nature of all the peninsulas of Chalkidiki, and drinking water was already disappearing from the mountain of Skouries, where mines were being built. Given the seismological activity, the protective structures, such as a dome over the mine, wouldn’t save anything. However, the protest rallies, as happened in stories with large sums involved, ended in failure. All my acquaintances on Athos were in gloomy expectation of their Apocalypse, when they would have to leave the City of Heaven forever. I asked Janis what the Athos monks said, and he replied, “They pray weeping.”
I returned to the ship by swimming, and it sailed to Ammouliani, the island opposite my bay. In the meantime, dinner was ripe, but someone shouted, “Dolphins!” All the tourists instantly turned into children – they jumped up from their seats, forgot about everything in the world and took pictures of the playful dolphins accompanying the ship. The Holy Mountain looked at me again, and I looked at it. “One of the monks said that the Virgin Mary appeared to him crying for she was leaving Athos,” Janis told me the other day.
We sailed to the luxury beach of Ammouliani – Alikes, and again enjoyed the sea, and then we circled the island on the ship and moored at the pier for a walk around the village. I was wandering down the tiny street, immersed in sad musings over the Gold-Mines, when I was drawn to a gift shop. Having passed the showcases with jewelry, I turned to the exit, but for some reason I took a step back, and my gaze fell on the far table. It couldn’t be true! I swam closer and closer, afraid to frighten my vision away. I didn’t know who He was, but… I knew Him, and silently froze at the hand-painted icon of the Saint standing at the well with a silver bucket in his hand.
“Do you know him?” the store owner called out to me.
“No, but…” I didn’t know how to explain to the Greek that I had repeatedly attended during meditations an unknown monastery on the mountain, where exactly at the very same well the same Monk was pouring holy water from the same bucket on me, what I told the world about in the first part of my novel “The Book of Secret Knowledge” back in September 2009.
“Nobody here knows Him,” the shop owner sighed. “Hieromartyr Philoumenos. They chopped Him with an axe. This Greek monk served in Palestine. He was an archimandrite of the Jerusalem Orthodox Church and the Guardian of Jacob’s Well on the mountain in Samaria, where the meeting of Christ with the Samaritan woman took place, as described in the Gospel of John the Theologian. The water in the Well symbolizes the living water of the Faith, after drinking which one becomes liberated. Philoumenos was canonized on September 11, 2009. His relics were on Mount Zion. He is referred to as ‘Vanquisher of daemons, dispeller of the powers of Darkness’.”
“How much does the icon cost?” I asked and remembered that there was clearly not enough money on the card for a hand-painted one of that size. The store owner hesitated. My heart sank. And he announced exactly the amount I had!
Ouranoupoli
I heard the muffled trill of the phone and opened my eyes – it was easy and even very pleasant to doze off there: the olive tree branches were swaying in the breeze, and the cicadas were providing a lulling background.
“Where are you now?” Ray, as always, appeared unexpectedly.
“On the beach. Dozing off a bit.”
“Do you take your phone with you to the beach?” He chuckled, and he was right.
“Not usually, but apparently I’ve got a premonition you would call!”
“What time is it now?”
“What’s the difference for you?” I was surprised.
“I wonder what time you go to the sea.”
“I don’t know. My watch has been showing something wrong for a long time. I keep wearing it out of habit.”
“Look at the shade of the olives and at the Sun.”
“Aah! It’s about six in the evening!”
“Are you hungry already?”
“Do you want to invite me to dinner?”
“A little later. What did you eat last night?”
I tried to remember, but, apparently, I hadn’t yet fully woken up, and everything was in a heap and foggy in my mind.
“What’s the difference, seafood salad or chicken?”
“It makes no difference. Is there anyone else on the beach?”
“A family by the shore.”
“Come and ask what time it is now. Go with your phone.”
“Excuse me, what time is it now?” I turned to the man, who had already packed their things while his wife was changing the clothes to their children.
The man, having glanced at me briefly, turned to his wife,
“I’m off. Waiting for you in the car.”
I repeated my question to the woman, but she ignored me point-blank.
“Alice, leave them alone, go back to the olives.”
“Ray… Are they ghosts?” I whispered in horror.
“Quite possible. Where were you yesterday?”
“Well… yesterday… what was I doing here yesterday? You know, on Athos you live in such a relaxed way… Ah! I remembered! I took a boat trip to the Mountain!”
“Did the monks bring the Gifts of the Magi from St. Pavlou?”
“No, the Gifts of the Magi were brought last summer. The relics from Xenophontos were yesterday!”
“Did you happen to see the ghost of Joice in Ouranoupoli?”
“There are a lot of ghosts here! Who is that Joice?”
“Don’t go back to your place now. Try dozing off again. Okay?”
Ray’s words alerted me, but I immediately remembered a funny incident and laughed.
“Is there a spider hiding in there? So do I have to wait until you drive it away with the power of thought?”
“Almost there,” Ray chuckled.
Somewhere in the Mist
I hear the Moonlight Sonata and fall into the Mist…
A Christmas skating rink was set up on Red Square. It was fabulous in the evening there as it should be on New Year’s Eve. Valery kept me company. He had visited the monastery of St. Panteleimon on Athos, stayed in Ouranoupoli, met Dimitra and Janis, bought icons. I took him to Nea Roda to the icon painted by Luke the Evangelist, but he felt nothing as well as in Russik.
The phone rang, and the inscription on the screen in English said “Mount Athos”.
“Alice, Merry Christmas!” I heard the familiar voice of Janis.
“Merry
