The morning of Festival came along with the usual cacophony from the swifts and swallows larking about on the balcony and the priests chanting in the basilica. The sea was pure cerulean. I rattled the handle of the bathroom door.
'Won't be long, boss.'
'Hurry up, Alexi. Anyone would think you'd fallen asleep in there.'
'Not me...won't be long.'
I grabbed a bottle of water and walked out onto the balcony to splash some onto my face. After brushing my teeth and refreshing my mouth, I poured what was left on my head and turned my face to the sun. Over in the direction of the winding construction that would bring even more tourists up the mountain, incongruous dumper trucks and excavators rumbled about in clouds of silent swirling dust, chomping a way through the mountain bringing the future to the past and showing little respect, if any, for the feast. But with the flush from the toilet and a voice yelling, 'Finished!', the festival could be declared under way.
Down in the street, there were no obvious signs of any special happening, just the customary politeness and usual morning greetings, yet the air held a tingle, a subtle spark of something unspoken to be celebrated there. The women gathered on the plateia before the basilica, and on the steps leading from the square, and at the side near the mayor's house, in fact anywhere with space - but all in a swirling mass of vivid exotic colour.
Young girls in scarves of white satin, stockings of red cotton and heavy brocade jackets staggered under heirloom medallion chains of heavy gold, links of pearl, lace and beads. I was sorry for them, so tiny and struggling to breathe, let alone move, under so many layers of finery and ornamentation. Their mother's wore black headscarves patterned with embroidered flowers of red and yellow and wore black boleros, white blouses and aprons, all finely embroidered; and walked in boots of softened leather. They spoke in reverent whispers, only falling silent upon entering the church. Onlookers clung to the rooftops, on window ledges and every available vantage point straining for a better view. Several times during the three-hour service, huge baskets of hot and spicy communion bread were ferried in on the heads of the sturdier women. I was even given a smile by the lady from the yurt as she passed. After closing prayers, the excited congregation burst into the sunlight and made a dignified dash for the village hall.
And when I got there I couldn't believe my eyes. Within about ten minutes almost every place had been taken by several hundred happy yappy people squashed in around the long plank board tables hungry for the feast and the Sophian music. It was an extended family reunion, a huge family gathering in communion. Floating aromas from the kitchen brought the olive oil, herbs and spices until huge bowls of steaming vegetables, wild greens, pulses and cereal grains were floated in and carefully spaced along the tables. Then came the music from the swifts in the rafters, the meats, the seafood and the local wines for all to enjoy in a merry village festival of dance, song, food and drink.
Alexis had relented and put me amongst the girls at the back. After a short
prayer from the priest, the waitresses trooped around the tables making sure we had all we needed to dine. I recognised some of the faces of the diners from the concert and wondered whether they went from event to event like the patterned plates before us and if they did, then I was doing the same and we shared a genuine sense of unison.
It wasn't long before I was joining in the applause and cheering speeches I could not understand. It was impossible not to be swept along on the surge of emotion and enthusiasm for whatever was to come.
Feeling much stronger than I had in Niko’s, I gazed around the packed hall and congratulated these people who enjoyed their respected mountain traditions with such obvious enthusiasm.
Some of the girls who had been waiting on the tables had already found a quiet corner in which to rest. Across from where I sat one of them flopped onto the bench, breathless, sipping a fizzy diet drink from a can, panting beneath the weight of her robes and fighting in vain to keep her eyes open and to keep her mouth from drooping but her personal enthusiasm cowed before the pressures and the stresses and the strains. Within minutes her eyelids fluttered, her head lolled forward and, perhaps as a final gesture to who knew what, with one hand she crushed her empty cola can and melted into a deep sleep.
Finally, once the dinner and music and speeches were over, visiting and local dignitaries were led by the Archbishop in solemn procession back to the central square. Aristethes and son led the procession, playing their instruments just behind the head man and that's when I think perhaps I must have been swept up in the moment a little because without giving it any thought, I joined in - but with the leaders, right at the front.
In between prayers, they sang as they walked and, because I didn't know the words, but now as a member of the band, I thought no one would notice if I mimed and that way at least show some support. Then we turned out of the narrow alleyway into the square where, to my complete amazement, I saw it absolutely crammed with hundreds of pilgrims who had flocked there for the next part of the festival, all craning and straining to see what they could of the annual procession and the ritual on the plateia.
We filed up the steps, surrounded a large ceremonial table and sat down like citizens of the Senate in early Athens. The people waited, the music played, but it was obvious something was wrong. Whenever I looked into the crowd and caught someone's eye they'd begin muttering and nodding and pointing in my direction and it became more and more clear not just that I was in the wrong place but also that I'd sat in a chair reserved for a guest of honour yet to appear. I knew I had to escape, but it had to look casual. I couldn't just get up and leave. My mind went blank. All those people were watching me. Then something happened that saved my neck. The assistant to the Archbishop began placing bottles of whisky at intervals around the table and the atmosphere lightened, a little. The trouble was I didn't like whisky. It gave me indigestion. But I had to make the sacrifice and thought that if I waited for what I expected to be toasts or dedications to begin, perhaps it would be seen, at least, as some sort of respectful gesture on my part. But by then the chap next to me, in charge of our bottle, was offering me the screw top from the bottle filled to its brim with whisky. So I sipped the fire onto my tongue and swallowed.
The crowd gave a polite cheer as two chairs were hoisted onto the table and Aristethes and his son were seen to scramble up and begin to play and sing. The crowd loved them. They were favourites and if they stopped the crowd demanded more. At some prearranged signal from the Archbishop, one of our senators stood up and cleared his throat. The crowd fell still, not even a cry from babies broke the silence. It was time for the spontaneous mantinada. The people waited in silence, polite and sincere, and after each vocal contribution, aided by the whisky, each voice trailed away to be taken up anew by his neighbour and transferred on and on around the table. Each took his turn to stand and sing impromptu then sit again. The whisky burned and crackled in my mouth. I looked into the frowning crowd, grinning at anyone and everyone, and realised I was slipping.
The sun beat down on my stinging forehead and from somewhere nearby I thought I saw Alexis wave but then he swam from view. My neighbour nudged me, shaking his head, me thinking he meant it embarrassed him to sing in public. He pointed to himself and then he pointed to me. I felt ill. My turn was edging closer and I knew the game was up. I could either fall down on the spot and die, or I could leap over the balcony and drop into the sea far below. I'd better choose quickly because some of the men with furrowed brows were beginning to wonder just who the hell it was swaying next to their Archbishop. Then my neighbour stood and with feet apart and head thrown back, he poured out a drama like an operatic tenor. The crowd were silent but happy. I was next. No way out. So, surrounded by a huge crowd of curious strangers and attentive townsfolk, new and old, I staggered to my feet as my mind went blank.
It was at that moment the gods took pity on this simple, ignorant Cornishman.
'Please, may I sit down?' A frail old man had appeared at my side. And it was he - the guest of honour and highlight of the day. As soon as the crowd recognised him, they roared his name and clapped a slow rhythmic slap until the square was filled with hubbub. I stood back, holding the chair until he sat down and made himself comfortable. Someone handed him a bouzouki. He took it as you do a baby and raised it to his lips and kissed it, and then he held it over his head as if blessing the congregation. The people were hushed, subdued. In the silence and with a grand dignity, he began to play so sweet and soft his eyes gleamed and the birds sang, the sun shone and not a sound came from the crowd until he played the last chord. It was at that moment that he turned to face the sky again and raised his arms above his head. For a moment there was silence. We all held our breath – and slowly there grew the most wonderful stirring and swelling as a gentle murmur began filling the air above the square, rising like a cloud into the sky. It was the people humming their response, a perfect culmination to the mantinada; one strengthening, nourishing, unifying, fulfilling drone.
I tried to hide amongst some visitors at the side, head bowed, too humiliated to lift my face. There was a resounding cheer from the people at the end of the performance and I took my chance and stole away with just a parting nod to Alexis. Gloomy and discredited, I wandered out toward the fringe and the windmills, on and up past the village hall where we'd had the feast and on to the little chapel of Agia Agni overlooking the sea.
Inside was cool and calm. Needing to rest I spread the bundled candles on the floor, covered them with my shirt and lay down feeling low and, once again, the outsider. But the coolness didn't last and soon it was hot and stuffy and then those flies found me and destroyed the calm. Still, it was good to relax out of the sun and well out of sight.
The crunch of footsteps on the track outside woke me up. I just had time to get my stuff together and hide behind the red silk screen before the door whinged open and a man stepped inside. He crossed himself whilst testing the bundles with his toe and then the maroon shorts came into view and I knew he was the enemy. He was looking for me. He went outside to find a signal for his mobile. I could see him looking round. He marched off but not before he bound the latch securely with the string, trapping me firmly inside.
My heart sank. What was I to do? The gap was too narrow for my fingers to work the greasy twine and with so many people wandering about, how would I explain when someone found me? It was hot and stuffy and I imagined all sorts of accusations and suspicions would be levelled at the stranger. I was not coping very well, inhaling air in through the gap and trying to moisten the inside of my mouth until, against all hope, there came the sound of footsteps running along the path towards the door.
I jumped behind the screen again and kept as still as a statue, watching, as two of the local boys come bursting through the string. They threw themselves before me, making the sign of the cross and launching into prayer. I wasn't sure if they knew someone was there but after a few moments of heads bowed and hands joined, one squeaked a giggle and took a cautious peek at the other. He gave him a nudge and the other nudged him back and they began sniggering. They were trying hard to be respectful in the chapel but all at once got to their feet and dashed outside, unable to contain their laughter any longer, groaning and rolling on the ground as though they were going to die whilst I patiently waited for their game to end.
As soon as their exhilaration faded, I stumbled out into the air like a prisoner released to freedom. I watched them go, jumping onto each other, shouting and calling each other strange and crazy names and I knew my discomfort wasn't their doing, it was all mine - a little lesson for the sinner, a little penance for the sins.