An Aegean Prophecy (7 page)

‘Was he alone?’

She nodded yes.

‘What did he say to you?’

She pointed to the carton of envelopes and crosses, as if that were the extent of the conversation.

‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm him?’

Another no.

Andreas looked at Kouros.

‘
Yaya
,’ Kouros called her by the Greek word for grandmother and smiled at her as if she actually were his
yaya
. ‘Can you think of anything that might help us find who did this to Kalogeros Vassilis?’

The old woman spread her arms wide, turned her palms up, closed her eyes, and shrugged toward the heavens.

They thanked her and walked back to the car. Kouros drove. He said, ‘That was helpful. Wonder if she can speak?’

‘She probably speaks only Greek and is so used to communicating by gestures with tourists who don’t speak her language that she does it with everyone.’

‘Why do you think he bought that cross?’

Andreas shrugged. ‘Add that to our what-the-hell-is-going-on list.’ He stared out the side window at the lights down below in Skala and on the riggings of ships in the harbor. They all fit together quite nicely against a sky alive with stars. ‘I have to call Lila.’

‘Mavros said the hotel’s about five minutes from here.’

At the final right-hand bend on the mountain road back to Skala they headed down a narrow road marked
HOTEL THIS WAY
. A few blocks later they stopped in front of a white, three-story stucco building adorned with concrete slab balconies and the brightly lit sign,
HOTEL
. It was a style reminiscent of forgettable holidays.

‘Too bad he couldn’t find us anything in Chora,’ said Kouros. ‘He said everything’s booked solid for Easter. This place belongs to his cousin.’

Andreas shrugged. ‘It’s only for one night.’ At least he hoped so.

The lobby was about as interesting as the architecture,
but clean and tidy. The receptionist handed them keys to their rooms and an envelope. ‘Sergeant Mavros left this for you.’

Andreas opened the envelope and peeked inside. It was photos and the videotape of Vassilis’ body at the scene. ‘You look at these Yianni, I’ll check them out later.’ Photos of a body lying dead in a street would change his mood; remind him of how close Lila came to ending up like that. She was in a coma for a week after being clubbed in the head. That was almost nine months ago. Thank God she was all right.

Andreas’ room was small and had a view of parked cars. No matter, as long as it was quiet. He called Lila from his cell phone.

‘Hello, my Prince Charming.’

‘Damn caller ID takes away all the mystery.’ Andreas was smiling.

‘But not the romance, lover boy. So, how goes your island holiday off alone with Yianni?’

‘Terrific, nothing but beautiful beaches, fine food—’

‘And the bodies?’

Andreas paused. ‘I thought we agreed not to talk about that sort of thing.’

Lila laughed. ‘I meant live ones. Find any to rival mine?’

‘Sorry, I’m a bit edgy. No, none like yours. That person doesn’t exist.’

‘Perfect answer. It’s just what an almost nine months pregnant woman wants to hear. You’re learning, Kaldis.’

‘I have a great teacher.’

Lila laughed again. ‘So, when do you think you’ll be back?’

‘I’m hoping tomorrow.’

‘I hope so, too. I saw the doctor today and he said, “Any day.”’

‘Should I come home now?’

‘No, it’s not that close, but if you’re planning to be away for more than a few days I can’t guarantee the little one will wait.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back.’

‘I know.’

Neither spoke. It was one of those ‘should we marry’ silences, or at least that’s what Andreas thought. He was the son of a working class cop; she was from one of Greece’s oldest, wealthiest families, and the young, socially prominent widow of a shipowner. Things had just happened between them. And the attack made him her protector. His move from his walkup apartment into her penthouse on the chicest street in Athens he saw as temporary, until the baby was born. Sooner or later Andreas knew she’d come to her senses and he didn’t want her feeling bound to him by marriage. Until then, though, he’d continue to love her more than anyone on earth. He’d just not propose.

‘So, is there anything else you want to say?’ She always seemed to know what he was thinking.

Andreas paused. ‘It’s terrible what’s happened here.’ He decided it was safer to talk about the case than what was going through his mind. Besides, he’d only give details available to the media. ‘Everyone says the murdered monk was one of this world’s few, truly good souls. Tragic.’

‘Then, thank God there are people like you who care what happens to the good ones.’

‘Lila, come on.’

‘Hey, big guy, I’m nine months pregnant, relegated to doing crossword puzzles and anagrams for thrills. Let me fantasize about the father of my child.’

He wasn’t sure if Lila was teasing or not, but decided to let it go. They spent the next fifteen minutes talking about all the things her parents and Andreas’ mother were doing to make their baby the most appreciated in modern history. Then they said goodnight, with Andreas promising to tell her goodnight in person the next time.

He hung up and lay back on the bed. His cell phone rang. ‘I know, you forgot to tell me how much you love me.’

‘More than you’ll ever imagine.’ It wasn’t Lila.

Andreas didn’t move. ‘I see you got my message.’

‘If I’d known how much you cared, I’d have called sooner. But I sensed you wanted to whisper sweet nothings in my ear personally.’

‘When can we meet?’

‘I’ll let you know when and where. What’s your room number?’

‘Two-two-eight.’

‘Night night, my love.’

Andreas hung up and stared at the ceiling. It was time to get things running on a different track. He just hoped what he had in mind wouldn’t end up with him tied to one right in the path of a freight train.

It was a pale sky. Filled with arrows. Back and forth they flew. Sharp-pointed black ones, with crimson feathers. The sky was never without them; they came and went in flocks. So often and so many that he no longer noticed. He’d
grown used to them, accepted them as having a part in this place. They were not something to fear, but to understand so as not to be afraid. They flew all around him but could not harm him or those he embraced.

He thought back to before he’d come here. He’d heard talk of such serenity and knew of many who longed to find it, but he gave up on the value of the search when the only soul he thought could guide him there was lost. But to be fair, even had he tried on his own and by chance stumbled upon this station, the arrows flew everywhere; how was he to trust that not one could strike him if he remained?

Then, unexpectedly, he’d felt the stroke of some formless being, as light as a nursing baby at its mother’s breast; a touch that gave him faith that a place of peace indeed existed, and the vision to see that he must overcome whatever of his past or present dared block the path to this rare sanctuary. It was his duty. It was the duty of a father.

Andreas jerked awake shaking his head. ‘Oh boy, definitely too much garlic in the
tzatziki
.’ He turned on the light, got out of bed, walked into the bathroom, closed his eyes and slapped cold water on his face. When he opened them he stood staring into the mirror.

He’d seen pictures of his father at his age. The father who killed himself when Andreas was eight, after a government minister had set him up, the trusting cop, to take the fall for bribes that went into that minister’s own pocket.

‘Yeah, Dad, we look alike. No doubt I’m your son. No doubt whatsoever.’ He shook his head and threw more water on his face.

* * *

‘So, old man, was that your way of telling me to get on with my life and forget about how badly you fucked up your own family by checking out way before your time was up?’ He watched his anger build up in the mirror but didn’t look away.

‘Smart move, Dad, come to me in a vision on Patmos. Makes it seem like the real thing, huh?’

Andreas paused, as if waiting for an answer.

‘I need a sign, or else I’m going to chalk it up to the
tzatziki
. Make me believe in family, make me believe I won’t mess things up as badly as you did. Go ahead, I dare you!’

Andreas stared into his own eyes. ‘See, I knew you’d let me down. Again.’

He turned off the light and crawled into bed. He was back to staring at the ceiling when he heard a faint beep.

There was a text message on his phone:

I’
M AWAKE, AND THOUGHT YOU MIGHT BE, TOO.
J
UST WANTED YOU TO KNOW JUNIOR AND
I
LOVE YOU VERY MUCH.
L.

Andreas tried not to cry. He tried very hard not to cry.

There was a knock on Andreas’ door at seven in the morning. ‘Sir, a taxi driver just delivered an envelope for you. He said he’d wait for you.’

Andreas had been up for an hour. But he wasn’t expecting a taxi.

‘Slide it under the door.’

It was a plain white envelope marked ‘Room 228.’ Inside was scribbled,
Tell the driver Lampi. See you soon
. He recognized the handwriting.

Ten minutes later Kouros and Andreas were in the taxi on their way to a beach called Lampi. It was a beautiful morning, almost no one else on the road. The taxi headed north through the old port, past harborside tavernas peppered with locals sharing coffee and gossip, and on through the new port edged by shops and places catering to the daily needs of island residents: car repair, hardware,
furniture, clothing, electronics, cell phones, and pizza. As the road climbed out of Skala, eucalyptus replaced shops and the view turned to open land, marked by ancient walls, tiny villages, green and brown fields, and random homes and churches scattered across the hills among pines, cypresses, tamarisks, and pomegranates.

At a sign marked
KAMBOS
the driver slowed down to pass through a crossroads paved in rough-cut stone. ‘We’re almost there. This is Kambos town. Kambos beach is up ahead.’

Andreas had heard of Kambos beach. It was Patmos’ most popular, the one where rich kids from around the world summering in their parents’ homes and local kids in search of friends from a larger world grew up together. How well those friendships wore into adulthood largely depended on how well each appreciated the other’s likely future: the rich would go on to assume their parents’ lives and the locals would just go on.

‘How much farther?’ asked Kouros.

‘About five minutes. We take a left just past the beach and it’s on the other side of those hills.’ He nodded straight ahead. ‘Ever been to Lampi?’

‘No,’ said Kouros.

‘It’s different than it used to be.’

Why does every local, everywhere in Greece, say the same thing? thought Andreas.

‘What do you mean?’ said Kouros.

‘The shiny colored pebbles that cover the beach. Many of them are gone. Too many tourists - and locals - take them, thinking they look better on a table somewhere or
stuck in some mosaic. Damn shame how people destroy a place just to show they were there. Crazy how people think.’

Yeah, crazy, thought Andreas, like the British and the Marbles from the Parthenon.

A bit later the driver nodded his head to the right. ‘There it is, over there.’ The road coiled down toward a long beach surrounded by unspoiled hills. Andreas could make out a taverna in the middle, under some trees. Or maybe there were two tavernas. A rented, blue Fiat Punto and a beat-up maroon Toyota pickup were parked at the edge of the beach. The driver turned the taxi around before stopping next to the Fiat. ‘Should I wait?’ he asked.

‘No, thank you,’ said Andreas, paying him.

The driver nodded. ‘Damn shame about the pebbles. Do me a favor, don’t take any,’ and drove off before Andreas could reply.

Andreas smiled. The guy was right to say it.