A Small Blue Bottle (Part 2 of 2: Ένα μικρό μπλε μπουκάλι (Éna mikró ble boukáli))

I was amazed at how much my daughter had blossomed like a rare flower over a year’s time. She was a smart kid and her beauty was admired by everyone, to my own pride. Although she was already a young woman, to me she was still that little girl who dreamed of dragons… and she meant everything to me.

We had agreed that we would come back to that same place at the beginning of the following summer. She talked about the trip almost every day of the few weeks before our departure date, always full of detailed plans... and they were not just a few.

It was not yet noon when we reached the beach. As expected, she ran barefoot towards the sea, kicking the salty and fresh water. She was back to being my little girl, who had a huge fascination with the sea. I followed her, slowly, for I had no desire to run. On the shore, what I really liked was walking very slowly. I lost sight of her when she won the curve of the bay, but I knew where she was heading to. Before long I spotted the familiar silhouette, moving slowly ahead of me. I wondered why she was walking so slowly, but I soon realized the reason.

There was a young man sitting on a log on the beach. His eyes were as blue as the sky that opened above our heads and he was staring, very seriously, at a point beyond the horizon. His black straight hair was misaligned by the wind. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his old jeans were wet up to the knees. The man, who had surely past his twenties, but was far from his thirty years of age, noticed our approaching, but did not move. My daughter clenched my hand when she realized that he was holding a small blue bottle in his left hand.

***

- Late last summer, I found it on the other side of the bay. I was hoping to find the owner, but did not know how to. I decided I should throw it back to the sea, where it belonged, anyway. I was sorry, but had no right to keep it with me. Maybe another one would be luckier than me somehow. But the poem was so beautiful, I hesitated...

- Poem?

- Yes.

I noticed the young woman’s cheeks blush as she looked away. I knew her quite well. That kind of reaction could only mean one thing. He could not disguise satisfactorily the interest he felt for her either. The conversation went on easily as if we were long-time acquaintances. We were sitting on the terrace of a small restaurant facing the sea and not far from our kitchenette, relaxing and sipping some drinks, while waiting for the food to be served. On the corner of the table, a blue bottle with an old piece of paper, rolled up inside, was the witness of that unpretentious encounter. I had invited him to have lunch with us, something I would never do if we were in a big city. There, in that small town, however, where everyone seemed to know each other, I believed that should be the most polite and harmless thing to do.

- I came back here after my University graduation. My father, a widower and old aged man, needed help and I decided to settle down around here for now, working in an office on the island. One day I will have my own, but I need experience and money to invest... This week-end we will have a Greek festival. The community maintains certain traditions. It will be fun – to say the least. You should come.

My daughter looked at me, smiling. It was evident that she had already made her decision. I smiled back. I winked and she smiled broadly. A Greek event... I thought of people dancing in the streets, broken dishes, good wine and lots of seafood...

- We will come.

He smiled in approval. She was radiant.

***

Songs by Nikos Vertis and Nikos Oikonomopoulos, Antonis Remos, Vasilis Karras, Paola, Giorgos Mazonakis, Pantelis Pantelidis, Melisses and many other Modern Greek singers played the night away in the main square speakers. The restaurants were open and the tables were placed outside. People were dressed in white and danced in the streets, which were closed to traffic. When they put Natasa Theodoridou’s most poignant song to play, the young man took my girl by the hand and asked her to dance right there in the middle of the street. Other couples did the same. I remembered that her mom loved that song.

"Να 'Σουν Θάλασσα, να μην σ'άλλαζα" (Na soun Thálassa, na min s' állaza) ... 'If you were the ocean, I would never change you'... said the singer, in a duet with Sarbel, with his deep voice and in perfect contrast with hers.

I felt a huge nostalgia and my eyes flooded with tears, remembering the last time we danced, exactly to that same song. I swallowed hard, trying to untie that knot that tightened my throat, but I could not. I sat down at an empty table, with my thoughts floating far away from there.

- They make such a beautiful couple...

I turned around to see who had spoken. A woman a little beyond her middle age, owner of one of the taverns attending the festival, was staring, dreamily, at the couples dancing in the street. Her attention was more focused on the young black haired man with tanned skin who was dancing with the pale faced brown-haired girl with the expressive green eyes.

- It is true...

I could have felt some sort of jealousy or any protective instinct, but it was not what was happening in my head at that moment. I looked at them and saw other people, from a nearly recent past. I was not delusional. It was like a strange haze that mingled nostalgia, memories, dreams and real life. In my view, she seemed to change into her mother, dancing with a man I knew very well... and he was not the same one I was watching at that moment. I had changed... and quite a lot... Basically, I was afraid that history somehow repeated itself...

In the Sirtaki, both the slow (argo) and the fast (grígoro) forms of the hassápiko are danced. The hassápiko is one of the best-known popular demonstrations in street festivals. At both ends of the long line of dancers, as they do not form a closed circle, the coryphées spin handkerchiefs in their free hands. According to the tradition, it is important not to let a hand be free, so to avoid it to be clasped by some tricky demon.

Typically, a large cluster is formed at the hottest hour of the evening, when the first chords of the Sirtaki of Zorba are heard, exactly as it was happening at that moment.

A young man with very light hair popped up from nowhere and pulled my daughter by the hand, followed by a stream of other hands, which began to form a long line of dancers in the middle of the avenue. Another string of people holding one another’s arms side by side was formed opposite to the first one. Our friend was at the end of that, but as he was a little distracted and let the handkerchief be taken by someone else, an older man hastened to take his place and the party continued as if nothing had happened. Our young friend frowned at first, but soon returned to his normal, once he was closer to the place where my girl was dancing and he apparently forgot what happened few seconds before. The crowd was rehearsing the steps popularized by Anthony Quinn, in the famous movie released in 1964. In a short time, everyone had followed perfectly, the traditional sequence, as a large group of ballet artists. Although for some of them it was the first time, for others it was another... and it was fun for both...

- Give food, drink and music to the Greeks and they will dance, happily, all night long.

- I see that is very true...

I agreed with the lady, who was still watching the crowd playing, with her eyes slightly distant, as if full of nostalgia. I wondered how much history would be hiding behind that tired and nostalgic look...

When the dance was over, my daughter dashed to meet me, panting and laughing, with her cheeks as rosy as a child’s. It was evident that she was enjoying herself so much. She sat down beside me and put her arm in mine, leaning her head on my shoulder. I rested mine over hers as we watched people passing by. Shortly after we saw the young man coming closer with two glasses of some drink in his hands. He sat down and offered one to the girl, who accepted, smiling. He also had his cheeks flushed by the heat and the dance.

- Let’s go to the Zorbás. There is live music and it is less hectic than the streets.

I was not too excited to be in a closed place, but given that my daughter was so excited to agree, I decided to join them. The Zorbás was located in one of the streets outside the hubbub of the festivity and, therefore, less crowded. I thought that would give us a momentary bit of peace. When we got in, however, the place was packed with people laughing and drinking. Some were dancing merrily, but most were only drinking and talking. There was a group on stage, playing modern music. I glanced around us trying to capture the details of the place. The décor was simple but quite interesting. Small framed pictures of landscapes and typical Greek themes hung upon the bare stone walls. Despite the low light, some strategic points over the tables and the bar, as well as on the stage, could be seen clearly enough. We were standing in the middle of the room, watching people moving about, dancing and drinking. The young man excused himself and left us. I assumed he had gone to fetch some other drink.

To my surprise, however, he, instead, sat on a tall stool in the centre of the stage and started to sing the first few bars of Thelo na me niosis. The song, originally played by Nikos Vertis, was being very well interpreted by our newest friend. I did not expect him to be so in tune and to have such a clear voice. The other musicians seemed to know him well by the way they treated him. He could not take his eyes off my daughter, while singing, as if doing it only for her.

- Να 'ξερες τα βράδια πως μισώ

Που με τιμωρούν που σε 'χω χάσει

Θέλω να σε δω το ομολογώ

Άλλη τέτοια νύχτα ας μη περάσει

*(Na 'xeres ta vrádia po̱s misó̱

Pou me timo̱roún pou se 'cho̱ chásei

Thélo̱ na se do̱ to omologó̱

Álli̱ tétoia nýchta as mi̱ perásei)*

- Do you know the meaning of those verses?

- Not really. It seems to be a very sad song, but nonetheless very beautiful and touching...

- It's a love song, stating the agony two lovers feel when they leave each other, especially when the night comes. You are right. It's romantic and sad at the same time.

- Yeah...

***

* If you knew how I hate the night

  Because I am punished for losing you

  I admit I want to see you

  And I do not want to spend another night like this...

***

Apparently she had all her attention directed to the singer and smiled, blushing lightly. I had the impression that my vacation that summer would be in some ways more solitary that it had been in years. I realized that I was not really worried when that thought formed in my mind. When the performance ended, he joined us again, smiling. My girl greeted him with a hug and, consequently, with a tender kiss. I saw that I was being one too much into that scene and decided it was my time to leave. She looked radiant and, strange as it may seem, it made me happy. I apologized and left. At the exit door, I bumped into a guy with very fair hair, who rushed in visibly drunk.

***

A few hours later, I woke up in the middle of the night, totally confused by the sounds of sirens and people outcry, outside the condominium where the kitchenette was. I only realized what was happening when my daughter came in, sobbing and with her blouse covered by a large stain of blood. I panicked immediately, but she was not hurt. The blood wasn't hers.

A policeman, who brought her in, told me what had happened, since the girl seemed to be in a complete state of shock. A young man with very light hair and visibly drunk entered the Zorbás and tried to pull the girl to dance, but she had refused, being defended by her partner at that moment. The other did not take rejection well and tried to fight with our friend, who punched him and left, before causing a worse damage. At the door, he called the security guards to take control of the situation, while the other man screamed for revenge.

When they were coming back home some hours later, the blond boy, who had followed them, unseen, pulled a knife and stabbed the back of my son-in-law to be, a couple of times. He ran away when my daughter cried, desperately, for help. The wounds were so deep, he could not resist until the arrival of the ambulance and died on the spot, with his lungs pierced by the long and sharp blade. It was all very quick. A real tragedy, on a day that was so special for the young couple. We were all absolutely horrified and disgusted.

***

- Why, Dad? Why can life be so cruel?

- I don’t know, my sweetie...I don't really know...

We both cried like two children, holding each other and getting comfort for the happenings both in the recent and the distant past. The story, which had repeated itself, had the malice of demons who take our hands when the handkerchiefs inadvertently are dropped off of them.

***

We avoided coming back to that place for more than three years after the tragic accident. At her insistence, however, we decided to go back there in the early summer of the fourth year.

As soon as I stopped the car on the beach, already known to us, the dark haired little boy, who had fair skin and eyes as blue as the sky that opened above our heads, leaped off impatiently, running barefoot on the beach, like the son of a fisherman. He was about three years old and it was his first contact with the sea. Upon reaching the edge of the water, he stopped, stepped a little backwards, turned around, looked at us and then ran towards the waves breaking nearby. He laughed happily while jumping over the waves, soaking his whole outfit without any concerns. His mother smiled, completely amused, in spite of the sad look in her eyes.

- That is definitely my son...

- Without a doubt. My grandson has a very strong affinity with the great dragon...

She smiled, but I realized that a stubborn tear slipped down her cheek, from the corner of her eye.

The boy ran around the edge of the water and disappeared in the curve of the bay. Minutes later, he came back bringing a blue bottle in one hand and an old parchment, tied with a red line, in the other. He said he had found the bottle on the beach, half buried in the sand, near a fallen log. The manuscript contained a little poem handwritten in a calligraphy we both knew very well.

"When you see me,

You will know who I am,

Just by the way I look at you.
If you hesitate
To approach me,
Think I have waited
Too long
For this meeting
And I can wait no longer
Anymore...
If you embrace me,
Make it entirely,
As if our bodies

Were just one.

And when you kiss me,
Then,

Do it as if it is a last one,
Even if it is the first,
For the first,
May well be,
Also,
The very last one. "