Rebecca.
Before I can answer, she introduces herself. “Persephone,” she says.
He’s impressed. But with her looks, she could have said “Dog Turd” and gotten the same enthusiastic reaction. “A beautiful name for a beautiful young lady. Please, come aboard my boat and we’ll talk.”
Knowing what I know, I am initially hesitant but decide it will help my case. We board and Stelios invites us to sit on benches on deck. He offers us a drink, but I politely decline on behalf of us both. It’s go time; no more stalling. This is the part I hate, but there’s no way around it and no easy way to launch into it. “Stelios, this will sound strange, and let me assure you that we don’t mean you any harm. I know that you’re planning to take your boat out on the water at 3:00 today, and I need to warn you that there’s a problem with the starboard engine. If you take the boat out, the engine will catch fire, and there’s likely to be a hull breach, which would cause your boat to sink. So please, before you go out again, take care of that engine. I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”
I pause, looking at his face for any sign of a reaction. He remains curiously unaffected—much more so than anyone in recent memory. I wait a few seconds for a response, expecting disbelief, but still he remains silent. I’ve done all I can; it’s time to go.
“I’m sorry to bring you bad news like that,” I say to him. “We’ll go and let you see to your repairs.”
As Rebecca and I walk toward the gangplank, Stelios breaks his silence. There is a curious tone to his voice—not anger, not confusion, but more … acceptance; confirmation. “That’s all? You’re just going to tell me this and walk away, Alex? Or should I say Tristan? ”
The sound of my name stops me in my tracks. I shoot Rebecca a swift, accusing glance, and her expression instantly and clearly replies, Hey, don’t look at me.
I turn around to face the fisherman again, and my eyes ask How? without my mouth saying a word. He nods a bit and gives a little chuckle, as he says, “You think you are the only one with gifts? ” To emphasize, he taps a finger on the side of his head. “You’re hungry,” he says, informing us rather than asking us. “It’s been a long drive for you to come here. I have moussaka ready in the galley, and I insist you stay and join me for lunch. Maybe we can answer some questions for each other.”
The boat isn’t elegant, but it feels like home, because for Stelios it is home. He spends more time here, he tells us, than he does at the small apartment he rents in Tarpon Springs. Over plates of moussaka—a wondrous dish made of ground lamb and eggplant, the best I’ve ever had, the first Rebecca has ever had—he describes a life spent fishing. Forty-three years of it. He started off as a sponge fisherman, then, when the industry fell on hard times, he switched to more traditional fishing. And when sponge fishing resumed in the Gulf, he was one of the first to jump back on the bandwagon. He is friendly and charming, a bit flirty toward Rebecca, and for the moment, he is avoiding the all-important questions.
At the risk of discourtesy, I steer the conversation. “I’m curious about your gifts,” I tell him. “How you knew my name.”
“I have the sight,” he says simply. “God’s third eye, my grandmother called it. I can see the truth in people. Sometimes I know what will happen before it happens.”
“When I told you about the engine, you didn’t seem surprised. Did you know there was a mechanical problem?”
“I suspected,” he answers. “My sight told me to be careful, but I couldn’t see what the exact trouble was. But my sight told me I would be safe. It must have known you were coming to warn me.” He laughs. “Tristan’s psychic boat repair, eh?”
“Let’s say boat diagnostics, ” I amend. “My gift doesn’t come with repair skills, unfortunately.”
“Oh, I can fix it,” he
Before I can answer, she introduces herself. “Persephone,” she says.
He’s impressed. But with her looks, she could have said “Dog Turd” and gotten the same enthusiastic reaction. “A beautiful name for a beautiful young lady. Please, come aboard my boat and we’ll talk.”
Knowing what I know, I am initially hesitant but decide it will help my case. We board and Stelios invites us to sit on benches on deck. He offers us a drink, but I politely decline on behalf of us both. It’s go time; no more stalling. This is the part I hate, but there’s no way around it and no easy way to launch into it. “Stelios, this will sound strange, and let me assure you that we don’t mean you any harm. I know that you’re planning to take your boat out on the water at 3:00 today, and I need to warn you that there’s a problem with the starboard engine. If you take the boat out, the engine will catch fire, and there’s likely to be a hull breach, which would cause your boat to sink. So please, before you go out again, take care of that engine. I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”
I pause, looking at his face for any sign of a reaction. He remains curiously unaffected—much more so than anyone in recent memory. I wait a few seconds for a response, expecting disbelief, but still he remains silent. I’ve done all I can; it’s time to go.
“I’m sorry to bring you bad news like that,” I say to him. “We’ll go and let you see to your repairs.”
As Rebecca and I walk toward the gangplank, Stelios breaks his silence. There is a curious tone to his voice—not anger, not confusion, but more … acceptance; confirmation. “That’s all? You’re just going to tell me this and walk away, Alex? Or should I say Tristan? ”
The sound of my name stops me in my tracks. I shoot Rebecca a swift, accusing glance, and her expression instantly and clearly replies, Hey, don’t look at me.
I turn around to face the fisherman again, and my eyes ask How? without my mouth saying a word. He nods a bit and gives a little chuckle, as he says, “You think you are the only one with gifts? ” To emphasize, he taps a finger on the side of his head. “You’re hungry,” he says, informing us rather than asking us. “It’s been a long drive for you to come here. I have moussaka ready in the galley, and I insist you stay and join me for lunch. Maybe we can answer some questions for each other.”
The boat isn’t elegant, but it feels like home, because for Stelios it is home. He spends more time here, he tells us, than he does at the small apartment he rents in Tarpon Springs. Over plates of moussaka—a wondrous dish made of ground lamb and eggplant, the best I’ve ever had, the first Rebecca has ever had—he describes a life spent fishing. Forty-three years of it. He started off as a sponge fisherman, then, when the industry fell on hard times, he switched to more traditional fishing. And when sponge fishing resumed in the Gulf, he was one of the first to jump back on the bandwagon. He is friendly and charming, a bit flirty toward Rebecca, and for the moment, he is avoiding the all-important questions.
At the risk of discourtesy, I steer the conversation. “I’m curious about your gifts,” I tell him. “How you knew my name.”
“I have the sight,” he says simply. “God’s third eye, my grandmother called it. I can see the truth in people. Sometimes I know what will happen before it happens.”
“When I told you about the engine, you didn’t seem surprised. Did you know there was a mechanical problem?”
“I suspected,” he answers. “My sight told me to be careful, but I couldn’t see what the exact trouble was. But my sight told me I would be safe. It must have known you were coming to warn me.” He laughs. “Tristan’s psychic boat repair, eh?”
“Let’s say boat diagnostics, ” I amend. “My gift doesn’t come with repair skills, unfortunately.”
“Oh, I can fix it,” he
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