understand,” I said honestly.
“Angel is husband of the cousin of the husband of my husband’s third cousin’s niece! Yes, we all grew up here under my mother’s roof! And he keeps sniffing everything! Oh, can you imagine? Angel ate and drank with Vasilios, and now runs to the police!”
“Why the police?” I couldn’t get it yet.
“Vasilios comes to the village to sell olives! He grows and cooks them himself! Well, he has no other way to feed his family! He lives in the mountains, there is no work but large olive gardens there. We all have olives. Sometimes I pick more than 3,000 kg from one-two-three and not more trees. Who else, but tourists, might need Vasilios’ olives? And Angel is stalking him, running around like a bloodhound, knocking on the police to drive him out of the village! Vasilios has nothing to eat! Olives in stores cost three times more than he sells. Vasilios has the most organic product! We need to find him urgently and warn him!”
“Listen, why does Angel do this?”
“Here you are! That’s what I’m talking about! He’s got crazy! Imagine what I feel! Because of kinship, I have to say hello every day!”
We passed three houses, and then, not finding Vasilios, turned back to the Tower for a long walk, to the pier.
“And some ones,” Dimitra continued, “claimed our house by the Tower! My grandmother lived in a box in the courtyard of the house near the Tower, where we park the car now. So, many years ago, my grandmother sheltered a family out of pity, they had nowhere to live. When we all grew up, my grandmother said, ‘Sorry, my house is for Dimitra’. In fact, it was a doghouse, not a house! And imagine, they sued my grandmother! They were just passing by! I paid 21,000 euros only to the lawyer, and my grandmother’s house couldn’t stand it and collapsed! There is our car parked there now, because nothing else fits in the space! It was such a small house!”
“All the same is everywhere,” I thought, but didn’t burden Dimitra’s sorrows with my memories and shifted my gaze to the islands, behind which the sky was flashing with lightning.
“Well, Vasilios isn’t here either, let’s look further! There’s also a monster in the village! I have one life and one icon shop. One and a small one, mind you. I wash it every day, clean and clean it, polish it to a shine. And he… it’s unbelievable! He sees nothing but money! The rent here is at least 45,000 euro! Well, where are you going? Think of God! No, there are numbers with zeros in his eyes! Socrates is another matter! He has a hotel on the main street, a restaurant, and a shop. A billionaire, but a good man! We both say, ‘they don’t make money on icons!’ Vasilios is not here either! Where the hell is he? I’ve called him, no answer! Okay, let’s go back.”
“Does he have an icon of St. Basil? I visited a cave monastery in Montenegro with the relics of St. Basil of Ostrog. He lived at the beginning of the 17th century, visited Mount Athos, became a bishop at the age of 28 in a Serbian monastery. A kind Saint, helps everyone. In that monastery, in addition to his relics, there is a healing spring, and a magical grape grows out of the mountain, and pilgrims leave their wish notes in crevices.”
We returned to the shop. I happily flopped down into the chair. Dimitra offered coffee, but it was too stuffy, the electronic scoreboard outside the pharmacy showed us +32C at 10:30 pm.
“Family icons?” Dimitra suggested a topic for another conversation. “Well, ‘The Holy Family’ with Mary, Joseph and Christ. Their hands are merged together. For a strong family. What else, if they asked me more, I’d say to buy any image of the Virgin Mary. And you?”
“Saints Peter and Fevronia of Murom. I have their Russian icon – Peter hugs Fevronia, they hold a dove in their palms, while the dove also has a halo. ‘The Tree of Christ’ and ‘The Tree of the Virgin Mary’ are good to pass on as inheritance in order to preserve the genealogical tree. For me, the icon of the Royal Family, Tsarina Alexandra, is important. Her name was Alice before she changed her religion for Orthodox. The Athos icon ‘The Elder’, or ‘Gerontissa’, helps old people.”
“Yes, she warns the monks on Athos about their transition to the Other World and fills the cellars with food, almost like the ‘House-Builder’, although ‘The Elder’ is depicted not sitting on the throne, but in full growth, in slippers on a ceramic floor with a jug from which oil flows.”
“Icons of Saints whose names are or were present in the family. Anna, Mary and Christ as grandmother, mother and son.”
“What about ‘The Fourth Generation’? You were the first to take it from me, and then a Londoner! Such a mysterious icon! You even asked me to call the twin monks on Athos for comments, but they refused to comment on it.”
“Yes, this icon as well. A non-canonical icon. In Italy it is called ‘Motherhood’, translated from Greek as ‘The Fourth Generation’. Three women – the Virgin Mary, her mother and grandmother – and the baby Christ. All very different in height and size, like a matryoshka, nesting doll. When I was in India, we were brought to a mountain gorge, where figures of giants of various sizes were carved into the rocks. We looked like ants against the background of even the smallest figures there. ‘The Fourth Generation’ reminds me of the legend about the 4 races of humanity, starting with the Elohim and ending with us.”
“All sorts of places you’ve been to, Alice! We plan to go to Morocco. I like to travel too!”
Suddenly… no, it was surreal! A man, a secular man, not a monk, floated past us to the Tower … in a black business suit and a white shirt with a tie … in a long unbuttoned black coat! He was holding a black umbrella-cane and a black leather briefcase. He wore a black felt hat on his head! The electronic scoreboard was still showing +32C!
“Dimitra,” I whispered, afraid to frighten the stranger off, but she jumped up from her chair, as if scalded.
“Vasilios!” Dimitra ran after the passing car, the back of which was an open area loaded with olives.
Oh curiosity! I pulled myself away from the chair and swam after the mysterious stranger, giving Dimitra the opportunity to chat with her friend. In the meantime, the stranger walked to the pier and, looking at the cloudless sky, opened his umbrella (!) as wide as I opened my eyes, and froze at the Tower, periodically glancing at his wristwatch, like people waiting for a bus. But the bus stop wasn’t there! Besides, at that hour there were no buses in Ouranoupoli! And what about an open umbrella and completely inappropriate attire for +32C? Why didn’t anyone pay attention to him?!
My phone rang.
“Ray! Save me! The man… in black… he…”
“He drops out of context, right?”
“Yes, he’s not here, or not from here!”
“Come up to him, it’s time to wake up!”
As I walked the man closer and closer, the space changed right in front of my eyes! The Mist enveloped the Tower, and it turned into a city house at a bus stop! Yes, it was raining and cold there! To my right, I noticed the typical red call-box of London!
“No!” I screamed in horror, closed my eyes and opened them on Athos, in Ouranoupoli. The Tower was still there. The man disappeared.
I returned to Nicolette’s house in a flash to catch my breath. Having grabbed the key, I went up to my top floor. I habitually opened the door and inserted the key into the automatic switch of electricity. The light turned on.
“What’s that? Where are my stuff? Who took all away? Where are the icons I has left on the second half of the bed? Where is my laptop?”
And the wardrobe! It was empty and had no trace of anyone’s presence! I rushed to the bathroom, then to the balcony. Oh no! I flew down the stairs and rang frantically at Nicolette’s