13 minute read
What lies in between
Mermaids, evil eyes and pirates: follow me on my journey to discover what I learnt crossing the Aegean...
by Riccardo Maniscalco
Κάνε το καλό και ρίχτο στο γιαλό
Do a good deed, and then throw it into the sea. My father used to say it all the time: “Thalassinì, my beloved daughter, remember never to boast about your good actions. Be humble. No good ever came from blustering around”. He was right. Now I know it. But I had to endure great troubles before I came to this understanding. Troubles that urge me to write these lines now. Everybody should be aware how much hybris can cost. Don’t be foolish like me. I used to see no good in being modest. Mediocre. What for? Nothing good happens to those who live in the shadows. So I did it. I told everybody. Before nightfall all the village knew.
When the fleet of Kapudan Pasha landed I was the first one to spot it. I didn’t hesitate. I ran up to the hills. Indeed, there were no doubts why they were there. They wanted our “Robin of the Seas”: Mermelechas. All Their officers that visited our island said he was nothing but a marauder. A pirate. A criminal who raised his head too much. And now They wanted it - his head. Another sign of Their prevarication. They used to come and take. Every excuse was fine to justify this. The sultan’s new palace. Seafaring taxes. Collect ispençe. Prevarication. Nothing but prevarication. Who was the only one who cared to give? Mermelechas! It doesn’t matter where the money came from, if it was seized at sea with kindness or force. It was our money. And They took it. It was only right for it to come back to us. Unfortunately They didn’t see it the same way. They wanted Mermelechas and They finally found him. But Mermelechas was strong. He stood up against Them many times. No doubt he would have fought his way out again. Or at least that’s what I thought.
“There is no hope. I am lost. Lost! And with me all my beloved friends on this island…” , cried Mermelechas.
"Kyrie Mermelechas, don’t despair”. I intervened. “Kapudan Pasha is a wise man, and you proved to be an honorable enemy. You fought bravely. But no weapon can save you now. No physical one at least. You still have your words and your honor. They are your sharpest sword now”.
He seemed perplexed. But something in my argumentation touched him. A few hours later he was standing on the dock. No weapons. No armor. No companions. Alone. Just him and his tongue against a whole fleet. An incredible bravery. The Kapudan Pasha was impressed. This simple man was ready to sacrifice his life to save what he held more precious: the island and his fellow inhabitants. The Pasha made a decision. His life was spared. But Mermelechas wasn’t the same anymore. He lost his spine. He gave up piracy. He opened a bakery shop instead. He surrendered to a more acceptable life. And as Mermelechas legend sank, mine arose. Who was the wise person who saved him? Me. Me and no one else. I felt intelligent. Strong. Invincible. Why should I have cared about my father’s words? It was just an old proverb. Now I know why. Fame brings honor. Fame brings recognition. Fame brings envy. And envy can be very powerful.
I don’t know when I first noticed that I was cursed. It started like a lingering feeling of dizziness. A bit of nausea when ashore. Maybe some milk forgotten to rot in the pantry, I thought. A painful sprain when lifting the nets. They all can happen, right? Then the storm arrived. It was the usual night without the moon. Perfect for fishing. No clouds in sight. No wind. Nothing. And then, suddenly, the rain was there. In a second our ship was trapped in the waves. A branch lost in the stream. We bounced up and down. Up and down. The horizon was lost. The direction was lost. And with them our every hope. We started to despair. “Will I ever see my family again?”, I cried.
And as Mermelechas legend sank, mine arose
“Of course you will”, replied a beautiful voice. It was charming. Fascinating. It chanted us through the waves. It wanted to lead us to a safe harbor. When They visited us sometimes They talked about this miracle. They called them “sulusu”. Beautiful young women whose life had been interrupted by the sea. It couldn’t let them go. That’s why it gave them a new form. Half woman half fish. This way they could swim together. Forever. But the young women couldn’t forget their past life. Mercy and nostalgia urged them to help the sailors in need. At least that’s what They said. But They lied to us. So I thought back then. Indeed, our mermaids had no good intention. With their charms they attracted us to the nearest rocks. After the crash there was nothing but a few floating debris. Ship, load and men lost forever. Apparently their envy for those spared from the sea was more powerful than their nostalgia.
That was too much. I knew exactly why everything happened. It was the “mati” : the envious “evil eye” struck me. You know. I tried to protect myself. I never left the house without my blue and white eye charm. Elders used to say it was enough. But not this time. The divining drop of oil falling to the bottom of my glass of water was the proof. I never met such an amount of envy again in my life. Maybe it was Melechas himself. I had the idea he hadn’t, after all. That’s a powerful reason. Too powerful to get rid of it with the usual tricks. Not the island ones at least. As much as I tried to look for a solution none of my acquaintances offered good ideas. Spitting at my reflection in the mirror? Placing some skorda-garlic in my pocket? Just useless superstition. I needed a real solution. I needed an expert.
And so I set sail. I remember it was around Christmas time. Like every year my friends had just finished preparing the Christmas boat of the village. They erected it on the beach with lights and fabrics. A colorful barrier against the sea winds. A good omen for the sailors in a holy time. A wish to guide them back home safely. But it couldn’t stand there too long. Celebrations can’t last forever. At least for humans. Indeed, the sea knows no rest. There are no holidays on its calendar. It gives and takes at will. Our life depends on it. Abundant fishing or wreckful storms. Generation and destruction. Gratitude and scorn. Veneration and danger: the anthropological meaning of sacred. And as sacred we treated it. Respect and fear still imbue all our rituals and stories of the sea. Like the small Tamata boats we offer on the altar of Panagia Church. They embody our hopes of safe comebacks. “To go smooth like water and to come back as quickly as it is”. A common blessing. Effective only if pronounced when tossing water behind somebody steps. That’s also how my father said it to me. A last hopeful farewell. The beginning of an odyssey.
That was too much. I knew exactly why everything happened
I can see the color of the water that day. Metallic. Like the cold. Like the cross that the pope would throw in it on Epiphany. And with it dozens of bodies would follow. The bodies of the few who dared to challenge the chill only to retrieve the sacred vestment. But who wouldn’t risk a cold? The prize for the retriever was much too appealing. A blessed year full of good luck. Luck…I wouldn’t have much in the upcoming months. A long and troublesome journey awaited me. A journey full of adventures. Full of the wonders kept from the sea. I saw kisses on holy icons push away the Evils of deep waters; fishermen spitting in their dry nets to recover them full of fish at the end of the day; streams turning silent when their water fell asleep; the Almighty grant seven holy men a tricentennial sleep to save them from pagan prosecution; and much, much more. An endless parade of prodigies before my eyes. And my ears. It seemed some mysteries could only exist in the narrated word. Counted in an endless re combination. Indeed, the sea is full of tales. It’s enough to listen. It tells you of pirates and mermaids. Of merchants and blessed saints. Thousands of people that crossed its waters. Thousands of stories that got woven by the waves. An inextricable fabric made of endless connections. Impossible to disentangle. Telling after telling. Change after change. The original details blur. It’s a game of customization. I did it myself in telling my story. That’s because stories are alive. They adapt to the context where they are told. It is an unstable heritage. Because heritage is not something ancient. It never was. It is a construction of the present. Stories are the heritage of the sea.
A long and troublesome journey awaited me. A journey full of adventures. Full of the wonders kept from the sea
And they know no boundaries. Us and them: what stupid categories! Kapudan Pasha and Mermechelas are equally heroes and foes. Characters in an infinite game of mirrorings. We tell about others to highlight something about ourselves. It’s only by hearing Their stories that we can complete the pictures. We exist in dialogue. And maybe we are not that different. I heard Them counting. I discovered adaptations, connections, similarities. I discovered this big sea that lies between us. A sea of water and narratives. A sea that doesn’t divide. But connect. It has no boundaries. It is humans who set them.
Discovered this big sea that lies between us
And I wouldn’t have come to this conclusion if I hadn’t met Deniz. It was my last resort. I traveled everywhere. From Sporades to Cyclades. From Rhodes to Samothraki. Nothing. Nobody seemed able to lift the “mati”. So I did it. My ultimate attempt. I directed my boat to the Other Shore. And there I found her. Curly hair and shiny brown eyes. The same as mine. An older reflection of myself. Carved through the slow passing of the years. We both carried the sea in our names. She introduced me to a new world. She told me of blessed saints that gush freshwater when touching the ground; of dead sailors turning into sea birds to help their fellow mariners; of fishermen who mistakenly decided to count how much fish they caught on one day and ended up catching every day the same amount for the rest of their lives; of the powerful jinns that protect water springs; of the trickster Nasreddin Hodja who wanted to teach the sea how real freshwater should taste like; of the scraps of paper that every year thousand of people gift to the sea during Hilledrez. I felt she could have spoken for ever. Her warm voice hugged me like a soft blanket. That was her first medicine. A new perspective for myself. Peace at last.
When I opened my eyes again the curse was gone
I felt the “mati” tremble. A shake from my head to the bottom of my spine. She was the one. She would have healed me. She knew the way. A way of patience. A way of trust. A way that will remain obscure to me. Oh, how I would like to describe it! To be able to repeat it. But it is impossible. A piece of cloth covered my head. Deniz wanted me to linger in darkness. A space without space. Only her voice kept me present. But it came from afar. Alien and absent. A sacred chant. It danced in me to the rhythm of the sizzle. I perceived it clearly. Over my head. Something was burning. Incandescent lead. Poured in a cup of water to reflect the envious eye away. The curse cracked with the filaments of metal as it cooled down. I never experienced anything similar again.
When I opened my eyes again the curse was gone. A sudden jolt and -puff. It had disappeared. Just a memory. A story to tell on my way back. Lightheartedly. I was free at last! But not Deniz. A heavy weight lingered on her heart.
“What would you do if you had granted three wishes?”
So began her story. A story about her husband. He was a fisherman in the bay. A day like others he casted his net and waited. The usual business. Exactly what his catch was not. A golden fish. It waged in the net splashing water all around. A magnificent specimen. Big. Yummy. Perfect for dinner. If only it didn’t speak.
"Let me free”, it shouted, “I am much too precious to end my life on a grill. If you spare me I’ll grant you three wishes. Anything you want”. The husband didn’t even think about it. In a second he was young and rich. And for the third wish? Well, for the third wish there was time. It was a once in a lifetime possibility. Not to be wasted with hasty decisions. In the meantime it was enough to enjoy his new fortune. Deniz could barely remember the last time she saw him.
“But Kiria Deniz, are you happy with this situation?”
“Not really. The Merciful knows what kind of trouble that oddball will end up in!”
“Why don’t you do something then? You said there is a wish left: why don’t you use it for yourself? You could turn young like him”
“Thalassinì Hanim, are you sure that’s how this story should end?”
I smiled.
“Well, you could also convince him to turn old again. That’s the common ending of this tale. But tales are there to change. Which sensible person wouldn’t prefer to stay young, especially if you could both be young together?”
“Indeed, you speak wisdom, abla. How can I thank you? We are not rich. But you deserve anything. Take what you want from us”
“I don’t want anything. You already gave me the most important thing. A lesson that my father tried to teach me long ago”
She winked. "İyilik yap denize at". Do a good deed, and then throw it into the sea.
