FIRST STORY - Where the road ends - PART TWO
The screams draw nearer. When they arrive at my door, loud bangs on it follow. I'm still trying to decide whether I'm in danger, and it's out of caution that l get off the bed to look for something to dress -- when a screaming woman stumbles inside the room, as the door opens under her blows.
Upon leaving, Daniela probably did not close the door properly -- intending to return, perhaps?
We are both paralyzed, as we take in each other's presence.
She falls silent, but her mouth remains open from the last shout.
I'm under full light, coming from the wide-open door behind her. She stares at me, at my nakedness, and when she hesitates, I realize I am not the person she was expecting to find.
The woman is only a silhouette against the bright daylight. I can't distinguish her face, but I do see the side of her dress is drenched with blood, the cloth clinging tight to her plump body. Fresh blood.
And I sense something is going to happen. To my body.
"Stelios!" The woman screams, taking two steps in my direction.
I won't move - I can't move.
"No." I mumble, shaking my head.
"Stelios!" She demands, taking more steps towards me. Blinded by her rage, or be it the obscurity, she nearly tumbles over the bed, that detains her. When she brandishes the shiny knife she is holding tight in her left hand, I see blood drip on the white sheets.
Something else drips, just then. I try to control it, but in seconds the drops turn into a steady flow of warm liquid down my thighs, and soon a pool is encircling my feet.
-II-
Her silver, curly hair is cut so short that I mistook her for a man. And since no Greek woman would wear her hair à la garçonne in that part of the country, I instantly assume she is a foreigner like me.
"You have come a long way!" She exclaims when I approach the car, still holding my backpack against my chest as an improvised shield. Her English sounds fluent.
"You bet!" I bend to peer inside the vehicle, and the first thing I notice is her one wide, glistening green eye. Not that the woman is one-eyed. She is wearing glasses with removable dark lenses over them -- and the right one is missing. The effect is comically weird, but that's how I discover her right eye is smiling at me. Encouraged, I say "I am headed to-"
"I know you are!" She won't let me even pronounce the name of the village. "There is nothing else on the other side of this mountain, darling!"
"Would you mind-"
She cuts me off. "Hop in!"
I inspect my skinned knees, as I wait while the shopping bags littering the passenger's seat are thrown onto the back seat, where plenty more bags and boxes already pile. In the process, things fall onto the floor, but she doesn't seem to mind.
As I enter, I find the floor littered with different things. Books, maps, a blue jug, packages of brown sugar-- a wig? I hardly find space to place my feet, without stepping onto any object, and I realize I'll have to hold my backpack on my lap.
"I just lost it!" She indicates her glasses, and is again fumbling at the floor under her feet for the fallen lens. "I almost ran over you, didn't I? I'm sorry, darling. It was not my intention to scare you."
"Never mind. I have witnessed scarier things on these roads." I retort, but she doesn't pay attention.
"I give up!" Removing the other dark lens -- that I notice to be already chipped --, she throws it to the back of the car. "My head will kill me later." She puckers her lips.
I fumble for my own sun glasses in the backpack, and quickly handle them to her.
"They might fit over yours" I suggest.
They do. She claps her hands, and I am hoping we have a deal. She wouldn't kill me to steal my glasses - would she?
"You are a darling boy! Now we won't risk falling into the abyss!" She lets out a cheerful laugh, and slaps my thigh.
Turning the music off so we can chat, we are on our way.
"The next curve changed my life!"
Daniela's announcement does not contain a warning, but from the way she drives I am afraid she will start describing an accident. Gladly, for both of us, I'm awfully wrong.
"That dilapidated bus I traveled on was certainly taller than this car, and I took in much more... than this!" She opens the palm of her hand, as if offering me the vast scenery that invades our eyes, and parks the vehicle right after the curve.
I gasp, jumping off the car. Coming off the curve between the boulders feels like opening a cupboard -- to find its interior gives to a wide-open window.
Breathless, I am able to finally watch the postcard come alive under the sunlight. Right before my eyes, the labyrinth of houses shines immaculately, as if the owners have whitewashed them that very morning. The village has grown a little over the years, following the coast on both sides of the peninsula, along its two pristine beaches. Yet, the pines grove at the top tip of the sword seems perfectly preserved, its lush, springy green contrasting with the grey, rugged rocks. The little port too, seems to hold more boats than I recall having counted. Anchored in a gracious arch, their varied colors create a floating rainbow, set against the light blue sea. Orchards adorn the limits of the village and climb the slope in our direction in neat lines. I think I can almost smell the limes and oranges -- but no, Daniela is just peeling one by my side.
I am aware of being observed by her while contemplating the view. Satisfied with my display of genuine joy, she explains how she abandoned everything in Belgium and moved to Greece.
"That is so courageous of you!" I comment, wondering if I would ever do something similar. I usually think of myself as a coward.
"Not really." She hands me half of the orange, inviting me to sit on the hood of her car. "I hated my job in advertising. To the bitter end. I felt all I did was coating shit with gold. The money was good, but it went down the drain on a tiny rented apartment, so dark all plants would die; and on trendy new clothes and shoes I hated but had to wear to impress the clients. High heels hurt me, and gave me chronic pain along my spine. I had grown allergic to make-up, too, having to buy special brands only. All very expensive, of course. Every winter my skin would dry to fall in flakes. I had cold sores and painful joints..." She spits a seed, and then apologizes. "Sorry for my bad manners. But remembering my previous life always triggers the worst in me... "
That's when I spit two seeds myself.
Daniela immediately laughs. "Boy, you are a darling!" She laughs again, leaving me to grab another orange.
She keeps calling me boy, and I peer in her direction, trying to guess her age. Her suntan has a double take -- it gives her the healthiest of looks, contrasting beautifully with her silver hair and green eyes, but it also has all her wrinkles standing out to ruthless detail. I guess she is over forty and below fifty, which probably makes her double my age somewhat. But that doesn't make me a boy, nor does it turn her into an elder. A beautiful woman she is, at whatever age, with a firm and shapely, if slim, body.
Using white cotton trousers and t-shirt, it is hard to imagine her on high heels. In her naval blue sneakers, she seems to leap joyfully instead of walking. She wears no make-up either -- whatever traces of the past inhabit her heart, she has completely erased them from her looks.
"I came to Greece on summer vacations." She continues, sitting again at my side. She has fetched two cushions, once the hood is rather hot. "But I had to flee the touristy towns, since I kept bumping into my fellow countrymen now and then. This village-" She indicates the Mediterranean paradise below us, "did it for me, though. I was so happy here for ten days that I decided I wanted to be happy like that for the rest of my life..."
She falls silent when an eagle cries above us. We turn our heads just in time to observe it take flight, leaving the boulders behind us. So effortlessly majestic, or majestically effortless, the eagle seems to take my soul in its wings, liberating me from my heartache.
I have promised myself to stay away from women during the length of my stay in Greece. When I see them looking at my muscles on the beach, and when they flirt with me, it is a sweet revenge to know I won't respond to their appeal. I'll leave them alone with their longings. I'll help them grow insecure, when I reject them. Their self-esteem shall only decrease, when I ignore them. I won't go as low as Mireille to cheat on them -- simply because I won't get involved. The strength coming from having kept my promise so far arrives to the realization that I could transgress it at any moment -- if it were for Daniela.
"Are you?" I ask her, when the eagle, having raised high, vanishes absorbed by the splendid light emanating from the sun.
"Happy? I am. Though sometimes I have to remind myself of it. For it doesn't come naturally, does it? For anyone? I think it is the Dalai Lama who has said happiness is a state of mind, and that we have to cultivate it. Whenever I see this view, I go back to that day when I first saw it from the bus, and my heart melted with joy. This view reminds me why I moved to Greece, and what for." She sighs. "I'm glad I chose today, of all days, to go shopping. I do it once or twice a month, when it's high season and my restaurant is open. But it is not the case today, of course."
I am surprised and grow a little tense when Daniela leans her head on my shoulder, but I force myself to relax -- and trust her. Not all women are scurvy like Mireille, nor deserve to be punished with my despise.
"I want to thank you, darling. I haven't appreciated this view so thoroughly in a long while. And it is the first time I am sharing it with someone. I'm glad you've chosen to climb the mountain today, of all days."
"I almost didn't make it to the crest." I mouth. And before Daniela thinks I am mentioning her colliding with me, or the two cars I don't want to recall either, I amend, "The bus won't run for some weird reason today, of all days."
"Oh, that silly driver!" She giggles. "He stayed in town, today!"
"Do you know why?"
"Because men are silly, and crazy." She pats my thigh. "But not you, darling."
"Oh, but I am." I nod, to confirm my flagrant foolishness. "Crazy, and silly! Climbing this mountain today, of all days, when I could have waited until tomorrow... Silly me, and crazy!"
"You're right!" Daniela laughs. "But you shall be rewarded for your perseverance."
Her prediction sounds mysterious. But she must know better about the village she has chosen as her hometown -- that seems interdicted to me only. Or weren't the other two drivers headed there, the village where the road ends?
"Do you think so? I actually fear the opposite." I ponder, thinking of all the warnings I have received, including the men who have shooed and chased me away. "Don't ask me why, but I expect to meet trouble down there."
"Do you?" Having thrown the remains of the orange away, Daniela plays absentmindedly with her curls, while her eyes scrutinize the picturesque town in the distance. "You might have some difficulty to find a room, today of all days, since all guesthouses are closed, out of season. But I'll help you with that, don't worry. I can't invite you to my house... because I don't have a house! I have turned it into my restaurant, and I occupy the tiniest, if the breeziest, room in the building. You'll see."
I blush, interpreting that as an invitation to visit her room, more than her restaurant.
"Could I sleep in your car, if I don't find a place?"
She looks appalled.
"Why risk your life like that, darling? You see, I haven't cleaned it since I have bought it... many, many years ago." Still playing with her curls, she removes the other hand from my thigh, where it had been laying lightly, and taps the hood. "You know, things vanish mysteriously inside this car. I wonder if there is a snake living in it, Apollo's gigantic Python itself, feeding on-"
Suddenly, a car springs in great speed from the curve, almost hitting ours. The driver swears, waves and blows the horn as he storms by -- but does silence when he seems to recognize Daniela. Still, he leaves behind an ominous cloud of dust and poisonous black smoke that engulfs us.
"Is everything alright?" Daniela inquires when she sees me kneeling on the floor, hiding behind the car. "Are you a fugitive, darling?" She is still coughing, while I am rubbing my hurting eyes. My sun glasses would have avoided dust getting into my eyes -- but Daniela has them, now.
"Aren't we all?" I retort, climbing in the car to resume our drive down to the village of my dreams. As they turn into reality, dreams seem to draw more and more the attributes of fate - or the nature of doom?
A loud bump, and the change in the quality of the pavement is noticeable where the road ends, and the town begins.
The village is actually more touristic than I have expected. Along the first beach I count two guesthouses, four souvenirs shops, a few taverns. All closed, like Daniela said they would be. She has also assured me I shall be the only foreigner in town -- implying she no longer is a foreigner in Greece.
The beach itself is a disappointment, as I identify many dozens of tall sticks standing on the sand, that in the season turn into parasols. They remind me of a touristic cemetery -- but it is of prisons I think as we storm through the streets around the small main square, where I catch a glimpse of the second driver, the one who left his car to chase me, sitting at a bench. I can't say it's him for sure, because he looks exactly like hundreds of other dark haired, mustached Greeks I have met. He'll probably be called Kostas, too, I think.
Daniela has turned the tape music on again -- one of Schubert's rather dramatic piano quintets, she tells me. People turn their heads as we drive through town. Some salute Daniela, and she greets them back. Others just glare at her, like the man I think to have recognized, and she pretends to ignore a certain hostility hanging in the air. Is it because of me?, I have to wonder. But she seems intent on calling people's attention towards us -- and that's what gets me thinking of prisons. They say newly arrived prisoners have to befriend one of the local bosses for protection -- and I am guessing that is what Daniela is to me, in this forsaken village.
I want to help her unload the car, but she only wants to find a room for me. Above all, I wish to see where she lives. Have her directions, in case I have to run for my life.
"Never mind, darling. I will unload it slowly in the days to come, as I find the need for the things I have bought."
I think I finally understand the mess in her car. Daniela buys things, but she changes her mind about needing them, and they remain in the car, forever useless. That would explain the confusion of yellowed, dusty bags and boxes in the back seat.
She takes me to a house on the other end of town. It is the last building before the orchards start -- and I'm a little disappointed to be as far from the sea as it is possible in such a tiny settlement. If I were on my own, I would have chosen to stay in the old town, right on the peninsula.
But Daniela must know better. Clapping her hands, she calls for someone, and after having introduced me and my name to an old lady who emerges from what resembles a warehouse, she explains I need a room.
"Endaxi." The lady, who looks to be a hundred years old at least, beckons me to follow her. She is dressed in black from head to feet, and has that look of suspicion aimed at foreigners I seem often to find in Greece.
And that's the moment of having to say goodbye to Daniela.
"Will I ever see you again?" My voice trembles with emotion. I am unsure why I am being so dramatic.
"Of course, darling." She caresses my hair -- not like a beautiful woman should, but like my mother would. "I can't promise you anything about tonight... But tomorrow for sure!"
"Will your restaurant be open tonight?" I take her hand in mine, and pressing it slightly, hope she understands I don't want to let go of her.
"Not tonight, dear. Here-" She frees herself from me, to reach inside a shopping bag, taking an apple and a chocolate bar. "Take these for a snack. You might have difficulty to find a place to eat tonight. But tomorrow everything should be back to normal..."
I want to ask her why the full moon has such a strong and tragic impact on this village, but before I can articulate the best way to pose the question, she kisses my cheeks and jumps into her car and is gone.
Past a door giving to a rustic kitchen, where I catch glimpse of a wooden stove, I follow the old lady up a rusty iron industrial stair. At least, my room is on the first floor, and I shall get a nice view from the orchards, I am thinking.
The stair shakes, and creaks, and I am worried that it shall fall off the wall at any moment. The old lady is so tiny and thin -- my backpack might weigh more than her. I ask her if I should leave it downstairs, and make the gesture of dropping it cautiously to the floor at the feet of the stair. In a normal guesthouse I would check the room first, before taking it. But nothing is normal in this village, is it?
"Nein, nein." She hisses in German.
Climbing one step at a time, she explains in Greek, mixed with some words in German, things I don't understand at all. When she repeats the word 'Sonn', I am led to think her son might have fought in 'Deutschland' (she repeats that word too) in World War II -- so old is she. Or maybe he is living there now. Nothing makes sense to me.
From inside her black coat smelling to burnt wax and coal, she produces a key. As she tries to unlock the padlock of the metal door at the top of the stair, I close my eyes. My knees tremble so much that I am unsure they shall sustain me much longer under the weight of the backpack. It is not vertigo I am feeling -- I'm under the impression the stair is slowly descending every second, and about to collapse for good. To be honest, I am not calculating a strategy to save the old lady -- just whether I should try to get rid of my backpack before or during the fall, or use it as a cushion to lessen the impact.
The lady does achieve opening the lock, and she invites me to go into a dark room. As we step in, I blink, trying to grow accustomed to the lack of light inside. I remain still until I am able to devise the walls at least, lined with shelves from floor to ceiling, empty except for an occasional can.
From the old lady, only her skeletal face and hands remain visible, since the rest of her is camouflaged by darkness. Her hand seems to float in the air, detached from a body, as she waves me towards the next door, all the time speaking in her mixture of German and Greek sounding like cacophony to me.
I open the door she indicates, to a room immersed in thicker shadows. The smell of dust is so strong I immediately sneeze. One, two, three times in a row, my sneezes resound about the walls of both empty rooms.
The fourth sound, though, is the metal door slamming behind me.
Maybe it is the sudden engulfing darkness that freezes me on my feet, making me lose the precious moments that could have saved me from the trap.
When I sprint across the room, the old lady has already replaced the padlock.
I am locked in.
