“What do you think about?”
“I think about something that calms me. I know you enjoyed today’s swims. You could think about what it felt like to glide along in the sea, floating and feeling free. Sometimes when I’m walking, I think about a word or phrase with each step that keeps me going. I might think, I’m strong on one step and then I’m determined on the next. And before I know it, I’m where I need to go.”
“I’m not sure I can walk when everything’s shifting around like this.”
He scoops me up and carries me underneath a large fir tree. He sets me down easily and leans back against the tree trunk. “Lean in on me and close your eyes.”
I lean in toward him and lay back against his chest. His arms sweep around me and I feel safe and protected and so drowsy I can barely keep my eyes open.
“You’re still tense. Close your eyes and let your muscles relax.”
I allow my eyelids to drift shut and fall into slumber. In my dreams, I’m still in Eros arms, but in a bed where he holds me all through the night. I awaken to the sound of his voice. He whispers my name. I open my eyes to see that the sun is lower on the horizon. I wonder how long I slept. I turn around to look at Eros and rub my eyes. “How long did I sleep?”
“Thirty five minutes. How are you feeling, Maya?” Worried creases mar his forehead.
“Much better. Nothing’s moving any more. But you should have woken me up earlier.”
“Don’t worry, we can still make it. Let me help you up.” He jumps to his feet and reaches for me hand.
With his strong help, getting up is easy. Now I’m not only thirsty, but my belly is growling from hunger. I’m still scared that I won’t make it. I’ve always avoided discomfort. I’ve never slept on the ground, waiting to get concert tickets and whenever I’ve gone camping, I’ve always slept on an air mattress and traveled with a huge cooler full of fresh food. It seems weird not to be able to walk to the refrigerator or call for take out like I usually do whenever I’m famished.
Eros grips my arm and walks beside me. “Let’s walk very slowly, okay?”
“Don’t worry, I can do this.” I take a slow step and then another one while my brain bombards me with complaints about hunger and thirst. I remember Eros’ suggestion about trying to think about something pleasant. He is the first thing that pops into my mind. I recall how amazing it felt to have his hands on my body and how much pleasure I felt when we made love. My mind wanders off on a further tangent and I imagine us living in a stone house on one of the islands, sitting side by side on our patio overlooking the sea. Our refrigerator is stocked with Greek wine and feta cheese and I never miss a morning eating pita smeared with halvah, that decadently sweet nut treat that is popular here.
I imagine Eros holding a piece on halvah between two fingers and steering it toward my mouth. I imagine the sweet flavor on my tongue and the texture of his finger as I lick off every last morsel. And then he takes my head and leads me to the bedroom...
“We made it, Maya. There are the first of the houses.”
My body jerks to attention, returning from fantasy to reality. “Oh, thank God.” A smile spreads over my face when I realize I made it, thanks to Eros’ patience. With any luck we’ll find some bottled water and an abandoned pantry full of food.
“You seemed to be very focused there for a while. What did you think about?”
There’s no way I’m telling him he was feeding me halvah. “Oh, just stuff. Mostly a comfortable bed.”
“Please stay strong, Maya. Our situation could get worse before it gets better.”
“I know.”
“Let’s knock on some doors. People in these towns are friendly and usually want to help each other when there is a crisis. I am sure someone will be willing to give us water.”
Simple, stucco homes with red tile roofs sit on either side of the narrow, stone-paved street, which dips sharply downward. We can’t yet see the submerged coastline.
Eros motions for me to follow him. We approach a house and he knocks at the tattered wooden door. Only silence answers.
“There is no one here,” says Eros. “Let’s try another house.”
We cross the street and walk up to another house. This time, Eros’ knock brings a woman to the door that I guess is in her fifties. A wrinkled off-white blouse is tucked into the waist of her dark-colored woven skirt, which looks too heavy and hot to wear in summertime. Her dark hair has been untidily wound and pinned on top of her head. She speaks to us in loud, panicked Greek.
I don’t understand a word she says—I only know she’s upset. I give her a sympathetic look as Eros speaks to her in her native language. He says something else that seems to make her even more upset. Now tears fill her eyes and she lets out a long wail.
“What is the matter?” I try to give her a sympathetic look.
“Her husband was out fishing and hasn’t returned home. She knew about the earthquake, but not the tidal wave. I just told her about that,” says Eros. “Her name is Helena.”
“Oh, no. That’s awful.”
He speaks again and I hear my name. Helena nods and after shaking hands with Eros, she reaches for my hand. I grip her hand firmly and say, “Nice to meet you,” in English. I hope Eros has told her I don’t speak Greek.
She wipes the tears from her eyes and then motions for us to come inside her house.
The house is tiny. Helena’s living room could fit into my mother’s laundry room. Teacups and plates of various sizes have spilled off of the shelves of a weathered wooden hutch. Shards of them are scattered across the terra cotta tile floor, which still shines from a recent scrubbing. Four cane chairs sit askew around what must be the kitchen table. In the small kitchen adjacent to the room where we’re standing, the window over the kitchen window looks like a large rock was thrown through it. The linoleum countertop is littered with shattered glass.
Helena speaks in what must be the longest sentence I’ve ever heard. She doesn’t even pause for a breath. Her tone of voice sounds hopeless. She must be scared her husband’s boat was washed away. Maybe if we walked down to the beach we could find him. I can tell she knows I don’t speak Greek. She directs her gaze toward Eros most of the time, occasionally glancing my way out of an effort to be polite.
She pulls a wicker chair out from the table and motions for me to sit. I drop into the stiff chair while she walks toward one of the large shuttered windows in the room. She pulls the dark green shutters open, illuminating the room with late afternoon sunshine.
Eros asks her something in a polite, respectful tone. For a glass of water, I hope. Helena says something that sounds sympathetic before rushing into the kitchen. She opens a cupboard and takes out some glasses and plates.
While Helena is busy in the kitchen, Eros explains that she wants to find out what became of her husband, but she’s been afraid to leave the house. “I said we would accompany her down to the harbor and try to help her find him. I also told her we’d gone for hours without water and were desperate for a drink.”
Helena returns with a tray. She sets tall glasses with water in front of us. I pick up my glass as she sets a plate of bread and assorted cheeses in the center of the table.
The water is tepid, almost warm, but I guzzle every last drop within seconds. Eros asks for more. She walks briskly from the room to refill our glasses and brings a pitcher of water along when she returns. Without speaking, we empty our glasses, refill them until the pitcher is empty and devour all the bread and cheese. Helena brings out a second plate of food and we finish every olive and crumb of bread. Afterward, Eros stands up and speaks in a serious voice. I assume he’s outlining his plan to search for Helena’s husband.
She utters more quick phrases to Eros and then disappears into what I assume is the bedroom. Maybe she’s changing into pants and tennis shoes? I can’t imagine looking for a missing man in that Mary Poppins skirt.
Instead of emerging in more practical clothing, she returns holding a cell pho
ne. She shakes the phone and points toward the screen. Eros explains that she just said the cell service is down, but wants to take her phone along just in case it comes online.
Eros exchanges a glance with me and I wonder if he’s thinking what I’m thinking...that the phone isn’t likely to help as much as a different outfit. She’s going to be sweating bullets in that long, heavy skirt not to mention she will be dragging it through the mud.
When Helena opens the front door, I hear chickens squawking in distress. Two of them strut down the street, apparently let loose by a fallen wall. “We should catch those stray chickens,” I say to Eros. “They might be the only dinner any of us get tonight.”
Eros speaks to Helena and then to me. We will chase down the chickens that got loose from someone’s yard and hold them hostage in Helena’s backyard. The chickens aren’t amenable to our plan. They dodge and hop just out of our grasp. Even my diving leap leaves me flat on my belly empty handed.
Finally, Eros corners one against a wall and snatches it in his hand. By now the other one has disappeared into a crumbled wall. “We can’t go in there. The building doesn’t look stable,” he says.
The chicken he’s caught squawks and flaps its wings, trying to escape. Eros flinches when it pecks at his fingers. He speaks to Helena again and then walks briskly behind her toward the back of her house. Helena opens a metal gate and Eros releases the chicken in her small backyard.
We walk down the steep road. I’m surprised to see the streets are deserted. Eros slows his pace. He must have noticed Helena’s limping slightly. I wonder if she was injured in the quake or has hip problems. I imagine not too many people on this remote island get surgery. Maybe people needing urgent care have to travel to Athens. Or just pass away. Who knows what the average lifespan here is.
I feel suddenly sad. Maybe it’s thinking about people living short lives. Or maybe it’s because it’s too quiet. Deathly quiet. Or maybe it’s because realization is hitting me that I know almost nothing about this place. What the locals eat, what they do for fun, how much money the average person here makes in a month. Do Eros’ parents live in homes like I see on this street? Or do they live in an apartment building? I remember seeing many high-rise apartment complexes in Athens. Does his mother wear old-fashioned clothes wrong for the season like Helena or wear sexy clothes like many women wear in Athens?
The homes we walk past are in various states of disarray. Walls have crumbled, windows are shattered, roofs are caved in. Long, jagged cracks mar the stone streets.
I point at a house that has crumbled and collapsed on one side. “Those walls are so thick. Someone could be trapped in there.”
Eros is already striding toward the house. We step over the ruins and find no one. A small black spaniel steps out of what remains of the kitchen.
“Come here boy,” says Eros.
The dog wags his tail and runs toward us scattering broken pieces of tile. Eros said earlier this was a fishing village. So many of the men must have been out in boats fishing. Will we find anyone alive?
I’m no Greece expert, but I know the country is suffering a devastating financial crisis and that banks are restricting how much cash people can withdraw. The American media ramble on about how Greek people are lazy and blame them for their predicament, but I’ve seen no evidence to support that accusation. I imagine government corruption is to blame.
The taxi driver who took me to my Geni hotel late at night said she worked more than twelve hours a day most days between doing bus station and town runs around and maintaining a hair and nail salon. The hotel owner, Teodora, greeted me like I was a long lost relative. After showing me to my room, she invited me to join her and her husband for a drink even though it was nearly midnight. I’ve never understood why so many Americans think if someone’s occupation doesn’t turn out to be a big moneymaker, the person is lazy. Pretty stupid I think.
The Greek people have faced so much hardship recently it seems so unfair that these island people have to endure this tragedy. Even though I’m an outsider looking in, it still hurts to see these broken houses and the evidence of so many shattered lives. How will they rebuild their homes?
I try to picture myself living in this small fishing village. Could I really leave my old life behind and live in Greece? Could I ever fit in? I don’t speak the language or know the customs. As I listen to Eros and Helena converse, I feel a strange hollow loneliness. Like they have something in common that I want to share, but can’t. It’s not only because I don’t speak the language, but also because I don’t understand the Greek culture.
As if sensing my discomfort, Eros reaches for my hand. “I know this is hard for you, Maya. But one day soon this will end. I will get you safely to the mainland so you can return safely to your America.”
He’s affirming what makes sense—me returning home once this ends. He’s willing to let me go since he thinks that’s what I want. Or maybe he knows now that us long term could never work. I burst into tears, surprised by my outburst. Not one cell in my brain can stand to think of letting him go.
Eros wraps me in his arms and pulls me tight against his chest. His breath blows warm on my cheek. “My dear Maya, why are you so upset?”
I wipe tears from my eyes. “I don’t know. I just...” I won’t say I can’t leave him. He can’t think I’m the clingy woman he can’t get rid of.
“Please talk to me. I want to listen.”
“I know I’m saying too much, but I don’t want to think about leaving, about not being here with you.”
He looks at me and then glances away. “It’s okay, Maya. I don’t want to think about that either. I don’t know why I said that. It was very bad of me. I suppose I said that because I wanted to see your reaction. I wanted to see if you could walk away from us very easily.” His gaze meets mine again and he reaches out to stroke my face. There’s so much intensity and emotion in how he’s looking at me. I could never forget those big brown eyes.
“Of course I couldn’t. You must know that.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. We will have much to talk about later.”
“Yes, we will.” My voice sounds like a whisper or a breath of wind. I suddenly remember we’re not alone. Helena must think we’re crazy. I untangle myself from his embrace. I clear my throat and try to speak in a normal tone-of-voice. “Please tell her I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry, I will tell her. And I’m sorry that what I said was so insensitive.” He reaches for my hand and gives it an assuring squeeze.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I stop and gasp in horror when I first glimpse the worst destruction. Rooftops of buildings poke up from the murky water, boats lay on their sides, battered and mostly underwater. Plastic containers, window awnings, fragments of wood, roofing material and even mattresses float in the water. People stand near the edge of the flood, hunched over and weeping, calling out to missing loved ones. A feeling of despair washes over me.
Helena starts to wail and point.
“What is it?” I ask.
“She sees her husband’s boat. It is the pale blue one with the white wooden deck laying on its side.”
“Oh, no.” The boat is mostly submerged and more than half of the exposed side has been crushed. Is there any chance Helena’s husband survived? I wonder what became of the Ionian Goddess? Is she beaten and broken like this. Maybe she’s lying on the bottom of the sea.
Helena speaks to Eros in an urgent, desperate voice. He tells me she can’t swim. She wants to know if one of us can find a boat to see if he is still alive. Eros speaks to her and then to me. There are no usable boats here. Swimming to him is our only option.
The broken boat bobbing helplessly in the water is at least fifty yards from where we’re standing. Between here and there, the water is saturated with wreckage. It will be like swimming an obstacle course. “You can’t swim out there,” I say. “There’s too much debris out there. Don’t you think he’s already dead?”
“I don’t want you to go out there.”
“It’s the only way.”
I gaze at the water. If he can keep from getting snagged by floating debris, he’ll be fine. This isn’t open ocean. The water in this submerged area is quite calm. Still...I don’t like the idea of him swimming out there alone. I plant my hands on my hips. “Fine. But I’m going with you.”
“No, Maya. You must stay on dry ground where it’s safe.”
“I won’t just stand here and let you swim out there alone.”
Eros’ jaw muscles tighten as he frowns. “This is not a good idea at all. You are not trained for water rescue. If someone is drowning, they will grab you and pull you under. I can’t have that happening to you.”
“But you know I’m a strong swimmer and you shouldn’t go out there by yourself!”
Helena speaks in a loud desperate voice.
Eros sighs and shakes his head. “We are wasting time that we do not have. If you must go, then do it.” He turns to Helena and speaks to her.
She responds with more tears and desperate pleas.
Eros places a hand on her shoulder and speaks in a consoling voice before turning to me. “That boat will sink at any moment. Please swim right beside me and keep your head raised so you can hear me give any instructions and so you can watch out for debris around you. One rope attached to a sinking object could pull you to the bottom.”
“I promise to be careful.”
“Let’s go.”
“Do you want your reef shoes back?”
“Keep them. You might need those shoes if there is broken glass or other sharp objects on the bottom. But you could still get hurt. Please stand only where you can see what’s below you.”
“Sounds good.”
Eros pulls his goggles over his eyes and strides like an agile athlete toward the water. I follow him and soon I’m submerged in the eerie, debris-ridden water. This swim feels much different than our last one. My heart is racing and instead of looking through a clear lens of crystal, I’m looking through a powdery white mist. I raise my head since my underwater view is completely obscured. I feel the scrape of something drag across one of my thighs. “Ouch,” I cry out as a chunk of wood slices into my upper arm. I swim past a straw hat, a soggy pillow, an empty water bottle. A wave of anxiety washes over me. What if I swim into a body? Maybe the squishy thing my hand hit a minute ago was one of them. Oh, my God. I gasp and inhale a mouthful of water. Relax, I say to myself. I try to slow my breathing and not think about what’s in the water around me. We’re almost there. Just a few more strokes.
My Greek SEAL Page 12
