The day was warm and clear. The sun shone brilliantly in the cloudless sky. The air smelled fresh and earthy. Yellow mustard flowers covered the hills and red poppies carpeted the fields. Brooks were filled with runoff from the storm that had rumbled through the night before. Trees, bushes, and a myriad of flowers looked radiant and lively as they danced in the cool breeze.
It was the second half of May, 1941. The remote southern shores of the island of Crete glittered with clean white sand that the sea had rushed onto the shore during the storm. The thousands of freshly uprooted shells from the bottom of the sea, tangled driftwood, and broken tree branches were the only indications of the calamity of the previous night.
Father Gregorios, a monk in the nearby Monastery of St. John, had come down to the valley to assess the damage the storm had caused to the monastery's lemon, orange, and olive groves. He was pleased to find the destruction was minimal. His donkey grazed lazily at the edge of the field, whisking pesky flies with his tail.
While on the surface he was visiting the orchard, Father Gregorios was actually headed for the shore to meet two British intelligence officers who were to be taken off a submarine.
He worried that perhaps due to the storm they had not made it.
The small shepherd dog, full of energy and a constant companion to Father Gregorios, was unusually boisterous today. The dog was barking and wagging his tail rapidly as though he had something very important to say.
"Okay, Azor. What's troubling you today?"
The dog, glad to get the monk's attention, barked loudly and started to run toward the beach. Father Gregorios followed and almost tripped over his cat, which was competing for his attention. The donkey stopped chewing to curiously survey the commotion and moved his long ears in different directions, trying to catch the sounds. He then decided to follow the group to the sea.
Azor turned and looked back several times to make certain his master was following him. Father Gregorios noticed the urgency in the dog's behavior. He lifted the front of his long black robe, carefully tucking it into his belt so he could walk faster. When he reached the sandy beach, Azor was making circles in the warm sand. He saw Father Gregorios on the beach and ran toward a little cove that was partly hidden by a large rock. Azor stopped there and started to make unusual high-pitched sounds like muffled cries.
"What is it, Azor?" The dog began to bark louder. "Oh, my God!" Father Gregorios cried. "Holy Mother of Christ, what is this?" There was the body of a man, half naked, that had washed ashore. He was not moving. Father Gregorios knelt down and hesitantly touched the man's cheek. It was not cold so the Father wasted no time taking the man's arms and starting to move them up and down. He then turned the body over onto its bloated stomach. A weak sound came out of the man's mouth followed by a gush of white foamy liquid. Father Gregorios rushed to his donkey's saddle to grab his wooden water canteen. He lifted the man up to a sitting position, supporting him with his knee. He rinsed the man's face and then poured some water to drink.