She smiled and raised her glass. “But it doesn’t hurt to have a friend on the inside. To my son, Father Carlos.”
“To Father Carlos,” the two men said raising their glasses.
“So sorry I won’t have the chance to meet him,” said Tassos.
“Why, of course you will.” She picked up a mobile phone from the table, pressed a speed dial button, and waited. “No answer.” She dialed a second number. “I’ll try the taverna downstairs.” She waited for an answer. “Costas. Have you seen my son?”
Pause.
“Then find him.”
Pause.
“I don’t care if you’re busy, I want to see him now. Find him and tell him to come home immediately.” She hung up without saying good-bye.
She smiled at the two men staring at her. “It pays be the taverna’s landlord.”
Five minutes later the front door swung opened and in hurried Carlos, scruffier than Kouros had described but just as bleary-eyed. On seeing the two men he turned quickly and headed back toward the door.
“Where are you going?” his mother said, and without waiting for an answer added, “come here, I want you to meet some old friends.”
Carlos stopped, walked to the kitchen doorway, and stood acknowledging the men with a nod.
She pointed with a smile in her son’s direction. “This is my boy, Father Carlos. Spiritual leader of Gerolimenas.”
Carlos looked down at his dust-covered cowboy boots.
Tassos stood up, walked over to him, and extended his hand. “Hello, Father. My name is Tassos and my friend over there is Stavros. It is an honor to meet you.”
Carlos hurriedly shook Tassos’ hand. “Sorry, gentlemen, but I must run.”
Tassos wrapped his arm around Carlos’ shoulders. “I won’t hear of it. Not after all the wonderful things your mother’s been saying about you. I insist you sit with us for at least a few moments.” He steered him over to a place at the table between his chair and Stavros.
Carlos’ mother leaned across Stavros and patted her son’s arm. “Why, of course my boy can spare some time for friends of his mother.”
Had he been a deer he’d have bolted for the door. Tassos handed him a glass of brandy, and raising his own, “To your mother. A great lady.”
Carlos mumbled some words and downed his drink without attempting to touch the others’ glasses.
Tassos waited until he’d finished the drink. “I’ve always admired those who follow your calling, Father. So many souls lying bare to you the deepest of their despair. It takes a special sort of person to comfort their pain.”
Carlos nodded, looking at the Metaxa bottle as he did.
“You must meet a lot of people here in the summers.” Tassos picked up the brandy bottle. He waved it in the direction of the wall of photographs behind his mother. “And famous people, too. I recognize some from the pictures. Did you take them?”
“Yes, he takes a lot of photographs,” said his mother. “It’s his hobby.”
“Is that so?” said Tassos moving to pour brandy into Carlos’ glass. When Carlos didn’t answer, Tassos held off on pouring.
“Yes,” said Carlos, “ever since I was a boy, I’ve loved taking photographs. It captures a moment that may or may not reflect a glimpse of the subject’s soul, but it’s as close as we can get to such revelations here on Earth.”
Tassos filled Carlos’ glass. “Very well said, Father.”
“The camera makes life so much simpler, focused, understandable. At least for that instant it captures.”
Tassos nodded. “I understand your thinking. I assume you capture candid moments.”
“I try.”
Tassos waved at the wall. “From what I see, I’d say you’ve been very successful. You must use a telephoto lens.”
He nodded, and drank a bit of the brandy. “You capture reality best when the subject doesn’t realize there’s a camera watching.”
Tassos stood up and walked over to the wall of photos. “I’m really impressed. You have a unique style in the way you place the subjects within the frame. Slightly slanted off the horizon.”
“It’s my trademark.”
Tassos pointed at one photo. “This one reminds me of a photo I saw just the other day. In fact, I was told it was taken in this very port a few weeks ago. Perhaps you took it?”
“I doubt it. I don’t sell my photographs.”
Tassos nodded. “Well, it sure looks like one of yours. Maybe you gave it away?”
Carlos gestured no. “I don’t do that either. I take them only for myself.” He held the glass to his lips.
“And for your mother,” she added with a smile.
Carlos forced a smile and began to drink.
“It was a photo of a young woman and an older man coming out of a room in that hotel across the harbor.”
Carlos choked on the brandy.
“Are you all right?” said Tassos.
“Yes, yes.” He put down the glass. “I really must run.”
“I think the name of the woman in the photo was Stella.”
Carlos stood up.
“The woman who gave me the photo,” continued Tassos, “said the man in the picture was her father and that a friend of hers had taken it.”
Carlos stared at Tassos.
“Please, Father, sit. I really need your help with this.”
Carlos hesitated but sat.
“I can’t remember the man’s name, but I think his surname started with a K.”
Tassos looked at Carlos’ mother. “You know how hard it sometimes is at our age to remember names.”
She nodded.
“It’s going to drive me absolutely crazy if I can’t remember the name of the man and his daughter. This getting old can be really discouraging at times.” He smacked his right hand on his thigh. “I think the photo might be in my car. With your permission, keria, I’ll run down to check, and if it is, perhaps you or your son will recognize the man in the photo.”
“Of course. Go. Carlos and I will do whatever we can to help you.”
Tassos thanked her and left. He waited downstairs outside the door and counted. At fifteen he heard footsteps racing down the stairs, at eighteen he caught Carlos coming out the front door on the fly.
“Whoa there, Father. What’s the hurry?”
“I’ve got to be somewhere.”
“I’m sure, but first we have to clear up that little matter of the photo we both know you took.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Why does everybody always say that when they know precisely what I’m talking about?” Tassos shook his head. “I know you want to protect your friend, Calliope, but if I have to go upstairs and get your mother all worked up over this, a certain mutual acquaintance has assured me it will turn your idyllic home life into hell.”
Carlos looked up at the sky.
“If you’re looking up there for an answer, that’s fine with me. But, please, understand I’m really trying to help you out from down here, Father. I don’t want to create more grief for you with your mother over Calliope and her father. All I want to know is why you took the photograph.”
Carlos looked down at the ground. “I told Calliope I’d seen her father with the woman from the taverna going into the hotel, and she asked me to take a photo of them if I ever saw them together again.”
“And did you?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do with the photograph?”
“I gave it to her.”
“When?”
“A week and a half or so before her father died.”
“To anyone else?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“Positive.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I emailed the photo to Calliope and deleted it from my camera and computer.”
“Why did you do that?”
“My mother’s always snooping around my things. If you haven’t noticed, she lives her life through me. I didn’t want her finding a photo of Calliope’s father. As our ‘mutual acquaintance’ no doubt told you, Mother doesn’t approve of my having anything to do with Calliope or her family.”
“How old are you?”
“I have to run.”