Schwarzfahren

Schwarzfahren

By Jason Brown

Copyright 2014 Jason Brown

Smashwords Edition

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Other novels by Jason Brown:

Using Toonies

Postponing the Myth

Table of Contents

Part One

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Part Two

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Part Three

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

PART ONE

Chapter One

He was surrounded by people in their best clothes. They threw firecrackers as little lost supernovas into the weeded lot next to the small Orthodox church, but it wasn’t until the next night that he found her. Though he didn’t know it at the time, his finding her was all he had. His head held high, his vision skimming over the heads of churchgoers, he looked for her, hoping for a dark burgundy flash of hair among the bleach blond or black-haired Greek people.

The firecrackers were being lit by grown men with childish smiles, and they were at church not to celebrate Jesus’ return for the Greek Easter, but as an excuse to be the boisterous island-dwellers they were. To them, God was always around them, without a doubt, but he also approved of the occasional firecracker in his name. God is fond of explosions.

A kind of revelry peacefully and somberly spilled out into the small square after midnight. It was officially Easter now, and it was something akin to the Fourth of July, Bastille Day, and Jesus all mashed together. The Greek people knew what they were doing. They’d been doing it for a thousand years.

Where is she? How could she do this to me? He tried to shut those thoughts out and only focus on searching but that was proving difficult with the firecrackers. He really wanted to enjoy the moment but to him, throwing little bombs into a dry brown lot next to God’s house just didn’t seem right. Then again, it was hard for him to know right from wrong so far from home. Where was she?

He gave up later that night. He did allow some of the smiles and hearty congratulations around him to make him feel a bit better. Still though, something was missing and had been since at least Rhodes.

It was hard to believe it had been less than a week since he’d seen her. And her warm, olive skin. He had nothing and she had given him something, though he wasn’t quite sure what that was. People who know that they’re lacking something usually aren’t too picky about what it is that fills them up. And there was a lot to fill. That he knew because it had been too easy for his sister out in Los Angeles to talk him into going to Greece for a month.

The crowd continued trickling steadily out of the church, the less youthful mulling about to greet neighbors or grandmothers, who were invariably ancient women hunched in severe black dresses. The younger people then went down the uneven marbled steps that all led one way or another down to the water. The promenade facing the water was lined with a one-sided multitude of cafes and bars and hotels that tonight were open late to satiate these people after a midnight mass. For them, celebrating in the Lord’s honor was not gluttonous.

He followed some down and took one of the winding white streets until the only thing stopping him from swimming home was the immense Temple of Apollo that stood impressively and unfinished on a little spit on the edge of the chora, or old town. He rambled over the rocks with only the sound of the wind and splashing power against the rocks below. He sat on a well-placed, human-size brick and looked at the promenade. It glowed as if it were in a medieval painting where the good people had those golden halos over their heads and tucked behind their ears. The glow pulsed in slow motion, partly from the tiki torches but also from some immeasurable human quality. It was cool out on the spit of land, not at all like the warm windy days that blanketed the Cyclades Islands. Naxos Island was in the middle of his supposed month-long healing, but he wanted nothing more than for it to begin again. And there was only one way that could happen.

Eventually he was done feeling sorry for himself, though he told himself that he wasn’t dressed warmly enough to be outside that long. The uneven walk back to the waterfront street was lonely, but that had started before Rhodes. Tired and beginning to yawn their umbrellas closed, the cafes were having their chairs turned over like eyelashes, preparing for bed. Some couples, groups of men, and families remained, unconcerned about any closing time. No one said anything to him.

He bought a Mythos beer from a kiosk at the little fork in the street and turned left, slightly uphill, forlorn. We all have it, he said to himself, but we use it differently. He decided he wasn’t really using his loneliness, but riding it like a wave at Salt Creek. It was the kind of wind, smart and strong enough to slip under the collar and dredge up one’s vulnerability.

His Mexican travel companion was already asleep when he got back to the room. They had initially been disappointed because the pension was far from the heart of the small town center on an island in the middle of the Aegean Sea. Plopping down, sleep wasn’t the first thing to come to him, and his dreams weren’t the kind that people look forward to.

At ten o’clock the next morning, showered and breakfasted, the two of them walked down one of the little white arteries towards town. They wanted to rent a car and for twenty-five euro, they had a small white compact suitcase of a car. He drove at first while the Latina said things like ‘Que linda!’ when they saw a huge white rock quarry and they wound and climbed around one of Naxos’ big hills. They stopped at Appelanas on the far north side of the island. She slept on the beach and he wandered around the even smaller white streets that had zimmer frei signs like earrings, dangling sleepily in the breeze. At the cafes, the people did nothing except drink a muddy sludge masquerading as coffee while talking boisterously. They looked like they were talking about why the government should be overthrown but he’d been in Greece long enough to know that they were probably just talking about the weather, or their laundry.

He woke Amparo on the beach, and they got into the car, quickly climbing to a high point where they glimpsed the guidebook view of the white-washed villa.

Why do you care? Amparo asked as she concentrated around precarious turns, white sheep clinging to far-sloping hillsides that acquiesced violently into the rich blue water below. You do have a girlfriend, right?

Uh huh, he answered noncommittally. But that wasn’t quite the truth. He didn’t even know why he had told her that a few days earlier on Crete. Just trying to keep it simple, he had justified but it could not be further from the truth. It’s just that, I don’t know, we were supposed to meet, and I hope she’s all right.

Amparo laughed. Sure, Ethan, sure, you only want to protect her.

He didn’t respond and so she stopped talking. Down the hill, past the green, receding solitude was nothing but water and the hint of another island, just like Naxos but completely different. He’d been to Catalina Island once, but he knew now how much of a rip off that place had been. Expensive, cluttered, and it was forced to serve many functions for many people. It was just like living in America. So much to do and not enough time. He couldn’t believe how different the people and culture were from America. Besides a couple of Spring Breaks in Mexico, this was his first time outside the United States. He thought it would be harder to do, what with so many loose ends squirming about, and he could only thank God he wasn’t back in the States right now. There’d only be work, and loneliness and …

By late afternoon, the car was parked and Amparo wanted to go exploring on her own so he went back to the room. On the patio, he met a nice young couple from Denmark. Their English was great.

Where did you learn to speak such good English, he inquired.

The blond-haired guy finished a large gulp of his beer, putting his cards down and said, The TV shows are in English with Danish subtitles.

I see, he said.

The girl offered him a beer. Hot, tan, afternoon heat, shaded partly and drinking. He couldn’t have been further from home. Two beers later the Danish couple had heard his story.

Do you think she’s here? the girl asked and before he could answer, she added, We have to find her tonight.

And so they tried. They found a restaurant they liked on the waterfront and dined voraciously.

Yeah, just one week this time, but we’re going to Chile for a month in September, the guy said.

How can you do that, with work and all?

Putting some Greek salad onto his plate, he replied, "My work knows I need holiday. Everyone needs holiday."

Yeah, but in America, it’s so different. People get about ten days for vacation a year.

Ten days! she exclaimed.

Yep, well, how many do you guys get?

Well, I only get twenty-four because I’m at a new job but Pers gets thirty-two, I think. Right? She leaned over and kissed him.

Yes, thirty-two days, but it’s hard to use them all, he said seriously.

Damn.

Oh, is that her? Anka asked, pointing with a slender brown arm at a young woman walking past the restaurant.

No, and stop doing that, you’re making me crazy.

Yeah, but we have to find her.

After dinner, more beers were bought, Heinekens this time and the three of them walked quite slowly up the street, drunk and carefree.

Is that her?

Stop it, he said as a reaction and then looked. Pink flowers on jean purse, long jean jacket, burgundy but it could be –

Julia?

He repeated her name, stillness like the aftermath of a car crash, one step closer, turning, face, burgundy hair and –

Julia, he said louder, now within arm’s reach, and he grabbed her with a hug, a kiss and the excitement of knowing victory for once.

It was blurry, and quick, cafes and Easter night in the middle of a Pennsylvania nowhere but the Danish guy said something in flawless English that pulled him back. What?

Maybe the five of us should get a drink, he suggested again, a strange calmness all around.

"Yeah, sure," Ethan said. But wait, five of us? And looking behind Julia, he saw a somewhat annoyed –looking, tall blond-haired guy.

What is the meaning of this? he demanded.

Oh yeah, let’s get a drink, Ethan said, and now there were five of them sitting outside of a loud, dark thin club and Julia’s friend was refusing a drink from Ethan.

No, I will pay for it, he said, indignant.

He was from Holland and his English was good, too. And Ethan understood everything all of a sudden. Julia and Ethan were supposed to have met at the hostel on Naxos but it was closed until summer. Ethan knew that Julia was trying to travel as cheaply as possible, and this damn Dutch guy had made the simple request, the same one Ethan had made on Rhodes, about sharing a room and saving money in Archangelos. The emotions were coming back, but he quelled them.

Ethan and Julia spoke quietly in Spanish over the music but under the other conversation at the table.

"…si me quieres, puedes encontrarme al Temple de Apollo mañana a mediodia."

It was simple Spanish, but so were the sentiments. I don’t care what is going on here, he had told her, but if you want me, meet me at the Temple of Apollo the next day at noon. It didn’t get much simpler than that.

She went to the bathroom a little later, after twice agreeing to meet, but also warned of how drunk she was, though he knew she wasn’t too drunk. It was the kind of situation one won or lost; there was the unreal excitement of possibilities and the present. He followed her into the club.

Just before she went into the women’s bathroom, Ethan stopped her and turned her around for a drunken kiss in the black, strobing, bouncing music.

Are you going to be there tomorrow?

Yes, she said.

What’s going on? It was then that the Dutch guy came, probably having followed Julia.

Just going to the bathroom, Ethan declared triumphantly and disappeared back through the club.

The dancing, swirling white elephants and raspberries, religion and roast lamb, a smiling darkness and twirling, making the leaves weak in the knees. It was a wonderful day to be alive.

Shortly after the group fractured into two, though not quite how Ethan would have preferred. Julia and the Dutch guy went one direction, and Ethan and the Danes in the other.

That was classy that she left with him, the Danish girl said as her boyfriend and Ethan cracked open Heinekens, slipping through streets almost eight hundred years old. She told us that that’s what she would have done too. She will probably meet you tomorrow, she said with nocturnal excitement.

With the exception of bottled beers on the street, international characters and lampposts, that walk back to the pension could have been anywhere, with love lost, found and now came the patient waiting and his sleeping poorly began. Oh, the night of sleep was butchered for Ethan. Nothing but a burgeoning hangover like meat rotting in the sun, warm death, but he didn’t who know died. It was just some random guy, but he had something that Ethan wanted. He couldn’t really see what it was, but he couldn’t bring himself to look. The dead man spilled out of a car, and no, it was too much for him to see, but closer, closer, slow motion ambulance lights, circling death in its final act. Morning came.

Amparo wanted to drive the car more before returning it and she argued that since Ethan wasn’t going to meet his little lover girl until noon, they had a couple of hours to drive around, hangover and all. Greek roads aren’t made for hangovers and Ethan kept his head out the window for fresh air and real glimpses of the azure water that slept peacefully at the foot of a long green bed that sloped down casually from the road. And then it swung high again, the curves testing. Ethan didn’t want to wait, but he also knew that driving around a small Mediterranean island was the best way to pass the time. With each curve he waited for one of those moments in life that defines you when you are eighty years old, grandchildren at your feet like saplings. Yeah, I used to be interesting, you say proudly as they play with dolls and video games you don’t understand.

Even if she doesn’t come, it’s the effort that counts, he tried to soothe. Bullshit, was one retort. What about your previous efforts? Where did that get you? Here, he answered, and this is a good place to be. Far from everything, familiar, normal, what us damn Americans call the real world. Hell, this is where it’s at, we’re doing it all wrong back in the States, he thought. Ethan was hungover but this was the first time he’d ever really had a chance to compared lifestyles. At first this had just been a way to get away from, from, well, just to get away but this is more than a vacation.

One thing at a time, he said to himself and watched the digital clock tick and tock onto ten twenty-one. He needed to shower before going to the Temple of Apollo.

He was there by eleven-thirty, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. Ethan rambled over the same ancient beige marble bricks, this time sober and not so forlorn. It came down to this, the told himself. I didn’t think I could feel this way again. There were other tourists, dressed loudly like exotic birds walking along the gravel path to the enormous and unfinished Temple door but as Ethan watched them, he didn’t feel like one of them. He didn’t feel like one of any group, a hefty ocean breeze obscuring his long-distance view. It was all white-washed, and winding, wearing the same wedding dress since well before Marco Polo. The Temple itself was incomplete however, leftover and perfect remnants of an overzealous Greek empire. There was history, and love, plenty of death and intrigue coating the whole scene. America had all of this too, but on a much newer, smaller scale. And he was tired of small scales. He’d been living in small town Pennsylvania and now how could he go back after this? I hope she comes. I hope she’s all right.

He asked someone for the time. Five to twelve. Now or never, baby, it was time to steal home. He fidgeted, adjusting his hair futilely as the wind returned it to its frayed, flapping look. I can’t lose, he thought, not again. Sometimes life just has to be fair, sometimes a light at the end of the tunnel has to come. What would he do if she didn’t come? Probably go to another island and try and find some other girl and lots of drinks for a few days. He wanted to laugh at himself that it might come to that, that he would have to sail to another island and find another girl who could help him forget –

Moving slowly, right up the middle among the ancient bricks, between the two touristy paths, there was she. He didn’t know if she had seen him yet, but he stood up, called her name and she looked up. Holy shit, he thought, she came. He jumped down from his brick and went to her.

Chapter Two

You came, he said, and then added, right on time.

We Germans are always in time, she said, squinting and smiling, sweating from the weight of her rucksack.

Thank you for coming, he confided between kisses and an enormous hug.

You are welcome.

The energy of the world swirled between the two of them, flickered for a moment and slipped away in the form of wind.

First things first, let’s get a room.

Ethan took her rucksack and together they left the lonely spit that housed the unguarded, unfinished gateway to the Gods. Along the waterfront, sleepy bright and slow, waiters smoked cigarettes instead of cleaning tables on one side and patient fishermen waiting on the other. The speed of life was not dictated here; it just moseyed, a deliberate gait that allowed everyone to understand what was happening. Ethan thought of his sister in Los Angeles, probably just getting home from waiting tables. Maybe she met Tom Hanks tonight, but it wouldn’t have been the first time and it couldn’t be more exciting than this. Ethan felt lucky. He knew that this would be a day he would remember for the rest of his life and it was barely noon.

Up and into the cool winding streets, bougainvillea burning around other colorful flowers hanging off low balconies, they met a woman walking her bike which was precariously balancing with a bag of groceries on both handlebars.

"Domatio? Zimmer? Room? You need room?" She said it as if a Venice Beach drug dealer.

They expressed some interest and followed her along different, smaller streets where she stopped to leave her bike.

"Komm mit," the woman said and Julia translated that she said we should come with her.

Yeah, I think I figured that out from her hand movements, he replied and smiled, and as they went up the steep, white steps Julia punched him playfully in the ribs.

The woman showed them a room with three beds first, because Ethan had realized that he couldn’t leave Amparo high and dry with the other room. The shower was in the hall and there was a nice, quiet patio overlooking white rooftops and then some indigo water beyond.

Julia told him the room cost seventeen euro.

We’ll take it, he told the woman but she didn’t understand so he just said, Yes.

The woman was glad, but left abruptly to tend to her groceries. They would pay later. Ethan and Julia fell onto a bed together with a squeaky bounce. They had accomplished one of the most important aspect of travelling: they had found shelter. After a short respite, they were up again and heading to the other room that Ethan had with Amparo. He wanted to gather his things and inform Amparo about the change of residence. She wasn’t there and they waited for a while on the balcony where less than twenty-four hours earlier the Danish couple was playing cards. Days as lifetimes.

They embraced for a long time, swaying with the warm, dreamy breeze and she whispered, I love you, Ethan.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard that. Gravelly in his thoughts, jumping from past to present, he hugged her harder hoping that would be an adequate response. Love. Oy vey, he thought, what did I do? I do love her, I think, I love her for coming today but am I ready for all that? I left America to get away from all that, didn’t I? Luckily, she didn’t seem to need a response and they sat at the patio table and waited for Amparo to return. And they waited. Finally, they decided to leave a note and get something to eat.

The buzz he felt was a mixture of what Greece offers; beautiful weather, island fantasies, lazy days and fresh food. They sat at a small, quiet café during the siesta hours and were the only people there.

We should to go to Amorgos next, Julia suggested as they nibbled on choriatiki, a Greek salad.

Where is that?

Only two or three hours away. And it has the word ‘amor’ in it, she added with an obvious air of female, soft-edged sarcasm.

When she would we go?

When you want. She played with the hair that had fallen into his face. But I only have three more weeks before I have to go back to Berlin.

I’ve never been there, he said, taking a long pull from his beer. What’s it like?

Berlin is like everything, she began, sitting up and becoming animated. There is everything, history and museums, nice cafes and clubs and shopping and concerts, parks and lakes, it is so beautiful there. You must come sometime.

Yeah, it sounds cool.

She stopped. The waiter, who they suspected was also the owner, brought out some tzatziki and pita bread. He nodded congenially and walked back inside the empty restaurant.

Is everything clear? she asked Ethan.

Yes, yes, definitely, but I was just thinking about something.

What?

It was bright and when he looked up from the food to her face he had to squint. I don’t want to talk about it.

Is it your girlfriend?

I wish it was that simple, he thought. Yes, he answered reluctantly, not sure how he would tell her the truth.

Tell me.

No.

Please, I want to know.

Well, he said and paused for composure. Maybe this is a perfect time to come clean. After all, the psychologist had recommended it. Tell people, he’d said, it will lessen your burden.

He must have paused too long because Julia softly touched