says confidently. “It’s the intake manifold. I will bet you money. So maybe I stay in dock today and don’t go out. I lose a little income, but at least I don’t go live with the sponges. I think they wouldn’t be too happy with me, no?”
We laugh at the casual, easy way he has. It’s so refreshing to be met with gratitude, rather than doubt, suspicion, and fear. Finally, someone else understands what it feels like to carry around thoughts that don’t belong to you. But how much does he understand?
“Stelios …” I hesitate a moment, unsure of how to ask him. “Do you know why I’ve been chosen to do this? To tell people these things?”
He looks at me and thinks a moment. “For the same reason I am a fisherman. Because you can.”
It’s a logical answer, but it doesn’t help me much. “Can you see how long I’ll be asked to do this? Is there a time when I’ll be able to stop?”
“I think you will do this until you can’t do it anymore. Just like me with my boat. Someday, I won’t be able to fish anymore. And thanks to you, that someday isn’t today.”
“But …” I search for the right words, still trying to understand. “Why send me at all? Things happen. Accidents occur. Sometimes people die. Why set that in motion and then send someone to keep it from happening?”
He nods; now my question is clear to him. A variation on the age-old selfish cry: Why me?
“You ever send a message you wish you could take back?” he asks simply. “A phone message, maybe an e-mail?”
“I guess so,” I answer.
“Maybe God does too.”
The answer is unexpectedly profound and metaphysical, coming from this ordinary man. Of course, that may be my unintentional classism surfacing, equating lack of an advanced degree with lack of wisdom and sophistication.
My silence leaves Rebecca an opening and she grabs it. “Stelios, I have a question too …”
He laughs at this. “I think you are confusing Greek with gypsy. I should be telling you to cross my palm with silver, maybe!” She looks confused by this.
“It’s something gypsy fortune tellers said in old movies,” I explain.
He invites her to continue. “Don’t worry, little Persephone. You can ask me your question.”
“Tristan told me I had to leave my job, leave Florida, and go back to Ohio. He told me it was for my own safety, but he couldn’t see why I had to leave. Do you know why I have to leave? What the danger is?”
He looks at her intently from across the table without saying a word. He then reaches out and holds her hands in his for many seconds, still not giving an answer. I watch as he opens that third eye he spoke of and searches deep within Rebecca’s very being, trying to complete the message I started—the why to my what.
Stelios stares at her for thirty seconds, then forty-five. Almost a full minute passes before he releases her hands and says, “No, I can’t see it.”
“You can’t?” I ask, surprised.
“It … changes,” he says cryptically. “Today’s danger may be different tomorrow.”
“What does that mean?” Rebecca asks.
“I wish I knew,” Stelios says quietly. “Sometimes, what I see is very clear to me. Other times, it’s like I’m seeing it through cloudy water. You, my little Persephone, are very cloudy water. Maybe you stay with Stelios for a few days, the image will get clearer.”
She smiles pleasantly, looking for the right words to decline, but I beat her to the punch. “Tempting as that is, we have to head north. Your moussaka and your hospitality were impeccable, though. And thank you for sharing what you shared with me.”
We all rise, and Rebecca is the first to the gangplank. She makes her way back to the pier, and I am about to follow her, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. Stelios pulls me aside to speak to me privately.
“You know, don’t you, that you can’t fall in love with this girl?” he says discreetly.
I notice that Rebecca is watching us from the dock,
We laugh at the casual, easy way he has. It’s so refreshing to be met with gratitude, rather than doubt, suspicion, and fear. Finally, someone else understands what it feels like to carry around thoughts that don’t belong to you. But how much does he understand?
“Stelios …” I hesitate a moment, unsure of how to ask him. “Do you know why I’ve been chosen to do this? To tell people these things?”
He looks at me and thinks a moment. “For the same reason I am a fisherman. Because you can.”
It’s a logical answer, but it doesn’t help me much. “Can you see how long I’ll be asked to do this? Is there a time when I’ll be able to stop?”
“I think you will do this until you can’t do it anymore. Just like me with my boat. Someday, I won’t be able to fish anymore. And thanks to you, that someday isn’t today.”
“But …” I search for the right words, still trying to understand. “Why send me at all? Things happen. Accidents occur. Sometimes people die. Why set that in motion and then send someone to keep it from happening?”
He nods; now my question is clear to him. A variation on the age-old selfish cry: Why me?
“You ever send a message you wish you could take back?” he asks simply. “A phone message, maybe an e-mail?”
“I guess so,” I answer.
“Maybe God does too.”
The answer is unexpectedly profound and metaphysical, coming from this ordinary man. Of course, that may be my unintentional classism surfacing, equating lack of an advanced degree with lack of wisdom and sophistication.
My silence leaves Rebecca an opening and she grabs it. “Stelios, I have a question too …”
He laughs at this. “I think you are confusing Greek with gypsy. I should be telling you to cross my palm with silver, maybe!” She looks confused by this.
“It’s something gypsy fortune tellers said in old movies,” I explain.
He invites her to continue. “Don’t worry, little Persephone. You can ask me your question.”
“Tristan told me I had to leave my job, leave Florida, and go back to Ohio. He told me it was for my own safety, but he couldn’t see why I had to leave. Do you know why I have to leave? What the danger is?”
He looks at her intently from across the table without saying a word. He then reaches out and holds her hands in his for many seconds, still not giving an answer. I watch as he opens that third eye he spoke of and searches deep within Rebecca’s very being, trying to complete the message I started—the why to my what.
Stelios stares at her for thirty seconds, then forty-five. Almost a full minute passes before he releases her hands and says, “No, I can’t see it.”
“You can’t?” I ask, surprised.
“It … changes,” he says cryptically. “Today’s danger may be different tomorrow.”
“What does that mean?” Rebecca asks.
“I wish I knew,” Stelios says quietly. “Sometimes, what I see is very clear to me. Other times, it’s like I’m seeing it through cloudy water. You, my little Persephone, are very cloudy water. Maybe you stay with Stelios for a few days, the image will get clearer.”
She smiles pleasantly, looking for the right words to decline, but I beat her to the punch. “Tempting as that is, we have to head north. Your moussaka and your hospitality were impeccable, though. And thank you for sharing what you shared with me.”
We all rise, and Rebecca is the first to the gangplank. She makes her way back to the pier, and I am about to follow her, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. Stelios pulls me aside to speak to me privately.
“You know, don’t you, that you can’t fall in love with this girl?” he says discreetly.
I notice that Rebecca is watching us from the dock,
Similar Books
