The Immortal (5 page)

I took a moment to answer. I
knew
this story. My father and I were alike in that way. We didn't believe stories were thought up. We felt they were uncovered. I felt my dad had begun to dust away a tale that had

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already been told—in another time and place. As he spoke of the characters, I had a sense of their reality. The story would come out, I knew it would, but in its own time.

"I do have a few ideas," I said. "But I'd like to think about them for a while. Would that be all right?"

"Take as long as you like. I am."

I laughed and stood up. "We're not living on the streets yet. What are you doing this evening?"

"Silk and I are going to dinner later. Oh, I meant to tell you, before I got carried away talking about the movie, Helen said she'd meet you at the Table, which is a restaurant in town. She said you walk in on the main street, then turn right when you come to the fork in the road. She said she'd meet you at ten." He checked his watch. "Which is in ten minutes."

"Helen will wait for me." The directions were not precise, but I figured if I got lost I could always ask around. "Do you want Helen and me to join you?"

My dad gave me a knowing look. "You two don't want to be saddled with us when you're flirting with boys." His face grew serious. "I heard you swam out too far this afternoon and almost drowned."

That Helen, I thought, what a mouth. I brushed the remark aside with my hand. "I got a little cramp is all.

It was nothing."

"Did you have any pain in your chest?"

"No. The cramp was in my right hamstring." I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Don't worry about me.

Nothing can kill me. I'm immortal."

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THE IMMORTAL

He was reassured. "Parents would like to think that's true of their children. But still, Josie, be careful next time."

I started for the door. "I will. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Good. We'll go exploring together."

I avoided the lounge on the way out so that I didn't have to talk to Silk again. My scooter keys were in my pocket, but I was reluctant to take the bike into town. I knew I would have to park it at the edge of the city. Most of the streets of Hora were as narrow as sidewalks, and Helen had already warned me that people didn't appreciate having to jump out of the way of bikes. The town was close. Taking the bike would only gain me ten minutes. Also, I was thinking of doing a little drinking, and could see myself driving off the road and into the water, and how much Helen would have to talk about then. I figured it would be best if I walked.

The road into town had no lights, but the moon, nearly full, had risen, and it provided me with all the illumination I needed. I could see better than most people at night. The wind in my hair was a treat. The town up ahead was lit as if for a holiday. But as Mr. Politopulos said, every day on Mykonos was a holiday. Even before I arrived, I could feel the energy of the night life. People were drinking, chasing each other, but there was also romance in the air. I wouldn't mind coming to Mykonos on my honeymoon, I thought—if I ever got married, that was.

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I entered Hora and made my way over the cobblestones of the main road. Every building was whitewashed, and everywhere there were people, gorgeous people clad in shorts, jeans, halter tops, and T-shirts. I saw a few Americans, but fewer than I would have imagined. There were plenty of Greeks, of course, and tons of French, Italian, and English people. Most of them were with dates, and I wondered if Tom and Pascal were already with Helen.

But the boys were not at the restaurant when I caught up with my friend. The seating was outside, beneath a canopy. Helen sat alone at a corner table, lit with a candle in a jug, a bottle of wine in her hand.

She greeted me with a smile and quickly answered my unspoken questions.

"Tom and Pascal should be here in half an hour," Helen said. "Tom wanted to wait for Pascal, and he doesn't get off work till now."

"What does he do?"

"I don't know. But these jobs are just summer work for these guys so they can live here and chase tourists like us." She nodded to her bottle, which looked to be approximately a pint. She had finished half of it. "This is
retsina,
the favorite wine here. If you order a bottle, watch your brain cells. It's strong medicine."

I signaled to the waiter. "I can handle it."

"I don't want you to wake up with a headache."

"No problem," I said. The waiter arrived and I pointed to the bottle and held up a finger. I didn't know if he spoke English, but he understood my sign language.

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"How are you feeling?" Helen asked.

"I slept too long. I'll be up all night. I wish you'd awakened me."

"You looked tired."

"Most people do when they're asleep," I said.

"How are you feeling? How's your chest?"

"I'm perfectly fine. Let's not talk about this afternoon around the guys."

Helen nodded. "I won't bring it up if Tom doesn't."

"Tom won't bring it up."

Helen raised an eyebrow. "So you know him that well already."

I shrugged. "Whatever."

Helen set down her bottle and leaned closer. "I like him, Josie. I just wanted to tell you that."

I was annoyed. "I'm not going to steal him away from you, if that's what you mean."

"I doubt you could steal him away."

"Then what are you worried about?"

"Who said I'm worried?" Helen asked.

"No one, Helen. We are arguing about nothing. Let's stop."

"No. If you like Tom, and he prefers you, I don't mind. I'm just saying I like him. Nothing more. But he's fair game."

She was lying through her teeth, but I was tired of discussing it. I leaned back in my chair, yawning. "If that's the way you want it, fine. But I'm sure I'll love Pascal."

The boys showed up fifteen minutes later. By then I was halfway through my own bottle of wine and 45

CHRISTOPHER PIKE

feeling fine. Tom had changed into black jeans that could have just come off the rack and a green sweat shirt with short sleeves. His brown sun-bleached hair was combed and he had on black leather shoes. He looked, as they say in England, smashing, and I was happy he was fair game.

Pascal was a hunk. He had to be six four, two hundred pounds, and most of it muscle. He was dark, his eyebrows thick as midnight woods, his eyes deep as European history. He looked sensual and dangerous, a smoldering presence. He sat beside me after first asking with his expression if it was OK.

Tom sat beside Helen. He introduced Pascal, who nodded. Helen did the honors for us.

"I hope you two haven't been waiting long," Tom said. "Pascal doesn't get off work till ten."

"What do you do, Pascal?" I asked, not sure how the words were being received. But Pascal straightened himself and nodded again.

"I work with
legumes
—vegetables—for the city. I carry on my back, the
legumes."

His accent was not like someone's from Paris. I knew a few of those from my father's connections in Hollywood, and I suspected Pascal was from the countryside, maybe southern France.

"In America I work with a cook, a caterer," I said.

He listened, then nodded. "You cook
legumes?"
he asked.

I smiled. "All kinds of things.''

Tom rubbed his hands together. "I would like to eat

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all kinds of things. I'm starving. Let see, at this place the chicken is great. But if you're adventurous, have some of the local specialties. There're
melopittes
— small tarts made of dough, honey, and
tyrovolia;
louza
—sausages made of pork and aromatic greens; and
amygdalota
—sweets made of crushed almonds."

"What are you having?" Helen asked.

"Fish and chips," Tom said matter-of-factly.

"Steak," Pascal said. I suppose he was tired of
legumes.

"I want one of everything you just mentioned," I said.

"You don't even know what that stuff looks like," Helen said.

"I'll eat with my eyes closed if I don't like the look of it," I replied. Tom and Pascal laughed. Helen studied the menu. She was a picky eater.

"I feel like some chicken," she finally said.

The waiter took our orders and the guys got their own bottles of wine. We made a number of toasts: to ourselves, to world peace, to the island of Mykonos. Then I toasted the ancient gods. Tom stared at me when I made that toast.

"If you are interested in learning about ancient Greece you should visit Delos," Tom said. "Boats leave for it every morning at eight and at nine. I've been there a couple of times. It's fascinating—all the ruins."

"We were planning to go tomorrow morning," Helen said.

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"Can you come with us?" I asked.

Pascal shook his head. "I have to work," Tom said, and he turned to Helen. "I remember last time you were here. You visited Detos regularly."

Helen paused. "A couple of times. I'm anxious to show it to Josie."

"Did you see any gods there?" I asked Helen, joking.

She stared at me. "No."

We drank more wine and talked and finally our food arrived. Mine looked delicious, and I ate with great relish, trying to force bits down Helen's throat, much to her annoyance. The waiter brought me a drink,
soumada,
made from crushed almonds. It was particularly good. Tom and I began to dominate the conversation. Pascal seemed content to listen and smile and get drunk. Helen was happy with her chicken—and, I hoped, with me. She had a habit of falling silent for lengthy periods. From experience, I had learned that such silences didn't necessarily mean she was depressed. On the other hand, they could.

Helen's depression was not something I took lightly.

Therefore we had a problem on the way. As the evening proceeded it became obvious to me, and I think to Tom, that Josie and Tom were hitting it off nicely. Pascal was nice, handsome, adorable—but he was not my type. A guy had to have wit to capture my imagination. Ralphy Boy had been hilarious—when he wasn't busy feeding his fish, which is what he had called our lovemaking. But Ralph's laughter had been
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stifled around Helen. He said it was the main reason he'd left her. He couldn't be himself. That was puzzling, of course, because Helen could be funny when she wanted to be. But she had to be in the mood.

Helen was not making many jokes that night. We finished our food and hit the streets. Tom suggested we walk to the harbor. We moved as a group—it was hard to say who was with whom. I was happy for the guides. Hora was a labyrinth of crisscrossing paths, a maze of narrow alleys. Tom said that the first time he entered Hora he had to spend the night because he couldn't find his way out.

"About four in the morning, you see all the drunk tourists staggering around trying to find their way back to their hotels," Tom said. "I swear, a special service to retrieve them would make a fortune."

"Why don't you start such a service?" I asked.

"Because I'm often drunk at that time myself," Tom said.

"It is me who am
ivre,"
Pascal said. "Tom has to find home for me."

"How many months out of the year do you work here?" I asked.

"Just during tourist season," Tom said. "From June to September. The rest of the time I'm in school."

"Where do you go?" I asked.

"Oxford," Tom said.

"He is genius," Pascal said. "All his teachers love Tom."

"What do you do the rest of the year?" Helen asked 49

CHRISTOPHER PIKE

Pascal. He had been giving Helen the most attention, perhaps sensing that I was interested in Tom, and vice versa.

"With
paralyze
—crippled children," he said. "In a school in the country. Many can't walk. Some have trouble—talking."

"Do you have a degree in that?" Helen asked.

Pascal shook his head and acted slightly confused. "I take care of them." He smiled. "They like me. I like them."

Tom spoke. "Pascal is a wonder with children. They think he walks on water. When my nieces and nephews met him they forgot their uncle was even there."

"How do you two know each other?" I asked.

"From here," Tom said.

Pascal laughed. "From the
vin."

"What?" I asked.

"From the wine," Tom said.

"What are you majoring in?" I asked Tom.

He shrugged. He seemed reluctant to talk about his academic achievements, perhaps, I thought, because he was humble. I knew Oxford wasn't easy to get into.

"I don't know," he said. "Our system is different from yours. I enjoy literature, which is a wide field, of course. I sometimes dream of staying here and becoming a fisherman."

"I can understand that," I said, enjoying the music pouring out from every food joint and bar. "I don't know if I'll ever leave."

We reached the water a few minutes later. Inside the walls of the buildings, we had been protected from the

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breeze, but once out in the open the wind swept through my hair. The harbor, however, was well protected from the ocean, and the many anchored boats rocked easily. Along the waterway were another dozen bars and restaurants. The whole town was geared for tourism, which Tom said was the lifeblood of the island. The place was dead in the winter, he told us.

Tom and Pascal led us north, away from the hustle and bustle of Hora. Helen wondered at this.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"I thought we might walk to where the ferries come in," Tom said. "Pascal bought a used truck on the mainland and it's supposed to arrive sometime this week. It could come in on a boat tonight."

Pascal nodded.
"Camion
for work. Save
le dos
— 'back' for better things."

The moon had risen high by now, and the brilliant silver light had transformed the ocean water into a mystical brew worthy of a titan's thirst. Our path, at first, took us up, so that the harbor was laid out below us, then back down again toward the water. When Tom had first used the word
ferry
I'd had the image in my mind of a small boat. But when Tom pointed out to sea at the gigantic vessel approaching the island, decked in what could have been a mile-long string of yellow Christmas lights, I realized I was being foolish. I had read in Helen's book about the ferries that went from island to island, how they transported literally hundreds of cars along with their passengers. This incoming boat was as huge as an ocean liner.