An Aegean Prophecy (16 page)

‘Great.’ She snuggled up to him. ‘Now that daddy’s home.’

He kissed her forehead. ‘Me, too.’

‘Tassos sent us the strangest gift today.’

‘What was it?’

‘It came from a florist, but I guess he was trying to tell me to learn to cook.’

‘Huh?’

‘It was wrapped with pink and blue ribbon - to cover all possibilities I assume - with a lovely note, but I can’t figure out why he sent what he did.’

‘What did the note say? I might have a better fix on his sense of humor.’

‘Something like, “May your home always be filled with joy and love, and may this protect your family from all that is not.”’

‘What did he send, a gun?’

‘No, wise guy,’ and she gently squeezed his nuts.

‘Careful, they’re not used to much action these days.’

Lila didn’t listen; instead held them in her right hand, lightly squeezing and gently rubbing. Andreas adjusted his position on the bed. She started feathering him with the tips of her fingers and, after a while, strayed on to something much firmer and erect to the touch. Back and forth she ran her fingers, from top to bottom and back again. She stopped when she felt him start to pulsate, then gripped him tightly, and slowly and deliberately began pulling up and down.

‘I’d love to take you in my mouth, but I just—’

‘Don’t worry, this is just fine. Oh, yes, just fine.’ Andreas put his arm under her body and pulled her against him.
He was flat on his back and thrusting in synch with her hand.

She squeezed extra hard and pulled twice, very slowly.

Andreas moved his hand to where he could touch Lila’s bare ass and squeeze it in rhythm with her stroke. He began to moan, she kissed him and stroked faster. He moaned more, twisting beneath her hand, then paused for an instant before thrusting his hips forward and holding them there. ‘Don’t stop, please don’t stop.’

She didn’t.

‘Ohhhh, ohhhhh …’

Lila kept pulling, even after he’d finished. Andreas had to hold her hand to get her to stop. ‘Easy there, my love, we’ll need to use it again some day.’

She kissed his cheek. ‘You like?’

‘Yes … I like.’ He kissed her neck. They lay silently holding each other for a few moments, then Andreas left for the bathroom.

‘So don’t you want to know what he sent us?’

‘Who, my mind is completely blank at the moment. Just the way I like it.’

‘Glad I could clear your head.’

Andreas was laughing as he walked back into the bedroom. ‘Okay, what was it?’

‘The strangest thing. Garlic. A dozen heads, wrapped tightly together in a line, and in a gold mesh bag no less. Such a silly thing. But a lovely thought.’

His first thought was thank God the room was pitch black, so Lila couldn’t see his face.

Andreas swallowed. ‘Yes, a lovely thought.’ His mother
used to do the same thing, hang garlic in their house. But it wasn’t for cooking: it was to keep the devil away.

Andreas remembered the day she gave up that superstition. They’d just returned from his father’s funeral. She was a young mother of two children whose husband had chosen to commit suicide rather than subject his family to any more of the shame brought on by the bastard minister who’d set him up to look corrupt.

It was a moment burned into his memory. His mother was tearing down the garlic and ripping it to shreds. ‘It doesn’t work. Nothing works if the devil wants to take you. Nothing.’

Andreas crossed himself in the dark and prayed his mother was wrong.

‘Hello, Your Holiness, it’s Andreas Kaldis. Sorry to bother you again.’

‘No need to keep apologizing, my son. We’re way past that. So, what fresh hell have you brought me today?’ There was a lightness to the Protos’ voice. It wasn’t what Andreas expected.

‘I’m glad to hear you’re sounding better.’

‘It is Easter Week, our holiest time, and all our trials must be measured against the ultimate sacrifice. Besides, I may never have the chance to use that Dorothy Parker “fresh hell” line again.’

‘I hope you’re not right about the “hell” part,’ whoever Dorothy Parker was. ‘I understand one of the monasteries is not part of the Holy Community.’

‘Yes, sadly that is true. Although we are hopeful they will return.’

‘But there are twenty abbots in the photograph taken at your ceremony. Did its abbot attend?’

‘Yes. In fact, that day was the first step toward a hoped-for reconciliation.’

‘What made your rogue monastery suddenly see the light?’

The Protos cleared his throat. ‘I would not call it a rogue monastery, just slightly overzealous in pursuing its alternative beliefs on church policy.’

Spoken like a true politician. Andreas waited, there had to be more coming. Teachers were like that.

‘We owe it all to Kalogeros Zacharias.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘A monk in that monastery, but a very special man. Although relatively young, he has great patience, humility, and skills. He gained the trust of his abbot and ultimately convinced him to attend the ceremony out of respect to the 1,100-year-old office of
protos
.’

Guess Maggie was right.

‘That was not an easy feat to achieve. That abbot was the reason his monastery withdrew in the first place, and he is a man of, shall we say, strong opinions. He never got along with any
protos
before me. Some say our few steps forward are my doing, but they are all thanks to Zacharias.’

‘What do you know about Zacharias?’

‘He’s very well educated, speaks a half-dozen languages, and came to Mount Athos in the mid-nineties.’

‘From where?’

‘I don’t know his origins, but his passport is Swiss. I know
because he once asked me if he should obtain a Greek passport now that he was a Greek citizen.’

‘What rank does he hold in his monastery?’

‘None, he does not want rank. Which perhaps is why he’s so well thought of by so many. He presents no threat.’

Andreas thought, this guy Zacharias seems too good to be true. What’s he doing in the outcast monastery if he’s so talented? ‘Do you happen to have a file on him?’

The Protos paused. ‘What you’re asking is highly irregular.’

‘So is the murder of a monk. And I’m trying to keep it that way.’

The Protos let out a breath. ‘You have your own special way with words.’

‘Can you arrange for me to come up and meet with Zacharias?’

‘When?’

‘Today.’

‘Impossible, this is Holy Week.’

‘Your Holiness, I appreciate all that but like I said—’

‘My son, I understand what you’re about to say, but you don’t understand. That monastery has the strictest rules of any on our Holy Mountain. No one, and I mean no one, is allowed access during Easter Week. From Sunday to the following Sunday at noon it has no contact with the outside world. There is no telephone and even electricity is forbidden during that holy period. There is no way you can visit or communicate with Zacharias until Sunday afternoon.’

Andreas let out a deep breath. ‘When can you get me his file?’

‘The one I have, right away, but it contains little more than what I’ve said. Any additional information would be in his monastery’s file.’

‘And not available until Sunday.’

‘Assuming the abbot cooperates. Sorry.’

Andreas thought
damn
, but said, ‘Thank you, Your Holiness.’

‘You’re welcome, my son.’ He paused. ‘And I appreciate all that you’re doing. Bless you and your family.’

‘Thank you.’

Between the garlic and the blessing things were looking up. Now if only he had some idea of where the devil to look for an answer, or something like that.

This was the time of year he liked least. Most held the opposite belief. They lived for the pageantry and depth of Orthodox Easter. He couldn’t stand being cooped up for almost eight days, and counted off every day, every hour, until Sunday noon, his own resurrection day. But he never let on. Never. He had their trust and wasn’t about to lose it with a casual gesture or word. No, he wouldn’t let down his guard for a second.

Gaining trust wasn’t as hard as many thought, at least not for Zacharias. He’d been doing it for years, long before finding his way into monastic life. Through time and patience he’d take the measure of one he wished to befriend, then with an easy smile, become exactly what the other wanted him to be, allowing his target to take center stage and credit for whatever mattered to the other. And when the potential friend questioned Zacharias’
motives - and that time always came - Zacharias was at his best.

He’d confide a past that made him less than perfect, one that encouraged rescue and, in a monastery, a shared desire for salvation. His story forged a relationship in spiritual steel. The other now ‘knew’ Zacharias’ weaknesses and understood him completely: Zacharias was a soul seeking redemption and a place in heaven through a revived life of selfless good works and prayer.

And to keep all of them believing that, he’d keep on praying.

‘These still are pretty good.’ Kouros was eating one of the
spanikopita
from the night before.

‘Obviously, you’re a bachelor,’ said Andreas.

‘And proud of it.’ He finished off the last bite and reached for another one.

‘Stop already, I’m getting sick watching you eat that crap.’

Kouros didn’t stop. ‘So, how did your early morning call go to the Protos?’

‘Just terrific, everything’s absolutely perfect in paradise. The answer to our question on the surprise appearance of the twentieth abbot at the Protos’ ceremony turns out to be a dead end. We’ve got a savior monk reuniting the gone-astray monastery with the flock. And I can’t even talk to that monk until Sunday morning.’

‘Sunday, why Sunday?’

‘No person or communication is allowed to enter or exit that monastery from Palm Sunday through noon on Easter Sunday.’

‘Bummer. Which monastery is it?’

‘The one Maggie and I were talking about last night.’

‘Chief, you never mentioned the name. The two of you were looking at some paper and I was falling asleep.’

Andreas shook his head and said the name.

Kouros stopped in mid-bite. ‘You’re kidding me?’

‘Why?’

‘That’s the monastery of the three missing monks. The monks we never got to interview on Patmos.’

Andreas sat up in his chair. ‘The same ones Abbot Christodoulos said left to return—’

‘Sunday night. But if what the Protos told you was true, no way they could have made it back to that monastery in time to take part in Easter Week.’

Andreas nodded his head.

‘Maybe you misunderstood what the abbot said?’

‘No way.’ Andreas paused. ‘But maybe he didn’t know that monastery’s rule and just thought that’s where they were going.’

‘Maybe, but before the abbot came to Patmos he was on Mount Athos for a half dozen years. If that monastery was as strict as the Protos said, he must have known they couldn’t have made it back to their monastery in time.’

‘Kind of makes you wonder.’ Andreas picked up a pencil, stared at it, and put it back down on his desk. ‘Let’s see what the abbot has to say for himself.’

Lila always liked time to herself and had no doubt that’s what helped keep her from going mad when, after her
husband’s death, virtually every eligible man in Athens and beyond was after her. She detested all the phony posturing and hustle of the dating scene, and learned that ‘eligible’ could be a relative term to many a currently married man who saw landing Lila as a unique opportunity for ‘trading up’ the social ladder. She’d even tinkered with the idea of escaping her suitors by hiding away in a monastery for nuns. But the fates were Greek and they had their own plans for her. Or so Lila now liked to say.

At the moment, though, Lila was not alone. Her mother had stopped by and they were sitting in Lila’s kitchen having coffee. As a child, Lila would sit in her mother’s kitchen and watch her hover around the cooks, making sure everything was prepared ‘just like your father likes it.’ Even though her mother never had to cook or touch a dirty dish, she was as much an old-school Greek wife as any you’d find in the remotest mountain village: husband ruled, wife did all else - albeit, in Lila’s mother’s case, with a houseful of servants to help.