wish!” he said to their retreating backs. “But you’ll come back, and when you do – ask for Jorge! Only he knows The House of Asterion so well!”
Dad stopped mid-stride and froze. Then he turned around.
“What did you say?” he asked sharply.
“I said to enjoy the ruins,” Jorge responded, his smile disarming.
Dad let go of Leda and indicated to the girls with a splayed hand to wait where they were. Then he took a couple of strides back towards this man who called himself Jorge. He paused and looked down at the man’s identification badge pinned to his shirt.
“J.L. Borges?” Dad read aloud. He sounded somewhat sceptical for some reason.
The man bowed again.
“At your service!”
“Jorge?”
The man’s smile indicated in the affirmative.
“Jorge Luis by any chance?”
Jorge did not seem surprised at this, even though he now admitted that Dad had guessed his middle name.
“Of course,” he said dismissively, “my parents were great fans.”
The girls had come up behind Dad again.
“Who is that Dad?” Ilia asked softly.
“A famous author,” Dad replied, without turning around. “He wrote short stories. Remember the one about the House, when you find out at the end that the narrator is the Minotaur?” Ilia and Danae remembered it. “Well he wrote that. The House of Asterion.”
“But isn’t that the name that man on the train in Naples called you last year? That scary tramp?” Ilia was alarmed. Her sisters echoed concern at the same recollection. It had been a frightening experience. Dad just nodded, keeping his eyes on Jorge.
“Why would he call you that? And now this man…” But Danae spoke over Ilia with a simple direct question.
“Who was Asterion again?”
“Asterion,” said Dad slowly, “was the name given to the Minotaur at birth.” The girls were still confused and in fact Dad did not understand exactly what was going on either, or the link with the Minotaur.
Jorge continued to smile, but there was nothing threatening about him. In fact, quite the opposite – he seemed a very pleasant old man, someone who probably enjoyed taking his grandchildren on his knee and reading them bedtime stories and playing hide-and-seek with them in the garden. It was the coincidence that had startled Dad.
Or was it a coincidence?
Jorge then directly addressed Dad’s indecision.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he stated quietly. He glanced at the girls, one after another, and then back to Dad. “I’ve been waiting for all of you.”
“Then you can…?” Danae started, but stopped mid-sentence as Jorge had already answered her question with a nod.
The girls looked at each other excitedly. It seemed too good to be true – their adventure appeared to have suddenly progressed quite significantly; but Dad remained reserved.
“You can take us to the Labyrinth of Daedalus?” he asked, seeking plain confirmation of what had been implied.
“To The House of Asterion, yes, of course.”
“Can you take us inside?”
The old man shook his head.
“Only to the entrance and no further. I may not cross the threshold of that House.”
“Is it far?”
Jorge pressed his lips together and rocked his head slightly from side to side, as if unsure how to answer; when it came it was a little cryptic.
“Well, we don’t have to walk far, if that is what you mean.”
Dad looked squarely at him for a moment.
“We need to speak,” he stated softly, then taking the girls a pace away and with his back to the old man he addressed his daughters.
“What do you think girls? This
is very strange. Seems too good to be true.”
“That’s what I thought,” agreed Danae, who was ever the sceptic. Leda was too uncertain to have an opinion, but currently excitement was her dominating emotion.
“I don’t know,” Ilia pondered aloud, “I mean, how could he know about this, unless he was sent to help? And what harm can he do?”
“He could take us into a trap!” came Danae’s snappy response, as if she was dismissing her older sister as stupid. “He could be sent by Hera!”
“Ok.” Ilia remained calm. “But as far as we are aware, Hera doesn’t know about this. If she did, we’d be done for already…”
“Really? You remember that guy on the train in Naples? You don’t think She had something to do with him? She knows.”
“Not necessarily. She knows about us, but there is nothing to suggest She knows about our quest. And what harm can this old man do? He might take us to a secret entrance. He said he cannot come in. Then what? We just need to be careful.”
Leda turned to Dad for adjudication.
“Dad? What do you think?”
Dad regarded them all thoughtfully.
“I think Ilia is probably right…”
Danae’s groan of disbelief interrupted him; he paused, then continued.
“I think Ilia is probably right. I mean, what can he do to us? And we aren’t getting anywhere by ourselves. We’ve spent two days here and found nothing. We haven’t asked for help, but maybe Apollo has sent it anyway. And,” he added, turning to Ilia as he spoke of her in the third person, “I think we need to trust Ilia’s gift. If she thinks it’s right, we should go with it.”
Ilia’s slightly smug smile irritated Danae, but Dad had the remedy for that:
“Besides Danae, if we get into trouble we have your strength!” His eyes twinkled at her affectionately. She regarded him for a moment, the corners of her mouth turned down in feigned dissatisfaction. Then her face cracked and she beamed back – one of those grins that warms your heart.
The Progeny of Daedalus Page 10
