Chapter 32 – Maura
MAURA
Isquint into the bright sun as we emerge from under a copse of knotted olive trees. I didn’t wear sunglasses on our hike, not wanting to compromise my view of the colors of the landscape. Now, with the sun bearing down on me, I'm starting to think that was a mistake.
“This way!” Kostos, our guide, says cheerily, pointing down a dirt path.
A thin, vital man in his fifties, Kostos greeted us with hugs instead of handshakes, to James’s mild horror. His family owns the quarry we’re visiting and has for several generations. He obviously knows the islands like the back of his hand, pointing out tiny details I would've missed otherwise.
At my side, James glances down at me. “You doing okay?”
I nod. “More than okay. I mean, look at this!”
I gesture at the view before us. We’re far from any buildings, left with rocks and cliffs, shaded with occasional gnarled olive trees. Above us, the sky stretches out in a vivid, endless blue. I catch sight of a small copse of purple wildflowers.
“Hold on a sec.” I kneel near the flowers, picking up the camera hanging around my neck to snap some photos. I've never painted this kind of brilliant purple with shades of brown and tan, and it’s so striking, I want to remember it exactly.
“Mallow flowers,” Kostos says from behind us. “Very pretty. You will see more just up the hill.”
I nod, making a mental note. The men patiently stop for me a dozen more times over the next few minutes.
There's almost too much to take in. I’m hypnotized by the way the rocks change, getting more ragged and extreme the closer we get to the coast. Occasionally, the entire path will bend around a massive boulder.
The wildlife is perfectly adapted to the climate, the wildflowers bursting from the sandy soil while the trees sink twisting, determined roots in crevices between rocks.
As I build my mental catalogue of images, I have a sudden burst of inspiration—my next solo show, built around the hard lines between land and sea. The drama of sweeping cliffs thrusting from the water, or the organic, shifting border between the beach and the waves.
I’m not sure if the idea will stick. Sometimes when I’m painting, a different idea will take prominence. Either way, I know this trip will influence my next paintings.
We reached a thinner part of the path which forces us to walk in single file. At first, James moves behind me. When I stop to snap photos of a strange black rock, he falls into conversation with Kostos. I don't mind. His broad, muscled back rather improves the view.
James walks a few paces ahead with a long, easy stride.
It reminds me of just how much weaker and more fragile my body is.
Daily gym visits have built his body into a machine.
Unfortunately for me, Dr. Markovic has forbidden most activities besides walking, yoga, and gentle, low-impact calisthenics.
Normally, I wouldn’t be bothered. If I obsessed about everything I couldn’t do, I’d be consumed with self-pity.
After about half an hour of walking, though, the path rises up ahead of me.
I swallow over a lump in my throat. So far, I’ve been able to keep up.
I'm not so sure I can manage it on a steeper incline.
I curl my fingers around the straps of my backpack. There's no way I'm turning back now, not when the stones I’ve been dreaming about are so close. I may just have to go a little slower, that's all.
Stones crunch under my sneakers as I tromp up the hill. With every step, my bag feels a little heavier. Maybe I shouldn't have brought the camera, after all. It’s just more weight for me to carry. The brilliant sun blazes down, drawing a thin sheen of sweat over my skin.
My chest heaves as my lungs desperately seek more oxygen. I press my hand against my sternum, like that will help my body suck in more air. I try to focus on the landscape, mentally naming the color of every flower I see.
I can do this. I’ve been fine so far, and there’s no reason to stop now. All I have to do is keep putting one foot in front of the other. I’ve made it through harder things before. And I took my meds right on schedule this morning and have all this past week.
I’m totally fine.
Ahead of me, the men stop. Kostos points to our left, toward a small collection of sailboats drifting across the turquoise waters. “Fisherman,” he explains. “You can buy what they're catching in the market in the village tomorrow.”
“Beautiful,” I chirp, trying and failing to hide my increasingly labored breathing. James shoots me a funny look.
“I'm going to take some pictures,” I tell him. “You go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”
It might take me an hour, but I will catch up. I refuse to be the girl who can't walk up a hill.
James doesn’t move. “Do you need a break?”
His icy eyes take in my face, which is definitely flushed pink. I force a smile.
“My lungs are just being dramatic.” I laugh. “It can't be far now. I'll be fine.”
“Are you sure? I've got water in my bag. We can sit and take in the view.”
“And let Kostos beat me to the top? Absolutely not. I have my pride.”
“You're competing with a fifty-year-old Greek man who does this hike weekly.”
“And I intend to win.”
James's lips twitch. “You know this isn't actually a race.”
“Everything's a race if you have the right attitude.”
Kostos has a few good decades on me, and he’s practically skipping ahead. I will not be lapped by a fifty-year-old, and I will not be the sick girl who can’t enjoy this hike that shouldn’t even be that hard.
James lingers closer to me for the rest of the walk, like he’s ready to jump in and grab me if I start to fall. I would snap at him to give me some space if I could spare the breath to do it. I keep my eyes trained on the path ahead of me. One more step. Another step. Another. Another.
I disappear into the repetitive motion, pretending each step can be the last one. I’m so focused, I almost miss it when the hill crests in front of us, showing us the quarry.
“Here we are!” Kostos proclaims happily, and I gasp. It’s like someone dipped a spoon into the mountain and grabbed a scoop, leaving a broad, clean hollow below. Construction equipment is lined up against the quarry walls, not currently in use. The workers must be on a break.
The stones are mostly pale-yellow limestone.
The rarer stones, the ones I’m more interested in, will be deeper, in specific pockets.
That doesn’t make the display any less breathtaking.
The fact that the quarry is run by a family company, not some huge corporation, makes the whole thing feel more intimate.
For generations, the same bloodline has chipped away at the earth, leaving their mark.
This limestone has made buildings, statues, and memorials
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe.
Kostos claps me on the back, earning an unnecessary glare from James. “I am glad you like it. Come, let us take a closer look.”
I can practically hear my muscle sigh and relief at the opportunity to walk down a slope instead of up.
We stroll down the incline while Kostos points out the oldest parts of the quarry, where they’ve been digging the longest. I’m fascinated by the layers of stone that have been chiseled away over the years, a measured, careful carving away.
A breeze off the sea swirls dust around us, and I laugh, watching my pale-blue athletic shirt turn practically brown.
“It gets a bit dusty,” Kostos says apologetically. “Come, let me take you to the storeroom. I can show you our rarer stones.”
The storeroom turns out to be underground, in a pleasantly cool cellar. I sit next to James on a wide wooden bench, and I practically groan at how good it feels to take the weight off my feet. He places his hand on my knee, an unusual moment of PDA from him.
“Are you alright?” he asks again.
Inwardly, I roll my eyes. I’m tired of answering the same question over and over, even if I’m giving James more than enough reason to doubt my answer.
“I’m great.” I settle my hand over his, interweaving our fingers. “I can’t wait to see Kostos’s supply.”
He grunts. By now, I know James well enough to interpret his grunts. Just now, he was informing me that even though I didn’t answer his underlying question, he was generously choosing to let it go.
Kostos emerges with two large wooden cases, like overlarge briefcases. I wonder again that a man so skinny has such wiry strength. He sets the cases down on a table and opens the first one.
“Spessartine garnet,” he says, gesturing to the rough-cut stones. “We have a small vein in our quarry here. Our stones are lighter than most, almost more yellow than orange.”
“They’re stunning.” I sigh. They really are, holding a sunshiny brilliance even without being polished. I know garnet is relatively hard, and I’m grateful to know I’ve got an industrial crusher being installed. “Can I touch them?”
“Of course!” Kostos beams.
I reach for a fist-sized, bumpy stone. As I hold it up to the light, the color shifts dimly, like flowing honey. “How do you extract it?” I ask.
“We begin with a chisel. It can take hours to make sure we don’t accidentally break up the stone. When it’s as dislodged as we can get it, we use a gentle acid to break away any stubborn pieces.”
“How many hours went into extracting this?” I raise the stone in my hand, and Kostos chuckles.
“Perhaps two days? It would be less, if the stone weren’t so large. Smaller gems are much easier to separate. If we had any veins we were currently mining, I would show you. But alas…”
“No, seeing these is enough.” I lay the large stone back in the case, then trace my fingers over the others. They’re smooth and cool. I almost feel a little guilty about how much I want to smash these carefully extracted stones to smithereens.
When I’m finished admiring the garnet, Kostos sets the case to the side. “Now this stone is what we are most known for. Greek porphyry.”
My stomach alights with butterflies. Here's the stone I was most eager to see. I saw a small piece in a museum several years ago, and I've been on the hunt for more ever since. My leg shakes with excitement, something I only noticed when James squeezes my knee comfortingly.
I gasp audibly as Kostos opens the lid. The stone lies in large rectangular blocks, larger and smoother than the garnet.
The stone is speckled with leafy hues, minty spring green and dark forest green.
A small flat rock is in my hand before I even realize I'm reaching for it. Beside me, James chuckles.
“I've never seen you so enamored,” he says. “Should I be jealous?”
“Yes. I’m leaving you for this rock.” I feel the cool, smooth stone.
I wonder if there's a way to preserve the shapes in the rock before I put it on a canvas.
Maybe I could cut it into shards, or use a laser to cut ultra-thin pieces.
I'll probably only be able to get a few pieces to bring home, so I'll have to be extra careful how I use them.
“We'll take them all,” James declares.
Or not.
“We can’t take them all!” I gasp.
“Why not?” His blue eyes capture mine. “You like them. Money’s not an issue.”
“We can’t just wipe out Kostos’s whole supply!”
The guide clears his throat. “We extract the stones so we can sell them,” he says. “I'd be happy to see them go to someone who appreciates them so much.”
“I'm going to destroy them,” I blurt out, feeling the need to confess. “I'm a painter, and I use ground up stones in my work. I understand if you disapprove.”
Kostos chuckles. “What is there for me to disapprove of? It's no different from you using it for jewelry. You are taking the stone to make something beautiful. Take it. Enjoy it.”
“Thank you.” My voice catches in my throat. The gratitude I feel is almost overwhelming. Now that I've seen the work it takes to reach these stones, having Kostos’s approval feels invaluable.
While James and Kostos discuss payment and shipping, I run my fingers over the stones again. I’m fixated on the porphyry. The green is just so vital and alive. I can't wait to experiment with it and see what I can create.
The sun hangs lower in the sky as we start the hike back to our car.
The heat is even higher now, and the breeze has kicked up, swirling dust in our faces.
Even though we're going downhill, my body is still miserable.
I glance out at the sea, taking in the white sailboats.
I wish I were on one of those boats, with cool air and sea spray in my face.
I wish I could just sit down. That would be enough right now.
I focus my eyes on James’s back just ahead of me. If I fall, at least I’ll fall into him. I can't imagine that my weight would be able to dislodge him.
A gust of wind sends more dust into my face, and I cough. Drawing breath is already hard enough. I don't need this making it worse. With every step, my body feels heavier. My sneakers feel like cement boots.
One more step. One more step.
My heart thuds heavy in my chest, sending much-needed fresh blood to my exhausted muscles. But the rhythm feels off, like a few beats are just a bit too early or too late. I'm just nervous, I tell myself. I just need to keep pushing and we’ll be at the end of the hike in no time.
I realize with a start that I can't hear the distant sea waves anymore. It's like there’s a bubble around my head, muffling out the sound. When my eyes dart up, my vision blurs at the edges.
In front of me, I can make out the shape of my husband. He's saying something to me, but I can't make out what. I try to explain, but my tongue feels thick in my mouth.
Then the whole world tilts. The sky spins underneath me, the dust sweeping up to replace the blue up above. I think maybe I hear my name.
The last thing I registered is a pair of strong arms catching me before my head can slam into the rocks. Then everything goes black.