Chapter 7: Emily meets a very strange lady

Later that evening they decided to walk down to Merounda, the little harbour town. They wended their way down the rough, rock-strewn roadway. Ahead of them the sea glimmered and sparkled in the gentler light of the evening and a faint breeze had sprung up. It felt so much cooler now that the sun was lower in the sky.

On this particular pathway down to Merounda, they had to pass through Rhodaki, a small village nearby, which had about a dozen or so houses in it and the famed café with the television. The houses in this little village were rough and square like boxes, though a few boasted a lime-washed courtyard in which plants grew in profusion in old kerosene cans painted white and blue and yellow. One house had a roof garden where masses of honeysuckle grew and jasmine with tiny white flowers like stars. Purple heaps of bougainvillea tumbled over white walls in alleyways and dazzled the eyes with rich colour, the varied scent of the plants carried on the warm air bringing a sense of euphoria. Stray hens ran squawking before them across the dusty path.

'Oh, look at that poor old goat,' said Emily.

A sad-looking white goat looked up from nibbling at a sparse bit of grass and surveyed the world with heavy, suspicious eyes before returning to its munching and gnawing, moving in a slow circle round and round on its rope, clambering over boulders, stretching its scraggy neck higher in the hopes of new foliage.

'I wouldn't go near it if I were you,' said Petros, pulling her back as she started towards the animal with enthusiasm, 'it may well butt you. It's been known to do that many a time.'

Emily, entranced by all these sights, kept stopping to exclaim over something that caught her eye or a sudden view down an alleyway that was especially delightful. 'I love this place, it's fascinating,' she said, her eyes full of delight.

'This is a very old-fashioned village, I'm afraid,' Petros told David, with regret. 'There aren't any modern shops or anything interesting here. I just thought you might like to see it. It's quite pretty and unspoilt. There's plenty of tourist shops and even a department store in Merounda harbour but if you like nightclubs and so on, you'll have to get a taxi to Heraklion – unless Mom lets me drive her car which I doubt she will. She thinks more of her car than of me. However, there's a big tourist resort a little further out along the bay - camping, villas, lots of beaches, plenty of people around.'

'Maybe we can do that tomorrow,' said David. 'I'd like to find some good, busy beaches, like to see a few people. Sorry – it's all a bit too quiet for me here, Petros! We've always lived in a city. Not that Worcester is exactly a big place but it's busy, lively.'

'Yes, Rhodaki is a bit of a dead place for visitors. Just a simple village with a few families who've been here since the world began. The most exciting thing they do in the evening is go down to the harbour and stroll along the quay a bit or go to one or other of the psarotaverna for a bit of fish and a glass of wine. But we'll go to Heraklion some time for shopping and to see what our fathers are up to, eh? You may like to stay and go dancing at a nightclub by the sea.'

'That's more like it,' David agreed cheerfully.

Seated beneath the shade of a great plane tree in the main square, the older men of the village were already ensconced in the taverna. It mainly consisted of a few wooden tables and rush-bottomed chairs that had been painted the cheerful bright blue of the Hellenic flag. The busy clickety-clack of the backgammon pieces on the boards or the shuffle and snap of card decks could be heard. In front of the players were rough glass tumblers filled with water, a small glass each and bottle of raki. A few bowls of nuts and olives on a plate and they were all set up for the evening.

The sweet scent of honeysuckle filled the air and mingled with the aromas of cooking food that emanated from various houses.

'Where are all the women?' asked Emily.

'Oh, back home preparing supper or visiting their friends for a gossip,' said Petros. 'As I said, it's very old-fashioned here. The women stay at home, even the young ones.'

'What!' exclaimed David. 'That's a bit backward, isn't it? Haven't they heard of equal rights?'

'Well, they're beginning to. Things are slowly changing. I'm not too sure that they're any happier for it, though,' Petros sighed. 'New ideas make them discontented ...the young ones anyway. They all leave the villages and want to be in the towns earning money.'

'Well, I don't blame them. Those girls can't be happy walking about with white scarves on their heads and being told to stay at home.'

'But don't you see, David, the villages begin to die when the young ones leave. They think they'll have a better life elsewhere but they don't, you know. City life has its miseries and troubles. Life in these old villages is peaceful nowadays, not what it used to be. Those troubles are all over: the wars, the occupations, the blood feuds. But on the other hand, the old crafts are dying out and there's no work so they leave and go to the crowded, polluted cities.'

'Can't say I blame them,' mused David. 'Peace is all very well but young people want excitement. I know I do. Too much quiet and peace and you just fall asleep. It's like that at home sometimes. Just deadly dull and boring. Even Dad says so and he's an old man. Human beings can't handle peace for too long. Maybe that's why we keep having wars ...to wake us up.'

Petros looked at him, his expression thoughtful and grave. He turned to Emily, whose attention was still caught by the various sights about her.

'Do you think that too, Emily?'

'Oh,' she said, flustered, 'I don't know. But I think you're right. Life seemed slower, quieter, more natural the old way when we tuned into Nature's rhythms. It isn't like the hurtling, speeding world we inhabit now. Modern life is mad to me and people seem mad. It doesn't feel real. It doesn't feel human any more. It's as if we've all become machines without any feeling. That's what I think, anyway,' she added apologetically for the two men were staring at her, unused to such long, passionate declarations from withdrawn Emily.

'Emily might as well live in Queen Victoria's time, she hasn't a clue what's going on,' said David with a shrug. 'I mean would you really want to live without telly, central heating and all life's comforts, medicine when you're sick – would you really, Emily? Want to be up at dawn and slaving all day just to keep things going? I bet anything you wouldn't. You're just a soppy romantic.'

'I'd rather be a romantic than an inhuman machine,' said Emily stubbornly.

'I think I agree with Emily,' said Petros. David cast his eyes upwards, partly amused, partly irritated.

People stared at them with intense curiosity as they walked along the cobbled streets. Questions flew at them thick and fast. Were they German or American ...ah, English! Yes, they had helped the English airmen in the last war. Some of them still wrote to people in England all these years later. How long were they staying, would they be going to church? Foreigners never seemed to go to church. What was the beautiful blonde girl called? How old was she? Was she married?

Petros fended off the questions as well as he could and Emily felt rather glad she didn't have to do all the replying. All the attention and questioning oppressed her and she shrank closer to Petros. He put a protective arm about her as if to shield her from the barrage of friendly, but at the same time slightly aggressive, behaviour of the villagers.

'Leave her alone, you people,' Petros shouted angrily, 'she's not come from Mars, not an exhibit in a show.'

Despite this, the children ran up to Emily and stared at her and followed her for some time, shouting rude things after them.

'It's all right,' said Petros, smiling down at her, enjoying the excuse to put his arm about her. 'They'll get used to you.'

'I hope so,' said Emily, 'I don't like being bothered by people. We don't do this kind of thing back home. Nobody takes any notice of you and I prefer it.'

Petros took them to the tiny whitewashed church at the edge of the village. In front of it a great bell hung on its supports, ready to summon the faithful for feast days, weddings, baptisms and funerals, the rituals of life's passing calendar. The outside was simple and unprepossessing, the heavy wooden doors like something out of a hardware shop, which they probably were. However, they were unlocked, unlike many churches in the larger towns, and inside they found the old walls painted with beautiful, neglected frescoes. On the reredos, several gold-painted ikons gleamed dully in the guttering votive candles jammed down into a metal support. A small altar could be seen tucked behind the screen.

'They don't look after all these marvellous old frescoes,' said Petros. 'I mean to campaign and raise cash to help us look after them as they deserve. They're hundreds of years old. Look at that, they've just plastered cement over that bit and this is peeling with damp. If nothing is done soon, all this will be lost. And who can paint them now? No one.'

He showed them the yard that led round to the back and they peeped into the windows and saw a little room with a blackboard and desks.

'This was my very first school till we moved to Heraklion,' he said with a laugh. 'It's small, isn't it? We were all taught here by the old priest; boys, girls, old ones, young ones, altogether.'

'How odd! Did anyone ever learn anything?' said David.

'Well, surprisingly, we learnt a fair bit. To read and write and make sums, geography, Greek history, you know ...that sort of thing. I only stayed while I was an infant and then we moved to Heraklion. But I loved it here in those days. It was quiet and we all knew one another and got up to mischief. The trouble was everyone knew us and guessed which the naughty ones were and the priest gave us some hard beatings now and then.'

'He beat you?' said Emily looking at Petros in dismay.

Petros recanted quickly. 'Not really hard and we deserved it. We were really wicked sometimes. We put castor oil in his soup once. Poor man!'

'But now you're going to university, aren't you?'

'Yes. I came home from the States to study in Athens – history, languages. I want to become a historian, understand our Greek past, write books about it that bring our knowledge up to date. We still have the wrong attitude towards our heritage. We need to move into the modern world but not by destroying all the past. Every capital city will soon look the same wherever we go. No individuality, no character. Just blocks of concrete and spaghetti roads.'

As they passed a small tumbledown house at the edge of the village, a middle-aged woman came out carrying a pail of slops, which she emptied by the side of the road. She stopped when she saw them, arm on her hips, pail in the other hand and regarded Emily with interest. She was a tall, strong woman, well-made without being fat. She was dressed in dark clothes but unlike the other women, she wore no headscarf; her dark hair, long and rather matted, hung down her back like a cloak. Her face must once have been beautiful but was now furrowed with heavy thoughts and sadness. Emily liked the look of her and felt strangely drawn to the woman.

For some reason she could not fathom, Emily stopped before her. The woman put down her pail, wiped her hands on her apron and silently put a hand out to Emily as if to shake hands.

Emily took her hand and felt a most extraordinary flash of energy like a lightning bolt pass from the woman's hand to her own.

'Ouch!' she exclaimed and drew her hand back hastily, staring at the other woman in surprise.

The woman smiled suddenly; her teeth were yellowed, ugly and misshapen and this detracted from her mysterious Oriental beauty. Emily was aware of a strange blue-green glow about the woman. It wasn't often she saw these colours but with some people they were very vibrant. Most people looked grey and tired and dull but this woman had a vivid aureole of light surrounding her. A shiver passed through Emily for a moment.

'You have the second sight,' said the woman, in a voice that was deep and throaty. 'Who are you, stranger?'

'I'm Emily,' the girl replied, almost as if in a dream.

'English?'

'Yes.'

The woman smiled again and said in English with a strong American accent, 'Come to see me soon and I'll do your cards. You have a special future.'

'I'd like to.'

As they walked away, Emily said, 'Who was that woman, Petros?'

'Her name is Areti Hadjidakis. Her father went to the States in the Sixties and she followed him there later on. That's why she talks such good English. She came back here some years ago, God only knows why. She's the local kafezouda,' he waved his hand dismissively, 'a fortune teller – sees things in coffee cups and all the rest. She's a strange woman and she talks rubbish. Surely you don't really want to see her?'

'She knows things. I'd like to see her again and talk to her. I feel she'd understand me.'

'Well, if you really want to, I guess. I don't like her myself, don't like that sort of thing...' Petros seemed bothered and Emily stared at him in surprise. He quickly added, 'anyway, if you really want to, I'll take you to see her some time.'

'I can go on my own. My Greek is getting better all the time. You mustn't feel you have to take me everywhere. I'm not a baby, you know.'

'No, no, I didn't mean you were,' replied Petros quickly, afraid he had offended her. 'You go, Emily; of course it's up to you.'