Chapter 3
Once Emilia got home and showered, she felt too sleepy to do a thing. By the time she was in her pyjamas, her sleepiness had won hands down over her roused curiosity about the mysterious CD track. She climbed into bed and, after just five minutes of checking her social media, she called it a night and switched off the light.
Unlike any other night, she fell asleep effortlessly, and in the morning she awoke fully refreshed and with a newfound sense of hope in her heart. She didn’t know where it had come from. All that she knew was that she felt uplifted, and entertained too, by the very thought of that strange gypsy woman.
On her way to the bathroom, her slipper caught a chair beside the door. It caused her shoulder bag that had been placed on there the night before, to fall on the floor. The zipper was open and the CD case fell out.
Her laptop was atop a small desk in a corner of her bedroom, and she went straight to it to turn it on. Now, her huge curiosity to listen to the track had returned with a vengeance. While the computer was powering up, she dashed to the bathroom, returning five minutes later and wiping her face with a towel.
She put the CD in the tray and, moments later, the song began to play.
Oh… Cymbals! she thought, and her body began to sway, as if of its own accord. She loved this kind of tribal music that was so heavy on drums and pan pipes. It reminded her of the music of Gabrielle Roth that she used to dance to when she did contemporary dancing for a short period of time, a few years back. That was during her mother’s last year in her battle against the disease.
Shaking her head, she cast the harrowing memories aside. They had invaded her mind like unwanted old friends. She denied to entertain them this time, unlike any other time, surprising herself, and concentrated on the beat that began to get gradually louder now. Then, through the compelling cymbal rhythm that was accompanied by nostalgic acoustic guitar chords came a sweet female voice that began to sing…
I’m young today
That’s how I’ll stay
It’s not up to the Earth
Circling ’round the sun
It’s up to me
It’s now begun
Words have tremendous power
They make or break a flower
A flower today
A flower tomorrow
It’s in the heart
The joy, the sorrow
When will I see?
I choose to be.
Emilia was delighted to hear the lyrics. They were very empowering, and she remembered what Esmera had told her about the power of words. Still, she was confused. How the heck did she know she was going to meet Emilia, who needed this advice, so she could have the CD case on her? And on her birthday, of all days!
Confounded, she went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of Greek coffee. As she put the briki on the stove and began to stir the contents furiously with a teaspoon, trying to get a thick froth the way she liked it, she began to utter the odd word from the song as it played.
The talented singer, whoever she was, kept repeating the same lyrics in between breaks of uplifting orchestral music that had Emilia bobbing her head and swaying her hips to the beat. She could very well see herself memorizing the words very quickly. Esmera said she ought to sing along to it. To what effect she didn’t say, but Emilia loved this song so much she knew she’d be singing along in no time. Already, the melody felt like it had stuck to her head from listening to it just this once.
Perhaps, it contains binaural beats… she mused as she put the teaspoon down on the counter. She knew the tracks that contained such beats could be utterly beneficial for personal development. Many people used tracks with benign frequencies of the sort to better their lives in many ways. They rewired the brain, so to speak, by working on the all-powerful subconscious mind. Like hypnotherapy, but without the sleep.
Well, Esmera knows my aunt Irini, so she can’t be a bad person, right? Surely, the song is harmless.
The coffee was ready, and the divine fragrance emanating from the briki was causing her mouth to drool with a visceral desire to have that first sip.
Just as she poured the coffee into her cup, the track ended. She blew on the cup and had a careful little sip of the aromatic hot liquid, then dashed back to the bedroom to play the track from the beginning. She felt eager to learn the lyrics word-perfect.
Back in the kitchen, she began to butter hot pieces of toast. Feeling giddy, Emilia began to sing along as the song played, this time remembering more of the lyrics than before.
She was eating now, sitting before her computer, tapping her feet to the beat as she listened to the song a third time. Already, she knew the song would stay with her all day. What has she done to me? This is addictive!
The doorbell rang and she wondered who it could be. She begrudged the disturbance, seeing that she had made a bet with herself that by the end of the song, she’d be able to recite the lyrics word-perfect. She paused the track and went to answer the door.
‘Good morning, Emilia. Sorry to bother you so early.’ It was her landlord, Mr Alekos, a solemn, yet kindly man in his mid-seventies. His children had long flown the nest, and his wife had died well before that. He was a loner, so she saw him as a kindred spirit. Of course, she and he, being loners, and because of the age difference, had no relations. So, what was he doing here so early? It was barely nine a.m.
‘That’s okay, Mr Alekos. Is everything okay?’
‘Yes, fine. It’s just… You know that plumber that I said was coming to fix the leaking tap in your kitchen?’
‘Yeah…’
‘Well, he’s coming today… like, now.’
‘Now?’
‘I’m afraid so. You know how elusive they are... So hard to get them to visit when you need them. And he just called to say he had a last-minute cancellation and was on his way to the house.’
‘I see…’ she said, then pressed her lips together. Who was this plumber that was inviting himself to her place before nine a.m? That was so inconsiderate. ‘So, how soon is he coming?’ she asked, trying to conceal her annoyance.
‘He didn’t say, I’m afraid... Perhaps he’ll be here any moment. I am sorry for the last minute notice, but, as you realize, it can’t be helped.’
Emilia gulped, despite herself, suddenly conscious she’d opened the door in her pyjamas. Beginning to close the door, she mumbled, ‘No problem. I’ll go get ready then. Thanks…’
‘Again, I’m sorry, Emilia. I’ll bring him over as soon as he comes…’ Mr Alekos said, clearly feeling just as awkward as she did, and it was all brought on by the plumber’s monumental tactlessness. And now, Emilia was panicking. She owed both the landlord and the plumber nothing, of course, but years of growing up in an old-fashioned Greek island community that went to great lengths to keep up appearances and live up to people’s expectations had left her with the compulsion to always appear perfect even when she wasn’t. And that mainly involved her unprecedented failure to keep her place tidy.
As soon as she closed the door she began to tidy up the place. And now, it was like she’d had fuzzy sight all along. Suddenly, everything had come into sharp focus, revealing all sorts of things in plain sight that didn’t belong where they lay.
She set about putting things away, starting from the portable clothes line that had stayed propped up before the kitchen’s balcony door for days. She continued tidying up all surfaces in her tiny hallway-slash-living room, removing clothes left draped over a chair, an umbrella, and the untidy pile of books and magazines on the coffee table.
Next, she rolled up the sleeves of her pyjama top and began to do the dishes. She’d had a snack and a coffee before going out the previous evening and never washed up. All sorts of things needed wiping and putting away on the kitchen surface. On the table too.
Now, she was panting, her eyes darting to the wall clock every few seconds as she rushed around opening and closing cupboards and drawers. Perhaps, she wasn’t going to make the living room look spanking, but the kitchen had to look right, since this was where the man was going to be working.
Thankfully, he had no business in the bedroom and that suited her just fine since it was the messiest room in the apartment. With an inward wish to be given another minute to change out of her pyjamas, she rushed to the bedroom but, as she opened her wardrobe, the inevitable happened.
The doorbell sounded deafening in her stressed mind, causing her shoulders to judder. Her wonderful mood earlier on, the upbeat melody, and the frothy gulps of coffee had made up a nostalgic interlude of heaven that already seemed long lost.
Having no choice but to stay in her pyjamas, she put on a cardigan that she found lying around and rushed to the door to open it.
A handsome dark Adonis was standing at the door, toolbox in hand, causing her to stop mid-step as she opened the door wide. He was wearing a plain t-shirt and a pair of breathtakingly tight-fitting jeans. The sight of his lean hips and thighs caused her mouth to feel dry all of a sudden, and she didn’t need to look to know his butt would be pert like a ripe melon. He was a Greek god embodied in flesh, all sinews and popping muscles.
Behind him, stood Mr Alekos, who now looked like a dwarf by comparison. He gave an awkward little wave, catching her eye. ‘Hi again, Emilia. Our man is here, as you can see.’