He was thinking how strange it felt, after months of solitude, to be around other people again.
It felt, in some ways, almost like an invasion—as if his island were under siege. His island. How absurd to think of this island as his own. But he couldn’t help it.
Nikos had lived a solitary existence on Aura for almost twenty-five years now. He was practically self-sufficient, hunting and growing whatever he needed. He had a vegetable plot at the back of his cottage, some chickens—and an abundance of fish in the sea. He only went back to Mykonos for essentials these days; like tobacco, beer, ouzo. Sex, he did without.
If occasionally he felt lonely, in need of human company—for other voices and laughter—he’d visit the tavern frequented by the locals. It was on the other side of town from Mykonos port; away from the billionaires and their yachts. Nikos would sit alone at the bar, drinking a beer. He wouldn’t talk but he’d listen, keeping one ear on local gossip. The other drinkers, apart from acknowledging him with a nod, mainly left him alone. They sensed Nikos was different now—his decades of isolation had turned him into an outsider.
He would listen to them gossiping about Lana, the old men, sitting at their small tables with their backgammon sets and dainty glasses of ouzo. Many of them remembered Otto; and, rather quaintly, referred to Lana, in Greek, as “the screen siren.” They were intrigued by this reclusive American movie star who owned that haunted island—a property, it must be said, that had brought her precious little happiness; and much grief.
That island is cursed, someone said. Mark my words. It will happen again. Before long, this new husband will go the way of the old one.
He has no money, said someone else—the husband is a kept man, paid for by his wife.
Well, she’s rich enough, said another. I wish mine paid for me.
This got a laugh.
How true this was about Jason, Nikos didn’t know—nor care. He appreciated Jason’s predicament. Who could compete with such wealth as Lana possessed? All Nikos had to offer her was his bare hands. But at least he was a real man—not a fake one, like Jason.
Nikos had disliked Jason on sight. Nikos remembered the first time Jason visited Aura, bad-tempered, in a suit and sunglasses, inspecting the island with a proprietorial air.
Nikos continued to observe him at close quarters, over several years, often when Jason had no idea he was being observed. Nikos had concluded Jason was a fraud. His latest “hobby,” for instance, pretending to be a hunter—this was the biggest joke so far. Nikos had to make an effort not to laugh, watching Jason handle the guns so clumsily, aiming so badly; yet so full of bravado, like a puffed-up boy pretending to be a man.
As for his kill—pathetic, measly birds that weren’t worth the effort of Agathi’s plucking. Not to mention a waste of bullets.
A man like that didn’t deserve Lana.
She was the only one of them Nikos didn’t mind being here. It was her island, after all. She belonged here; she came alive here. She was always deathly pale on arrival, in desperate need of sun. Then, in a few days, the island would work its magic on her—she’d swim in its sea, eat its fish and the fruits of its earth. And bloom like a flower. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. A visceral reminder that Nature—while glorious and sustaining—was not the same thing as a woman.
Nikos couldn’t remember the last time he had been touched. Let alone kissed.
He spent too much time alone. Sometimes he wondered if he was going mad. They said, in the tavern, that the wind drove you mad. But it wasn’t the wind.
It was the solitude.
If he left Aura, where could he go? He could no longer be around other people for any extended time. His only option was the sea—to live on a boat, sail the islands. But he didn’t own a boat large enough—and could never afford one fit for more than a fishing trip.
No, he must resign himself to never leaving the island, until he was dead. And probably not even then. It would be several months, after all, before his body was discovered. By then, in all likelihood, he would be torn apart, eaten, devoured by the other inhabitants of the island—like that dead beetle outside his kitchen door, dismembered and carried away by a long line of industrious ants.
His mind seemed to revolve around death these days. Death was everywhere on Aura, he knew that.
* * *
As he walked away from the house, taking the shortcut through the trees, Nikos saw something that made him stop in his tracks.
A huge wasps’ nest.
He stared at it. The nest was massive, the biggest he’d ever seen. It was at the base of an olive tree, in a hollow that was formed by the roots. A large mass of swirling wasps—like a billowing ball of black smoke, turning in on itself. In a way, it was beautiful.
Be crazy to disturb a nest that size. Besides, he didn’t want to destroy it. It wasn’t right to kill them. The wasps had as much right to be here as anyone else. They were a blessing, really—they ate the mosquitoes. He hoped the family wouldn’t see it and demand it be destroyed.
The thing to do, he decided, was to guide the wasps away from the main house—and hopefully not get stung doing so. A plate of meat outside his cottage should do it: beef, chopped up, or a skinned rabbit. The wasps had a particular fondness for rabbit.
Just then, he heard a splash. He stopped. He looked over, through the trees, and saw that Kate had jumped in the swimming pool.
Nikos stood there, invisible in the darkness, watching her swim about.
After a while, Kate seemed to sense his presence. She stopped swimming. She looked around, trying to see beyond the lights, into the dark. “Who is it? Who’s there?”
Nikos was about to keep walking—then he heard some footsteps in the shadows. Someone else appeared—Jason, descending the steps. He walked over to the edge of the pool.
Jason stood there, staring at Kate in the water. His face was expressionless, like a mask. Kate swam up to him.
She smiled. “You should jump in, the water’s lovely.”
Jason didn’t smile back. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Why are you here?”
Kate laughed. “You’re obviously not pleased to see me.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“Kate—”
Kate stuck her tongue out at him and submerged herself with a splash. She swam off underwater, ending the conversation.
Jason turned and walked back to the house.
Nikos hesitated for a moment, pondering what he had just seen. He went to leave—then had a sudden, strange feeling. He froze.
He wasn’t alone. Someone else was here, too, in the dark, watching Kate.
Nikos looked around, squinting, trying to see in the darkness. He couldn’t see anyone. He listened hard—and there was only silence. But he could swear someone was hiding there.
He hesitated a moment. Then, feeling unnerved, he turned and hurried back to his cottage.
10
After I had a shower, I took a couple of glasses of champagne to Lana in her bedroom. She was alone. She was sitting at her dressing table, in a bathrobe. Lana looked even more beautiful, I thought, without makeup.
We chatted for a while, before the door was thrown open. Jason charged into the room. He noticed me and stopped. “Oh. You’re here. Who are you two gossiping about?”
Lana smiled. “No one you know.”
“As long as it’s not me.”
“Why?” I said. “Guilty conscience?”
He glared at me. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
Lana laughed—but I could tell she was annoyed. “Jason. He’s joking.”
“Well, he’s not funny.” Jason added, with a Herculean effort at wit, “Ever.”
I smiled. “Thankfully, thousands of theatergoers around the world disagree with you.”
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t smile back.