The Dark Spot

I've had the pleasure of being alive for a lot longer than I believe was originally intended. Perhaps it can be called grace, good fortune, serendipity or just plain luck. Due to these circumstances beyond my control, I have lived a life of great adventure and risk-taking, "Nomadic Interludes"; both real and imagined...totally oblivious to any consequences there might be laying in the near or distant future.

There was a tiny village atop a cliff on the shores of The Adriatic. The ash of rock dust and volcanic matter wafted in the air echoing the souls of those lost to the rubble of centuries gone by. One could smell it, feel it, hear it, breathe it in and feel it in their blood.

I first came to this place to fulfill a dream of an elderly Aunt, who wanted my companionship on her quest to see Greece before she passed. I never dreamed of the overwhelming effect that would capture my soul, leaving me breathless.

The village is a sacred one, hushed by the very air I breathe, and most people do not speak above a whisper.  The indelible cobalt skies betray the solitude, as do the colorful fishing boats along the rocky coast that lays hundreds of steps beneath the city. Dark Spots appear sporadically, darting out from behind walls as I hesitantly maneuver the uneven paths to explore my surroundings. One Dark Spot lingers in my view, as the relentless wind formed a tunnel that held the Spot immobile. 

As I got closer to the Spot, I noticed it had a lump of bramble and vines persistently lashing at it with full force. Another few steps and I was face to face with a very tiny, very old weathered face entangled in the black and the serpentine green vines. I reached out to steady the whirling dervish as she weakly uttered "Eh...Eh...eeeeehhhhh". We were blown into a higher rock wall and I found myself clinging to her. The black tentacles, the vine, the brambles and the face had become one with me. Suddenly my new appendage got up, taking me with her.  She dragged me along until we got to the precipice where the rock steps headed straight down to the sea.  As we descended the steps, I was fully aware that the biting, acerbic windy wet mist encasing everything in its path could sweep us up.

 My darting Dark Spot was unaware of me, and flitted and tossed about on her mission to get to her dwelling.

She stumbled to the right, just about 6 steps from the sea and unwittingly dragged me with her into a cave under a boulder. I heard a man's voice angrily utter something quite unintelligible to me, as I do not speak the language. My appendage did not respond, but instead began to untangle the vines and the bramble and her black clothing. Horror swept over her face when I uttered a big yelp, as she inadvertently grabbed my breast while trying to untangle herself.  As she yelled and screamed in her native tongue, it was clear that she was totally unaware of this human who was entangled in her cloak and twigs.  I automatically yelled and screamed and laughed in mine.

The winds must have died down considerably, because many other Dark Spots and their respective husbands rushed through the open door to rescue this woman whose cries were echoing into the mountain.

I was still quite tangled and could barely see them, but I could feel their anxiousness, hostility and fear. Their craggy voices got bolder and louder as they yelled and screamed at each other and me.  

I could smell the cold, the dank and the lures and the nets and envisioned the headline story in the New York Times "American Tourist mistakenly bludgeoned and shot to death in Greece".

About 3 or four pairs of hands began to furiously tear at the garb and twigs that bound us so closely together. They kept the old woman still, and twirled me around her much like unwinding a ball of yarn. Much to my amazement, when I was almost totally unwound, the chattering turned to bewildered laughter.  There was that moment of sheer relief when I knew that they all instinctively realized what had happened.  I wished I could speak to them, explain...apologize, introduce myself...anything! Instead, I laughed and began speaking in English, as if they could understand.

They motioned for me to sit down, and I gladly obliged. As one woman began to boil water on the burner, another picked up the mess on the floor, and put some of the twigs on the table. The rescuers began to leave, one by one, obviously content in knowing that the old lady was safe and comfortable with her new guest.

I tried to get up to leave, but the old woman motioned for me to sit, and carefully placed a tiny cup of coffee on the table. It was a welcome respite from the exhausting experience I had just endured. She sat across from me and began disseminating the vines and twigs, carefully showing me each berry and bloom on them. She tenderly lifted the bouquet of vines, first to her own nostrils... and then to mine. I gently followed her direction, and breathed in a somewhat familiar scent. Next, she chose a beautiful leaf, broke it in half, and put half in her mouth. As humming "delicious " sounds came from her mouth, she motioned for me to do the same.  I was delightfully entranced, and slowly rolled the half leaf around in my mouth.  Next, she removed one of the berries, put it to her mouth and took a bite. I placed a berry between my teeth, and took the tiniest bite.

Caper berries????  Caper berries!!! My head is thinking "I am wringing wet, in a hut, in the dark, at the end of the earth,  rains blowing in through the holes that are windows, unable to communicate, speak, understand"
 ...yet the all consuming thought at that moment was that of aromatic, beautiful, colorful, exquisite, ripe, delicious berries.

The old woman took a huge pot of water, and to my amazement, removed all the berries and cooked the leaves!

She sat across from me in the dark, for what seemed like an eternity. We stared into each other’s eyes, both with a little curl at the outer edges of our lips.  All of a sudden, with great intention, the old woman banged her open hand on the table. Each time she banged , she said "Tavola" ! Tavola! Tavola!

I repeated...Tah- vo- la!

Then I banged my hand on the table and said, in my best English...Table ! Table ! Table!

The old woman said "Tah bull”!
We finally understood each other...