Thirteen Days By Sunset Beach

by Ramsey Campbell

  Before Ray could judge how much the boy was striving to defend his father Julian said "William, would you prefer not to go on the train?"

  "No, daddy," William said in dismay.

  "Then kindly stop this nonsense. Everybody's had their fill of it. The train is to help you to forget all about it," Julian said and strode so fast towards the road train waiting in the square that he might have been determined to leave behind anybody's chance to speak. A few passengers were already seated in the open carriages, and their presence would inhibit any discussion of the kind the family had had or almost had. All the same, Ray heard Julian mutter to Natalie "If it needs to be dealt with tonight I promise you I will."

  ***

  As the train set off, the guide with the microphone introduced herself as Irene and the driver as Mikos in English and German and French. Her English was enthusiastic if somewhat ramshackle, which Ray suspected was the case with the other languages as well. By the time she finished speaking in them she hardly paused before starting the next section of her commentary in English. At least this helped to make it less apparent that Natalie and Julian had little to say to each other and were being ponderously polite. If their silences hadn't been infectious Ray might have pointed out that Irene was concentrating on the landscape the train was passing through—olive groves, depleted streams, hills decorated with goats—while neglecting the history of the island. He could have felt that the unspoken was an unacknowledged passenger on the train, and very close to him.

  Might William lose interest in the ride when it was accompanied by so much language that he didn't understand? At least whenever it passed through a village he devoted himself to waving at everybody in the narrow convoluted streets. When the family joined in Ray thought William's parents were trying to outdo each other, which made them look as if they'd reverted to their son's age. William appeared to have communicated his zest to the villagers, who waved with such vigour that they might have been greeting royalty if not someone even more important to them.

  The first stop on the outing was a vineyard. Once Irene had talked all three nationalities through the processes of making wine and raki, everyone had a chance to sample them. William seemed happy to be given a large bunch of grapes after Natalie had washed them at a sink. "Try some if you like," she told Jonquil, indicating the queue for drinks, and Julian said nothing at all. "Drink enough and you will sleep tonight," Irene told the girl, and Ray hoped William would do the latter.

  Next on the tour was a ceramics factory. Russet jugs and varicoloured vases occupied a multitude of shelves, and Ray had never seen so many pottery depictions of the sun, ranging from red to a white that looked less radiant than drained of colour. Quite a few had faces, and of course their smiles couldn't seem anything other than fixed. A potter demonstrated shaping a vase and delighted William by letting him help with another, though the man was less successful at showing how to make a sun. He appeared to be distracted by more than one member of the audience—Ray couldn't tell who. The rays of the ceramic sun might have been the violent spikes of an explosion, while the smile the potter gouged wasn't too far from a grimace. "No good anyway," the man declared, crumpling the clay into a shapeless lump.

  The excursion moved on to an embroidery workshop, where Ray was disconcerted to observe how many of the patterns resembled elaborate cobwebs. Had this been the case in Vasilema Town? When William said "Spiders." Ray thought he was being fanciful until he saw the boy didn't need to be. Any number of the intricate white cloths pinned to the walls were hiding spiders in their designs, as if the creatures were so inextricable from their webs that they could hardly be distinguished from them. "Why the spiders?" Doug asked the guide.

  "They are emblem."

  "An emblem of what?" Pris said.

  "Our island."

  "In that case," Julian said, "I'm surprised it isn't on a flag."

  "It is to see when you are here."

  "It might put people off coming, you mean?" Pris said.

  Before Irene could answer, though she seemed uncertain how to, William said "Is it what the saint killed?"

  The guide bowed her head as if to bring it closer to his meaning. "Saint, you say."

  "St Titus," Doug said. "Will thinks we saw pictures of him fighting spiders."

  "Or something like them," Pris said.

  "Something." As Ray took this for a species of agreement Irene said "It has to be legend. He would not come back."

  "No fight." This was contributed by a woman at a loom, whose black dress put Ray in mind of the priest on the beach. "Too much past now," she said.

  "There you are, William," Julian said as Ray thought of asking Irene what either woman meant. "It was just a story, an old legend."

  Ray supposed it was better for William to be concerned with this rather than his dream. Or could one have led to the other—the carvings on the trees by the path to the cave helping to inflame his imagination? Ray had lost the chance to question Irene, who was speaking to a solitary German couple in their language. He could have thought she was relieved to say "When we are all ready it is time for lunch."

  They ate at a taverna next to a miniature waterfall and encircled by the stream it fed. The glade set with tables could have been the garden of the small house next to the taverna. The trees across the stream were as vitally green as the forest near the monastery of St Titus was black. A brawny woman welcomed everyone with sweeping gestures of her muscular bare arms, and brought brimming jugs of water to the tables. "Water your friend," she told William.

  When he giggled at whatever he thought she meant she gave him a stern look and indicated how the stream surrounded them. "Water," she insisted. "Friend for life."

  Ray thought Pris was saving the boy from any further misinterpretation as she said "Everyone's so friendly here."

  "We need."

  "That's your way, isn't it?" Doug was determined not to be puzzled by her response. "That's Greek," he said.

  "Our way," the woman said and glanced at Sandra and the teenagers, who'd sat in the shade of several trees. "Yes."

  She was moving away when Julian said "May we see the menu?"

  "No menu. Freshest fish. You catch, we cook."

  A wire mesh dammed an outlet from a large pool at the lowest section of the stream, trapping at least a dozen fish. Nets on poles lay on the stone rim of the pool. "Maybe boy don't like," she conceded. "I tell you other food."

  "I like fish," William protested.

  "Good boy. Grow up fine man," the woman said, ruffling his hair.

  "We're a fine family," Julian said and nodded at Jonquil. "Both of them."

  William was the first to pick up a net, and just as eager to wield it. "You can choose mine for me, Ray," Sandra said.

  "Someone get mine too," Tim said, and Jonquil added "Please for me as well."

  Ray caught their host sending all three a doubtful look. If they were comfortable where they were, he didn't see the problem, and why should he compound the anxiety that had become his constant companion? He watched William net a struggling fish, which the brawny woman took to the kitchen. Soon everybody's lunch was caught, and she brought out bowls of salad. "Do you live here, then?" Doug took the chance to ask.

  "All the year."

  "With your family?" When her gesture identified them as the waiter and the chef at the grill, Doug said "Doesn't it get lonely in the winter, all the same?"

  "No visitors," the woman said, swinging her hand in a wide circle. "No problem."

  Before long she and her son brought the grilled fish. Ray thought William might be dismayed by the blind head of his, but the boy seemed untroubled. "It's different now," he said calmly enough.

  "That's because they've made it delicious for you," Sandra said, having sampled hers.

  "It's dead," William declared as if this needed to be made plain. "It can't move any more."

  "Of course it can't," Natalie said as she set about stripping the flesh from the bones for him. "Nothing can
then, William."

  Was the boy doing his best to look convinced? At least he seemed to enjoy his meal, even if he didn't match Sandra and the cousins for voraciousness. Ray kept growing aware of the perpetual monologue of the waterfall, which sounded like a meditation on endlessness. Despite its lack of words he could easily have fancied that it had some message for him, especially given their host's farewell to her English guests. "Water is good," she said with some force.

  "Better than good," Pris said. "It's the best we've had."

  Did Ray glimpse frustration in the woman's eyes? As Sandra and the teenagers stood up she gazed at them. "You remember."

  "We do," Sandra assured her. "We make sure we don't get dehydrated."

  This time Ray was sure she looked misunderstood. "Thank you," Sandra said as the woman turned to the German couple, but she didn't glance back. As the train left the taverna behind, the staff moved together to watch from just inside the watery boundary, and Ray wondered how often they crossed the stream. For an instant he felt close to grasping some point that the woman had tried to convey, and then it was gone.

  Soon the train stopped at an olive oil factory. Irene showed everyone the massive old stone wheel that had been turned by four men or a quartet of donkeys, and then she led her party inside the factory for an extended look at the hydraulic equipment now in use. There were varieties of oil to sample, and Sandra might have been competing with Tim and Jonquil to prove who could dip the most bread. When Irene mentioned that olives were harvested in November, Doug said "What else happens in the winter? We've often thought we'd like to retire to an island like yours,"

  "I do not think so. You would find dead."

  "It can't be as dead as all that, can it?" Pris objected. "Don't some places stay open for the locals?"

  "Just enough to feed."

  "That's enough then, isn't it? What else do you do till the spring?"

  "Wait for sun."

  "You'd have to do a lot of that round here." When this fell short of amusing her Doug said "There must be something to keep you on the island."

  Irene looked away from him and indicated all the tourists. "We wait for you to come."

  "That's hardly an activity, is it?" Julian said. "I believe Douglas was asking how you occupy yourselves."

  "We are occupied," Irene said, turning back to Doug and Pris. "You would not want to be here. There is much dark."

  "I should think Christmas is special," Pris insisted.

  "The child is born to die and rise again."

  "That's what it's all about," Doug said, if a little uncertainly. "My wife was asking how you celebrate."

  "All we can for the dark."

  Ray thought Doug was growing as frustrated as Julian visibly was. "It's related to that, isn't it?" Doug was determined to establish. "Christmas is, I mean. A way to remind us the light always comes back even when it's darkest."

  "We have the darkest day."

  To Ray this sounded like a grotesque boast, but perhaps Pris understood. "You mean you have another tradition."

  "We light the fires. Fires to St Titus."

  "Like the one we saw the other night, you mean."

  "Not so much like. Fires, nothing else. They bring light but they don't bring sun." With a partial smile that looked not merely wry but half-hearted Irene said "Just more legends people can't let go. Fairy tales so children aren't afraid."

  Ray assumed she meant superstitious folk. "St Titus again," he said. "His monastery, that must be the darkest place."

  "What makes you say?"

  "We've been there."

  "But there is nothing to see." Irene might have been resolved if not anxious to persuade them. "Just dark," she said.

  "There's plenty of that." As he saw her start to turn away he blurted "Don't people still live there, though?"

  Julian scowled at him and jerked his head at William. By the time Natalie distracted the boy with chatter Irene had yet to respond. In case she was using William as an excuse for silence Ray murmured "I saw one."

  "First we've heard," Doug objected.

  "Are you sure, Ray?" Pris said too gently for his taste.

  "Yes," Ray said and held Irene's gaze. "I am."

  "Some of our oldest went there. It is a refuge always. Nowhere else for them." As Pris and Doug and Ray hindered one another with attempted questions she said "Now I must talk to my other guests." All the same, she lingered to add "We are happy when you come to our island."

  Was this some form of apology for attempting to put Doug and Pris off? Ray gathered that was how they took it, and couldn't think what other interpretation there might be. "So what are you saying you saw, dad?" Doug said.

  "Better not discuss it while William's around." Ray found he had too many incomplete thoughts to put in order if he could, but he was disconcerted to be using his grandson as a pretext. "We'll talk about it later," he said and felt as if he weren't admitting why he wanted to delay that, even to himself.

  ***

  When they all heard a second splintering crash from a house opposite Chloe's Garden, Natalie gave William a worried look. "What's happening over there?"

  "Nothing bad. It is his birthday," Chloe's daughter Daphne said.

  "Happy birthday to him, then," Natalie said as if she were reassuring William. "How old is the birthday boy?"

  "He is forty."

  "I didn't think you did that any more," Doug said as they heard another item shatter.

  "We break plates sometimes. We are Greek."

  "No, I mean I thought you only celebrated children's birthdays. And your name day when you're his sort of age."

  "We have the fun we can," Daphne said with an odd hint of defiance. "It is natural."

  "I suppose nothing's more natural than growing old," Sandra said.

  Natalie reached for her mother's hand as if she didn't trust herself to speak, and Ray saw Tim and Jonquil wonder why. Perhaps Pris intended to distract them by raising her glass towards the house across the road and calling "Hronia polla."

  "Polyhronos," Doug shouted.

  Daphne's eyes winced shut, and she shook her head. "We do not say that here."

  "What aren't they meant to say?" Julian enquired.

  "Live many years, apparently," Pris told him.

  "Or live a thousand years," Doug said.

  "Didn't somebody say something like that to us, Ray?" Sandra said. As Natalie clasped her mother's hand with both of hers Daphne said "It is not the same. You are not from our island."

  "I've no idea what difference that's supposed to make," Julian said.

  "For you it is just a wish."

  Jonquil was watching her mother and grandmother. Before anyone could answer Daphne the girl said "What's wrong?"

  "Not a thing, Jonquil," Sandra said. "Really nothing at all, honestly."

  Ray thought these were several words too many. "We've both been thinking something was," Tim said.

  Natalie seemed unsure where to look, except not at William. "We weren't aware there had been any discussion," Julian objected, "and there's no need for any more."

  "Gran ought to say," Tim said.

  "Thank you both for caring. Nobody should tell you off for that. If anything was wrong," Sandra said, "it isn't worth bothering about any more, truly. Now I think Julian's right and we can put it to bed."

  Ray saw that Jonquil wasn't entirely won over, and he thought Pris was trying to create another diversion. "If it's not a wish for you," she said to Daphne, "what is it, then?"

  "More like a curse," Daphne said and glanced at the dim road, where nothing moved except the scrawny elongated limbs of the shadow of the spider in its web. "I will bring your drinks."

  As she retreated, having scribbled down their food orders as well, Sandra said "I think I could live with that kind of curse."

  Ray was hoping Tim and Jonquil couldn't sense how the adults were suppressing their reactions when Doug said "Here comes somebody we know."

  Neither of the cousins f
ollowed his gaze. Ray did, and saw the mute seller of trinkets approaching from the direction of the bridge. Might she have another copy of the book she'd given him? He pulled out a twenty-euro note and flourished it at her. Although she must have seen, she swung around as if she hadn't and tramped back the way she'd come. "Just a tick," Ray called. "Hang on."

  "Ray," Sandra murmured. "She can't hear, can she?"

  "She can see well enough," he said, pushing back his chair.

  "Ray," Sandra protested more vehemently, but he hadn't time to make her understand. He ran out of the taverna and after the woman. If she couldn't hear his flapping sandaled footsteps he ought not to startle her, and so he was keeping to the opposite side of the road as he made to overtake her when his shadow did. She twisted around so fast that her bag thumped her hip. "It's all right," Ray said, though he felt absurd for speaking in a language she might not even know. "It's only me."

  Presumably she saw that, even if it didn't seem to reassure her much. She held her cupped hands out to him, though only just, which he assumed was meant for a question. "The book you gave me," Ray said and saw from her eyes that she didn't understand, or could their blankness mean she was determined not to admit she did? He wasn't here to investigate how genuine her deafness was. He pointed at her bag and used both hands to mime pulling if not wrenching it wide.

  How much like a bully did he look, if not a robber? She opened the capacious bag readily enough, but Ray had to crane over it to be certain in the dim light from the nearest streetlamp that none of the many items it contained was a book. He stuffed the note he was clutching back into his pocket and saw her face stay blank. No doubt she was used to that kind of rebuff, and Ray had to make her understand. "Book," he said. "Book."

  He'd no business condemning Julian's impatience over language when he was behaving worse. He patted the air in front of the woman as if he were playing charades, and then indicated her with both hands before turning them upwards and cupping them towards himself vigorously enough to make his fingers twinge. He wished he'd learned signing, though would it be the same in Greece? He shook his head several times in the hope of conveying that he didn't want any items from her bag, and then held his folded hands in front of his face. He meant them to signify a book as he opened them while pressing their sides together, but might they look as though he had been praying or was now releasing some creature they'd trapped? He held out the left one and traced lines on the palm with his forefinger while he pored over the pretence of sentences. "Book," he said and stared at her in some desperation. "Book."