Douleia - Servitude

Douleia (c) by Jacques Lavalle, July 2008

Evranos' Story

How do you write your own story? I have never written a diary, or an autobiography, never in my life. I do not know how to do such a thing. Not yet. There have been times in my life when I would have had enough time for a whole saga, but I did not know how to start. So, this is a historic moment. Let us see how far we can get...

I will write in Modern English, although it is not my mother tongue. Nothing spoken in the Modern World is my mother tongue, and before I give in to writing in Modern Greek, I will rather be found dead stark naked in the Market Square. Hence, if anybody should ever read this and if the gentle reader finds my language faulty, I beg his forgiveness (in lack of a better word for the ancient Greek syggnómi).

Samos, March 2000

I got up at ten. The sun was shining brightly onto the yellow granite tiles. Golden beams... Washed yellow... They are so old. Not as old as I am. My servant Nicos brought me some water, and some wine. Then he sucked me, but he did not do it with much effort, and I did not care. Neither did I come. It takes more than that to make me come.

I had a swim to stretch my muscles, then I let Nicos oil my skin and dress me. I put on a new suit, a white linen one. I love white. It is so pure, so innocent...

I made myself a coffee. I indulge in serving myself recently. It is something I could call elevdería, a noble kind of some sort of independence, after all that time... I like to cook, I learned how to cook, Nicos taught me. It is good, it is at least edible what I... Well, Nicos can cook better. He has been a cook for 300 years, what would you expect?

I read the newspapers, lots of them. There is nothing new happening on Earth. I wonder what life has in for me. There cannot be much. The wars, the battles, catastrophes... Worlds have expired over the time... Worlds have grown anew. But old Evranos is always the same... always stuck on this my island... No more warfare... No more fights...

But that is not true: I was a hunter for some time now in order to keep fit and to increase my power. I have taken some heads, but I did not really like the feeling of their energy entering me, it was not the same kind of passion I experienced some hundred years ago. It is not new any more.

You must understand that I had been a hunter some thousand years ago. I liked what I was back then. But this time I did not like what I was doing. I just took it as a kind of training, and to stay in the game. Hell, I never leave the game, even if I do not fight for decades. Another name, and they never knew who they were fighting, or how honourable it is to lose against me.

Maybe I will think about some improvements in the garden. Again. But this time I will come to a conclusion. The garden is so old... and it is still so green, it is a miracle that this island still provides so much water. The old bushes have to go, as well as the grass. It is no grass anyway at this time of the year, it is all dry and yellow... The whole island has become quite dry, although it still holds its sources. So much pollution, so many tourists... The burning... I hate those tourists, idiots, they don't know that I am there, they do not know that I own this island. But they keep polluting it. And from time to time I pick out one of them and make him pay.

Damn! The oil after the swimming has ruined my shirt, I can feel the silk sticking to my skin. Gods, I will have to change again, have it cleaned, and Nicos will be punished for it. I know it was not exactly his fault, because I made him use so much oil. I thought I would feel more relaxed then, cared for, in a private cocoon of oil, but all it did was spoil my suit and thus also my mood. I very much feel like beating someone up today, and Nicos is the one who usually gets the thrashing; he is the only one left, and I do not like beating women.

I could have done so much more in my long existence. What have I spent the whole time with decadence. Of course, I enjoyed my life. But now, more than often, I come to think differently. I cannot enjoy life any more... Maybe I used the decadent world I surrounded myself with in order to fill a greater gap. Love, family, security. Words that mean nothing to me. I cannot love. I cannot hate. I feel contempt for the ones who love me, or who pretend to do so. Sometimes, lying in Nicos' arms, I feel warmth come over me like a wave, and I am almost content, almost satiated. Then he stirs and spoils the beauty of the moment. When I have beaten him for that intrusion, there is only a deep burning nothingness left inside of me.

I sit and stare at him. And I see the love and sadness in his eyes. He has got lovely eyes, deep and dark, and still after all those years he loves me. I could kill him for that; I could kill him for feeling, still feeling, and for making me yearn to feel, too. But I will not kill him. He is the only one left to me; the only one who Knows. The old Greek would have called him oikétis, as he is literally a member of the family as well as my slave and servant, and he has been for thousands of years. Just imagine, for thousands of years he has served me! The best slave I have ever had... with one exception...

After all that time, I think I am about to go mad. To be exact, many would agree with me that I did go mad centuries ago. But it was a systemic kind of madness, the one you find in warlords all over the world, they are daimónion, which means god as well as evil spirit and devil. But now, growing weary in my wealth, without any battles to come, I find the madness has developed its own system, and it has started to eat me up. Madness...

For quite some time, I had made it a habit to go out into the streets and look for some new slaves I could buy. I soon found out that, nowadays, it is not only difficult to buy slaves, but also their quality is very poor. I should find a boy or girl I can train. I have been contemplating, maybe a longer journey would do me good, and maybe I could find abroad what I am looking for. It would be so nice to have someone unspoilt around me. Just once, after a millennium of gore and boredom. A smell of vanilla or of birch trees, a pair of soft warm arms around my neck, yes, a young girl would please me, I would be nice to her for quite some time. Maybe more than five years, I still have Nicos if I want to let my temper go.

I undress, and I my eyes catch my reflection in the large mirror opposite the bed. How handsome a man! My skin is still glossy, a very nice dark tan, and the muscles well trained from so much swimming. My hair has grown long; I need go to a hairdresser. The oil has made it slick and curly, it looks black and golden in the shadow. I look into a pair of grey eyes staring back at me, and I sneer. This face will never be anything else but wolfish, no matter how much I smile. It has its beauty, some say. But it is an old beauty, one I would call aganós, and I know it can scare the youngsters.

I decide to put on eyeliner, after all that time without. It will make my face look softer, and with the tan no one will really notice. But it makes my eyes glow even brighter than usual. No matter what I do, I cannot be like them. I cannot be nice.

After having read what I have written before, it seems a poor reflection of what defines me. Maybe I should finally start writing my story; the whole story. I am not striving to write it chronologically, though. I know it will not work. But let me try to remember...


Ionic Period, Kyklades (ca. 2600 B.C.)

The sun was still low when Kallíos awoke. The house was set on a soft slope facing the sea, and it would be hot once the sun came round the hill, but for the gale blowing constantly, suggesting a feeling of freshness. Someone had opened the window blinds, and the cool draught made the soft hair on Kallíos' back stand on end. He remained lying on his belly and moaned softly in his sleep. I had been watching him for some time, admiring his lean athletic body, and indulging in the power I had over him. He had a deep pleasant moan, now that his voice had chosen the way of adolescence, but he was not yet grown up, ibaskein...

Giorgos, the servant, was crossing the room. He did not see me, for I was hidden behind a shield, or else he pretended not to see me, as was his duty. The steps of his bare feet on the stone tiles were soft, like those of a cat on a wet floor. He knew how to move without disturbing his master. Even though he had awoken meanwhile, Kallíos did not deign to look up when Giorgos came near his bedstead. When the first cool drops of oil met his back, he lifted his head and snarled. Giorgos was standing very close now, smiling. While watching them, I felt a subtle kind of excitement and shifted my weight to the other heel. So I went on watching them.

"What?" Kallíos let his head drop again and stretched his back under Giorgos' hands.

"You have to get up early today, master," Giorgos' voice but a whisper.

When the servant's massage reached Kallíos' shoulders, he grabbed behind and took hold of Giorgos' wrist. "Did I give you any orders?"

Giorgos winced, "No, master, it was..."

"...It was I, my friend," I said, slowly getting up from behind my hiding-place. I knew what an effect my voice had on Kallíos. He once called it "liquid gold", it had an entrancing quality, trained over centuries. Now Kallíos looked up and frowned at me. I was standing in front of the window, my outline clear against the morning light.

Kallíos gestured his slave to continue the massage and propped his head on his forearm. "What a surprise," he said unenthusiastically. "I did not hear you enter."

I chuckled and crossed my arms; "I've been with you for some time. Not that it would surprise you, friend. And I presume you had your thoughts quite elsewhere." I stepped inside and kneeled half beside him so that I was facing my friend. "You had too much wine yesterday, Kallíos, so that you do not remember. Today is the day, Agapité. Must I remind you?"

Kallíos stretched out his arms and smiled at me. "You need not." He let me pull him to his feet with one arm while Giorgos hurried to fetch his clothes.

A drop of oil ran over his shoulder and slowly wound its way down his hairless chest. I touched it gently with two fingers and rubbed it into the skin. I could feel Kallíos shiver, but his control was well trained. Without stopping, I said, "As I promised you: well-built, well-educated, and young. Just like you."

Kallíos caught my hand, and for a moment our eyes locked. He was excellently trained, and I could see the raw force behind his eyes. Just what I needed! I was pleased with him and pleased with myself to once more have achieved such a good result.

When Giorgos reappeared, holding up the dress, a decent white-and-blue one, it was Kallíos to break the spell, as usual. He cocked his head and let his slave help him into the dress.

I turned to go, feeling Kallíos glance at my back. When I was in the doorframe I stopped and said without turning, "Speed up, will you. We will have some fruit later, aboard the ship."

I left him before the feeling of sadness had entered my heart. He had been my slave some time ago, and I had decided to adopt him as a kind of son. There was no love between us, just a deep sense of belonging, and a likeness of our souls. It had not taken much time to teach him what he had to know, and I was now looking forward to watching him educate another slave, break him or even better, just bend him to his and my will, for his and my pleasure. And yet - I knew now there was a point of no return, and I myself had set it, so very much unlike me, and the thought of losing him to my own plans saddened my thoughts.


Samos, August 1985

When I saw the young man standing by the side of the dusty road, I pulled over. I had watched him before in Samos town, strolling along the dirty streets, looking a bit lost. Possibly he had come with one of the ferries, maybe from Turkey, although he did not look as if he could afford it. Beneath the shabby clothes and the dirt, though, he was a handsome boy. Very handsome, indeed, with his blonde hair bleached by the sun and a nice tan, together with a body that made me stop and turn. It takes a lot to make me turn.

Now that the boy realized the white BMW had stopped for him, he came running and bent down to look inside. The tinted glass slid down, and he peered into a pair of grey eyes: my eyes. I knew the effect my face had on him. An old hag had once called it "pearls in a wolf's face", because of my dark skin and my Egyptian profile. Anyway, the boy seemed to like what he saw, and thus I addressed him.
"Want a ride? I am going South-East," I said. Probably to the boy's surprise, I spoke English with just a slight accent.

He hesitated. I smiled my best, millennia-experienced smile, "Come on, it is hot out there, and I have air conditioning in here." I opened the door. I knew he would come.

The boy sat down beside me after throwing his backpack onto the rear seats. "Thanks."

I waited for him to close the door again, then gave a nod and pulled into the traffic smoothly. "Hot and dusty, eh? You will want a shower."

"Yeah," the boy mumbled and wiped his face with sooty hands, which did not really improve it. Then he looked at my hands.

There is a silver ring on every finger. I am still fond of silver, and modern man has not managed to make me break with my old vanity. Actually, my hand waited for his to grab and shake it, which he finally did after having watched it enough.

"Ephoros Nicolaios, call me Ephoros," I said. "Do you already have an idea where to stay tonight?"

His hand had gripped mine gingerly first, as if he was afraid to break it. Then he must have realized that I am stronger than I look. I put my hand back into my lap again, I was used to driving one-handed anyway, with the bold routine of the island inhabitants. I watched the boy from the corner of my eyes, being pleased that he was watching me, too. He seemed to be hypnotized by the thick brown curls of my hair, or maybe also by the white suit that made my skin look like chocolate.

He suddenly seemed to realize he was staring at me, and he cleared his throat. "Sidney Wilson. Nice to meet you. Call me Sid." Then, as if he grew aware of his dishevelled state only now, he combed back his blonde crop in a shy gesture. "I must look like hell. Sorry for bringing all that dust into your car."

I pretended not to be listening and threw him a quick glance before taking a turn into the serpentine road that led to my home. Sid looked outside the window. Bushes now, and orange trees had replaced the olive trees, and some glimpses of the sea to the left, here and there. The sun was still up, sparkling on the turquoise waves down below, and the constant gale had bent the trees and bushes into one direction. One must love this island, or be really desperate to hate it.

No, Sid did not know where to stay, and maybe he even hated the island for this deficiency. It is not as welcoming as people say. Neither did he seem to be awestruck by the beauty around him. He covered his face with his hands again and sighed.

I put my hand on his thigh, as casually as possible. He seemed to take it as a soothing gesture.

"You will be fine, Sid. You can stay with me, if you want." I had to take my hand away to manage one of those extremely sharp bends.

Sid gaped, cleared his throat again, and smiled shyly. "Why, thanks. That would be... I could... if you..."

"Do not worry. Be my guest."

We were in the small town of P. now, the name of which is so dear to me and so famous with tourists I almost came to hate this place. The old haven! I can still hear the battle, hear the Turks shout and cry, sails tearing, I can smell the ocean here. And I could hear Sid try to read the Greek language, hissing under his breath with amusement. I patted his arm, but otherwise I did not want to cross his personal borders again so fast.

"Won't be long now," I said and nodded back at someone who greeted my car, even though they could hardly see me through the tinted screen. The people here know my car, and they all treat it as something to be nice to, and keep a distance. They do the right thing, for, although nobody knows in particular, I own the whole place. I will talk about that later. Be kind to the light, and it will eat only the small moths...

At a traffic light, I took a fork turn to the left, and then there were olive trees again. Then a narrower track to the right, a bridge, and all disappeared in a mass of lemon and orange trees, beehives, little cottages flew by, we passed a village, and another one, and then we could see my house.
"All this is yours?" Sid could hardly conceal his excitement.

I slowed down and inclined my head as an answer. "Used to be a monastery. Had been given up for years when I bought it. I had to rebuild a lot of the site, but it is worth it!" There was no need to tell the boy exactly when I had bought it.

The boy smirked, "I bet."

We drove through the gate that had automatically opened in front of my car, and came to a halt in the spacious courtyard. Sid got out of the car and looked around like Alice in Wonderland. The courtyard is full of greenery and not as hot as you might expect it to be, the walls are white with some blue, "Old Greek" seems to be written all over it; well, it cannot be helped. I got his backpack, slipped out of my car and threw Sid the bag.

Then I went to the trunk and took out some bags and parcels. "Give me a hand, will you." The tone of my voice was polite, but he seemed to feel I would not be disobeyed. Sid obviously realized his position. He hesitated only for a moment, and then he took as many bags he could carry and followed me through the door to the storeroom.

Mila, my house wife, if you like to call her that, was already there, waiting for me. She gave both of us a friendly nod. She is extraordinarily pretty, and the white top and skirt suit her best. I gave her a kiss on the cheek over the parcels in my arms, and then passed her without introducing her to my guest. She is used to being ignored by others. Sid just followed us. Mila rummaged in the car before she joined us with the rest of the packets. We always talk Greek, and I have no intention to teach her any foreign language.

So I addressed her. "Prepare a room for my guest. He will stay for a couple of days." Only when he did not object was I sure he did not know any of our language.

She asked back, "Shall I prepare a meal for two, master?" And I nodded in consent. She smiled at Sid, and then bent her long neck in true respect for me. I noticed that he stared at her, and his posture slightly changed into what he probably regarded as a more appropriate one. Maybe he had thought, like so many others, that this was my daughter, and I wanted him to marry her. Well, now he seemed to understand that the situation was a different one.

I turned to face Sid, "This is Mila, my servant. She will prepare a meal for us while I show you your room."

Sid appreciated this with a smile and a respectful nod and trod out of the room following me. We went up a staircase, which led to the gallery. From here you can see the whole patio, and the building looks even larger than from the outside. I strode to the far end of the gallery and opened the door to one of the guest chambers. The shutters were closed against the afternoon heat, so I switched the modern lights on. The room is spacious and decently furnished like the rest of the house. Without being an expert, you can see that all the pieces are old, though beautifully fixed and repainted. The wardrobe is Old Italian, the chest Minoan, the bed French, spacious enough for four guests as slim as Sid, and a marble bathroom with just the kind of taps Greek tourists dream of. I do not like this room, but my guests usually fall into raptures.

"You should not open the shutters before dark," I instructed Sid, "It is too hot. See, the sun is on the other side in the morning, which makes this room pleasant to sleep in."

Sid looked at me but did not seem to find the right words. Finally he said, "I see."

I put my hand on Sid's shoulder, in the same casual manner I had touched his thigh in my car, and I added, "You will want to have a shower now, and Mila will take care of your clothes. You will find all items you need at your convenience in a couple of minutes. If not, just call her. I expect you to be ready in, say, an hour."

Sid swallowed and nodded. "Yep. Thank you. This is... great. Thanks."
I squeezed his shoulder in a friendly fashion before I took my hand away. "I will see you later, my friend." After another look into his blue eyes, I left the room, closing the door behind me.

I watched Sid through a peeping hole from the adjacent room. He remained standing in the middle of the room for some seconds, then he seemed to grow aware that he was not dreaming. He gave a soft cry of joy, like a suppressed laughter, peeled away his dirty clothes, turned on the shower, and started singing.

To be continued...