The written loom

“Would you like me to wait for you?”

Nikos looked first at the meter and then at the driver. The journey from Athens had cost more than he had expected, but he had not had many options. He did not know the area, his time in Greece was limited, and he did not want to lose another day trying to find his way there.

“No thank you.. Please come back for me in an hour.”

The driver nodded, confirmed the time, and unlocked the doors.

The taxi had stopped behind a light blue car with Greek license plates. Nikos noticed it as he stepped out. He had not expected to find anyone else there. The road was almost deserted, and the area possessed that peculiar stillness ancient places acquire as the day begins to draw to a close.

Someone had arrived before him.

The taxi drove away, leaving a small cloud of dust behind it. Nikos stood still for a moment, the book inside his backpack and the postcard tucked into one of its outer pockets.

The afternoon sun was still strong, but it no longer burned as it had a few hours earlier.. A light meltemi had risen, stirring the dry grasses across the hillside. From somewhere in the distance came the scent of the sea.

He began walking towards the theatre..

Then he saw her..

The figure of a woman stood below, near the stone rows of seats. Her back was turned, and she did not appear to have noticed him..

Nikos slowed down, more from surprise than hesitation. He had travelled all that way following a postcard without knowing to whom it belonged. For some reason, he had imagined that when he finally arrived, the place would be waiting for him empty.

He paid no further attention to the woman. He had not come there to meet anyone or explain the reason for his presence. He had come to see whether the theatre truly existed as it appeared in the picture, and perhaps to understand why a sentence written for someone else had managed to draw him halfway across the world.

He continued into the ancient site..

The theatre was stranger than it had appeared on the postcard. Its stone rows did not form the perfect circle he had expected. They followed the shape of the land, as though they had agreed to adapt themselves to its imperfections rather than correct them.

The woman stood a few meters away, studying the seats. In one hand, she held an old book with a dark grey cover.. She had not heard his footsteps.

Nikos took out the postcard and held it before him, comparing the image with the theatre. The same asymmetrical shape. The same rows of stone. The same hill rising in the distance.

There could be no doubt.. He had found the place! … And now… now what?

As he turned the card over to read the message once more, the meltemi grew stronger. The postcard slipped from his fingers, spun through the air, and skittered across the ground until it came to rest beside the woman’s feet.

She startled.

She stepped back and turned sharply. Only then did she realize that she was not alone.

Nikos raised one hand, as if to reassure her.

“I’m sorry. The wind caught it.”

The woman stared at him for a moment without speaking. She had heard no car, no footsteps, no voice. Until a few seconds ago, she had believed the entire theatre belonged to her.

She bent down and picked up the postcard.

First, she looked at the picture. Then she looked at the theatre surrounding them.

“Did you come here because of this?” she asked.

Nikos stepped closer to take it from her.

He could have told her the truth. That he had found the card inside a book from a municipal library. That the message on the back had followed him for days. That he had crossed half the world without knowing who had written it or whether it had ever been meant for him.

Instead, he smiled.

“No. I simply wanted to see the theatre.”

Inside the woman’s bag, the black stone grew warm.

She felt it but did not react. She handed him the postcard and tried to behave as though meeting an unknown man in an almost deserted archaeological site were perfectly ordinary.

“Do you come here often?” Nikos asked her.

The woman hesitated.

She did not want to admit that she lived so close and had never visited the theatre before. Nor did she want to explain the book, the photograph, or the black stone now burning inside her bag.

“Sometimes,” she replied.

The stone had grown too hot to ignore. She reached into her bag to take it out, but the moment her fingers touched it, she dropped it.. The obsidian struck the stone between them..

At that same moment, a powerful beam of light swept across the theatre..

They both turned towards the sea. The sun had not yet set, and yet the lighthouse with the name Vrysaki, had come alive..

The beam returned, slower and more insistent this time. It passed over the stone rows, descended towards the stage, and fell directly upon the obsidian.

Its black surface became a mirror..

The light multiplied so violently that Nikos and the woman covered their eyes. Everything around them became unbearably bright, not with the warm light of late afternoon, but with a white, unnatural glare that made the ancient place resemble a stage set..

A scraping sound came from behind them.. They turned at the same time..

At first, they saw no one..

Then came a second scrape. And a third..

It was the sound of feet shifting over stone, of fabric brushing against seats, of people settling into their places just before a performance began..

When the lighthouse beam moved away and they were able to open their eyes again, the stone rows were no longer empty.

People sat everywhere, motionless and silent, their faces turned towards them..

Neither of them spoke..

Only a few seconds earlier, Nikos and the woman had believed they were alone..

Now there was an audience..

And without knowing how it had happened, they had found themselves standing at the center of the performance..

End of Part One

Part Two Coming in August

Who are the silent spectators filling the ancient theatre?

Whose story are they being asked to perform, Cephalus and Procris’s, or their own?

And how much truth will they have to surrender before the theatre allows them to leave?