Thirteen Days By Sunset Beach (13 page)

She nodded at the waiting-room. "On board."

Ray might almost have imagined she was advising them to return to the bus, except that he saw she was indicating a timetable. As Julian made to retort Ray remembered Doug's warning not to antagonise anyone official. "It's not important, Julian," he murmured. "We won't be going back that late."

"I prefer to have information before it's needed," Julian said but followed him as he made for the toilets off the waiting-room. Tim was peering at his reflection in a mirror that spanned the wall above the sinks. As soon as the men appeared behind him he dodged out of the tiled room so fast that his reflection was a blur. Ray wasn't surprised if Tim had found it hard to see himself; the glass was splintered in several places as though somebody had tried to smash the entire mirror, and Tim's sunglasses could hardly have made his view clearer. Ray used a urinal while Julian bolted a cubicle door and coughed immoderately to cover up the sounds he had to make. Once he'd washed his hands Ray dried them beneath a blower so fierce that it sent ripples through the loose flesh of his arms, a sight that reminded him of the face he'd imagined he was seeing in the graveyard. "I'll be outside," he called, which elicited a louder cough.

The family was waiting on a corner of the square, outside a tourist shop that displayed considerably fewer bottles of sun cream than of artificial tan. "Maybe you'd need that if you lived here," Doug said, and Ray saw he had the narrow streets in mind. Perhaps they were too narrow to receive direct sunlight even when the sky was cloudless, although had there been less sun cream than fake tan in the supermarket by the Sunny View? "We're over here, Jules," Pris called, "nobody's hiding from you," which drove the question out of Ray's mind.

The street that led uphill was too narrow for him to hold Sandra's hand in the crowd. Few of the tourists looked as if they came from Sunset Beach, even though some were as young. Ray assumed one of their generation was responsible for graffiti at the far end of a side street, where a name was sprayed on an otherwise unblemished white wall—RYK. Or had letters been erased on either side of those? He hadn't time to be sure before he followed Doug and Pris uphill.

Quite a few of the streets that climbed or crossed the hill were roofed with awnings overgrown by vines, which provided so much shade that Sandra and the teenagers took off their hats. Shops clustered together as if seeking the company of their own kind, so that one street sold only clothes and shoes, while another was devoted to herbs and oils and other Greek fare. Here was a street pale with embroidery—hanging tablecloths and doilies and place mats—while the next was ruddy with leather goods. Souvenir shops swarmed with images of the local saint, not just wooden icons but pottery bearing his likeness and even jewellery borrowing his shape. As Doug lingered in front of a window full of St Titus painted in a variety of styles, the proprietor waddled out to him. "Special price today," she said.

"Just looking, thanks. This chap gets everywhere, doesn't he?"

The woman folded her arms, which flattened her ageing breasts. "He is history."

"He's yours, you mean. Your island's." Since she seemed unaware that her words were ambiguous, Doug let them go. "I wasn't disrespecting him," he said.

The woman was examining the family. "Where do you stay?"

"Just along from Sunset Beach," Sandra said.

"I see it."

The woman's lined face darkened as she withdrew into the shop. "Actually," Pris called after her, "maybe you could tell us—"

The woman halted between two paintings of St Titus flourishing his spear, and Ray had the odd sense that she welcomed their protection. "What can I tell?"

"What's your saint supposed to fight? We've seen some images of him where he's fighting something, but we couldn't make out what it's meant to be."

"He did not fight. It was people's wish he did."

"In that case," Natalie said somewhere between patience and amusement, "what didn't he fight that you wanted him to?"

"What came after."

"After his death, you mean." When the woman didn't contradict this Ray felt driven to prompt "And that was..."

"He was meant to keep island holy. Monks thought he would."

Ray wondered if the unholiness she had in mind might be represented by the likes of Sunset Beach. Apparently she'd said all she cared to, and was retreating between the saintly canvases when Julian commented "Someone needs to rethink their sales pitch. That didn't make the fellow sound much use at all."

The woman turned, though her resentment looked like unwillingness. "Maybe he helps you remember."

"Remember your island, you mean?" Pris said. "I'm sure we will."

"Some will."

Ray couldn't tell who she was staring at, let alone the reason behind her frown. "Who won't?" he blurted. "Why shouldn't they?"

The woman was already disappearing into a back room. "They come back and remember."

"Did anybody understand what that was all about?" Julian demanded, and not quietly either. "Doesn't anyone round here speak proper English?"

"They speak it better than most of us speak Greek," Pris said just as loud.

"They're pretty new to tourism," Doug pointed out. "I'd say they've made us welcome."

Sandra was making her way uphill as if the woman's frown had sent her onwards. Ray limped after her, ready to support her if she found the climb too much of a task. The street felt increasingly steep to him, though the gradient hadn't changed. How long had it been since he wouldn't have thought twice of such a climb? Remembering felt like trying to clutch at a past that was out of reach, but the present was all that should matter to him. Just now Sandra was all that should.

The way ahead was narrowed by a stall selling henna tattoos. Among the stick-on flowers and snakes and names he was unsurprised to see images of St Titus with his lance. Tim pointed at a troop of them. "We could get sainted," he told Jonquil.

"Don't so much as think of disfiguring yourself, Jonquil," Julian said. 
"We don't want to be seen with anyone who cares so little for herself. And the same applies to you, William."

The young woman seated on a folding chair beside the stall blinked fast and then more slowly at the teenagers. "Too late," she said.

"How's that?" Doug said as if he hoped she was joking.

"They are no good now."

"Is that another local custom, talking down your merchandise?" When she only blinked at Julian he said "I think I was perfectly clear."

"Sorry." Pris might have been apologising to the vendor on his behalf. "What are you saying about your tattoos?" she said.

"The boy said they would make them like the saint. Pictures can do nothing."

"I was kidding," Tim protested. "I won't have one if Jonk isn't."

"Please don't try to alter my decision," Julian said. "In every way that's inappropriate."

"I think Tim's just supporting his cousin, Jules," Doug said.

"I don't see why that's called for. We apologise for wasting your time," Julian told the young woman and strode uphill.

When Natalie followed him, the others did. As they crossed a lane Ray noticed more graffiti on a wall. The letters could have been advertising a local version of a worldwide drink—KOLA—or were they flanked by faint traces of more? He hadn't time to dawdle, since Sandra looked determined not to falter before reaching the top of the hill. At least he was able to take her hand, though he scarcely knew which of them might be sustaining the other, when they emerged into a square in front of a church.

The square gave them a view across the sea. Small curved waves reminiscent of fingernails clawed at a beach to the left of the harbour. The ferry that the bus had passed was sinking over the horizon, where the clouds fell short of a larger island, letting the sunlight brighten all its colours like a concentration of summer. A plane passed overhead, descending towards the distant island, and Ray and Sandra said "Casablanca" in unison as they always did. As slow protracted thunder trailed the plane across the sky Pris said "Shall we look in the church?"

The interior was brighter than the square. Hundreds of thin white candles flamed in holders along the walls and before the altar. At first Ray could hardly see, so that the figures with upraised hands seemed to form out of the distance beyond the flames. They were saints, and their gestures were blessings, though Ray could easily have felt admonished by the stern-faced golden frescoes and their stained-glass brethren. He was trying to decide which if any of the saints was Titus when Doug said "We aren't supposed to do that, Jules."

"There's a notice by the door," Pris said.

"For the love of all that's holy, what else aren't we allowed to do?" Julian demanded and continued photographing frescoes with his mobile. "It strikes me that they tell their visitors one thing and themselves another. If we aren't meant to hold our hands up, why are these fellows doing it?"

"Maybe there are some things only saints can do."

"I didn't know you were a believer, Jonquil."

"There's a whole lot you don't know about me."

Ray wondered whether this was a boast or a complaint if not both. He saw Julian preparing to reply, but as the flash made a saint gleam gold a man came out of a room near the altar and shouted in Greek. Ray thought he was rebuking Julian until he saw that the man was facing a side entrance to the church. The door had swung open, and the flames of all the nearest candles crouched low as if they were trying to flee the intrusion. "It's him," William cried. "It's the man in my dream."

Ray peered towards the door to see that several newcomers had entered the church. Through the unsteady haze of the dozens of flames that had sprung up once more, he could scarcely make the faces out or even count them. There were three of them, and they appeared to be not merely wavering but merging together. It reminded him of the sight of something underwater, except that they could have been composed of the restless liquid. He was wondering if he should recognise one or more of them when he found he was gazing at the vibrant air above the flames and nothing else. He limped fast to the side door, which was opposite a lane that led so steeply downhill it needed a stepped pavement and a handrail. The lane was deserted, though he couldn't see along the cross streets, except for a section of wall along which a blurred shadow vanished like a drying stain.

In the church the man was haranguing Julian. "No camera," he said and gestured at the frescoes. "Holy. Fade."

Ray was afraid that Julian might criticise the rudimentary language, but he slipped the phone into his shirt pocket. "Excuse me," Ray said as the man turned his back, "could I ask what you said to those people?"

Perhaps the man didn't hear him. He stumped into the side room, shutting the door with an emphatic thud that echoed through the church as the flames shivered. "Did you understand him, Doug?"

"Pris and I were trying to figure out what we heard. Something about feeding, we think."

"Maybe they were beggars," Pris said, "which means he wasn't being very Christian."

"He said something else, though," Doug told Ray. "As near as we could tell if was about some kind of transfer."

"Not those wretched tattoos again," Julian objected.

"No, Doug," Pris said. "I think I've got it now. Not a transfer, a transfusion."

If this was a clarification, Ray couldn't see what it made clear. "Now, William," Natalie said, "what was all that silliness about a dream? What did you think you saw?"

"That's how his face went in my dream." With even more defiance William said "Soggy."

"Then that proves it was a dream, doesn't it? I think you've just found a new favourite word," Sandra said. "I'm feeling a bit watery after all that walking. When everyone's seen what they want to see in here I wouldn't mind some lunch."

***

As the bus left the family behind, William said "Why is he up there?"

At the far end of a street that led from the main road, lengths of wood were piled at least twenty feet high in the middle of a village square. The figure perched on top wore a black robe with a cowl that hid its face. It was silhouetted against clouds stained red by the sun that had sunk beyond the unseen sea. "He looks like he's looking for someone," William said.

"He's just for people to look at," Jonquil told him. "Let's go and see."

"Stay out of the road," Natalie called after them.

The street was free of traffic, but William stayed on the pavement that the clustered houses had for doorsteps. Some of it was marble and some was red clay, not to mention patches of lumpy pimpled concrete. "Hold your sister's hand, William," Julian called.

Had the boy discovered rebelliousness? All he did was look askance at Jonquil. "Go on, William," Ray shouted. "Grandma's holding mine."

Her hand felt colder than he liked. He might even have found it less substantial than he wanted it to be. He squeezed it harder than he meant to and managed to relax his grip as William poked out a hand for Jonquil to take. By now Ray could see that the elevated figure was enthroned at the peak of the heap of wood. At least, he realised as the family reached the square, the effigy was tied by its arms and legs to the rickety wooden seat, which didn't look much like a throne. The head inside the cowl was a featureless white bag, and Ray would have preferred not to be reminded of the spider's cocoon in the roadside shrine. "Well, he doesn't look too saintly," Pris said and turned to a man who had picked up a stray branch to fling on the pile. "Kali nichta. Can you tell us about this?"

The man shrugged and held out his hands once they were empty of the branch. When Pris pointed to the effigy he said a word or two before ambling towards a corner of the square occupied by a makeshift stage. "So, Priscilla?" Julian said.

"The old man, I think. The old one."

"Not just old, Pris," Doug said. "The oldest. The ancient."

"Is that supposed to tell us something?"

Presumably Julian was finding fault with their informant rather than the translators, but Ray thought Doug was going to respond in kind until William said "Look, there's, you know. Look, she's there."