The Other Side of Midnight (35 page)

“I’ve really enjoyed it,” Larry was saying, with that easy, boyish grin of his. “Thanks, Cathy.”

And that, Catherine thought, was the end of that.

Three days later, the phone rang and it was Larry phoning from Madrid to say that he was on his way home and to ask whether she would go out to dinner with him that evening. Catherine clutched the phone, listening to his friendly, easy voice, determined not to go. “I’m free for dinner tonight,” she said.

They dined at Tourkolimano at the harbor at Piraeus. Catherine was barely able to touch her food. Being with Larry was far too painful a reminder of other restaurants they had dined in, of too many exciting evenings together in the long-dead past, of the love that was going to last them both a lifetime.

“You’re not eating, Cathy. Would you like me to order something else for you?” he asked, concerned.

“I had a late lunch,” she lied.
He probably won’t ever ask me out again
, Catherine thought,
but if he does I will say no
.

A few days later Larry called and they had lunch at a lovely restaurant in a hidden maze off Syntagma
Square. It was called Gerofinikas, the Old Palm Tree, and was reached through a long, cool passageway with a palm tree in front of it. They had an excellent meal, with Hymettus, the light, dry Greek wine. Larry was at his most entertaining.

The following Sunday he asked Catherine to fly to Vienna with him. They had dinner at the Sacher Hotel and flew back the same night. It had been a wonderful evening, filled with wine and music and candlelight, but Catherine had the eerie feeling that somehow it didn’t belong to her. It belonged to that other Catherine Douglas who was long since dead and buried. When they got back to the apartment, she said, “Thank you, Larry, it was a lovely day.”

He moved toward her and took her in his arms and started to kiss her. Catherine pulled away, her body rigid, her mind filled with a sudden, unexpected panic.

“No,” she said.

“Cathy…”

“No!”

He nodded. “All right. I understand.”

Her body was trembling. “Do you?” she asked.

“I know how badly I’ve behaved,” Larry said softly. “If you’ll give me a chance, I’d like to make it up to you, Cathy.”

Good God
, she thought. She pressed her lips together, willing herself not to cry and shook her head, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “It’s too late,” she whispered.

And she stood there watching him walk out the door.

Catherine heard from Larry again within the week. He sent flowers with a little note and, after that, miniature birds from the various countries to which he flew. He had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble, for there was an astonishing variety, one in porcelain, one in jade, one in teak, and she was touched that he had remembered.

When the phone rang one day and Catherine heard
Larry’s voice on the other end saying, “Hey, I found a wonderful Greek restaurant that serves the best Chinese food this side of Peking,” she laughed and said, “I can’t wait.”

And that was when it really began again. Slowly, tentatively, hesitantly, but it was a beginning. Larry did not attempt to kiss her again, nor would she have let him, because Catherine knew that if she let go of her emotions, if she gave herself wholeheartedly to this man she loved, and he betrayed her again, it would destroy her. Finally and forever. And so she dined with him and laughed with him, but all the time the deep secret personal part of her lay back in reserve, carefully aloof, untouched and untouchable.

They were together almost every night. Some evenings Catherine cooked dinner at home, other nights Larry took her out. Once she mentioned the woman that he had said he was in love with, and he replied tersely, “It’s over,” and Catherine never brought it up again. She watched closely for signs that Larry was seeing other women, but there were none. He was totally attentive to her, never pressing, never demanding. It was as though he were doing a penance for the past.

And yet Catherine admitted to herself that it was something more than that. He really seemed interested in her as a woman. At night she would stand in front of the mirror, naked, and examine her reflection and try to figure out why. Her face was not bad, the face of a once-pretty girl who had gone through pain, a sadness in the solemn gray eyes that stared back at her. Her skin was a little puffy and her chin was heavier than it should be, but there was really nothing wrong with the rest of her body that diet and massage could not take care of. She remembered the last time she had thought about this and had wound up with her wrists slashed. A shudder went through her. To hell with Larry, she thought defiantly. If he really wants me, he’ll have to take me as I am.

They had been to a party and Larry had brought her home at four
A.M.
It had been a marvelous evening, and Catherine had worn a new dress and looked rather attractive and made people laugh and Larry had been proud of her. When they walked into the apartment, Catherine reached for the light switch and Larry put his hand over hers and said, “Wait. I can say this easier in the dark.” His body was close to hers, not even touching her, yet she could feel the physical waves that pulled at her.

“I love you, Cathy,” he said. “I’ve never really loved anyone else. I want another chance.”

He switched on the light then to look at her. She was standing there, rigid and frightened, on the brink of panic. “I know you may not be ready yet, but we could start slowly.” He grinned. That darling, boyish grin. “We could start out by holding hands.”

He reached out and took her hand. And she pulled him to her and they were kissing and his lips were gentle and tender and careful, and hers were demanding and wild with all the pent-up longing that had been stored in her body these long, lonely months. And they were in bed together, making love and it was as though no time had passed, and they were on their honeymoon. But it was more than that. The passion was still there, fresh and wonderful, but with it an appreciation for what they had together, the knowledge that this time it would be all right, this time they would not hurt each other.

“How would you like to go away on a second honeymoon?” Larry was asking.

“Oh, yes, darling. Can we?”

“Sure, I have a vacation coming. We’ll leave on Saturday. I know a wonderful little place we can go. It’s called Ioannina.”

The drive to Ioannina took nine hours. To Catherine, the scenery seemed almost Biblical, something out of another age. They drove along the Aegean Sea, past small whitewashed cottages with crosses on the roofs and endless fields of fruit trees, lemon and cherry and apple and orange. Every inch of the land was terraced and farmed and the windows and roofs of the farmhouses were painted with gay blue colors as though in defiance of the hard life being carved out of the rocky soil. Stands of tall, graceful cypress trees grew in wild profusion on the steep mountainsides.

“Look, Larry,” Catherine exclaimed, “aren’t they beautiful?”

“Not to the Greeks,” Larry said.

Catherine looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“They consider them a bad omen. They use them to decorate cemeteries.”

They passed field after field of primitive scarecrows, with a scrap of cloth tied to each fence.

“They certainly must have gullible crows around here,” Catherine laughed.

They drove through a series of small villages with impossible names: Mesologian and Agelkastron and Etolikon and Amfilhoia.

Late in the afternoon they reached the village of Rion, sloping gently down to the Rio River, where they were to catch the ferryboat to Ioannina. Five minutes later they were sailing toward the island of Epirus where Ioannina lay.

Catherine and Larry sat on a bench outside on the ferry’s upper deck where in the distance ahead of them they saw a large island begin to loom out of the afternoon mist. It seemed wild to Catherine and somehow a little ominous. It had a primitive look to it as though it had been created for the Greek gods, and mere mortals were unwelcome intruders. As the boat steamed closer, Catherine could see that the bottom of the island was ringed with sheer rock that dropped off to the sea below. The foreboding mountain had a scarred, gashed look where men had gouged a road out of it. Twenty-five minutes later the ferry was docking at the little harbor of Epirus, and a few moments later Catherine and Larry were driving up the mountain toward Ioannina.

Catherine was reading to Larry from the guidebook.

“Nestled high in the Pindus Mountains, in a steep bowl surrounded by towering Alps, from a distance Ioannina takes on the shape of a double-headed eagle, and at the claw of the eagle is the bottomless Lake Pamvotis, where excursion boats carry passengers across its dark green water to the island in the center of the lake and then on to the distant shores across the lake.”

“It sounds perfect,” Larry said.

They arrived in the late afternoon and drove directly to their hotel, an old beautifully kept one-story building on a hill high above the town, with a series of guest bungalows scattered about the grounds. An old man in a uniform came out to greet them. He looked at their happy faces.

“Honeymooners,” he said.

Catherine glanced at Larry and smiled. “How did you know?”

“You can always tell,” the old man declared. He led them into the lobby where they registered and then showed them to their bungalow. It consisted of a living room and bedroom, a bathroom and kitchen and a large terrazzo terrace. Over the tops of the cypresses
they had a magnificent view of the village and the lake below, dark and brooding. It had the unreal beauty of a picture postcard.

“It’s not much”—Larry smiled—“but it’s all yours.”

“I’ll take it,” Catherine exclaimed.

“Happy?”

She nodded. “I don’t remember when I’ve been so happy.” She walked over to him and held him tightly. “Don’t ever let me go,” she whispered.

His strong arms were around her, holding her close. “I won’t,” he promised.

While Catherine was unpacking, Larry strolled back to the lobby to talk to the room clerk.

“What do people do around here?” Larry asked.

“Everything,” the clerk said proudly. “In the hotel we have a health spa. Around the village there is hiking, fishing, swimming, boating.”

“How deep is the lake?” Larry inquired casually.

The clerk shrugged. “No one knows, sir. It is a volcanic lake. It is bottomless.”

Larry nodded thoughtfully. “What about the caves near here?” he asked.

“Ah! The Caves of Perama. They are only a few miles from here.”

“Have they been explored?”

“A few of them. Some are still closed.”

“I see,” said Larry.

The clerk continued. “If you like mountain climbing, I suggest Mount Tzoumerka. If Mrs. Douglas is not afraid of heights.”

“No,” smiled Larry. “She’s quite an expert climber.”

“Then she will enjoy it. You’re lucky with the weather. We’ve been expecting the
meltemi
, but it hasn’t come. Now it probably won’t.”

“What’s the
meltemi?”
Larry asked.

“It’s a terrible wind that blows down from the north. I suppose it is like your hurricane. When it comes, everyone stays indoors. In Athens, even ocean liners are forbidden to leave the harbor.”

“I’m glad we missed it,” Larry said.

When Larry returned to the bungalow, he suggested to Catherine that they go down to the village for dinner. They took the steep, rocky footpath that led down the slope to the edge of the village. Ioannina consisted of a main street, King George Avenue, with two or three smaller streets on both sides of it. Off of those streets, a warren of tiny dirt roads radiated out to homes and apartments. The buildings were old and weatherbeaten, made of stone carried down by cart from the mountains.

The middle of King George Avenue was sectioned off by ropes, so that cars drove on the left side of the street and pedestrians were free to walk on the right side.

“They should try that on Pennsylvania Avenue,” Catherine said.

At the town square was a charming little park with a high tower with a large, lighted clock in it. A street lined with huge Platanus trees ran down to the lake. It appeared to Catherine that all the streets in the village led to the water. It seemed to her that there was something frightening about the lake. It had a strange, brooding quality. All along the shores grew clumps of tall reeds that reached out like greedy fingers, as though waiting for someone.

Catherine and Larry walked down the colorful little shopping center, with shops crowded together on each side. There was a jewelry store and next to it a bakery shop, an open air butcher shop, a tavern, a shoe store. Children stood outside a barber shop, silently watching a customer getting shaved. Catherine thought they were the most beautiful children she had ever seen.

In the past, Catherine had talked to Larry about having a baby, but he had always dismissed the idea, saying that he was not ready to settle down. Now, however, he might feel differently. Catherine glanced at him as he walked at her side, taller than the other men,
looking like a Greek god, and she resolved that she would discuss it with him before they left. After all, it was their honeymoon.

They passed a movie theater, the Palladian. Two very old American pictures were playing. They stopped to look at the display posters.

“We’re in luck,” Catherine joked.
“South of Panama
with Roger Pryor and Virginia Vale, and
Mr. D.A. in The Carter Case.”

“Never even heard of them,” Larry snorted. “This theater must be older than it looks.”

They ate
mousaka
in the square, seated outdoors under an unbelievable full moon and then went back to the hotel and made love. It had been a perfect day.

In the morning Catherine and Larry drove around the lovely countryside, exploring the narrow road that wound along the lake, running along the rocky coast for a few miles, then drunkenly weaving its way back up again into the hills. Stone houses were perched on the edge of the steep mountainsides. High above the shore set back in the woods they caught a glimpse of a huge whitewashed building that looked like an ancient castle.

“What’s that?” Catherine asked.

“I have no idea,” Larry said.

“Let’s find out.”

“All right.”

Larry swung the car onto the dirt track that led to the building, through a meadow, past grazing goats and a shepherd who stared at them as they drove by. They pulled up in front of the deserted entrance to the building. Up close it looked like an old ruined fortress.

“It must be a leftover ogre’s castle,” Catherine said. “Probably out of the Brothers Grimm.”

“Do you really want to find out?” Larry asked.

“Sure. We may be just in time to rescue a maiden in distress.”

Larry gave Catherine a quick, strange look.

They got out of the car and walked up to the massive
wooden door with a huge iron knocker fastened to the center. Larry hit it several times and they waited. There were no sounds except the buzz of summer insects in the meadow and the whisper of the breeze through the grass.

“I guess no one’s home,” Larry said.

“They’re probably getting rid of bodies,” Catherine whispered.

Suddenly the huge door began to creak open slowly. A nun dressed in black stood facing them.

It caught Catherine off guard. “I—I’m sorry,” she said. “We didn’t know what this place was. There’s no sign or anything.”

The nun regarded the two of them for a moment, then gestured for them to enter. They stepped through the doorway and found themselves in a large courtyard that was the center of a compound. There was a strangely still atmosphere, and Catherine suddenly realized what was missing: the sound of human voices.

She turned to the Sister and said, “What place is this?”

The Sister silently shook her head and motioned for them to wait there. They watched as she turned and walked toward an old stone building at the end of the compound.

“She’s gone to get Bela Lugosi,” Catherine whispered.

Beyond the building toward a promontory that rose above the sea, they could see a cemetery framed by rows of tall cypress trees.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Larry said.

“It’s as though we’ve stumbled into another century,” Catherine replied. Unconsciously they were whispering, as though afraid to disturb the heavy silence. Through the window of the main building they could see inquisitive faces staring out at them, all women, all of them dressed in black.

“It’s some kind of religious nuthouse,” Larry decided.

A tall, thin woman emerged from the building and started walking briskly toward them. She wore a nun’s habit and had a pleasant, friendly face.

“I am Sister Theresa,” she said. “May I help you?”

“We were just passing by,” Catherine said, “and we were curious about this place.” She looked at the faces peering from the windows. “We didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“We are not honored with many visitors,” Sister Theresa said. “We have almost no contact with the outside world. We are an Order of Carmelite nuns. We have taken a vow of silence.”

“For how long?” Larry asked.

“Gia panta
—for the rest of our lives. I am the only one here permitted to speak and then only when necessary.”

Catherine gazed around at the large, silent courtyard and repressed a shudder. “Does no one ever leave here?”

Sister Theresa smiled. “No. There is no reason to. Our life is within these walls.”

“Forgive us for troubling you,” Catherine said.

The Sister nodded. “Not at all. Go with God.”

As Catherine and Larry walked out, the huge gate slowly swung closed behind them. Catherine turned to look back at it. It was like a prison. But somehow this seemed worse. Perhaps because it was a voluntary penance, a waste, and Catherine thought of the young women she had seen from the window, walled up here, shut away from the world for the rest of their lives, living in the deep permanent silence of the grave. She knew she would never forget this place.