Literary Indulgence

Chapter 11

A few customers were sitting over their coffee and digestifs. Alexander, at the back of the restaurant, looked up and waved when he saw me. Gracefully, he manoeuvred his lanky frame between the tables. A real pro, I thought.

“Osseee!” From his beaming face, the term was endearing. “You eat late tonight?”

“Just a coffee, Alexander, if that’s OK, and… a favour.”

He looked perplexed.

I laughed. “I have a question”.

“Ne… I get coffee and you ask me favorrr.”

I brought out my sachet and laid the tiny stone on a paper serviette. When Alexander returned with my coffee, he eyed it with curiosity. I offered him a seat opposite me. Madeleine and I had previously told him the outline of our odyssey to Kos, and I filled in some of the details, beginning with the stone, though I only hazily sketched the circumstance under which it had arrived.

“Can you tell me what type of material it is?” I said, as he rolled the stone between his fingers.

His expression was serious, concentrated and I was allowed an insight into a very different Alexander to the talkative and breezy waiter I had come to know.

“Marble,” he said, confirming my own guess. He leaned forward with it still in his palm. “See… here…” He pointed to the pink markings. “Unusual.”

“Would I be able to find out where it’s from?” I leaned closer. From the corner of my eye, I could see a patron regarding us with curiosity.

He leaned back, rolling the stone almost lovingly. “Maybe can do… it will take time, Ossee… I’m going to Athens tomorrow. Mind if I take?”

I felt a rush of protectiveness of my small talisman.

“Ne,” I said, feeling relieved that I might finally find out something. “I’d appreciate it.”

For another hour over coffee, and between Alexander clearing tables and farewelling the other patrons, I got to know more about our local and favourite waiter – his dreams of teaching at the University of Athens, of marrying his childhood sweetheart who was studying there, too.

“Alexander, why are you here in Kos?”

He laughed, “To get away from everything for a while.”

I nodded. I understood.

* * *

At home, Madeleine was on her own, washing dishes and looking like the cat that had swallowed the bird.

“He had to go,” she said, as I picked up a tea towel.

“Where’s he staying?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, her hands pausing in the sink. “I haven’t asked. Somewhere in town, anyway.”

Another difference between us, I thought.

“When are you seeing him again?”

“He wanted to see me tomorrow, but…” she said, then paused and turned to me, “I said I wanted to spend the day with my sister.”

“Thanks, Mads.”

* * *

The next day, we browsed shops in town and had a lazy lunch, walking and talking. I posted my basic, informative letter to Julian. As we climbed the steps to our flat, we could see something wedged in our door. Excitedly, Madeleine retrieved it, but her face dropped in disappointment as she handed it to me. Instantly I recognised the handwriting where she hadn’t, but the expression on my face made her look again.

“Oh God… another one? But how?”

I unlocked the door and, once inside, we sat side by side on the bed as I opened the envelope. With unsteady fingers, I unfolded the letter which, I noted, was of the same paper – parchment – though the ink was of a deeper blue than before. This time, the words were unquestionably in Latin.

I translated aloud: “What you seek from me, you might have looked for nearer home.” The words sounded familiar. At university, I had studied a unit of Latin for interest, alongside my medical degree. Largely, classes consisted of reading the works of Virgil and Ovid, and it was the latter that I now recalled. I repeated the words, picturing them toward the end of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and I had a feeling that they may have been about Asklepios.

“Of course,” I said aloud, startling Madeleine. “I did know something of Asklepios! I have to get a copy of that book.”

By now Madeleine was truly bewildered. “What book?”

I explained.

“This is getting a bit strange now, Dee,” she said, trying to disguise her excitement with a fearful face.

* * *

While we waited for Alexander to return, Madeleine and I resumed our tour of the island, and of bookshops looking for Ovid. In a “junk” box in an unlikely general store in the main town, I found a battered copy. Despite its decrepit state, leafing through the pages revealed that its soul was still intact. I tucked it deep into my bag for later reading.

There had been no word from Carlo. Though Madeleine seemed to be happy enough in conversation, she drifted into daydream more often than usual. As we lingered over lunch in town, I saw him in an adjacent restaurant. Despite his sunglasses, it was apparent that he was tired, his face pale and drawn. Madeleine hadn’t seen him, and I hoped that we, or he, might slip away unnoticed.

It was too late. I saw the small jerk of her body when she saw him and her brow furrowed in a mixture of annoyance and perplexity, but she remained fixed in her chair, not at all like her normally direct and open way.

“Ciao, Madeleina.” Carlo’s voice was soft and tired as he approached us.

My sister’s smile was tight, and I found myself, again as a reluctant third party, feeling almost sorry for the Italian playboy. I rose, making an excuse that I had to find an ATM, but neither of them seemed to notice. When I turned back to look, Carlo was easing himself tentatively and apologetically into my chair.

I wandered along the quay, stopping now and then to take in the latest arrival of cruisers and their bewildering state-of-the-art designs. Longer, stronger, leaner and bedecked with satellite dishes and plunge pools. Behind me, I heard running feet and stepped aside to allow the jogger to pass. At the tap on my shoulder, I turned to find Alexander, puffing and red-faced.

“Ossee!”

It occurred to me to tell him my name, but I was now becoming very fond of my new one. Madeleine and I had already decided that he bore a remarkable resemblance to Prince Andrew of England and now, in his impeccable casual shirt, pants and boat shoes, he looked even more like a royal on vacation.

“The stone,” he said excitedly as his breathing levelled, “I have result.”

It was my turn to breathe deeply.

He laughed at my expression but then became serious.

“Marble not from Kos, not from Turkei.” He raised his eyebrows apologetically.

“I suppose we can’t find out where it’s from?”

Alexander nodded, “This particular mineral composition is most common in west.”

“West?”

“Ne… Apennini.”

“The Apennines,” I said, conscious that I was becoming Alexander’s echo. My mind ran through my limited knowledge of European geography. “That would include…”

“Italia.” Alexander seemed to be following my thoughts.

“Any idea where?”

He smiled. “No guesses. Sorry, Ossee. Stone is too small.” He took it from his pocket and handed it to me with great respect.

My heart sank. The information was intriguing, exciting, but we had come to a standstill. Finding the origins of my tiny stone in a number of European countries was like a needle in 10,000 haystacks. Alexander looked disappointed for me. I hugged him in gratitude. With his arms fixed to his sides, he blushed, but I noticed his wry smile.

“Pleasure, for you, Ossee,” he called over his shoulder as he left.

“Thank you,” I called after him.

I headed back to the restaurant. Madeleine was sitting on her own sipping the last of her orange juice.

“I’m OK,” she said.

* * *

On the way home, we exchanged our stories. Carlo, it seemed, had had to fly to Athens for an urgent meeting with his manager and then to his specialist.

“Why hadn’t he told you he would be going?”

“He said he’d forgotten about it.”

She didn’t seem to doubt him; another difference between us.

I told her about my chance meeting with Alexander.

“This is such an adventure.” Madeleine’s take on the situation lightened my own. We drove on. “Have you heard from Julian?”

She had asked tentatively but it jolted me.

“Not since I spoke to him before we left.” I told her that I had sent him a letter.

“You should never have let him get away, Dana.”

This was not the first time my sister had reminded me of this, but I couldn’t help but wonder if it was now prompted by her interest in Carlo. Perhaps she thought I was getting in her way. My instinct was to launch again into my reasons for breaking up with Julian, but nothing came. I tried to distract myself with the now familiar scenery outside the car but, at that moment, it seemed drab and colourless.

The inside me and the outside me seemed to have fused.