Aspasia - August - Greece (Part I)
"There are times when I sorely miss the sun, Iereas." Aspasia leans forward, resting her folded arms on the railing of the boat, inhaling the sea air, and closing her eyes while the light breeze blows over her face.
"What I would give for a full day. To walk the streets of my home, sweating from the heat of the sun again."
The woman turns her face, so she stands in profile. "There are things that will still be same. Mariner's cottages lining the steep roads up to the city center. Wooden balconies that overlook the water. Grapes on the vine. Sheep on the hill." A slight smile crosses her face. "Myrina is the gateway to the island. As it has always been. The harbour is magnificent. The waters good for undersea fishing and swimming. The beaches pristine. Perfect."
"It won't be long. And we are past the dark of the moon. In the next nights, it will grow stronger. We will see more." Aspasia's gaze lifts to the heavens. "There is no place to compare to it. Even with the fog and distance, my home remains unchanged."
Jack nods, listening to her litany of words. "Your home means a lot to you, n'est-ce pas?"
"Yes. It is refuge. Peace."
She stands in the moonlight, the body of a baby in her arms, cold and dead. More disturbingly with fang marks in its neck
Aspasia stares out over the water. "Not quite.”
“It is peace now.” The woman gestures with an open hand toward the island. “It was a prize in war. A valuable asset - position between the Venetians and the Turks." Aspasia shurgs. "And even the earlier sea powers. The Argonauts stopped in their journey at the harbor. The children they fathered with the women of the Island fought at Troy with Achilles. It was where Dionysus brought Ariadne when he found her abandoned by Theseus."
She continues. "The son born from that union was Oenopion, the king who brought winemaking to Greece, according to myth."
"But it means a great deal. I cling to every scrap of memory I have from here, or things I believe to be memory.”
The good and the bad alike. The spill of fresh juice from the blood oranges down my chin, or was that simply blood?
“Trampling grapes. The smell of a blood orange as I peeled it to be eaten on a summer afternoon."
I prefer the illusion of living memory, to savoring blood.
Aspasia's shoulders lift and lower, as if in a resigned shrug.
Jack looks around, impressed. "You can feel the weight of the history here. It's also... tangible, non?"
"Very much so." Aspasia stills as the boat pulls into the harbour, and the shoreline and buildings of Myrnia are made visible by the lights pouring out of open windows and the faint glow added by the new moon, still low in the evening sky.
At the edge of the habour, on the highest point of the cliffs, there is what can only be termed a castle. It dominates the skyline, with two towers that reach skyward.
"That was built by the Venetians." She points towards the edifice, a slight wrinkle forming over the bridge of her nose.
Jack looks and nods. "Where were you born?" he asks.
In my mother’s house. Near the sound and the smell of the sea.
Aspasia is silent. Then, an expression of sorrow crosses her face. "I do not know the spot anymore. And, likely it looks nothing now like it did then."
She runs the fingers of her left hand through her hair. "Payment to Charon."
I wonder if others realize the ferryman still takes even from the undead? That we simply pay him in different coin not to take us across?
"And yet you find peace here, despite the fact that your memories are vague and everything's changed so much?"
"Yes." She inhales and scans the shoreline as the boat pulls up to the dock. "Despite that, Jack."
With a tilt if her head, Aspasia asks, "Do you not have a place that you are tied to? That draws on your soul and at the same time restores it?"
Jack thinks quietly, looking around. Then, slowly, he shakes his head. "Non, petite. Even as a mortal, I traveled most of my life. And my mortal home where my parents lives weren't exactly someplace I looked fondly on in any life." He shrugs. "And it's probably under water anyhow now."
Aspasia looks troubled at Jack's words. "I cannot.."
.. imagine how anyone like us can survive without that harbor.
She pauses, shaking her head. "No. Eventually the fog will take what connections remain in this from me as well, should I live that long. But such a harsh thing to be without that tie." Her tone of voice is sad, and tinted with worry.
He shrugs. "I find comfort in my faith instead of a place. Ain't saying that my way's any better than yours, but folk always need something they can turn back to when times are hard."
Even though her countenance is one of a kindred closer to beast than humanity, there is a vulnerability in the Aspasia’s face for a moment. She looks away, inclining her head towards the dock and land.
Something, some place or some one.
"Shall we head away from the water then, and see the town?"
He nods. "Oui. If'n I'm going to broaden my mind, might as well get to it." He winks.
The woman smiles in response, grateful for the change in conversation. "Yes. No need to waste time. Come along." Making her way along the railing, she briskly jumps from boat to the wooden dock and moves along the plank for several strides before turning about with a gleam in her eyes.
"We have to find Mahlepi. That will be a good place to start."
He nods and follows her pattern, his limp clearly healed for the excursion. "Lead the way, petite," he says affectionately.
"Come." She replies, then spins about again on her heels and heads for the homes that line the shore and steep hillsides.
***
The appearance of this small harbor city is something more appropriate to decades past. Signs of electricity and modern technology to be seen here and there, but the overall effect is something of an age with wood fireplaces, and oil lamps to read by. The streets are mostly deserted, but sounds of other souls walking about can be heard along with the rumble of a scooter coming to life in the distance.
Aspasia seems content to simply walk along beside the buildings, taking in the sights, sounds and smells. That is until she stops at well-lit intersection, tilting her head back slightly and inhaling deeply. She closes her eyes, waiting. Then, the woman turns her head slowly and stops. "...There."
A scent to stir memory. I have been craving it since the past summer.
I should have come home sooner.
With a bright smile, she gestures down a cross street. "This way."
Jack, to this point, had been walking along quietly. Tinges of memory tickle as his mind -- images of similar long, quiet walks in the night, a comfortable silence that wasn't awkward or forced. He looked
around, trying to take in every foreign and unusual element, letting the experience wash over him as he walked.
As Aspasia pointed down the street, he nods quietly, her infectious smile spreading to his own face.
After a few blocks, the street becomes dotted with shops. Signs above the door, wares on display in picturesque windows. Lights are on in the windows on the floors above, where it appears the owners must live.
Aspasia stops before one such place, where the sign sways with its painted portrayals of bread loaves. She glances into the window. The display is empty of all offerings. For a moment she places the palm of her right hand on the glass in a light caress. Then, with a glance at Jack, she murmurs. "Do we hazard asking them to come downstairs?"
He shrugs. "Why not? We're here for an adventure, oui?"
That we are, Iereas.
Aspasia smiles in reply and nods, knocking briskly on the door and calling out in Greek towards the second floor.
A moment or two passes, and there is sound from the lit room above, someone crossing the floor, the creak of the stairs as the individual descends to the ground level, with a lamp in his upheld hand - visible through the store window.
Thankfully it is not *too* late at night, but the baker does not look pleased to be disrupted, just the same. That is until he sees Aspasia's face in the reflected light. Then he seems more ill-at-ease than irritated.
I forget how much the monster I appear at times, until I see it in the eyes of others.
Aspasia murmurs in Greek, a tone of almost contrition as she gestures first to herself then to Jack.
There is an exchange of words accompanied by hands and head movements.
At first the man appears to say no. Then he pauses and says something in the tone of an offer, shrugging his shoulders while he counters.
Her reply is a nod and she produces a handful coins, extending them out to the baker for his taking.
Holding up a finger as if to say "hold on" The man shuts the door, leaving the lamp on a counter inside, so light not only shines in the room, but through the windows onto the kindred outside.
Aspasia watches with some curiosity as the man steps past the counters and goes into the back-half of the store, rummaging about on the out-of-sight shelving. She murmurs. "Nothing but day old. But it will do."
"Do for what?" he murmurs back, trying to look as inoffensive as possible around the baker.
"To smell." She laughs briefly. "I would say to taste but...." A shurg. "But I am no longer a crone and that requires deals and obligations."
He nods. "We ain't human, and to pretend to be human is... well, you know my thoughts on that." He smirks.
"Mahlepi is home."
I dreamed of it. Of you, Dallas and Raven. A temple, a field of cherry trees, and the smell - so heavy in the air.
Before she can elaborate further, the door opens and the man stands on the threshold, a plastic bag extended in one arm, with several crusty rolls visible inside.
There is a murmured exchange of ‘thank yous’, and Aspasia takes the offering from the baker, who swiftly shuts the door, leaving the two alone on the empty street again.
Jack tries to take a sneak at the coins. "I've seen dollars, both American and Canadian, and pesos. I even got to use some of these Euros when we was in Spain. What did you use to pay for the bread?"
Aspasia reaches into her hip pocket. "Drachma." She tosses a coin in his direction as she opens the plastic bag, leaning over to smell the contents. "I always travel with some on my person. In case the ferryman must be paid."
Jack catches the coin and looks it over. "Fairly old, by the looks of it. Well, old by mortal standards." He pockets the coin and leans over to sniff the bread.
"Old enough, but still currency here." She nods and then murmurs, watching Jack examine the bag’s contents.
"Mahlepi - it's spice from the ground kernels of the persian cherry tree." For a moment, Aspasia looks thoughtful, then confides. "I remember eating bread baked with mahlepi in my dreams. When I was in torpor rest, the dreams were so vivid."
He nods and enjoys the smell of the bread. "Oui. It's funny what the mind remembers."
"And what it forgets." Before she can dwell on that thought, Aspasia reaches in and takes one of the rolls out. "Come, the night is still before us."
To be continued...
"What I would give for a full day. To walk the streets of my home, sweating from the heat of the sun again."
The woman turns her face, so she stands in profile. "There are things that will still be same. Mariner's cottages lining the steep roads up to the city center. Wooden balconies that overlook the water. Grapes on the vine. Sheep on the hill." A slight smile crosses her face. "Myrina is the gateway to the island. As it has always been. The harbour is magnificent. The waters good for undersea fishing and swimming. The beaches pristine. Perfect."
"It won't be long. And we are past the dark of the moon. In the next nights, it will grow stronger. We will see more." Aspasia's gaze lifts to the heavens. "There is no place to compare to it. Even with the fog and distance, my home remains unchanged."
Jack nods, listening to her litany of words. "Your home means a lot to you, n'est-ce pas?"
"Yes. It is refuge. Peace."
She stands in the moonlight, the body of a baby in her arms, cold and dead. More disturbingly with fang marks in its neck
Aspasia stares out over the water. "Not quite.”
“It is peace now.” The woman gestures with an open hand toward the island. “It was a prize in war. A valuable asset - position between the Venetians and the Turks." Aspasia shurgs. "And even the earlier sea powers. The Argonauts stopped in their journey at the harbor. The children they fathered with the women of the Island fought at Troy with Achilles. It was where Dionysus brought Ariadne when he found her abandoned by Theseus."
She continues. "The son born from that union was Oenopion, the king who brought winemaking to Greece, according to myth."
"But it means a great deal. I cling to every scrap of memory I have from here, or things I believe to be memory.”
The good and the bad alike. The spill of fresh juice from the blood oranges down my chin, or was that simply blood?
“Trampling grapes. The smell of a blood orange as I peeled it to be eaten on a summer afternoon."
I prefer the illusion of living memory, to savoring blood.
Aspasia's shoulders lift and lower, as if in a resigned shrug.
Jack looks around, impressed. "You can feel the weight of the history here. It's also... tangible, non?"
"Very much so." Aspasia stills as the boat pulls into the harbour, and the shoreline and buildings of Myrnia are made visible by the lights pouring out of open windows and the faint glow added by the new moon, still low in the evening sky.
At the edge of the habour, on the highest point of the cliffs, there is what can only be termed a castle. It dominates the skyline, with two towers that reach skyward.
"That was built by the Venetians." She points towards the edifice, a slight wrinkle forming over the bridge of her nose.
Jack looks and nods. "Where were you born?" he asks.
In my mother’s house. Near the sound and the smell of the sea.
Aspasia is silent. Then, an expression of sorrow crosses her face. "I do not know the spot anymore. And, likely it looks nothing now like it did then."
She runs the fingers of her left hand through her hair. "Payment to Charon."
I wonder if others realize the ferryman still takes even from the undead? That we simply pay him in different coin not to take us across?
"And yet you find peace here, despite the fact that your memories are vague and everything's changed so much?"
"Yes." She inhales and scans the shoreline as the boat pulls up to the dock. "Despite that, Jack."
With a tilt if her head, Aspasia asks, "Do you not have a place that you are tied to? That draws on your soul and at the same time restores it?"
Jack thinks quietly, looking around. Then, slowly, he shakes his head. "Non, petite. Even as a mortal, I traveled most of my life. And my mortal home where my parents lives weren't exactly someplace I looked fondly on in any life." He shrugs. "And it's probably under water anyhow now."
Aspasia looks troubled at Jack's words. "I cannot.."
.. imagine how anyone like us can survive without that harbor.
She pauses, shaking her head. "No. Eventually the fog will take what connections remain in this from me as well, should I live that long. But such a harsh thing to be without that tie." Her tone of voice is sad, and tinted with worry.
He shrugs. "I find comfort in my faith instead of a place. Ain't saying that my way's any better than yours, but folk always need something they can turn back to when times are hard."
Even though her countenance is one of a kindred closer to beast than humanity, there is a vulnerability in the Aspasia’s face for a moment. She looks away, inclining her head towards the dock and land.
Something, some place or some one.
"Shall we head away from the water then, and see the town?"
He nods. "Oui. If'n I'm going to broaden my mind, might as well get to it." He winks.
The woman smiles in response, grateful for the change in conversation. "Yes. No need to waste time. Come along." Making her way along the railing, she briskly jumps from boat to the wooden dock and moves along the plank for several strides before turning about with a gleam in her eyes.
"We have to find Mahlepi. That will be a good place to start."
He nods and follows her pattern, his limp clearly healed for the excursion. "Lead the way, petite," he says affectionately.
"Come." She replies, then spins about again on her heels and heads for the homes that line the shore and steep hillsides.
***
The appearance of this small harbor city is something more appropriate to decades past. Signs of electricity and modern technology to be seen here and there, but the overall effect is something of an age with wood fireplaces, and oil lamps to read by. The streets are mostly deserted, but sounds of other souls walking about can be heard along with the rumble of a scooter coming to life in the distance.
Aspasia seems content to simply walk along beside the buildings, taking in the sights, sounds and smells. That is until she stops at well-lit intersection, tilting her head back slightly and inhaling deeply. She closes her eyes, waiting. Then, the woman turns her head slowly and stops. "...There."
A scent to stir memory. I have been craving it since the past summer.
I should have come home sooner.
With a bright smile, she gestures down a cross street. "This way."
Jack, to this point, had been walking along quietly. Tinges of memory tickle as his mind -- images of similar long, quiet walks in the night, a comfortable silence that wasn't awkward or forced. He looked
around, trying to take in every foreign and unusual element, letting the experience wash over him as he walked.
As Aspasia pointed down the street, he nods quietly, her infectious smile spreading to his own face.
After a few blocks, the street becomes dotted with shops. Signs above the door, wares on display in picturesque windows. Lights are on in the windows on the floors above, where it appears the owners must live.
Aspasia stops before one such place, where the sign sways with its painted portrayals of bread loaves. She glances into the window. The display is empty of all offerings. For a moment she places the palm of her right hand on the glass in a light caress. Then, with a glance at Jack, she murmurs. "Do we hazard asking them to come downstairs?"
He shrugs. "Why not? We're here for an adventure, oui?"
That we are, Iereas.
Aspasia smiles in reply and nods, knocking briskly on the door and calling out in Greek towards the second floor.
A moment or two passes, and there is sound from the lit room above, someone crossing the floor, the creak of the stairs as the individual descends to the ground level, with a lamp in his upheld hand - visible through the store window.
Thankfully it is not *too* late at night, but the baker does not look pleased to be disrupted, just the same. That is until he sees Aspasia's face in the reflected light. Then he seems more ill-at-ease than irritated.
I forget how much the monster I appear at times, until I see it in the eyes of others.
Aspasia murmurs in Greek, a tone of almost contrition as she gestures first to herself then to Jack.
There is an exchange of words accompanied by hands and head movements.
At first the man appears to say no. Then he pauses and says something in the tone of an offer, shrugging his shoulders while he counters.
Her reply is a nod and she produces a handful coins, extending them out to the baker for his taking.
Holding up a finger as if to say "hold on" The man shuts the door, leaving the lamp on a counter inside, so light not only shines in the room, but through the windows onto the kindred outside.
Aspasia watches with some curiosity as the man steps past the counters and goes into the back-half of the store, rummaging about on the out-of-sight shelving. She murmurs. "Nothing but day old. But it will do."
"Do for what?" he murmurs back, trying to look as inoffensive as possible around the baker.
"To smell." She laughs briefly. "I would say to taste but...." A shurg. "But I am no longer a crone and that requires deals and obligations."
He nods. "We ain't human, and to pretend to be human is... well, you know my thoughts on that." He smirks.
"Mahlepi is home."
I dreamed of it. Of you, Dallas and Raven. A temple, a field of cherry trees, and the smell - so heavy in the air.
Before she can elaborate further, the door opens and the man stands on the threshold, a plastic bag extended in one arm, with several crusty rolls visible inside.
There is a murmured exchange of ‘thank yous’, and Aspasia takes the offering from the baker, who swiftly shuts the door, leaving the two alone on the empty street again.
Jack tries to take a sneak at the coins. "I've seen dollars, both American and Canadian, and pesos. I even got to use some of these Euros when we was in Spain. What did you use to pay for the bread?"
Aspasia reaches into her hip pocket. "Drachma." She tosses a coin in his direction as she opens the plastic bag, leaning over to smell the contents. "I always travel with some on my person. In case the ferryman must be paid."
Jack catches the coin and looks it over. "Fairly old, by the looks of it. Well, old by mortal standards." He pockets the coin and leans over to sniff the bread.
"Old enough, but still currency here." She nods and then murmurs, watching Jack examine the bag’s contents.
"Mahlepi - it's spice from the ground kernels of the persian cherry tree." For a moment, Aspasia looks thoughtful, then confides. "I remember eating bread baked with mahlepi in my dreams. When I was in torpor rest, the dreams were so vivid."
He nods and enjoys the smell of the bread. "Oui. It's funny what the mind remembers."
"And what it forgets." Before she can dwell on that thought, Aspasia reaches in and takes one of the rolls out. "Come, the night is still before us."
To be continued...