Chapter XVII
XVII
However long or short they may be, our lives can usually be pared down to a collection of choices made on a few fateful nights.
Rarely do we know for sure which of these nights will be the ones that will alter everything to come.
But if you pay close attention, there is a sensation, a light tingle beneath the surface of your skin, that hints at destiny.
The night Apollonia and I leave the Acropolis to venture into the city proper is one of those life-altering nights, for both of us.
Leaving the temple itself wasn’t difficult. Apollonia was right: In the midst of so much preparation and planning for Panathenaia, most of the Acropolis’s priestesses had either already gone to sleep, exhausted, or headed to one of the courtyards to nurse generous cups of wine.
My nervousness eases as the temple disappears behind us, and Apollonia leads the way down one of the dirt roads, between old buildings made of mud brick and timber.
Around us, children are running up and down the streets despite the late hour; more than a few women cluster together on the stoops of their homes to gossip while their husbands share flasks of wine.
I try not to stare as we pass them, but every so often, curiosity wins.
I’ve spent just over a month in Athens now, but so much of it still feels new.
All my life, I’ve wondered about the outside world.
Now I am in it and not entirely certain this isn’t all some fever dream I’ll wake up from.
Apollonia has grown up in Athens, so I let her take the lead as we travel closer to the city center.
The festivities here seem to be in full swing.
I hear the lively pluck of lutes, the jingle of hand drums with bells attached to them.
Around us, people are half singing, half shouting different songs in a discordant harmony, but I find I relish the sound.
My stomach rumbles as the air fills with new scents, and I note a street vendor selling barley cakes drizzled in honey. My mouth waters.
“For most people here, meat is a delicacy,” Apollonia explains as we walk.
“But during festivals, everyone’s more generous.
” She guides me toward a market stall and hands the bearded man standing behind it several drachmae.
In exchange, he hands us both sticks of roasted lamb.
A groan escapes me as I bite into it, savoring the sharp tastes of thyme and basil.
Back home, the meals I was served were certainly grand, but in Athens, everything feels more vivid.
My parents’ feasts were attended by immortal gods who dined and feasted as a pastime; the Athenians in these streets dance and sing and feast with an enthusiasm I’ve never seen before.
They live as though tomorrow isn’t promised, I realize.
A small crowd has gathered in the middle of one of the streets, and I nudge Apollonia toward it until we are close enough to see what’s going on.
Over the heads of the onlookers, I make out a trio of girls.
They look my age and are all dressed in modest but prettily dyed chitons.
They are performing a dance I vaguely recognize.
I realize it’s a slightly varied version of one of the many dances my mother forced my sisters and me to learn.
I suppose that it should surprise me, seeing that same dance here in Athens, but somehow it doesn’t.
If languages can traverse land and sea, it stands to reason that so can anything else, including a dance.
Apollonia notices the look on my face. “Do you dance?” she asks.
I hesitate. “Yes, but—”
She doesn’t give me time to say anything else: She grabs my hand and pulls me with her into the middle of the ring.
She begins to twirl, kick, and stomp her feet in time with the music.
Then my own instinct takes over. Suddenly, I am back on my island.
I begin to move my arms and clap, trying my best to look graceful.
An encouraging cheer goes up from the crowd, and it takes me a moment to realize that sound of approval is for me.
More people have begun to clap in time with the music, and my heartbeat synchronizes to it.
My blood pumps through my veins faster and faster, and my steps come lighter.
I throw my head back, letting my locs fly out around me, and someone in the crowd whoops.
A cry of joy escapes me. I have danced at my mother’s behest, as a performance to appease others.
I realize I’ve never danced just for myself.
I turn and find that Apollonia is beside me again.
She takes my hand, and our steps fall into sync.
We spin faster and faster, until her cheeks are flushed and my heart is beating so fast it feels as though it might burst through my chest. When we stop, we’re both breathing hard.
“You didn’t tell me you could dance so well,” she says, her chest rising and falling.
I smile. “You didn’t, either.” I look down and realize we’re still holding hands.
Apollonia seems to notice, too, because the color in her cheeks deepens, and she pulls away.
My heart is still thundering, but now I’m less sure if that’s a consequence of our dancing or of the way Apollonia’s palm felt pressed against mine.
I open my mouth, unsure of what to say, but a voice behind me interrupts.
“Excuse me.”
Apollonia and I look up and find three young men standing before us.
They are all tall, suntanned, and have the long, gangly frames of boys who’ve grown up fast without much in the way of nourishment.
The one in front is carrying a large pitcher and walking with a slow, lazy swagger.
His eyes wander leisurely over Apollonia and me in turn as he stops before us. He smiles.
“The two of you danced well,” he says. “What are your names?”
“I’m Kallisto,” Apollonia answers for both of us. “She’s Amersa.”
The boy nods. “My name’s Christos.” He gestures to the other two boys. “This is Haris, and Platon. We’re shepherds.” He holds up a pitcher. “We thought you might want something to drink.”
I am grateful when Apollonia takes the pitcher first. She sniffs at it, then brings the rim to her lips and sips.
“It’s…sweet,” she says slowly, handing the pitcher to me.
I feel everyone’s eyes on me as I mirror her sip.
The moment the liquid touches my tongue, there is a rush of flavor and then, beneath it, the familiar aftertaste of alcohol.
I’ve only ever drunk wine on my island, with my sisters or Theo.
These boys don’t seem to mean any harm, but I still look to Apollonia, unsure.
Her expression is neutral, but I know her well enough to translate that look.
If I asked, she would return to the Acropolis with me, without question.
We’d go back to our quarters and never speak about this night.
In the back of my mind, I think about our last time in the city, when I slapped that little boy.
I disappointed Apollonia in that moment.
I never want to see that look on her face again.
I drink from the pitcher a second time, more deeply, then smile. “It’s delicious.”
The boys cheer, and Apollonia’s shoulders relax. We stand, and the boys throw their arms over our shoulders.
“Stay with us,” says Christos. “We’ll show you a good time.”
It quickly becomes clear that wherever Christos and his friends procured their wine, it is of a very fermented variety.
As is often the case, the realization that I’m drunk is not immediate; rather, I wade into intoxication slowly.
Christos, Platon, and Haris lead us through Athens’s streets for hours, pulling us into card games, dances, and peddlers’ street shows.
They are kind, easygoing, and quick to laugh.
Gradually, I feel myself relax with them.
Apollonia does, too. Every so often, we’re pulled into another group of dancers, but Apollonia and I never get to dance the way we did the first time.
Some small part of me is sorry for that.
By the fourth hour, the world has taken on a blurred quality, and I find walking harder than it should be.
I stop, but everything around me keeps tilting.
“Amersa?” Apollonia’s words are slurred and overloud, but I still see the concern in her eyes when she turns to look at me. “Are you…you all right?”
I’ve almost forgotten the fake names we gave the boys.
I nod, but only because I don’t quite trust myself to speak.
Technically, I have been this drunk before—once, when Theo and I stole a pitcher of wine from one of my parents’ feasts—and I know that I am balancing precariously on the line between pleasant inebriation and real nausea.
“I need…I need to…” I pause. I’m not so intoxicated that admitting I need to relieve myself in front of three boys isn’t embarrassing.
Fortunately, one of them—maybe the one called Haris—seems to understand my predicament without my having to say it aloud. He nods over my shoulder. “There are public latrines just up the road,” he says. “Go to the end of the market, then turn left. You’ll see them.”
“I’ll go with you,” says Apollonia. She takes a step, then stumbles violently. Haris catches her before she can fall on her face.
“No, no.” I wave her off. “I’m fine, I’ll come right back.”
Apollonia looks as though she might argue, then seems to think better of it. “All right,” she says, “we’ll be here waiting.”
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