My Greek SEAL (15 page)

Eros stops and hands me his canteen. “Here, drink some of this.”

I take the flask from his hand and drink sparingly.

We trudge on until my view of Eros’ backside and the ground and trees in front of me begin to lose focus. I take a misstep and nearly turn my ankle on the edge of a rock.

Eros stops and turns toward me. Concern registers in the depth of his rich brown eyes. “Maya, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just a little tired.” If only I had guzzled more water during our break on the swim while I had the chance. I blink again and again to clear my vision, but still see only fuzzy, moving shapes around me. Even Eros face is shifting positions.

He grips the sides of my shoulders to steady me when I sway and nearly fall. “Your eyes look unfocused and you can barely keep your balance. You must be getting heat exhaustion.” He touches my forehead with one hand. “You’re barely sweating.”

Even my mind feels fuzzy now. “This is really weird.”

Still steadying me, Eros speaks to me in a calm, soothing voice. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of you. Please sit down for a minute and rest.”

I allow him to help lower me to the ground. He hands me the canteen of water and then slings his arm around my shoulder.

“But there’s not much left. Aren’t you going to drink any?”

“No, Maya. I can go without for now. Go ahead and take another sip.”

I tip the water into my mouth and close my eyes, relishing the sensation of the cool liquid sliding down my throat. I wish I could swallow a gallon of cold water right now. For the first time, I’m struck by fear. Maybe I won’t make it to Kalamos Town. Maybe I’m being a terrible liability and by delaying Eros’ arrival in the town, I’m jeopardizing his life as well.

“I know what you’re thinking, Maya.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?”

“You are scared that you won’t make it and worried that because you are having problems you will put me in danger.”

I shake my head and give him a weak smile. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

“Don’t worry, Maya. We are not far from Kalamos Town. You are not accustomed to the physical pain of long walks in the heat with so little water, but your body is stronger than you think. It is your mind you need to handle right now. Try to think about something beyond the discomfort. That’s what I do when the pain gets to be too much.”

“What do you think about?”

“I think about something that calms me. I know you enjoyed today’s swims. You could think about what it felt like to glide along in the sea, floating and feeling free. Sometimes when I’m walking, I think about a word or phrase with each step that keeps me going. I might think, I’m strong on one step and then I’m determined on the next. And before I know it, I’m where I need to go.”

“I’m not sure I can walk when everything’s shifting around like this.”

He scoops me up and carries me underneath a large fir tree. He sets me down easily and leans back against the tree trunk. “Lean in on me and close your eyes.”

I lean in toward him and lay back against his chest. His arms sweep around me and I feel safe and protected and so drowsy I can barely keep my eyes open.

“You’re still tense. Close your eyes and let your muscles relax.”

I allow my eyelids to drift shut and fall into slumber. In my dreams, I’m still in Eros arms, but in a bed where he holds me all through the night. I awaken to the sound of his voice. He whispers my name. I open my eyes to see that the sun is lower on the horizon. I wonder how long I slept. I turn around to look at Eros and rub my eyes. “How long did I sleep?”

“Thirty five minutes. How are you feeling, Maya?” Worried creases mar his forehead.

“Much better. Nothing’s moving any more. But you should have woken me up earlier.”

“Don’t worry, we can still make it. Let me help you up.” He jumps to his feet and reaches for me hand.

With his strong help, getting up is easy. Now I’m not only thirsty, but my belly is growling from hunger. I’m still scared that I won’t make it. I’ve always avoided discomfort. I’ve never slept on the ground, waiting to get concert tickets and whenever I’ve gone camping, I’ve always slept on an air mattress and traveled with a huge cooler full of fresh food. It seems weird not to be able to walk to the refrigerator or call for take out like I usually do whenever I’m famished.

Eros grips my arm and walks beside me. “Let’s walk very slowly, okay?”

“Don’t worry, I can do this.” I take a slow step and then another one while my brain bombards me with complaints about hunger and thirst. I remember Eros’ suggestion about trying to think about something pleasant. He is the first thing that pops into my mind. I recall how amazing it felt to have his hands on my body and how much pleasure I felt when we made love. My mind wanders off on a further tangent and I imagine us living in a stone house on one of the islands, sitting side by side on our patio overlooking the sea. Our refrigerator is stocked with Greek wine and feta cheese and I never miss a morning eating pita smeared with halvah, that decadently sweet nut treat that is popular here.

I imagine Eros holding a piece on halvah between two fingers and steering it toward my mouth. I imagine the sweet flavor on my tongue and the texture of his finger as I lick off every last morsel. And then he takes my head and leads me to the bedroom...

“We made it, Maya. There are the first of the houses.”

My body jerks to attention, returning from fantasy to reality. “Oh, thank God.” A smile spreads over my face when I realize I made it, thanks to Eros’ patience. With any luck we’ll find some bottled water and an abandoned pantry full of food.

“You seemed to be very focused there for a while. What did you think about?”

There’s no way I’m telling him he was feeding me halvah. “Oh, just stuff. Mostly a comfortable bed.”

“Please stay strong, Maya. Our situation could get worse before it gets better.”

“I know.”

“Let’s knock on some doors. People in these towns are friendly and usually want to help each other when there is a crisis. I am sure someone will be willing to give us water.”

Simple, stucco homes with red tile roofs sit on either side of the narrow, stone-paved street, which dips sharply downward. We can’t yet see the submerged coastline.

Eros motions for me to follow him. We approach a house and he knocks at the tattered wooden door. Only silence answers.

“There is no one here,” says Eros. “Let’s try another house.”

We cross the street and walk up to another house. This time, Eros’ knock brings a woman to the door that I guess is in her fifties. A wrinkled off-white blouse is tucked into the waist of her dark-colored woven skirt, which looks too heavy and hot to wear in summertime. Her dark hair has been untidily wound and pinned on top of her head. She speaks to us in loud, panicked Greek.

I don’t understand a word she says—I only know she’s upset. I give her a sympathetic look as Eros speaks to her in her native language. He says something else that seems to make her even more upset. Now tears fill her eyes and she lets out a long wail.

“What is the matter?” I try to give her a sympathetic look.

“Her husband was out fishing and hasn’t returned home. She knew about the earthquake, but not the tidal wave. I just told her about that,” says Eros. “Her name is Helena.”

“Oh, no. That’s awful.”

He speaks again and I hear my name. Helena nods and after shaking hands with Eros, she reaches for my hand. I grip her hand firmly and say, “Nice to meet you,” in English. I hope Eros has told her I don’t speak Greek.

She wipes the tears from her eyes and then motions for us to come inside her house.

The house is tiny. Helena’s living room could fit into my mother’s laundry room. Teacups and plates of various sizes have spilled off of the shelves of a weathered wooden hutch. Shards of them are scattered across the terra cotta tile floor, which still shines from a recent scrubbing. Four cane chairs sit askew around what must be the kitchen table. In the small kitchen adjacent to the room where we’re standing, the window over the kitchen window looks like a large rock was thrown through it. The linoleum countertop is littered with shattered glass.

Helena speaks in what must be the longest sentence I’ve ever heard. She doesn’t even pause for a breath. Her tone of voice sounds hopeless. She must be scared her husband’s boat was washed away. Maybe if we walked down to the beach we could find him. I can tell she knows I don’t speak Greek. She directs her gaze toward Eros most of the time, occasionally glancing my way out of an effort to be polite.

She pulls a wicker chair out from the table and motions for me to sit. I drop into the stiff chair while she walks toward one of the large shuttered windows in the room. She pulls the dark green shutters open, illuminating the room with late afternoon sunshine.

Eros asks her something in a polite, respectful tone. For a glass of water, I hope. Helena says something that sounds sympathetic before rushing into the kitchen. She opens a cupboard and takes out some glasses and plates.

While Helena is busy in the kitchen, Eros explains that she wants to find out what became of her husband, but she’s been afraid to leave the house. “I said we would accompany her down to the harbor and try to help her find him. I also told her we’d gone for hours without water and were desperate for a drink.”

Helena returns with a tray. She sets tall glasses with water in front of us. I pick up my glass as she sets a plate of bread and assorted cheeses in the center of the table.

The water is tepid, almost warm, but I guzzle every last drop within seconds. Eros asks for more. She walks briskly from the room to refill our glasses and brings a pitcher of water along when she returns. Without speaking, we empty our glasses, refill them until the pitcher is empty and devour all the bread and cheese. Helena brings out a second plate of food and we finish every olive and crumb of bread. Afterward, Eros stands up and speaks in a serious voice. I assume he’s outlining his plan to search for Helena’s husband.

She utters more quick phrases to Eros and then disappears into what I assume is the bedroom. Maybe she’s changing into pants and tennis shoes? I can’t imagine looking for a missing man in that Mary Poppins skirt.

Instead of emerging in more practical clothing, she returns holding a cell phone. She shakes the phone and points toward the screen. Eros explains that she just said the cell service is down, but wants to take her phone along just in case it comes online.

Eros exchanges a glance with me and I wonder if he’s thinking what I’m thinking...that the phone isn’t likely to help as much as a different outfit. She’s going to be sweating bullets in that long, heavy skirt not to mention she will be dragging it through the mud.

When Helena opens the front door, I hear chickens squawking in distress. Two of them strut down the street, apparently let loose by a fallen wall. “We should catch those stray chickens,” I say to Eros. “They might be the only dinner any of us get tonight.”

Eros speaks to Helena and then to me. We will chase down the chickens that got loose from someone’s yard and hold them hostage in Helena’s backyard. The chickens aren’t amenable to our plan. They dodge and hop just out of our grasp. Even my diving leap leaves me flat on my belly empty handed.

Finally, Eros corners one against a wall and snatches it in his hand. By now the other one has disappeared into a crumbled wall. “We can’t go in there. The building doesn’t look stable,” he says.

The chicken he’s caught squawks and flaps its wings, trying to escape. Eros flinches when it pecks at his fingers. He speaks to Helena again and then walks briskly behind her toward the back of her house. Helena opens a metal gate and Eros releases the chicken in her small backyard.

We walk down the steep road. I’m surprised to see the streets are deserted. Eros slows his pace. He must have noticed Helena’s limping slightly. I wonder if she was injured in the quake or has hip problems. I imagine not too many people on this remote island get surgery. Maybe people needing urgent care have to travel to Athens. Or just pass away. Who knows what the average lifespan here is.

I feel suddenly sad. Maybe it’s thinking about people living short lives. Or maybe it’s because it’s too quiet. Deathly quiet. Or maybe it’s because realization is hitting me that I know almost nothing about this place. What the locals eat, what they do for fun, how much money the average person here makes in a month. Do Eros’ parents live in homes like I see on this street? Or do they live in an apartment building? I remember seeing many high-rise apartment complexes in Athens. Does his mother wear old-fashioned clothes wrong for the season like Helena or wear sexy clothes like many women wear in Athens?

The homes we walk past are in various states of disarray. Walls have crumbled, windows are shattered, roofs are caved in. Long, jagged cracks mar the stone streets.

I point at a house that has crumbled and collapsed on one side. “Those walls are so thick. Someone could be trapped in there.”

Eros is already striding toward the house. We step over the ruins and find no one. A small black spaniel steps out of what remains of the kitchen.

“Come here boy,” says Eros.

The dog wags his tail and runs toward us scattering broken pieces of tile. Eros said earlier this was a fishing village. So many of the men must have been out in boats fishing. Will we find anyone alive?

I’m no Greece expert, but I know the country is suffering a devastating financial crisis and that banks are restricting how much cash people can withdraw. The American media ramble on about how Greek people are lazy and blame them for their predicament, but I’ve seen no evidence to support that accusation. I imagine government corruption is to blame.

The taxi driver who took me to my Geni hotel late at night said she worked more than twelve hours a day most days between doing bus station and town runs around and maintaining a hair and nail salon. The hotel owner, Teodora, greeted me like I was a long lost relative. After showing me to my room, she invited me to join her and her husband for a drink even though it was nearly midnight. I’ve never understood why so many Americans think if someone’s occupation doesn’t turn out to be a big moneymaker, the person is lazy. Pretty stupid I think.