"Okay, I'll lock up the bus and take you to them," said the driver, somewhat reluctant to leave the bus unattended. "I think they went to St. George's Church. I'll take you there."
Penelope felt an inexplicable force pulling her toward the church. She ambled slowly with her rather large frame. Today she wore a dark blue dress with a floral print. The pink flowers dominated the others, boldly undulating with the motion of her hips. A faint fragrance of perfume surrounded her, a gift from Nikolas, before he left for duty in Crete in 1941.
Slow, but sure-footed, Penelope walked with assistance of her cane and the bus driver toward the church. On her left was the cemetery. On the way she heard a voice in Greek saying: "Theodoros, where are you? I asked you not to hide in the tombs; they are for the dead." Penelope approached and saw a priest get down on the ground and descend into a marble grave.
Pushing scattered bones away, the priest sat down on the floor next to his companion. Talking to himself, he said, "I wish the grave robbers would stop desecrating the dead and leaving their remains exposed. It is such a shame, a sin." He then crossed himself, happy to have Theodoros next to him. They both helped each other climb up the steep white marble steps out of the elaborate crypt.
"Please don't go down there again," the priest chided gently, and Theodoros nodded in agreement. The priest noticed how unusually relaxed Theodoros looked today. Penelope walked past the rows of white marble crosses, but then she stopped suddenly. Sensing an unusual energy surging over her, Penelope turned to look over her shoulder. Having a hard time seeing in the blindingly hot sun, she asked the driver, "Who's over there?"
"Ma'am, it's a priest and another man," he replied.
Penelope turned around and waited for the strangers to approach. At that moment, Theodoros separated from the priest and walked toward Penelope, fascinated by the burst of flowers on her dress and lured by the faint smell of her perfume. Somewhere in the dim recesses of his troubled mind, he remembered that smell and it triggered something, a feeling he had not felt in years.
"I asked him not to bother the visitors," the priest apologized hurriedly.
"It's all right," Penelope murmured, after catching her breath. She stared at the sweaty man, his eyes looking at her longingly, helplessly. His eyes seemed familiar, a puzzling reminder of the past.
"Who are you?" asked Penelope.
The stranger smiled weakly and came closer, touching her hand like a small child seeking attention.