What Casanova Told Me (21 page)
Read What Casanova Told Me Online
Authors: Susan Swan
Tags: #Mystery & Detective, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Psychological
“Thank you,” Luce murmured. She lowered her eyes to avoid the look of curiosity on the Englishwoman’s face. Minoan sister was a term Kitty had used to describe the women who shared her beliefs about ancient Crete. Luce didn’t believe in a lost golden age, whether it was the ancient Greeks or the Minoans. She wasn’t sure she even believed in the possibility of human improvement.
Giving Luce a conspiratorial smile, Christine took off her floppy sun hat, exposing a bowl-shaped nimbus of silver hair. They all sat down and Julian poured them glasses of golden wine.
“We miss your mother’s enthusiasm, Luce,” Christine said.
“I miss Kitty too,” Julian added. “She believed there was a bond between Alfred Whitehead’s school of philosophy and hers. As I’m sure you know.”
“Oh, I don’t actually share my mother’s beliefs.”
“What did you say, Luce?” Christine asked.
“I don’t really understand process philosophy,” Luce said, raising her voice.
“Dear child, then I will tell you.” Julian smiled. “In the past, male theologians have made a number of grave mistakes—”
“You can say that again,” Lee nodded.
“Quite, thank you, Lee. Where was I? Yes, I was saying that Christian theology emphasized a fatherly medieval image of God—and that God was perfect and unchanging. But for us, Luce, God, like nature, is in a state of becoming.”
“Yes, as Julian says, we are all in process, Luce.” Christine bobbed her head.
“Is Julian finished?” Lee said. “I’ve spent my life listening to men make speeches and I don’t want to do it on my holiday.”
Neither Julian nor Christine seemed bothered by the sarcastic tone in Lee’s voice. They smiled at Luce.
“Let’s discuss our trip to Crete,” Christine said. “You know the tribute is going to be better attended than I expected—over forty participants.”
Luce didn’t know why Christine would be startled by the prospect of a crowd; it was an old story as far as her mother was concerned. Kitty had always been surrounded by adoring fans.
Christine explained that they would spend part of their time in Crete visiting the Minoan shrines that her mother had written about. At the tribute in the cave, each person would say a few words about Kitty and leave an object that symbolized his or her feelings for her on the ancient Minoan altar. “Despite the numbers, we will try to keep the tribute simple,” Christine said. “Kitty hated pompousness, didn’t she, Luce?”
Luce smiled weakly.
When the food arrived, she found she wasn’t hungry. She picked at her
moussaka
, eyeing her mother’s friends as they talked. It unsettled her to think of Julian and Christine knowing Kitty so well. She noticed Lee was not saying much either, though she was eating her usual lunch for two: stuffed green peppers, fried squid, and lamb with lemon sauce. But it wasn’t until their coffees arrived that Lee pushed back from the table and gave them all a friendly smile.
“Well, now that we have your attention, Lee, let’s talk about Gaby,” Christine said. “I’m afraid she won’t be able to join us. But she wants you to come to Zaros. She sent you this.” Christine handed Lee a postcard.
“I’d like to go to Zaros,” Luce said.
“There isn’t time,” Lee objected, fanning herself with the postcard.
“Oh, Lee. It’s where Kitty died. And it’s not far from Herakleion. Why don’t you take Luce to see Gaby? It will do you both good.”
Lee didn’t reply.
“Who is Gaby?” Luce asked.
When Lee didn’t answer Christine cleared her throat and turned again to Luce. “Gaby was an old friend of Kitty’s, dear. Are you coming to Aegina this evening? The temple there was built on the sanctuary to the great goddess.”
“If it’s okay, I’d like to stay by myself in Athens today.” Luce stood up, knocking her head into a branch of thick, pink azalea blossoms.
Lee and Julian stared at Luce, and across the table, Christine made a disappointed noise. “You don’t want to go with us to Aegina? It was important to your mother.”
Luce glanced at Lee, hesitating.
“Didn’t I tell you, old girl, that the young are not interested in your message?” Julian said.
“Many times, Julian,” Christine sighed. “Even so …”
“I’ll stay with Luce,” Lee said. “It’s too hot for the ferry to Aegina anyway.”
“No, please go, Lee,” Luce said. “I’m fine on my own.”
“Oh, balls! I want a nap,” Lee said. “Leave me under a tree somewhere while you go exploring.”
Luce waited for Lee to pay their bill, feeling like someone plagued by a suitor who barges ahead, ignoring the polite little signs that say “go away, leave me alone!” The two women set off together, moving slowly for Lee’s sake. As they walked through the Plaka, Lee exchanged pleasantries in Greek with
the shopkeepers who beckoned from doorways garlanded with handbags and leather sandals. But soon she lapsed into silence. Lee seemed tired, and Luce guessed that the morning spent in the library researching Kitty’s work had been hard on her.
Lee took her to the old agora where they stopped to rest. Inside its park-like grounds, Lee stretched out in the shade and Luce seated herself a few yards away on a half-sunken wall. She pulled out the copy of the journal. It was so peaceful in the wild, overgrown meadow she might have been in the country. Pines grew thickly around her, and doves fluttered and cooed in the branches above her head. In no time, Lee was fast asleep, her Birkenstocks sticking out from under the diaphanous fabric of her sun wear like the half-shod hooves of a weary draft horse.
July 15, 1797
Hardly a day passes when we don’t visit some antiquity whose ruins lie in unexpected places. It is common, for instance, to come across ancient blocks of marble strewn in a laneway or meadow, and fragments of statues are regularly dug up for use in the construction of new buildings.
Like Jacob, I am interested in the Greek temples, so we were both surprised and pleased when Monsieur Gennaro asked us to join him on a sketching party to the Acropolis.
I was glad Father was not with me to see his beloved Parthenon. Everywhere we looked, the decay was severe. A small Mahometan chapel has been built near the entrance to the old temple while a mosque rises out of its ruins. Monsieur Papoutsis tells me that the Christians converted the Parthenon into a church; the Venetians blew up part of it when they shelled Athens; and now the Turks have
made it a military garrison. We strolled in silent horror. Many of the Parthenon’s statues are missing or broken, the doors of the mosque have been chewed by animals, perhaps rats, and goats graze inside the Erechtheion whose floor is piled with cannon balls. A battery with ancient-looking cannons perches on the cliff just below.
We found an ill-kept garden within the ruins—growing a small patch of flat broad beans and one withered tomato plant. And under a yellowing grape arbour, the single spot of shade, the military governor sat smoking a flexible pipe, the wooden base of which was decorated with yellow jewels. He gave us watery tea, fed our cakes to his rough-looking children and drank down Monsieur Gennaro’s wine with barely a word spoken.
It was a sorry occasion, and Jacob excused us from the unhappy tea party and said we wanted to finish our sightseeing. We passed two veiled women who stood on the ramparts shouting cheerfully down at the people on the street below and pointing up at a dark, towering cloud. The sightless eyes of the caryatids holding up the Erechtheion’s roof gazed out across the olive groves and cornfields growing peacefully on the plain.
“They carry a heavy burden,” I said.
“Ah, but the caryatids are fulfilling their duty, Asked For. Isn’t this what your beloved Seneca said we must do?”
“Yes, I was taught to be self-sacrificing.” I thought of how I had ignored Father’s wish for me and left Francis behind. “Jacob?”
“What is it, Asked For Philosophe?”
“Have you heard from Aimée? When does she expect you to arrive in Constantinople?”
He turned to look at me and slowly shook his head.
“Then perhaps something unfortunate has happened.”
“I have another interpretation, dear girl. What if fate is giving us this time to enjoy one another, away from the cares of the world? Dom has asked me to visit his friend’s country house near Sounion. I would be sad to go without you.”
He could see that I was flattered, and whispered that I should take him to the little grotto where I had seen my vision. I led him down the path through the vines to the northwestern side of the Acropolis. As always, I felt overjoyed to have him to myself. Although there is much to commend in the hard work of those who raise you, the greatest gratitude must go to those who accept and cherish you for who you are. This love does not come from duty but from the deepest place in the heart.
There were no plates on the ledge by the grotto but the view of the Aegean beyond the mud huts below was as beautiful as before.
“Jacob?” I said. “I have thought about your offer.”
“Do you mean my suggestion that we enjoy ourselves?”
“Yes.” I stepped close to him and breathed in the fragrant scent of rosewater. “This is my answer.”
“Have you had enough time to test and verify, Asked For Philosophe?”Jacob held me at arm’s length, laughing softly. I laid my hand against his cheek.
“Do not tease me, Jacob.”
“Ah, dear girl!”
He let out a low groan, pulled me close, and we began kissing urgently, my lips and cheeks wet with what I took for my tears. I drew away to look up at Jacob and that is when I noticed the dark cloud, like a woman’s woollen skirt, spread across the length of the sky. There was a clap
of thunder and it began to rain harder in windy gusts. We broke from our kiss and ran for shelter.
First Inquiry of the Day: Why have I never seen men’s beauty?
Lesson Learned: I have feared the power of men too much to see them. So today, as I write, I rejoice in the beauty of men. The strong stalks of their necks, bullish or slim; the delicacy of shaven cheeks, the sweet, heartfelt line between ear and collarbone. Yes, I am astonished by the wonder of men in all shapes and sizes, whether they are bald-headed or thick-haired, aged or sapling-young, by their well-shaped wrists and long, supple arms, by their thighs and the trunks of their bodies, moving so purposefully towards what draws them.
Today, even Manolis, with his knitted zone shawl, or the shepherds who pass us in the lanes, with their bare calves and slippers, are pleasing.
Luce found herself holding her breath in astonishment. Asked For’s entry was the most exciting one she’d read so far. But low wailing cries were breaking her concentration. It penetrated the sound of the doves cooing in the pines overhead. Was it an animal? The noise persisted. She stood up quietly so she wouldn’t wake Lee and headed towards the Temple of Theseus, whose marble pillars were visible through the pines. In a little clearing, a dark-haired man was digging in the earth.
It was the same young man she’d met near the Temple of Zeus earlier in the morning. Who would have thought it possible to run into the same person twice in Athens? Casanova had left out the magic of coincidence in his travel principles, she thought. Travellers were like migrating birds who, soaring
free from the ties of home, possess the ability to see the synchronous patterns that shape experience.
As she watched, the young man threw down his shovel. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and she realized he was weeping. He stooped to pick up a bundle and began carrying it carefully towards the hole. Not wanting to intrude, she stepped back into the bushes, but the movement drew his attention. He wheeled about, staring at her in alarm. There was no doubt about it: it was Theodore, the young man who had found the manuscript with the old Turkish writing.
He smiled sadly at her, holding his bundle close.
“I thought you were the police,” he said. He tilted his head towards the hole. “A car hit my dog. This morning, after I saw you. So I brought her to the place she loved. Our footsteps are here. Heeonati’s and mine.” He looked around the clearing. “When it is your time, it is your time.”
“I’m very sorry,” Luce said. “Can I do something?”
He gestured towards the puppy’s toys lying on the sand. Luce picked up the rawhide bone and the bright blue spongy ball and waited as he lowered the pathetic bundle into the makeshift grave. Then she handed over the toys and he placed them on the dead Samoyed puppy. Bowing his head, he knelt by the grave, letting handfuls of sandy earth run through his fingers. He was murmuring gently, soft sounds like an adult speaking to a child.
Luce knelt beside him, her own eyes filling with tears. “It is terrible to lose a pet.” Theodore sat back on his heels, turning to look at her, half crouched on the ground beside him.
“It is not right. You are a stranger.”
“No, no,” Luce said. “I am glad to help you. Your puppy was very beautiful.” She handed him a Kleenex, and nodding gratefully, he wiped the dirt from his fingers.
“Thank you for the kindness of your soul.” He rose to his feet and Luce rose with him. Then he picked up his shovel and finished filling in the dog’s grave.
“Can I buy you a coffee?” he said when he was done.
“That would be nice. But I have to tell my friend,” Luce replied.
She woke Lee and together they walked back to find him. He had composed himself while she was gone and now he sat smoking on a bench beside the path, the Temple of Theseus glinting in the sun behind his head. It struck her that he resembled the billboard advertisements for cigarettes she saw everywhere in Athens—there was nothing bland or politically correct about the men in the Greek ads for Karelia Lights: they smoked hungrily, staring lasciviously at indifferent women in filmy white dresses.
“Theodore,” Luce said. “This is my—my friend, Lee Pronski.”
“Yiasou
, Lee.”
“Dr. Pronski.” Lee shook his proffered hand. “You live in Athens?” she asked.
“I work for Dolphin Travel. Are you from America, Dr. Pronski?”
“I lived in Brooklyn as a child,” Lee said.
“So I was right about the accent. In my business, I have to know these things.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you. I spent years in Toronto.” Ignoring his startled face, Lee took Luce aside. “He seems harmless enough,” she whispered. “Although Lord knows what he was doing with a Samoyed in a place like Athens. The heat must have been hard on his dog.”