Aphrodite’s Smile. Stuart Harrison
studied the village intently as if comparing it to some mental image she had, perhaps from a guidebook. She wanted to look around, so we left the Jeep and went on foot. We walked past houses that overlooked the roofs of the ones below. Most were small, simply-built stone affairs with shuttered windows that had probably stood there for generations, but one or two had been built in recent times. One we saw even had a pool. Alleyways and sets of steps connected the streets, which was really a single road that ran back and forth through the village. Behind stone walls there were overgrown gardens and from one the familiar smell of wild mint and thyme sweetened the musty stench of something long dead. Weeds pushed through the cracks between the uneven paving slabs. The only sign of life we saw was a cat that regarded us suspiciously, frozen in surprise on a wall, as startled by us as we were by it.
Beyond the houses we came to a sign that indicated the way to a monastery at the summit of the hill. Alex frowned and looked back the way we’d come.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘To be honest I’m looking for something,’ she admitted. ‘A house. Or what’s left of one anyway. That’s why I wanted to come here. My grandmother was born in this village.’
I recalled that when I first saw Alex I’d mistaken her for a local, which made sense now. As we began to retrace our steps she told me a little about herself. She had grown up in Hertfordshire where she had attended a private girls’ school. Her mother was a doctor and her father a barrister working in London. It was her maternal grandmother who came from Ithaca, though she had lived much of her life in England until she had died the previous year.
‘It wasn’t until then that I realised how little I knew about her,’ Alex said. ‘I knew she was Greek of course, but I didn’t know where she was from exactly. It’s funny how you think you know somebody, and then suddenly you find that you really don’t at all. And then it’s too late.’ She shrugged philosophically. ‘And now here I am.’
We had reached an alleyway that we’d missed earlier. It ran between two houses, but it was overgrown with wild oak. Beneath our feet what had once been a paved path had succumbed to nature.
‘Let’s try this way,’ Alex suggested.
We emerged into a stand of gnarled and long-neglected olive trees beyond which stood the ruins of a cottage. The roof had gone and the walls had partly collapsed. It stood in an overgrown clearing. Sunlight splashed on the ruins, but instead of cheering them it somehow emphasised the emptiness of the windows, the shadowed spaces inside. There was an odd atmosphere about the place. I had the feeling that nobody had been there for a long time, but also that it still resonated with the lives of those who had once lived there. It was the sort of place that gives credence to the idea of the existence of ghosts.
‘Is this it do you think?’ I asked Alex.
‘I think so.’
She seemed absorbed with whatever private thoughts the place evoked in her and, sensing that she wanted to be alone, I wandered around to the back where I found what had once been a terrace. A rusted pole protruded from the ground at an angle – what remained of a trellis to support a grapevine. On the hillside, olive trees grew in ranks, the stone retaining walls badly in need of repair, the terraces themselves heavily overgrown and neglected.
Inside the ruin itself there was nothing to see except some faded graffiti painted on a wall. Overall there was an air of desolation about the place. A sort of heavy silence in the air.
A sound from behind startled me, but when I turned it was only Alex. I smiled self-consciously, my heart thumping. ‘I didn’t hear you.’
‘Sorry. There’s a strange feeling here isn’t there?’
‘Yes,’ I admitted, glad that I wasn’t alone in my perception. ‘You said this is where your grandmother was born?’
‘My mother too actually, though she was only a baby when Nana took her to England.’ Alex hesitated and I had the distinct impression that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to share this with me. Then she said, ‘Have you ever felt that you don’t really know who you are?’
It was an odd question, but in a way I thought perhaps I knew what she meant. ‘When I was young I was sent to boarding school,’ I told her. ‘I never felt as if I belonged. I didn’t know what I was doing there.’
‘Yes, that’s it isn’t it? When everything we’re used to changes and suddenly we’re not sure where we fit in?’
‘Something like that.’
‘When I was growing up I never questioned anything. I think it’s incredible really when I look back on it, but my brother and sister didn’t either. I suppose my parents are quite well off. I went to a good school. There was pony club, a house in the country, all that sort of thing. The only thing that was out of place was my Nana. She lived in this little flat in North London where my mother grew up. She was quite happy there. She didn’t want to move because her friends and everyone she knew were all there. All these Greek families. But the funny thing is I never heard her speak anything but English. Even though she had this terrible almost unintelligible accent. You’d think I might have wondered why.’
‘Maybe not. I think kids accept something if it’s always been that way.’
‘I suppose that’s it. It must be why I was never really curious about my grandfather. Nobody ever talked about him. I grew up knowing that he died a long time ago, but that was all. There were no photographs of him anywhere. Even my mother never mentioned him.’
Alex looked around the inside of the ruined cottage. Her gaze settled on the faded graffiti. It was written in Greek so I had no idea what it meant. She dug in her pocket and found a pen and a notebook. ‘I want to know what it means,’ she said, copying it down as best she could.
We went back outside and before we left Alex stopped to take another look at the ruin. Sunlight fell in shafts through the branches of the olive trees, splashing in pools on the dry earth below. My gaze wandered beyond the clearing to the tangled undergrowth where it was gloomy and shadowed. I glimpsed a movement that at first I took to be an animal or a bird, but when I looked more closely I was surprised to find that I was wrong.
‘We’ve got company.’ I nodded towards the old man who stood almost hidden back among the trees. He stared at us silently and though I couldn’t make out his features clearly I had a strong impression of dark eyes filled with malevolence. I could feel it pouring out of him, a black stain that soaked into the earth.
‘Kalimera,’ Alex called out. ‘Oreos keros.’
The old man made no response. ‘Maybe we should leave,’ I suggested. ‘I don’t think he likes visitors.’
We began to make our way back along the path. At the edge of the trees I looked back and he was still there, staring after us. I was slightly relieved when we emerged back onto the street. As we made our way to the Jeep I half expected to see him following us, so when a figure appeared from an alleyway some way in front I wasn’t surprised that it was him.
‘What do you think he wants?’ Alex asked.
He stood by the side of the road watching as we approached.
‘He’s probably harmless. I expect he’s not used to seeing strangers around. Maybe he’s not quite all there.’
His face was as wrinkled and brown as a walnut. He had to be seventy or eighty years old. The clothes he wore were rough and patched, encrusted with ancient dirt. But it was the intensity of his gaze that was unnerving. As we passed, I nodded to him but I don’t think he even noticed. His baleful glare was fastened exclusively on Alex. He muttered something under his breath. I couldn’t make out the words, but it sounded harsh and unfriendly.
‘Did you catch that?’ I asked.
‘My Greek isn’t very good.’ She looked shaken.
He watched us until we reached the Jeep. He was the only living soul we had