Body and Soul by Roberta Latow Read Free Book Online

bags of the nuts into the waiting hands of the crew leaning over the schooner’s railings. Good-natured laughter and banter rang out as they sailed on towards Hydra.
    Standing at the
Skylark
’s prow eating pistachios, the wind colder than the sunlight promised, Eden huddled into her fox collar while her old life flooded back to her and her soul began to rise again from the doldrums of invisibility. It was late-afternoon when
Skylark
dropped anchor in Hydra. The sun was still high in the sky and the port quiet, just awakening from siesta and making ready for its night life. The sight of white houses and narrow cobblestone streets winding their way from the crescent-shaped port right to the top of the hill behind made Eden’s heart race with the pleasure of return. The bell in the tower struck up its familiar sound and the water lapping against the moored boats was a symphony to Eden’s ears. She recognised every house and pictured its inhabitants, every shop, taverna and cafe, but her eyes settled not on her own house, a short climb away, but on Garfield’s. The shutters were closed, he was not in residence. Not that that affected her one way or another.
    Eden found it strange that she recognised no one in the sleepy port. The people around seemed so young, so attractive, so glossy. They glanced at her with momentary curiosity, nothing lasting or meaningful. There was even a tinge of indifference. Not at all like the old days when she had been a part of the Hydra scene.
    One of the many tourist shops that had sprung up since her departure was just opening its doors. Eden stopped and bought a pair of sandals. Carrying her shoes in one hand and her cello in the other, she left the port to begin the climb to her house, whichshe could now see clearly. A chain of donkeys clip-clopped past her and their owner stopped and greeted her.
    The years had been good to Petros. The donkey man and Eden recognised each other at once and exchanged greetings. Then he insisted on loading the cello on to Evangelia, and Eden on to Despina, and gave them a ride to her house. The Greeks have never been famed for their subtlety. He asked as many intimate questions as he could get in before they reached the walls surrounding her house and garden. There he called out and the housekeeper appeared almost at once to greet Eden.
    Petros followed her into the courtyard carrying her cello. The donkeys remained outside on the narrow path between the high walls surrounding neighbouring houses. No one ever offended Petros or any of the other donkey carriers; they were the only mode of transportation on the island and everyone was dependent on them. The housekeeper, Maria, had to wipe away tears of joy at seeing Eden again. She insisted Petros remain for an Ouzo and some pieces of freshly roasted octopus which she had arranged on a table under the spreading fig tree now barren of leaves and fruit.
    Eden’s house had originally been a series of small houses she had bought years ago as they came on the market. She had completed her rambling conversion twelve years before and now marvelled that the view from its terraces as they gently climbed up the hill, tier upon tier, still remained one of the best the island had to offer. From here she could see the port below her and the houses to the right and left, filling the crescent of the hillside.
    At last she was alone to walk through the rooms, familiarising herself with them again. Eden had forgotten how much she loved this house. All the shutters were open and it was flooded with light. The light of Greece, even late-afternoon winter light – there is nothing in the world like it. The rooms were all painted white and furnished minimally. Every chair, table, painting, sculpture was a thing of beauty set in a space that would only enhance it. The largest of the rooms was near to being perfect in proportion, a double cube, and in it were set a pair of Bechstein pianos. Eden approached them and struck a few notes