Chapter 8. Observer

  A warm aroma filled the house. I was pouring freshly brewed coffee into a mug when suddenly a barely audible sound entered my consciousness. It was the ringing of the bells that traveled miles to my home from the village church where the weekly Sunday service was traditionally held.(look how it was) It was quiet, clear, iridescent sound, but it created an inexplicable inner sense of celebration or even magic. The rays of the early morning sun streamed into the east side of the house, filling my small living room, which was combined with the kitchen, with a warm amber glow. The golden light coming through the stained glass window in the wooden front door played orange-yellow glare on the walls, adding to the coziness and warmth of the room.
   Sundays in Greece have a special atmosphere. There is a spirit of absolute serenity and quiet joy in the air. On the Lord's Day (Lord's Day - Κυριακή. Literal translation from the Greek word Sunday), everything comes to a standstill, following the ancient traditions of this country: unhurried household chores, dinners and pleasant conversations with family and friends. And most importantly, this day is meant to spend this time in gratitude for everything we have.
   I took a few sips of my coffee and without letting go of the cup, I walked into the studio. The easel was turned to face the light. I looked at the painting: the general image of the future landscape was already emerging on the canvas. I was pleased to find that I had successfully positioned the overall composition of the colourful  houses climbing up the mountain. The underpainting, which covered the shadowy areas of the landscape with a honey color, looked soft and translucent. (look how it was) The successful start of the painting gave me peace of mind and confidence to continue.
   I felt an unprecedented burst of energy. And on that day, filled with light and the ringing of bells, it seemed clear to me that a new chapter in my life was beginning.
On a shelf by the window was the etude of roses I had done the day I met Leonidas. Barely touching it, I ran my fingertips over its surface. The strokes were bold and pasty, but the oil paint was completely dry. This small painting became a kind of repository of my wonderful memories and feelings of that day: the unexpected appearance of Leonidas on the shore, the delicious lunch so carefully prepared for me by his hands, the glow of the crystal waves, the amazing but sad story of the beautiful Maria, which touched my soul.
   I stood at the window with a cup of coffee, looking at the garden. I remembered Leonidas' gaze, the soft touch of his palm, and a smile immediately appeared on my face. It had been a long time since the thought of a man had given me such a feeling of excitement. I longed to see him again, but I couldn't think of a reason for my appearance in his tavern.
"What am I going to tell him when I suddenly walk into the tavern?" - I pondered, nervously running my finger along the edge of my mug.

 "Hi, I was just passing by." No, that's stupid.
What if I explicitly said that I came by because I wanted to see him?
In response to this thought, a part of me immediately objected:
"Oh no! It's not in your nature to make the first move toward a man, especially so obviously. Clarity and simplicity in a relationship can't really attract or fascinate a man."
I pictured the potential embarrassment of my appearance in the tavern so clearly in my mind that I even felt weak in my legs, I set the cup down on the table.
"God, why do people tend to make things so difficult between each other? Oh, if only it were possible to understand each other with just a look in the eye, without unnecessary words, without explanations. Too bad it doesn't work that way."
Standing at the window, I was suddenly possessed by such a strong desire to enjoy the sun that I could not resist it.

   Barefoot in a thin silk nightgown, I went out into the garden. In an instant, the sun showered me with invisible, warm, glowing plasma, and a gentle warmth penetrated every millimeter of my body. I raised my face to the sky, closed my eyes and smiled at the sun, gently touching my bare shoulders with my palms.
Nature truly rejoiced in Halkidiki! The days spent in the cool walls of the stone house made me feel everything much more acutely. The sweet, fragrant air was perfectly clear, and the hills in front of the house looked so clear that it seemed I could touch them with my hand without leaving my seat. The spring grass, filled with the sap of the earth, was surreal green. (look how it was) Daisies and scarlet poppies bloomed on this almost emerald carpet. The colorful blossoms attracted bees and other insects that buzzed incessantly, filling my garden with the sounds of life. I could feel that in this spring awakening, everything around me was vibrating, humming, as if under a light electrical charge. I wanted to merge with nature, to dissolve, to become one with it.

   I stepped onto the wet, lush grass and approached the summer shower. The cabin looked abandoned. I wanted to clean up not only my life, but fill everything around me with beauty. I opened the shower door and quickly began to remove all the junk that had been stored inside for years. Once the space was empty, and with no small amount of effort, I cleaned the stall, making the vintage plumbing magically shine. In the storage room under the porch, I found white paint among dozens of dusty barrels. The pile of old stuff spoke clearly of the owner of the house as a thrifty man who was not in the habit of throwing things away. The paint had thickened over the years and was more like wood tar, but I diluted it and stirred it thoroughly. Then I carefully painted the woven bamboo walls of the cabin. The water for the summer shower came from a backup tank that was always automatically filled with cold water in case of a shutdown. When I was finished, I took a few steps back and looked at the shower, tilting my head alternately to the right and left. "There you go!" I said aloud, admiring the result of my labor.

   The sun was beating down. The heat of the physical work stirred my body, my skin was covered with sweat and glistened like atlas in the sun. I pulled down the straps of my nightgown and it slid down easily, naked me to the olive trees, silent witnesses to the scene.
  I turned on the shower and held my face in the jets of water. The cold gave me goose bumps and made my body tremble. Crystal droplets rolled down my pale, lily-like skin from wet strands of hair, echoing every curve of my figure. Each of the thousands of tiny spheres of water reflected the gold of the sun. I gently stroked my arms, chest and belly to warm myself. Suddenly I noticed that something was different: the shivering stopped and it seemed as if I was floating above the ground, gradually losing touch with reality. It was as if I had become one with nature: I felt myself as a flower of the field, swaying with a light breeze, I clearly felt how a bee tickled its petals with its paws, collecting sweet nectar from the bud, I became a grass and felt how through a network of roots I was nourished by the ground , I turned into the wind, flying in a fraction of a second through the green meadows, through the branches of the trees to the shores of the blue sea. This garden became a temple for me, where nature whispers its innermost prayers and the earth reveals its secrets. It was all so real and so fantastic at the same time that I felt an ecstasy. I felt the creative energy of spring so clearly that at that moment I became life itself! I had never experienced anything like that before. It thrilled and frightened me at the same time.

  I stepped out of the shower like a newborn and began to dry my body with a soft terry towel. I stared out at the fluffy pines at the foot of the hill and enjoyed the caress of the warm breeze. Silence and serenity reigned all around.
   Unexpectedly a flock of birds flew up from the thick of the forest and broke the silence. I thought that they might have been frightened by some wild animal: foxes and even wolves were inhabitants of the forest in these places. So it did not seem strange to me, but it made me suspicious. I stared into the distance and suddenly I saw something.... No, I didn't see an animal. It was a man! The silhouette in the shadows of the trees was motionless, but I could clearly feel that he was looking at me. The immediate realization that I hadn't been alone all this time made my heart race. I crouched sharply and hid behind a tree trunk, quickly wrapping myself in a towel. I was shaking now, not with excitement, but with a terrible, all-consuming fear. I felt what a deer feels when it catches the eye of a hungry predator lurking behind a bush, waiting for the moment. This feeling resonated in me with a suffocating, but at the same time so quiet pain, as if I could hear it through the layers of time.
"Who is he and how long has he been watching me?" I tried to imagine who might have come to this wilderness: a hunter, a woodsman, or perhaps an herbalist? But his presence felt deliberate and vicious.

   Just then the phone rang on the veranda. I jumped. The sound of the phone brought me out of my daze and I quickly slipped onto the porch to pick up the receiver. With trembling hands, I picked up the phone, and before I answered, I glanced in the distance once more. It was empty. The silhouette of the stranger I saw disappeared. I looked at the phone screen. The number was unfamiliar.

I picked up the phone and answered with rapid breathing:
"Yes, I'm listening." - I exhaled, trying to regain my voice.
"Hi, Nicole!" a young woman said excitedly into the phone.
"I finally found your number. A story happened to me. The point is that I lost my phone and of course all my contacts with it. I've been looking for you for a long time and now I've found you! God, I'm so glad to hear from you! How are you? I was told that you left the island and came back to Halkidiki? What happened to you? "
The ringing voice of the woman made me come to my senses and a second ago the fear that had penetrated me had lost its sharpness. I recognized her at once. It was Victoria, my old friend, though I'd always thought of her as just a good acquaintance. I called her Vicky and she called me Nicky.
"Nicole, can you hear me? It's me, Vicky, do you recognize me? Why don't you say anything?" - The voice came again.
Still looking cautiously into the forest, I replied.
"Ah, hello Vicky! Of course I recognized you! I'm glad to hear from you, too. I'm fine! But who told you I was here? I don't remember telling anyone!" - I said confused.
"Come on Nicky, you know Greece is a big village. It's impossible to hide anything here. Where did you settle down? I want to see you right now!"
Her way of talking fast and asking a lot of questions in a row left me no chance to answer and always drove me into a frenzy.
"I live on Sithonia now, on second leg. You know I've dreamed of moving here before."
"Oh, yes Nicole, I remember, but it's far away from me. Well, it doesn't matter! The important thing is that you're back here in Halkidiki! It's not like you live on another planet." - She laughed at her own joke.
"You better tell me, what are your plans for today? Or are you working on another painting? Yeah, well, you'll get there. It's Sunday. Let's meet somewhere!"
I really didn't have any plans. Although I had been living a rather secluded life lately and had gotten used to my loneliness, I wasn't sure if I wanted to see anyone but Leonidas.
Vicky continued: "Ah, Nicole, there's so much I want to tell you. I met such a man! He's amazing! And I think we're in love! I want you to meet him, too. I remember you always had a good sense of people. I want your opinion. Please don't say no!"
When I heard that she wouldn't be alone, I was ready to back out. Victoria alone, with all her fidgeting and talking, could easily pass for ten people. And to tell the truth, I hadn't always been able to bear her company. And now, on top of everything else, she wanted me to meet her new boyfriend.
"What if he's as talkative as she is? I can't take that," - I thought.
I took a deep breath into the phone and was about to say, "No, I'm sorry," when Vicky whimpered and moaned like an abandoned puppy and said:
"Nicky, you're my best friend, come over, it'll be fun, we'll sit and talk. Are you up for it? "
I felt embarrassed: she had called me her best friend. Could I have been so insensitive as not to have noticed her affection for me before? Without the slightest desire to offend Vicky, I pulled myself together and replied in a deliberately enthusiastic tone:
"Sure, Vicky, I'd love to meet you and see your new chosen one. Where shall we meet?"
When she heard this, her joy seemed boundless.

  We agreed to meet in the small village of Afitos, in one of the coastal bars where we liked to go to chat over a glass of exotic cocktail. It was a pretty village with traditional sandstone houses, and its charm attracted creative people and it became known as a village of painters and sculptors.
After we finished talking, I stood on the porch for a long time, looking into the distance. There was no one there. But the feeling of an inexplicable fear wouldn't leave me.

   I went back inside to get dressed and get ready to meet Victoria. It had been over a year since we had last seen each other, and I couldn't shake the slight excitement. Our friendship with Vicky had never been based on common interests. Besides, she had absolutely no interest in art. Maybe the only thing that really brought us together was our homeland and our childhood there. We were like sisters, very different in character, but raised in the same family. It's amazing how much people are made similar by the place they were born, not so much on the outside as on the inside. But what is it that makes us that way: the weather conditions of the area that influence the way of life and character, the traditions and customs, the school and education system? Maybe the movies and fairy tales we grew up with, or the food our mothers cooked. Perhaps no one can answer this question. But one thing remains undeniable: just as wolves recognize members of their pack by their scent, we humans have a sixth sense that allows us to distinguish our fellow countrymen at a glance.

   I met Victoria a few years ago, almost as soon as I arrived in Greece on Kassandra, the first leg of Halkidiki. We met in one of the supermarkets. I was standing in the checkout line trying to say something to the cashier in my broken Greek. Victoria was in line behind me. When she heard my accent, she smiled and helped me explain myself. We got to talking and, as if she were an old acquaintance, Vicky immediately invited me to visit her. This ease and openness immediately made me feel comfortable with her. Since then, our paths have crossed many times, and although we have never been particularly close, her sonorous voice and inexhaustible optimism have always brought a little warmth into my life.

   Victoria was a little older than I was. And it seemed that everything in her life had already happened: she had gotten married, had a child, gotten divorced, started her own logistics company, failed and got back on her feet, changed careers completely and took a course in some fancy energy massage and now takes clients. At the same time, I was steadily and persistently following my path as an artist, and at my age I was sure that the great events of my life were still ahead of me.
Victoria's life was intense, as if she was in a hurry to live several lives in one. Sometimes being around her made me feel like I was behind her, like I was following a train that had already picked up speed and was disappearing over the horizon. I wanted to give her the impression of a successful person, content with her life. Perhaps without realizing it, I always carefully prepared for my meetings with Victoria by choosing clothes that would emphasize my femininity and individuality.

  I chose a light champagne dress with thin gold trim around the neckline and the edge of the short sleeves. It was simple but elegant, accentuating my figure without drawing attention to it. The wavy curls of my long blonde hair fell beautifully on my shoulders.

As I walked toward the bar, excitement made my gait a little clumsy. My mind was spinning with phrases to answer the inevitable questions about my career and personal life. As I approached, however, I saw Vicky sitting at a table outside, smiling at me. Her cheerful laugh, her friendly hand gesture reminded me that she never looked down on me. It was my own desire to prove something that she might not have noticed.
I took a deep breath and walked towards her. "How strange," - I thought to myself. 'I rarely thought about her when I lived on the island, but for some reason I'm so happy to see her now."