Chasing the Star Garden: The Airship Racing Chronicles (Volume 1) (18 page)

I leaned my head against the basin and wept. At once, every terror I carried inside of me welled up and wanted to be let loose. I wanted to be rid of my mother. I wanted to be rid of Nicolette. I wanted to be rid of Mr. Fletcher and Mr. Oleander. I wanted to be rid of the drinking, and the opium, and the emptiness. I wanted a real life. I wanted to be something different. Couldn’t I be Lily Stargazer, airship racer, but not have to be an opium eater? Couldn’t I have just one man in my life who loved only me? And couldn’t that person be Sal, who I knew in my heart, I loved? Why had I always let others’ decisions unmake me? Why did I have to feel so broken?

I felt stupid sitting in that place weeping like a child. I tried to pull myself together, but I couldn’t. I looked up at the old god, and in that moment, I had the strongest hallucination of my life. The god leaned down, cupped water from the fountain inside his hand, and put the drink to my lips. I sipped the water, startled by the warmth I felt from the statue, as if it were flesh. The water, ice cold, chilled my throat. I felt its coolness slide down my body to my stomach. I closed my eyes. The god then put his wet hand on my forehead, spoke a word I did not understand, and stood again.

In that moment, I knew I had to stop running from myself. It was time to accept the past for what it was and move on. I had to quit my habits. It was time to have a real life.

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. I was startled to see that the room around me was dark save the small candle I had brought with me. The gold on Asclepius was gone. I stood and wiped the tears from my eyes. I lifted the candle and looked at the statue. Faded paint, now just a shadow, had once given color to his lips and shaded to his eyes. Otherwise, now, he was only marble. The room was dark as night, and the snake that had led me there was gone.

From the other end of the underground temple, I heard Sal’s voice. I lifted the small candle and went back to the hallway. Before I left, I looked back once more at Asclepius. I was not certain what had happened, what I had seen, but I knew something within me felt different. I’d had my share of drug-induced hallucinations, but this was not the same thing. The tangy taste of the cold water still lingered in my mouth, yet the basin at Asclepius’ feet was dry. I smiled at the marble statue, now seemingly cold and dead, and went after Sal-and Aphrodite.

Trying not to stumble over the shifted stones, I followed bits of light toward the other end of the temple. I could hear Sal’s and Celeste’s voices but could not make out their words. The hall turned toward the east. As I got closer, I noticed that the stones on the walls were carved with the anemone flower, apples, doves, and swans.

I then heard Celeste exclaim excitedly.

I entered the room behind them. Sal and the boy were holding up lanterns as they gazed at was, without a doubt, the Aphrodite of Kos. While time had worn away her paint, she was a statue with classic beauty. Celeste had said the Kos Aphrodite was draped, but it seemed that Praxiteles had done little to hide the erotic curves of the Goddess of Love. His carved draping of the goddess accented her round hips, full breasts, and long legs. Her lips were slightly parted as she gazed at a mirror she held in her left hand. In her other hand, which was carved to appear to hang loosely before her pubis, she held a marble replica of the kaleidoscope.

Sal turned. He gazed at me with a look of wonderment in his eyes.

“Chasing Aphrodite,” Celeste whispered with both awe and frustration in her voice. “All my life I have been chasing Aphrodite.”

“Well, in Kos, we have found her,” I said, my eyes still locked on Sal’s.

Celeste, just realizing I was there, looked at me. “This is the Kos Aphrodite. The Knidos is not here. What should we do now?”

I looked at Sal. “Indeed. Now what?”

Chapter 23

F
our hours later we were sitting in the moonlight enjoying dinner with the young boy’s family. The small boy, whose name was Selim, had insisted we come home with him. After some debate as to whether or not it was safe—for them or us—we agreed. It turned out that the family owned a vast olive and almond farm. Their rustic yet beautiful villa sat nestled into the hillside.

We had stayed in the temple with the Kos Aphrodite until dark. Sal, who had studied the sculpture with great scrutiny, had fallen into near complete silence as his brilliant mind went to work. In the temple, he had examined the carving of the kaleidoscope, the Aphrodite’s mirror, her face, and even her bracelet. He took notes while Celeste sat in prayer at the base of the Aphrodite’s feet. It was unlike Sal to be so silent. Sal loved to teach, to narrate as he worked, but he’d lost himself in the puzzle of the kaleidoscope. I sat on a small patch of an ancient mosaic and watched him. I, too, was distracted, but by my hallucination. I felt emotionally exhausted. I gazed up at the Aphrodite. The statue was beautiful, but in the end, it was just a statue. Her cold marble eyes gazed into the mirror she held. I wondered how she saw herself. I put my head on my knees and tried not to think about how I saw myself.

After it had grown dark, we left the temple and walked with the boy to his farm. The child led the way, clicking at his goats as he blazed a path. Sal took my hand and kissed it gently.

“My Lily,” he whispered in the darkness.

The small act almost made me burst into tears.

At the boy’s farm we were met with great curiosity. Once Sal explained that we’d come to look at the ruins, we were welcomed. The large family, from which the small boy was only one of many children, was a loud, happy, and excited crew. The father, Yunus, even knew a little English. The women of the group eyed me with stunned curiosity when Sal explained to them that I had piloted the airship to Kos.

“You are flying that ship?” Yunus asked. He gazed toward the horizon where the red lamps on the
Bacchus
were still visible.

I nodded. “I’m a pilot.”

Yunus looked thoughtful but said nothing more.

The older boys, a good looking lot with dark hair, had clustered around Celeste and were eyeing the courtesan hungrily, inexplicably pulled toward her. Their mother shooed them away.

“Please,” the boy’s mother, Emine, had said, then led us to their el fresco dining terrace under the stars.

She seated us at the long dinner table. Soon Emine and five girls—no doubt Selim’s sisters—had loaded down the table with wooden bowls filled with olives and platters of feta cheese, lamb roasted with rosemary, and a large round of bread with a yogurt and oil porridge baked into its center.

Yunus led the table in a toast. “To our guests,” he called.

“To Aphrodite,” Celeste added.

Yunus laughed. “Yes! To Afrodit!”

Everyone at the table cheered and soon we were delighted to a feast.

As we ate, the discussion turned to the ruins. As it turned out, the shrine of the Kos Aphrodite had recently been damaged. Originally, the shrine had boasted a domed roof with a skylight. A tremor a few years earlier had caused much of the roof to collapse.

“But we protected her. We laid planks over the roof. We keep her safe,” Yunus explained. He was proud of the statue. It was part of Koan history. From how many villages just like this one had the Dilettanti simply come in and taken what they wanted? What right did they have?

“This opening in the roof, how large was it?” Sal asked.

The man stood. “Like this,” he said, extending his arms to make a circle. “Like a barrel,” he added.

“Was it directly above the statue?”

Yunus nodded. “When rain came, or sun, it fell only on her. It was beautiful.”

I looked at Sal. His mind was busy, but he put his arm around me and pulled me close.

It was a beautiful night. The outside patio where the dinner table sat was partially enclosed by a wisteria arbor. The sweet purple blossoms perfumed the air. I was leaning my head on Sal’s shoulder, fighting off a headache, and watching the couple’s two smallest children playing with a nearly feral kitten when Emine asked a question.

“My wife… she is wondering if you have children,” Yunus asked.

Sal looked down at me and stroked my cheek. “Not yet,” he said then kissed me on the forehead.

Before his answer would have either amused or terrified me. I gazed deeply into his eyes. His gaze was loving and serious. Things between Sal and I had changed forever. Sal smiled then turned back to Yunus.

“Does your wife have a looking glass?” Sal asked him.

“Yes,” he replied curiously.

“May I purchase it from you? I need something at least this big,” Sal said then framed his hands to show he was after a mirror no smaller than the lid of a hat box.

The man exchanged a few words with his wife who looked perplexed. After a moment, she shrugged and went back into the villa. She returned with a wood framed oval mirror that looked like she’d taken it from the wall. She handed it to Sal.

Sal looked it over, nodded affirmatively, then set it aside. He dug into his pocket then slid a very generous amount of lira across the table to Yunus. The farmer began to protest, but Sal waved his hand gracefully to dismiss any argument and said nothing more.

It was not long after that we decided to head back to the ship. Yunus led us through the darkness to the ancient healing temple and our airship. When we arrived, he’d looked up at the
Bacchus
with wide-eyed fascination.

“Come have a look,” I offered.

I could see from the starry look in his eyes that he truly wanted to see the ship, but he was cautious. And in the end, maybe a man with a home full of children was wise to be cautious. “No, but thank you. Please come see us again before you leave,” Yunus said.

“Thank you for everything,” Celeste said, kissing Yunus on both cheeks, causing him to blush. She climbed back into the airship.

Sal and I too parted ways with the kind man who stood in the dark holding a lantern aloft to illuminate our steps up the ladder. Sal, climbing up behind me, hauled the mirror on his back.

Once on board, I leaned over the rail and waved to Yunus. “Thank you,” I called.

The man waved, and I watched his lantern bob through the night back toward his villa.

Roni’s crew, who had been sleeping when we returned, looked relieved to see us alive. Sal let them know we would be anchored in this location for a while longer. They seemed satisfied with that and then went back to sleep.

Celeste went to the bow of the ship and leaned against the bulwark trying to catch a glimpse of the temple on the other side of the trees. Sal headed into our quarters with the mirror. I went to the wheelstand and checked all the instruments then climbed into the basket to check the burners. Everything seemed to be in working order. I busied myself to keep my mind off of what was really bothering me. It had been several hours since I’d last taken any laudanum. And I could feel it. I climbed back down to the gondola and sat down, my back against the wheelstand. I gazed up at the starry sky. My head was aching, and my hands had started shaking two hours before. I didn’t want to take more laudanum. The craving was horrible. I knew that if I waited longer, I would start sweating and feeling nauseous. I also knew that if I ate opium I would feel better, and I would forget again. But for the first time, I did not want to just forget the past. I wanted to be finished with it. If I kept burying it under opium, it would never end. I gazed up at the stars. The sky above the ancient world looked different from the sky above the London. Somehow the sky above Kos seemed wiser.

I heard Sal return from our cabin with a jangle of instruments. He lit several lanterns, and I heard the clang of metal as he set equipment down on the deck of the ship. Curious, I rose slowly and went to see what he was doing.

Sal had laid Emine’s mirror down on the deck of the ship and was looking over his notes.

“What is it?” I asked.

Sal took out a drawing compass, centered it on the mirror, and began to sketch out an oval.

“The Aphrodite’s mirror,” Sal said as he worked. He then opened his tinker’s kit and removed a number of sharp looking precision instruments. “The mirror… the way she holds it in her hand… it was not angled to reflect her face. I didn’t understand why until Yunus mentioned the opening above the statue.”

Celeste had come up behind me and was watching Sal.

“What is she looking at?” I asked.

“Indeed, a good question, my Lily. At first I thought there used to be something on the ceiling. But now I don’t think so. I think there is something else reflected in the mirror.”

“The sky?” Celeste asked.

“The stars,” I said.

Sal looked up. “The stars,” he repeated and turned back to his instruments. With a fluid circular motion, Sal cut an oval out of the mirror. It was the same size and shape as the looking glass Aphrodite held. He stood, holding the mirror in his hand, and shined it at the night’s sky. Celeste and I gathered behind him and looked up. It reflected the stars.

“We need to go back into the temple. Tonight. But we need that roof removed,” Sal said.

Celeste smiled. “I’ll wake up the crew.”