Aphrodite's Tears

by Hannah Fielding

  Cautiously, Oriel moved along, feeling her way falteringly down the passage, inch by inch, facing the uninviting gloom as she moved deeper into the tunnel. Weaving her torch slowly to and fro, she fought down the fear that was making her heart thud painfully fast, trying to persuade herself that it was only a matter of time before Damian or someone else rescued her. She had to believe that – she had to believe that he was unhurt and would come for her sooner or later.

  Talking aloud to herself in ridiculous muttered phrases of encouragement, Oriel groped round the walls, raising the torch from time to time to see if there were any gaps she could slip through without having to climb too high, praying the battery of her torch wouldn’t die on her. As she directed its beam ahead of her, she could see in the wavering light that several other fissures branched off from the main passage, and she knew that each of these must be examined before she dared to go on. The rocky walls gleamed in the torchlight and delicate ferns grew in the crevices. The air seemed to be getting thinner and, though she progressed slowly, Oriel found her breath coming in hard gulps that hurt her chest. Terror and hopelessness made a mockery of any attempt at optimism: she was lost.

  Still, she plodded on for what seemed miles, sometimes plunging into invisible puddles of water, at others bumping into sharp spires of rock. Occasionally she found herself descending to depths where she wondered how she was able to breathe at all, the air was so fetid. But she forged on, hoping that up ahead there might be an opening, one that would lead to blessed freedom.

  Oriel could only guess at the time but it seemed to her that she had already been hours in the cave. The path had narrowed until it was no more than a ledge running along a wall of crumbling rock. She was hungry, but most of all she was thirsty. Not to mention cold … the icy chillness of the damp penetrated the walls of the cave, which even in summer could never be warm. She cursed the loss of her canvas bag, in which were her clothes and a water bottle. She pulled her peignoir more closely round her but she was beginning to shiver now, the cold and the eerie deep silence adding to the growing horror of her predicament. She caught a strange smell in the air – almost like smoke but not quite. Dust? Ashes? She couldn’t tell.

  Suddenly an object hurtled out of the darkness, uttering a terrifying shriek as it winged past her face. Oriel screamed – a last terror-crazed effort born of sheer desperation that ripped, high-pitched, from inside her. Even after she had vaguely registered it was a bat, she continued to scream until her throat rasped sore but her cries echoed mockingly, bouncing through the caverns and reverberating against high walls and fallen boulders. She had no way of knowing if it was still daylight outside; she was in a void of darkness and time, wherein nothing seemed to matter any more.

  Pain assaulted her from every angle. Her head felt as if it had split in two and her knee had swollen to such extent that she had increasing difficulty in moving forward. Weariness hit her, unreasoning panic bringing tears at last. As the strength ebbed from her, Oriel suddenly sank to the ground, uncaring of the cold, uncaring even if bats flapped at her face or rats scuttled over her. She was just too exhausted to continue further and too frightened to even pretend bravery.

  What if the earthquake had caused so much damage she had to stay in the cave all night? … Or even for days? … She didn’t want to think about what that might mean. If she closed her eyes, she could go to sleep and then all the pain would go away.

  * * *

  As Damian got into the Jeep, the wind almost tore the door from his hand. He sat for a moment in the driver’s seat, heart thudding, looking across at Typhoeus. A black cloud sat tight on the volcano’s rim but, in the brassy light, the fire-eating dragon looked indifferent.

  Fear suddenly overtook him. Oriel … where was Oriel? What if her car had been swept off the cliff? Or a tree had fallen on it? He must find her.

  He took a breath, trying to quieten his panic. Oriel had a sensible head on her shoulders; he had to trust that she would do the safest thing and that she was now out of harm’s way. In the meantime he needed to survey the damage left by the quake. Had many of the islanders been injured? They would need to use the church hall as a makeshift clinic if the little island hospital proved inadequate.

  Damian started the engine of the Jeep, his thoughts now moving in a calm and logical progression. Pulling out into the road, he was relieved that the rain had stopped and the wind had died down a little, but the sea was still tossing from the storm, waves slamming over the parapet that separated the road from the shore. As he drove along, heading for the town’s main square where the hospital and fire station were situated, he took in the extent of the wreckage. He could see that trees had come down here and there; some of the poorer-built cottages had been knocked about and had lost parts of their roofs or walls. There were piles of dust and rubble everywhere; the roads were peppered with broken brick, tiles and glass.

  At one point he stopped the Jeep to give a lift to an elderly couple, both dressed in dusty black clothes and standing haplessly at the side of the road. They were silent in the back of his vehicle – whether from trauma or stoicism he couldn’t tell – but he was glad of the quiet, knowing that time and a clear head were both precious commodities when it came to disaster management. The tremors had been brief but they had also been strong, and it was obvious there would be much rebuilding to do.

  Eventually the old man asked Damian if he could drop the pair of them at his nephew’s house in the next hamlet. Having delivered them into their relative’s care, Damian had just returned to the Jeep when he looked up at the volcano. His worst fears were confirmed: up through the black cloud and erupting high into the sky above it came a burst of flame, higher than any fountain gush, brighter than any firework. The fire was thrown up from the very heart of the earth, from its sulphuric core, into a sky that had suddenly deepened to an angry red. The flames lit the sea and the shores, and the livid, crimson scene seemed to him like a vision from the Bible: God’s judgement on earth by fire. He could hear the mighty roar as Typhoeus shot its blazing infernal torrent a thousand feet into the air, sending down a rain of sizzling stones and burning lava and diffusing its poisonous sulphurous breath over the island.

  Panic struck Helios. People and animals were running in all directions, jostling each other in their rush to get to safety. The confusion was indescribable as Damian drove into the town’s outskirts, and he made his way carefully now: through rocks and rubble, twisted iron, piles of debris, uprooted trees and shrieking human beings. More than once he had to move to the side of the road to make way for Jeeps and emergency vehicles carrying the injured and infirm.

  With only one fire engine and two ambulances available to the tiny island, they would need every available vehicle to help evacuate and rescue any hurt or stranded islanders. Damian had never spared any expense in buying rescue equipment and training the islanders in first aid and rescue procedures – indeed, he had recruited some of the most bright and able-bodied to form what he’d named the Emergency Club of Helios Rescuers. He could see some of them now, issuing instructions, at the wheels of Jeeps, helping the inhabitants of ruined cottages to safety. But even though he had known that one day the volcano might erupt and had done his best to prepare for such an eventuality, now it had actually happened he wondered just how they were going to cope.

  As Damian drove on, it was as though this sudden shaft of doubt that had pierced his confidence allowed for an onslaught of horrific thoughts, which hurtled once more through his mind. Where was Oriel? If she had been on the road, he might have seen her, but he hadn’t. What if she had crashed her car? Was she injured and lying somewhere on the island, alone and incapacitated? Helios wasn’t that big, and he didn’t think that she would have ventured too far. He wished he had asked her where exactly she had been preparing to go, but he’d been too preoccupied with the fire.

  Damian’s heart turned over painfully. Who else might know where she was? Mattias … Yes, probably she had gone to visit Mattias �
�� Oriel was quite close to the fisherman. He would try to ring his friend from the hospital, although he doubted whether many telephone wires were still intact.

  Suddenly he saw a Jeep coming in the opposite direction. At the wheel was Stavros, who waved his arm, signalling for Damian to stop. He looked exhausted and grim-faced, his khaki drill shirt and shorts crumpled and stained. He jumped out of the vehicle and ran to Damian even before the latter had time to turn off his engine.

  Damian knew immediately that something terrible had occurred; something personal to him, some awful calamity that had perhaps nothing to do with either the earthquake or the volcano’s eruption. A cold sweat ran down his back as his thoughts immediately turned to Oriel …

  ‘What’s up, Stavros? It’s Oriel, isn’t it …?’

  But Stavros shook his head. ‘Ochi, den eínai i Anglída, no, it’s not the English woman, it’s Kyria Helena, your cousin.’

  Damian almost breathed a sigh of relief before his brow furrowed. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘You need to come with me … I’m afraid there’s been an accident.’

  ‘What do you mean? Is she all right?’

  ‘I’ll turn my Jeep around. Follow me, it’s not far.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘She was out with Marika. They were caught in the earthquake. A tree fell … just missed her maid, but Helena … she was trapped under one of its branches. She’s conscious but took a nasty blow to the head.’

  ‘Theé mou! Oh my God! Has she been taken to hospital?’

  ‘The ambulances were already attending to islanders but a rescue team is trying to move the tree off her. She’s in bad shape … keeps calling for you … there’s no time to waste.’

  A doctor, with Marika, was attending to Helena when they got there: taking her pulse, covering her with a blanket, mopping the blood that was trickling from her mouth. When the man saw Damian, he moved out of the way to let him get near his cousin.

  ‘How bad is she?’ asked Damian grimly.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s not much we can do, I don’t think we can move her.’

  Damian swallowed hard, a lump in his throat choking him, and sank to his knees beside his cousin. He slipped an arm under her head then, realizing that Helena was attempting to say something, he drew very close. Her lips were moving and at first he couldn’t make out any words, so quiet was her whisper.

  Her hands gripped his arm. ‘I must tell you everything,’ she panted, trying to lift her head. ‘You need to know the truth. I have to tell you …’ She stared into his eyes beseechingly.

  ‘Shush, Helena, you mustn’t talk … you need to save your strength.’

  ‘… about Pericles and Cassandra …’

  ‘It’s over, they’re gone. You’re not to worry about it …’

  Instead of his words calming Helena, she seemed to become more agitated, breathing in short rattling gasps. ‘The truth … I must tell you the truth …’

  ‘Don’t worry yourself, Helena, please.’ Damian’s voice was trembling.

  ‘I’m a sinner … the worst sin …’

  ‘Shush, keep calm, agapiméno mou.’

  ‘I saw them together … so horrible … I couldn’t stand it, you see. How could Pericles? … That harlot …’

  Damian tried to calm his cousin again but to no avail. Her eyes were wild but her speech was becoming more fluent now, as if she was engaged in one last desperate rush to the finish.

  ‘The devil possessed me, the devil of jealousy, of hate … I promised Beshir … if he killed them, I’d build him his own little house. It wasn’t his fault … you see that, don’t you? … I’m the murderer,’ she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘Forgive me, Damian … The devil, the devil … forgive me …’ Helena was prevented from saying more by a fit of coughing that racked her slim body. Stunned, Damian drew back as a stream of blood trickled from her mouth, and moved out of the way to let the doctor attend to her.

  A sudden rush of tears blinded Damian’s eyes; there was an ache all round his heart, a gnawing pain as a sinking feeling came over him. Stavros stood at his side dutifully. Like Damian, he must have heard Helena’s confession but tactfully made no sign that he had done so, delicately avoiding his friend’s distraught eyes.

  Damian then noticed Marika standing at the side of the road. She was wringing her hands, watching her mistress helplessly. He had never liked the dour servant but now his heart went out to her. She had looked after Helena since birth and had very much been a mother to the girl. He went over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Aftó eínai to thélima tou Theoú, it is the will of God,’ he whispered. She didn’t move or look at him and her black eyes, wet with tears, maintained their steady vigil.

  Damian walked back to Stavros and raked a hand through his dishevelled hair. ‘How’s everyone out there?’ he asked quietly. ‘I was on my way to the hospital but I can’t leave Helena now …’

  ‘There’s a lot of damage but it could have been much worse. We don’t know how many casualties there are, but the team is in place, they know what to do. They’re surprisingly coordinated considering the shock of it all, though the islanders are in a blind panic.’

  ‘Have you managed to get word out to the mainland?’ asked Damian.

  ‘Luckily not all the lines are down. Helicopters are on their way, apparently. In the next half hour we’ll start getting supplies, tents, food, bottled water … whatever they reckon we’ll need.’

  ‘It’s a blessing Typhoeus is on the edge of the island. There are few houses to worry about, and most of the lava will be falling into the sea. Anyhow, glad to hear that everything is under control.’

  ‘Yes, thanks to the Emergency Club people like Mattias’s son, Elias. He’s been invaluable,’ added Stavros. ‘Mattias too.’

  ‘Ah, you’ve seen Mattias,’ said Damian, an intense urgency in his tone. ‘Was Oriel with him?’

  ‘No, I haven’t come across her. I was with Elias when all this broke out and we went by their house to grab his uniform. I would have seen Oriel if she’d been there.’

  Damian’s face creased into a frown of worry. Then, before he could ask anything else, the doctor approached.

  ‘Kyrios Lekkas?’

  Damian turned quickly to the man. ‘Mahleestah?’

  ‘I’m afraid she’s gone.’

  The whispered words failed to register for a moment. Then Damian lifted his head and looked into the doctor’s eyes. ‘You mean …?’

  ‘Massive brain injury … there was nothing I could do. I’m sorry.’

  Damian nodded his head sadly. ‘I see … I’ll have a Jeep take Helena back home to Heliades. Marika can go with her and see to what needs to be done.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said the doctor courteously, before adding: ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’d better get on to the hospital. They’ll be needing my help there.’

  ‘Of course you must.’

  The man gave a quick bow of his head. ‘My condolences in your time of trouble, Kyrios Lekkas.’

  Damian thanked him then quickly made the necessary arrangements with Marika and the rescue team. Finally, he turned to Stavros. ‘We need to find Oriel, my friend. Let’s go back to the staff house first. If she’s not there, we must send out a search party.’

  ‘It’s getting dark, you know. We might have to wait until tomorrow.’

  ‘No, we’ll work all night if needs be. We must find her.’

  Stavros’s eyebrows rose but he nodded. ‘You’re the boss, Kyrios.’

  Damian and Stavros went back to the staff house to find no one there. After that, they visited the hospital – maybe Oriel was injured and had been taken there. But she wasn’t there either. Damian was beginning to panic now.

  It was dusk when they finally started their search at the harbour. Dense clouds of smoke made the place too dark to attempt a serious investigation of the area. Damian tried to assess the crumpled cars that were lying in a huge pile
of tangled steel, as if flung by a giant’s hand. In the obscurity it was difficult to distinguish anything but he was pretty certain Oriel’s Volkswagen wasn’t among them. Mattias’s son, Elias, had joined them by this point and it was he who finally managed to convince Damian that they were better off sparing their efforts for an efficient full-scale search of the area the next morning, as soon as the sun was up. In the meantime he would organize a team of men with dogs, which would make the task easier.

  But Damian couldn’t rest and did his best to take his mind off Oriel by helping out at the hospital, coordinating the efforts of doctors and rescue workers. The two island churches and one large church hall had already been commandeered, and they were now temporary accommodation with rows of sleeping bags on the floor. Spirits were surprisingly high among the islanders, Damian thought to himself – Blitz spirit, Oriel would doubtless have called it. It felt as if he alone was stretched like a taut string on a violin, so tight it felt like his sanity would snap. He was vibrating with a tension he had never felt before.

  At one point in the night he left to join Marika in her solitary vigil over Helena’s body. He climbed straight up to Heliades’ little church, which stood on a cliff among old olives and umbrella pines. Built in a rectangular shape, in the form of a ship, with a bell tower over the entrance, it looked out over the Mediterranean, which tonight was veiled in a thick ashen haze. Damian walked inside to breathe in an atmosphere tinctured with the scent of burning incense and candles, of musty prayer books, metal polish and flowers; and it comforted him.