"Good morning. I have an appointment with Mr. Mavropoulos,”
I said to the gray-haired woman who opened the door of the old, neo-classic
house in Rodon Street, just two blocks away from the impressive ruins of the
Roman marketplace, below the shade of the sacred hill where the Acropolis has
stood for centuries.
“Are you Miss Ioannou?” she asked in Greek.
I nodded and she showed me in.
“Come with me, please. He should be resting right now, but he’s changed his
schedule for you.”
“Oh! I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He’s really looking forward to seeing you. I can’t remember when I
last saw such a sparkle in his eyes.”
She opened the door to a huge study, the walls of which were hidden behind
floor-to-ceiling shelves, filled with hundreds of thick, old books.
Silver-gray, velvet curtains kept the sunlight away from the place and a faint
smell of mould, suffused with the odour of paper, made me hold my breath. The
old man was sitting in an armchair, his legs covered with a soft blanket. His
snow-white hair was longer than it should be for a man of his age and his long
beard seemed unkempt, making his face look even thinner. Behind his round
glasses, two sparkling eyes revealed his emotion at seeing me.
“My dear child, come here. Forgive me for not standing up to greet you but
time, I’m afraid, has been ruthless to me,” he said.
“It’s a pleasure meeting you, professor. Your English is perfect.”
He held my hand tight in his.
“A remnant of the years I spent in Oxford, my dear. That was where I met your
father.” He scrutinized my face. “You look very much like him. Your eyes
mostly. Dimitris would be very proud of you.” He turned to his wife. “Katerina,
treat our guest to that wonderful karidopita of yours. You’ve met my wife,” he
said, with unconcealed pride. “She’s the most tolerant person in the whole
world, my Katerina.”
His wife bent beside him to pick up the blanket that was slipping from the
professor’s legs to the floor. She asked me if I’d like a cup of tea and I took
the offer with gratitude. I hadn’t had a bite since early that morning and my
stomach started rumbling hours ago. All of a sudden, I realized I had spoken to
her in Greek, although not deliberately, bringing about a smile of satisfaction
on the old man’s face. I decided to let him keep it up a little longer, doing
my best to exhibit what I thought closer to the perfect Greek accent.
“So, were you and my father close?”
“Not as much as I wanted to. After Oxford where we had both attended a
conference…I believe it was Professor Johnston who introduced us or…was it…I’m
sorry, my child. My memory’s failing me.”
“It’s all right. Take your time.”
“We discovered then that we had a lot to talk about. He loved talking about
Greece. He was interested in some articles I’d published and we arranged to
meet in Greece to share ideas. We didn’t meet very often but soon we both knew
we were part of something big. Something that no human mind can conceive easily
without the risk of crossing the thin line between reality and illusion.” His
calculating look searched my face for traces of consent.
“That’s why I’m here,” I whispered, switching to English.
“What are you looking for, my child?”
“He’d found something…in Pylos.”
“I heard you gave up that place.”
“It’s true. I was forced to.”
“Hmm.” He nodded. “Believe me, I understand. They have their ways, don’t they?”
It was obvious he was referring to the League, but I had strict orders from
Christopher not to give the professor any details about them, and of course,
not to name the League.
“But now they’ve asked me to go there and search the place.”
He raised his brows, profoundly surprised. “Do you know what they want you to
find?”
I leaned towards him and whispered, “The Gate.”
I was afraid he had stopped breathing. But then his eyes reflected the triumph
born from years of anticipating something to be said by someone. Someone else
besides himself. Inside those walls that had been waiting…for years…a lifetime.
He suddenly took a deep breath.
His wife came into the room holding a tray with two cups of tea and one huge
piece of fluffy karidopita, garnished with homemade cherry jam.
“No karidopita for me, woman?”
“Stop complaining, Stavros. You had your share earlier.” She smiled to me.
“Doctor’s orders.” Then she walked out of the room.
“Will you be so kind as to get me that brown photo album from the second shelf,
Emma?”
I was surprised to find that the thick photo album wasn’t covered with a layer
of dust or mould, like someone regularly went through it. I put it in his
fragile hands. All of a sudden, it seemed too heavy a burden for them. He
opened it slowly on a page marked by a page-marker in the shape of the
Parthenon.
“Look! This is you!” He pointed to a photo of a little girl in a white dress,
holding a colourful ball. I recognized myself. My image in that dress evoked
the memory of a strange, obscure feeling. Like grief for a possible loss or
some kind of misfortune.
“He wanted me to take photos on that day. Do you recognize the place?” he
asked.
“It’s the dig site.”
He turned the page. “See? This is your father holding with you in his arms. Do
you remember anything about that day, Emma?”
I shook my head. The tall, strong man smiling in the photo was exactly like I
remembered him. I’d missed him so much, it broke my heart to see his face in
the photo. I tried to focus on the reasons for my visit. Another huge bite of
karidopita helped.
I told professor Mavropoulos how they had told me that the location of the
portal had changed and how vital it was for me to find it in order to get my friend
Alex back. I thought it would be wise to omit the trip to the League’s time, as
I was certain he couldn’t deal with so many revelations in one day.
......
He was speaking fast, making the impression that he had lost touch with
reality, like he was in his own world, lost in absolute trance. As if he had
guessed my thoughts, he swiftly composed himself.
“I’m afraid that is all I can tell you, my child. I wish your father had told
you more about it. He left you his archives and his notes and everything probably
because he expected you to finish what he had started. But I’m afraid he’d
underestimated the risk for you too.”
“I have to do it. Otherwise, I won’t get Alex back.”
“Love is a very powerful motive, my child. Truly the be all and end all in
life. Do you know that in the Greek language the verb love, “agapo,” starts
with the first letter of the alphabet and ends with the last? The alpha and the
omega. The beginning and the end. Such great meaning in a simple word.”
“I’m not so sure anymore. People like you and me tend to overestimate
feelings.” The last question came to my mind. “Professor, did my father ever
mention to you anyone referred to as E? It’s probably an initial for a name. ”
“E?” He looked puzzled. “Other than you, Emma, no. He never mentioned anyone
else to me.”
I gasped. “Me? Are you saying…I’m E?”
“I’m just an old fool. I have nothing more to provide but the prolixity of an
old man who’s been left on the side-lines for too long.” He smiled sadly and I
knew my work there was done. I took his hands in mine.
“Thank you. I have to go now. I’ll try to put everything together and see what
I can make out of this.”
He nodded. “Good luck, my child.”
I got up. “We’ll be in touch,” I said, but I couldn’t help wondering whether I
would be ever able to visit him again with any good news about my mission. I
walked out of the room with moist eyes, thanked Katerina who showed me out, and
left.
