A Greek Myth

 

By Eva Feld

 

The rough sea danced its waves exclusively for her fortieth birthday. All of the other passengers on the Greek Islands tour were enjoying a different kind of spectacle on their way from the mainland to Mykonos. They were entertained by a troupe of dancers in disguise doing a poor version of Zorba. Many were tipsy enough to join their pirouettes. Ouzo shots never came short. Tralalalala.

A silver shining surfed the foamy bubbles reflecting the brightness of the moon. As the woman’s imagination plunged to the depth of the ocean to encounter mythology, her sight became dark.  She wasn’t evoking Poseidon with his trident, but rather the Leviathan.  I also am a multiheaded monster, she muttered feeling empathy with the enormous serpent of the sea.

As her many internal voices discussed her choice of words and myths, she realized how much time have passed since she last talked to her family. This was her third day in Greece, a trip she planned to clear her always busy head. Maybe the overthinking will sink in the warm waters of… “Hahaha,” the many serpent sounds interrupted her in unison.

It’s a good thing that no one can listen to my thoughts, I really give the impression of being paranoid or schizophrenic, I better leave the deck and find the communication room of the ship, maybe I can send a telegram to my family, they are probably worried about me.  She joined the serpents laughs mocking herself, and zig zagged her way to the second floor of the vessel.

According to the brochure, leaving port at night was an experiment. The idea was to give the cruisers extra time, by offering them an extra night on board to settle, party, and mingle with each other as well as with the crew, and being early at the Island to enjoy its marvels, including the beach, the food, and the people.

She candidly reached the communication room and pushed the door. The dimmed light as well as the increasingly turbulent sea made her stumble. An invisible support came to her rescue.

In the arms of the Communication officer who had also fled the party early, she lost composure and found excuses to avoid a romantic scene.

1.    “I am not the protagonist of a kitsch soap opera” Ronit declared.

“Nor am I” responded the stunned officer. But Ronit didn’t pay attention to him, busy as she was trying to overcome the embarrassment.

“Tralalalala, hahahaha…”  the multiheaded serpent in her head relished the awkwardness.

“How can I help you?” curtsied the man.

“Is it possible to send a telegram to my family?” She flirted back

“We can try!” the man said adding a hint of seduction to his tone.

The telegram didn’t go through that night. Neither did they put on further acting.

As expected, the splendor of the sunrise provoked a unison aw among the travelers, Ronit included. Soon after breakfast they embarked in dinghies to reach the shore. Ronit skipped the second party at the dining room where the dancers, this time disguised as Spaniards, were faking a flamenco tablao.

Once again, she chose the moon light on deck, the invented creatures of the seas, and her eternal dialogue within herself. Except this time, the communication officer was there to interrupt her fantasies.

“I unsuccessfully expected your visit tonight!”. Since he got no reaction from the mysterious lady, he ventured more.

“You remind me of Penelope, as if you were expecting your love to suddenly appear in the nocturnal horizon…”

“I am no goddess of faithfulness or fidelity, but the feminine half of the Leviathan. The one who was removed for challenging God’s power” she responded.

To their mutual astonishment, they spent the rest of the evening comparing mythology deities and tales. By midnight, they confessed:

“I thought you were one of the many ladies who come on cruises to have an affair…”

“I thought you were one of those men who believe that all solitary women long for is an affair on a cruise…”

They laughed louder than all her imaginary serpents together; then they kissed.

Hahahahaha, tralalala! A myth is a myth is a myth, it always repeats itself.