Daniel's Dream

by Peter Michael Rosenberg

  But it was neither the resonance of the bouzouki nor the power of the voice that sent Daniel into paroxysms of pleasure; it was the melody, the harmonies, the nuances of timing and timbre that most deeply affected him and confirmed beyond a reasonable doubt that this was the music of his dream.

  Daniel closed his eyes and allowed the music to conjure up visions of Atheenaton. Perhaps, he thought, if he concentrated hard he might find himself back there, wandering along the sand or swimming in those crystal-clear waters. What, he wondered, had become of the girl with the mane of blond hair who had greeted him, who knew his name? Where was she now? And where were Barry and the waiter? Did they still exist, locked into a world to which he had only occasional access? And what did he have to do to gain access again?

  But no matter how hard he tried, when Daniel opened his eyes he was still in his living room in north London, and his dream world was an eternity away.

  In desperation he sought ways to trigger his return. He ran up to the bedroom and grabbed his notebook, thumbing anxiously through the pages, rereading his tired scrawl, the notes he had written on waking from his dreams, in the hope that the strange melange of vaguely connected words might precipitate the return he longed for.

  But it was to no avail. He retrieved the paperback that he had bought the other day, Robert Jameson’s Greek Idyll, and spent ten minutes gazing at the cover believing that it might be a gateway to his lost world. But nothing happened. He even read a few more pages, but the prose was so turgid that it only annoyed him.

  ‘I want to go back,’ he mumbled aloud, too ashamed to cry out loud but desperate to give vent to his frustrations, but the songs, shifting from one mood to another, like his random words, echoed each other and would only hint at sights unseen. Frustrated at his inability to bring back something as simple as a dream, Daniel sulked miserably.

  The first side of the record came to an end. Exhausted by his exertions, Daniel decided he would lie down on the sofa for a while. He kicked off his shoes, padded over to the hi-fi, lifted the disc from the turntable and replaced it carefully in its sleeve. He examined the cover again; somewhere among the pictures and words, there had to be a key, a password; something which would show him the way to Atheenaton. If there were clues they remained undetected, but in some way, he felt sure, the music would provide his ticket to paradise.

  Daniel returned to the sofa, plumped up the cushions, then stretched out upon it. He snuggled into the soft comfort, closed his eyes, and within moments felt that pleasing sense of discontinuity as the web of logical notions, recollections and ideas began to unravel and fragment, and snatches of surreal nonsense eased their way into a train of thought already careering off the rails. Even though the hi-fi was switched off, the music continued to play.

  How wonderful, thought Daniel as the first, flickering intimations of sleep beckoned; how absolutely wonderful.

  Chapter 7

  ‘How do you know my name?’

  The girl smiled; there was something provocative.,perhaps even cheeky about her grin; Daniel thought it rather fetching.

  ‘Let’s just say that we don’t get many unexpected visitors to Atheenaton.’ She raised her eyebrows as if to invite comment, but Daniel thought it best to say nothing. ‘So, how about a drink? We can go to the Neraida,’ she said, nodding her head at the taverna on the beach.

  ‘Sure... but I don’t think it’s open,’ said Daniel, still puzzling over how the girl had known his name. He decided that she must have been at the Pumphouse and spoken to Barry.

  ‘Oh, I should imagine we’ll find someone to serve us. Come on, my treat!’

  Without waiting for Daniel, Kate started to walk in the direction ofthe taverna, her long fair hair swaying in the breeze. Daniel followed, a couple of paces behind. His heart was beating fast, and his mouth was dry; thirst seemed to be a recurring feature of his visits, but he didn’t care. All he could think as he followed his escort was: I’m back; I’ve come back to Atheenaton.

  Kate chose a shaded table, the one nearest the sand, eased herself into one of the straight-backed wooden chairs and placed her feet casually on another. Daniel sat opposite her and arranged his chair so that he could look out on to the sea.

  ‘I really do think this place is empty,’ he said, looking around.

  ‘Nonsense,’ laughed Kate. Her eyes flashed; a look of supreme confidence. ‘These places never close, especially when we have guests.’

  ‘Guests?’

  ‘But of course, my dear: you.’ Kate turned her head towards the doorway of the taverna and called out, ‘Vangeli!’

  A moment later, a slim, dark-haired young man appeared in the doorway. He was dressed like the waiter at the Pumphouse: black trousers, black shoes, and a plain, white, collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below the elbow. When he saw Kate, Vangeli smiled broadly and strode across swiftly to greet her.

  ‘Yassu, Katy. How are you?’

  ‘I’m well Vangeli, very well. Vangeli, allow me to introduce you to our new friend; this is Daniel.’

  Vangeli nodded. ‘Yes, I heard. Please, you are most welcome.’ He shook Daniel firmly by the hand. ‘How long you stay?’

  Daniel, who was baffled but not displeased by this curious charade in which everyone treated him as if he was an honoured guest, found himself hesitating before replying. What was he supposed to say?

  ‘Well, I’m not sure-’ he began, only to be interrupted.

  ‘Is not long enough!’ boomed the waiter, and laughed. ’You talk with Katy; once you come Atheenaton, you never want to leave. Now, my friends, what you like to drink?’

  Kate ordered (in what Daniel presumed must be Greek) and Vangeli dashed off towards the kitchen.

  ‘They make their own wine here; it’s quite unusual, quite unique... you do drink wine, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely,’ replied Daniel. He felt a little uneasy at this ebullient, overdone hospitality, the rather forced manner in which he was being made to feel at home, but he considered it would be both churlish and ungrateful to comment upon it. Besides, there were more pertinent matters uppermost in his mind. Most particularly, who was this woman who had suggested that he, Daniel, had been expected? And if she knew his name, and knew to expect him, then what else did she know about him?

  He felt a familiar, nagging sensation gnawing away at him and realised that he was in need of a cigarette. Kate had shifted her position a little and was now looking out to sea, so while fishing around in his pockets for his cigarettes he took the opportunity to look at her more closely.

  The first, and most striking, thing about her was not, in fact, her mane of golden hair; it was her face, which, with her rounded, chubby cheeks and deep-blue eyes, gave her the look of a particularly pretty cherub. It was clear now, both from the curves of her face and from the soft, well-padded fingers and forearms that Kate possessed what Daniel’s father might have referred to as a fuller figure. To his surprise, Daniel found this appealing. He had always been drawn to slim, petite women - Lisanne was a case in point - but there was something about Kate that he found undeniably attractive. In part it might have had something to do with the way she carried herself; Daniel had noticed the graceful way in which she had sashayed across the sand, the noticeable but not pronounced way she swung her hips, how she held her head high.

  And then there were her looks; she was disarmingly pretty, her beautiful blue eyes set off by a charming, slightly snub nose and full, red lips.

  He fished the packet of cigarettes out of his pocket along with another handful of crumpled banknotes, which he spread out on the table. He examined them perfunctorily while fiddling with the cellophane wrap on the cigarettes, and sighed. This small, magical occurrence alerted him once more to the truth of his current situation: only in dreams could one’s pockets fill with cash, mysteriously, without effort.

  He lifted one of the pink notes and stared hard at it. It looked vaguely familiar, but was still not identifiable. He waved it
towards Kate.

  ‘Kate?’

  Kate turned her head slightly and looked at him. ‘Uh- huh?’ she said, her voice warm and soft and comforting. She appeared to be smiling contentedly, like a woman who hadn’t a care in the world.

  What, wondered Daniel, did one have to do to achieve such a state of grace? How did you live a dream life? For a moment he felt envious.

  Daniel waved the note again. ‘What’s this? I mean, what’s it worth? I, uh... I’m not familiar with the currency.’

  ‘That’s a one-hundred-drachma note.’

  ‘Right And what’s that in sterling?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘No idea. But it’ll buy you two carafes of wine, a piece of roast chicken or a big souvlaki,’ she said, and laughed. ‘Or moussaka and salad... just. And that’s all it’s worth; this much food, that much drink. Don’t worry, you’ll soon get the hang of it.’

  Daniel frowned. That last remark had been delivered as if he was new to the whole concept of money. Where does she think I’ve come from? thought Daniel, and was just about to broach the matter when Vangeli returned from the kitchen with two small, dirty glasses and a rough-cast ceramic carafe which he placed on the table with a gesture which, in different circumstances, might have suggested triumph. Vangeli looked in turn at Kate and Daniel and then nodded. ‘Drink to your health,’ he said, rather obliquely, and left.

  Daniel reached out to touch the carafe and was pleased to find that, despite its rough appearance, it felt smooth and well-worn. He was going to offer to pour but thought it best to wait until asked; for all he knew there might be some strange or unfamiliar ritual regarding the drinking of wine in Atheenaton; there frequently was in other countries. And wasn’t that where he was? Another country?

  Kate poured the wine then lifted her glass. ’This is a red retsina,’ she said. ‘You don’t see much of it around, and it’s definitely an acquired taste. The first glass usually takes the skin off the back of the throat; after that, it’s like nectar.’ She clinked her glass against Daniel’s. ‘We’re very pleased to have you with us.’

  Daniel looked at her askance. ‘We?’

  ’Yes, all of us,’ she said, as if that was all the explanation that was necessary, and then threw back her head and swallowed the wine in one gulp. Daniel looked on in amazement. Kate caught his look with its hint of disapproval and burst out laughing.

  ‘It’s the only way to drink it! Go on, try it!’

  Daniel did as he was told. The wine, if that was what it was, tasted strong and acidic, almost sour. He flinched as he swallowed, and felt tears come to his eyes.

  Kate shrieked in delight. ‘There! Wasn’t that wonderful? Here, have another; you’ll find this one tastes even better.’

  Daniel took a deep breath as Kate refilled the glasses. What was she playing at? Surely she wasn’t trying to get him drunk? Daniel found himself amused by the idea and - as he considered its possible objective - even a little flattered.

  ‘You’re going to love it here, Daniel; I do hope you can stay.’

  Daniel gazed around him at the tables and chairs, the rush mats that covered the patio floor, and the track he had walked down. He registered the soft yellow sand, the calm azure sea, the glass of ruby liquid on the table, the colours echoing correspondingly in Kate’s golden hair, dark-blue eyes, and full, red lips.

  ‘So do I,’ he said softly, and lifted the wine to examine its rich hue and heady bouquet. He stopped short of drinking and put the glass down. ‘Shouldn’t we make a toast? Or isn’t that customary?’

  ‘Yes, of course. What would you like to drink to?’

  Daniel shrugged. ‘Well, to be honest, I’m not sure. Perhaps we should drink to this wonderful place.’

  ‘Do you mean the taverna or Atheenaton?’

  Daniel paused. He had not yet spoken the name, and knew that to do so would, in some obscure way, be giving it still greater credence. He took a deep breath and, bracing himself in case of any sudden transformation, let the word issue from his wine-wet lips.

  ‘Atheenaton.’

  There were no rumbles of thunder or flashes of lightning; no intimations of disaster.

  Kate smiled, then nodded a touch solemnly. ‘I think that’s a very wise choice. To Atheenaton.’ She clinked her glass, filled to the brim, against Daniel’s, then sank what remained in one easy move before filling it for the third time. Daniel, who had yet to loosen up but none the less found Kate’s uninhibited embrace of the rough and ready retsina infectious, followed suit.

  This time the wine tasted sweet and full-bodied and Daniel could not control the expression of surprised delight that lit up his face.

  ‘Told you,’ said Kate, reaching across and placing her hand on Daniel’s wrist. ‘And this is just the beginning - there’s so much more... so much more.’

  Daniel didn’t understand what Kate meant, not that it really mattered. He watched the seagulls circling overhead, his head muzzy and his tongue singing with the acid of the retsina. He swooned slightly as the exotic aromas of pine and sea-air filled his nostrils, felt the breeze, now warm and salty, blowing around his head.

  From the doorway and windows of the taverna came the sweet, familiar sounds of the bouzouki, and the deep resonant tones of the baritone. Daniel twisted in his chair, his whole body trembling with pleasure. ‘My music.’ he murmured.

  Kate looked at him and smiled. ‘You like this music?’’

  Oh God, yes. it’s very special.... very. Don’t you think so?’

  ‘Of course. Mitropanos is very popular here.’

  ‘He’s the singer?’

  ‘Uh-huh. This is one of his older recordings. it’s called “Synaxaria”.’

  Daniel nodded. ‘Does it mean anything? The name, I mean.’

  Kate shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’ She turned towards the taverna. ‘Vangeli!’ she cried out. ‘More retsina.’

  Daniel balked at this. ‘Wait a minute, Kate... ’ he started, feeling decidedly light-headed.

  Kate looked at him blankly. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Well, not really... it’s just I’m not used to drinking so much at this time.’

  Daniel lifted his left wrist reflexively, as he had done thousands of times before but this time as he glanced down casually to check the time he discovered that his watch was missing. ‘Oh shit,’ he said, as habitual a reaction as checking the time, ‘I’ve lost my watch.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ said Kate, pouring the last drops from the carafe into Daniel’s glass.

  Daniel was already searching the table top for it. ‘But I had it... ’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Kate softly, once again placing her hand gently on his arm. Daniel stopped his search and looked up at her. ‘Really, Daniel, it just doesn’t matter. Not here, anyway.’

  ‘But I...’

  ‘You really are going to have to learn to relax. Now take it from me: you don’t need a watch. No one in Atheenaton has a watch.’

  ‘Don’t you have a watch?’

  ‘No; and neither do you. Now.’

  ‘How will I know what time it is?’

  ‘You have an appointment?’

  Daniel shrugged, then smiled reluctantly; he did not think he was being obsessive about his watch, it was just that he was used to knowing what time it was. Even when he was on holiday.

  ‘Okay, point taken; but what happens if you do have to know the time?’

  ‘You ask someone. Look, here’s Vangeli; ask him.’

  ‘But I...’

  ‘It’s okay; he won’t bite, and he understands English really well. Go ahead.’

  As Vangeli approached the table, a full carafe of wine in hand, Daniel took a cigarette from out of the packet and lit up. He offered one to Vangeli.

  ‘English cigarette? Thank you, yes, I will take one.’

  Daniel struck a match and held it out for the waiter. ‘Vangeli, do you know what time it is?’

  ‘Time?’ said Vangeli. He looked out to sea, squinting
at the bright reflections and then sighed. ‘It is afternoon; maybe three hours before sunset.’ He paused a moment and drew deep on his cigarette. ‘A good time for smoking, I think. And for drinking retsina.’

  ‘See?’ said Kate, unable to conceal her amusement. ‘You just have to ask.’ It was clear to Daniel that Kate believed she had just won a small victory. ‘Vangeli, Daniel wants to know what “Synaxaria” means.’