The Wind Whispers Her Name

Prologue-3

Local people crossed the quay to their work. Many eating breakfast, usually koulouria, occasionally small cheese pies, as they went. He had seen similar sights in Beijing and Shanghai where dumplings were usually the breakfast choice. The hordes rushed to commandeer the 'best' areas on the ferry. Kenneth decided to ensconce himself on the upper deck, under the awning. His fair colouring and strong sunlight did not marry well. He took both suitcases with him despite a crew member offering a 'safe' place to leave them. Donning a pair of Carrera sunglasses to protect his grey-green eyes he sat back to await departure, wishing his Panama hat hadn't been packed deep within a case.

Diary Entry (mid May)

Reasonable sleep. Bed made up with clean, white bedding. Pleased to see mosquito screens in place. No air-con, fans in every room. 'Fridge well-stocked for few days. Will have contemplative day. Get bearings etc. No rush. Have whole year. Ha! No intention of staying that long. Will write up ferry trip. May be of use for that damned sleuth or a travel article.

The slow ferry was aptly named. It had taken more than five hours to fulfil its itinerary before arriving at its final destination. It had also been hot and cloying. Too many people Kenneth thought as he tried to avoid the press who barely waited for the stern door to be safely down.

Once again he caught the nauseous smells and irritating noises that had pervaded his personal space for the journey - garlic, raw and sour, the stale sweat of clothes worn too long, bodies closeted in close proximity, the squawking of live chickens in the confinement of cramped cane cages. At last he felt space around him as the sea breeze mentally and physically revived him somewhat. He felt it refreshingly welcome after the claustrophobic atmosphere on the rather tortuous journey just suffered.

Kenneth, as always, was observant of everything around him. The ferry was of medium size but seemed to accommodate a disproportionate number of people. From the timetable he knew it ploughed back and forth, once a day. For all the islands the ferry was obviously a life-line. It brought everything, mail, food, goods, visitors, tourists.

The unloading of provisions as it made its designated stops provided light entertainment for the initiates on the long journey - organisation and order not being an obvious trait. Kenneth's island was the ferry's final destination. One would just have to become accustomed to the non-urgency so characteristic of this part of the world.

Soon he was surrounded by luggage of all descriptions, smart, matching sets, sports bags, boxes tied with string, plastic carriers, bin liners containing an assortment of items, triffid-like plants, toilet seats, small pieces of furniture and some not so small, hose-pipes, rolls of plaited bamboo, assorted bits of machinery - nothing seemed barred. And the noise which assailed his ears. Incessant talk, indolent chatter to argumentative political discussion, radios, Walkmans, music of all kinds, vying with each other for supremacy, all rising above the not so melodic drone of the engines.

He watched children of all ages, sitting bored, eating, reading comics, some sullen, cowed by fraught parents, others chasing around the decks - why did none of them ever fall over-board - eternally being screamed at by parents fast losing patience. He noted babies, hot and bothered, fractious, sleeping fretfully or suckling with noisy contentment. Kenneth averted his gaze from such intimacy. He felt embarrassed.

A plastic tube of nuts was pressed into his face.

'Fresh, fresh. You like. You buy. Yes, Yes. Very good.'

Kenneth shook his head, but only when he turned his head to gaze seawards did the man go on to the next potential customer. A man selling monthly lottery tickets - selling dreams reflected Kenneth as he again shook his head. He never purchased such tickets. He had no need. And he had achieved success in writing.

His eyes strayed to the make-shift bar now in full swing as passengers bought drinks, alcoholic rarely, mostly bottled water, occasionally cans of soft drinks, more often the iced coffee for which he had never acquired a taste. Snacks were also being purchased even though the prices were exorbitant. People seemed to prefer to stand in the ever-lengthening queue than take advantage of the swarthy waiter who plied up and down, offering the services of his empty tray. Occasionally someone did take pity on him. The pudgy face, set incongruously on a narrow neck atop of a squat body, then became a wreath of smiles. He even grinned philosophically when a puppy, seemingly belonging to no-one, let its presence be felt, visually and somewhat odorously. Kenneth's natural fastidiousness caused his nose to wrinkle as the waiter removed the offending object before retrieving his tray.

He returned to observing. A group caught his attention, different, not indigenous. Their foreign-ness was exotic. All - men, women and children - were possessed of raven black hair which shone, naturally or artificially enhanced. It was difficult to ascertain which, although the former was probably more likely. The men wore standard black trousers, which hugged the hips of the younger ones, flaunting their sexuality. Not so white shirts appeared whiter because of the stark contrast between them and the duskiness of the skins. A variety of multi-coloured, intricately embroidered waist-coats and soft leather, calf-length boots completed the male attire. The colours and embroideries were repeated in the clothing of their women-folk, this time accompanied by swirls of skirts and shawls. The children were miniature clones of the adults whilst babies were swathed in fringed shawls, repeating the colours and embroideries of their progenitors.

All wore gold ornaments with a flair reflecting history and culture rather than prosperity. Their luggage was totally incongruous - modern sports bags instead of the ethnic, hand-worked baskets one might have expected. They stayed together, speaking amongst themselves in a guttural tongue Kenneth didn't recognize. They spoke to no outsider, no-one spoke to them. Their tickets were checked in silence, almost resentfully. Not for them a smile, a friendly greeting. They remained passive and expressionless. Kenneth's eyes moved to another distinct group, their whiteness distinguishing them as holiday-makers, taking a two-week respite from whatever it was they annually escaped. Kenneth was jolted into consciousness by a distinct change in the engine sound and the activity of crew members as they prepared to dock. At last!

Relieved the journey was over it had been, would always be, a memorable one.

Diary Entry (mid May)

Two grey taxis waiting end of jetty. Retrieved note of accommodation arranged by agent, 'Maria and Elias' house', from envelope. Tentatively showed it to drivers. They nodded but said they were booked for next hour. I could wait or take alternative horse buggy taxi. Same price. Decided to wait.

Kenneth slowly took in the scene. The short, narrow jetty, thronged with people arriving, departing, friends or relatives meeting, saying goodbye. Three-wheelers collecting the assortment of 'things' purchased in Athens. The immediate area was crowded with a diversity of two-wheeled vehicles which Kenneth classified under the generic term of 'bikes' - mopeds, scooters, motor-bikes of all ages and some that failed to fit any category. All languished in the sun, patiently waiting for owners to return from whatever business it was that had caused this abandonment.

He walked to where the town proper began. The jetty widened into a picturesque waterfront scene of cafés, each with its own distinctive colours of tables, chairs and awnings. Again he became aware of noise. This time of a different character, as the various waiters vied with each other in trying to entice new arrivals into their own establishment. Smiling, targeting foreign tourists, rather than their fellow countrymen, as more likely to have spending power. With fixed smiles holiday reps waited to whisk tourists away to their accommodation. No doubt he would see them around the island before they were replaced in two weeks with a new intake. Hopefully not that couple crossed his mind as he espied a thin, slightly balding, bespectacled man struggling along with two over-sized suitcases behind the mountain of flesh already showing signs of discomfort in the heat of the mid-day sun.

Leaving his luggage at the taxi rank, he sat at the nearest café. This time his 'Mia beera parakalo' was answered with an indulgent smile and a short reply in Greek. Phrase books are b****y useless, he thought. Really no help at all unless the person addressed gives the replies exemplared in the book. He smiled back deferentially, actually feeling rather stupid. The waiter grinned and translated.

'Welcome to Spetses! Large or small beer?'

A quick think. An hour or more.

'Large, please.'

During the twenty minutes it took for the waiter to return with a heavily frosted half litre glass and an Amstel, Kenneth watched the ferry crowd disperse. The beer had begun to warm when he noticed his luggage being loaded onto the back seat of a taxi. It was the stocky young driver who sported a bushy moustache and hair so black Kenneth was tempted to ask him for the dye number, having tried several products with little success. His friends said the touch of grey added gravitas but Kenneth wasn't convinced.

Leaving the dregs of the now undrinkable beer and a tip on the table, he strode to the taxi and got in, the driver having left the front passenger door open for him. They drove past the waiting horses and along the front with the sea on the left and a row of hotels, bars and tavernas on the right, skilfully dodging wandering people, trotting horses and wobbly bikes. Bikes, lots of bikes - but no cars!

Great Moses. Kenneth could hardly believe… Did he really see a family of five on one scooter? Yes, checking the taxi's wing mirror he had not imagined it. Father had a child standing in front, mother was on pillion holding a baby whilst a third child travelled on the luggage rack behind mum. A policeman waved as they rode by, father removing one hand from the handle-bars to wave back. The taxi swerved right, away from the sea road. Halfway up a slope that curved left the taxi met a horse buggy slip-sliding its way down. The taxi slowed. Natural horse power obviously took precedence over mechanical.

At the top of the hill the taxi shot over the crossroads and up another slope which veered left. By this time Kenneth could not have retraced the route, which seemed to be turning back on itself. The taxi stopped. There was no meter so the fare asked came as a shock. Compared with taxi fares in Athens it was expensive. Kenneth paid but added no tip. As he was getting out he realised he had no keys for the house and turned to the driver. In reply to Kenneth's query he said the keys were probably on a hook somewhere on the door frame. If no hook then try lifting the flower pots. He waited until Kenneth had retrieved his cases from the back seat and then rolled away down the slope.

Diary Entry (mid May)

First impressions. Isolated. Dark blue, wrought iron gates. Church to left. Uneven wild garden. Grass two feet high. Five foot wall on three sides. Fourth side a slope ending in dried river bed. Across river-bed a closely shuttered house, air of neglect about it, shutters closed, paint peeling, badly weathered. Noticed large gates (my house) could be locked. Both could be opened wide to admit car. Why? Thought island car-free. Gates noisy opening/closing, better than guard dog. To right three stone steps leading up to cricket length walkway, balustraded both sides. Led to balcony. Lots of potted flowers/plants, plastic table, assortment of bamboo/plastic chairs.

Kenneth approached the door. The bottom half was wood, painted in the same dark blue as the gates and shutters. The top part was frosted glass covered by a wrought-iron grid and mosquito netting. He looked for a hook. There it was and hanging from it, in full view, were three keys tied with string. Two obviously door keys, the third reminiscent of a padlock key. As he reached for them the door opened. Standing there, dressed entirely in black from the kerchief holding her hair in place, apart from a wisp of grey peeping out below one ear, down to the thick black stockings and strong, flat lace-ups, was a plump, middle-aged lady.