Chapter Text
Lipsi. Greece.
I sat at the driver's seat of my dad's Skoda Octavia as we drove to the most isolated place on the island of Lipsi. The morning was surprisingly foggy, something that I had never seen before on said island, and the air was heavy with humidity. When we first got into the car, the windows especially, but also the entire skeleton of the car was drowning in water, probably brought from the sky.
I was once again so happy to be away from my current job at the bakery, this two week vacation was a very well deserved experience that I very well needed. I had gone and entire year at the same toxic environment and for once I thanked God that the time came faster than usual for me to say "bye bye!" to my awful coworkers and boss. I was almost 25, I literally had so much to live for and I facepalmed myself for letting my heart believe that I was going to rot in that spirit-draining workplace. I just needed a break, that's all. Understandable.
Why Lipsi though? Well, it's because many years back, my parents had divorced and that made my dad leave Athens entirely for some odd reason. To me, it sounded as if he wanted to be as far away from my mother as possible, and I remember distinctly that when he visited once a year after that, he was extremely hostile towards her, and it honestly had made me scold him many times. Though I've come to the realisation that all men practically come out with the same factory settings, so all they care about is their ego, and that confirmed my theory when I noticed that his only reply was: "I don't have to be nice to her, she started it."
No shit maláka. She started it because you didn't want to understand why she was hurt by your actions.
Eventually, I realized I was the only thread connecting my mother, my brother, and my father. If I didn’t reach out, no one would. To my dad, they were dead; to them, he was dead. And somehow, it always fell on me to hold everything together in this skató-life.
Who cares anyway.
Now I was on vacation, with my dad. And all I wanted to do since I arrived the day before was to go fishing with him.
People have told me countless times that I’m a bit different from other girls my age. Not in that cringey “I’m not like other girls” way, but still, different. For one thing, I’ve always loved cars, maybe a bit too much. I even became a mechanic so I could one day build my own. Right now, I’m stuck with a beat-up Peugeot 206 rally car with over 400,000 kilometers on the dash, and trust me, that’s way past what any car brain should endure. I needed a new one. Changing the ECU on that relic would be expensive and, frankly, stupid.
Another thing was that I preferred men's clothing because duh, more comfortable, especially the XL cargo pants, ah! Mána ex' ouranoú!
My father was always telling me that I also do not possess female manners at all. He always used to tell me to be more ladylike, but the act never lasted long before my hypocrisy showed through.
Back to the island now shall we?
It was around 6 in the morning when we reached the furthest area at the back of the island. Mosháto it was called. The most peaceful harbour the island possessed. Two little blue boats floated aimlessly nearby, tied to the harbours edge, the wind was soft and warm, the sea looked like oil in its calmness. Silent. The horizon faintly visible through the fog.
I parked my dad's car at the edge, making a risky but impressive turn so the rear of the car was facing the water, and my father reluctantly praised my driving skills before getting out of his car. It was rare to receive praise from him, but when he did praise me, it always meant that he was really impressed or satisfied with me. Win for me.
We calmly pulled our fishing rods out of the trunk, and set them aside. We had to get the base ready first, and my dad expertly tied it to a thick rod that was protruding from the ground next to the edge. We soon set two fishing rods on the base, after attaching raw chicken, tied round and round together with an elastic, an imitation of a huge fat worm, and that's when I heard a faint clicking sound.
I turned around sharply scanning the empty road behind us, noticing how quiet and deserted it looked. We really were in the middle of nowhere. Then I looked down at my dad who was relaxing nearby, waiting for the first fish to take the bait.
"Dad.. did you hear that?" I asked quietly, knowing that I really heard it, I know I did, because it was just us two, the soft silent wind and the calm sea that almost looked like a lake, its waters still in the absence of a strong wind to cause waves.
"Hear what?"
"Nevermind." I quickly let it go, my dad wasn't one to dwell on useless or irrelevant things.
Soon however the pain started.
A very distinctive pain rolled from within my stomach, like fire licking my insides, and it burnt. Instinctively, I tried to burp because that's what I have been doing every time this happens and it had relieved me but this time, every burp brought up a foul stench of spoiled eggs, and the aftertaste was like spoiled milk in my throat.
Something wasn't right.
I had never felt this before until now. My dad noticed my discomfort and asked me what's was wrong, but I quickly brushed him off. Besides, I've had issues with my stomach for years now, the most horrific one being that every time I ate something that my stomach couldn't process, an unimaginable pain tormented me for at least a week.
It must have been the spaghetti and meatballs my dad's boss brought to us last night.. besides, the island was notorious for having awful meat quality.
To brush off my pain, I took another rod to shoot, the one my dad called: The Murderer.
The Murderer was a fishing rod designed specifically for hunting barracudas. Using it required a special technique. At the end of the line hung a neon green fake fish, with four sharp grabbing hooks attached to its belly. The idea was simple: cast it like a regular fishing rod, then reel it in while jerking the rod sharply forward or from side to side. The trick was to make the barracuda believe the fake fish was real and injured. Only then would it strike.
"What are you up to?" My dad called to me as I carefully climbed the rocks of the harbour to better position myself for the hunt.
"I'm shooting the Murderer! Have you hunted Barracudas here before?" I shouted across to him.
"Why do you ask?"
"Because you've been living on this island for almost twenty years, you know this island and its waters better than I do."
"I've caught quite a few. The water is still. It means that they are hunting as well. Perhaps that's why we haven't caught a single Tsipúra yet." He replied after a long pause, his unusually black eyes which were identical to mine, following my every move in something that resembled awe. Another win for me, he admired me!
With a slow pull back, I made eye contact with him from above the rocks, determination flashing in my eyes. I'll prove to you that I'm more capable than you think dad. "Watch and learn: the young Barracuda Huntress will best her father!"
The moment I voiced those words, and attempted to throw the fake fish towards the horizon, the same clicking sound was heard from behind my head, far too close for comfort. The way I threw the rod forward was sloppy, and I almost slipped from the rocks, whipping my head around once again, now extremely curious to find the source of that clicking, because it had ruined my focus. My dad burst out laughing from downstairs, clutching his stomach as he rolled on the ground from where he was laying, unable to stop wheezing.
Then it happened again.
That pain.
This time, all I wanted to do was to prove him wrong. So I quickly gathered the fake neon green fish back up, and readied myself to throw it again.
When I did, I felt focused on my hunt, on everything that this man has taught me. Patience. Strength to throw and hold the rod. Balance on every tug.
I threw the fish again. This time my swing was fueled by determination, my thick black eyebrows that moved downwards, proved it. I tagged sharply while gathering the string back up, making abrupt turns left and right.
Èla èla.... Take the bait..
The string suddenly went taut. There was splashing in the distance, and I pulled on the string harder, excited.
"PULL FROM THE ROD ALKI! NOT THE GÀMO-STRING!" My dad yelled from below.
"I'VE GOT THIS!" I yelled back unable to contain my excitement.
"YOU'LL BREAK MY ROD! PULL IT OUT BY THE SLIDE! GET DOWN!"
Carefully but quickly I got down from the rocks pulling and twisting the Murderer exactly how my father had taught me, guiding it towards the slide of the harbour. After many minutes of struggling, I expertly managed to pull the barracuda towards the slide.
"That's it! Tire it out!" My dad said excitedly now too.
Once the barracuda stopped thrashing, obviously exhausted, I dragged it up the slide and I went to fetch my hunting knife.
I started ramaging through my survival bag and finally found my knife in the chaos that was in it. I came back to the fish I caught and aimed the point of my knife a little bit behind the barracuda's eye, and immediately it started thrashing again, the grabbing hooks that had pierced its mouth, missing my hand by mere millimetres.
"Hold it down. A quick death, Alki come on!" dad urged.
I stepped on the barracuda with my shoe just enough to keep it from thrashing and after pointing the knife behind its eye, calculating where its brain should be, I stabbed down on it abruptly.
A quick death.
The barracuda spasmed a bit more and when I held the knife in place, it finally went still.
I stood breathing heavily from excitement and the obvious success. Turning to look at my dad, he was staring me down, a faint smile on his lips. It was so faint that if you didn't know him enough you would have never noticed that he smiled. His dark eyes were soft as he looked at me, his pride for me evident on his face and posture. I smiled broadly, showing my teeth to him and cocked my head to the side, a silent question: proud of me?
"You're a fine fisherman. I taught you well."
"I'd like the fisherwoman more. But thanks!"
There was a clickling sound again and this time my dad heard it too.
"Alki.. tell me that was your stomach again." My dad expression now twisted into alarm. He heard it now. We both did.
"That's what I had asked about before.. we're not alone out here are we..?"
"Get your catch and your stuff. We're leaving." His tone was a command laced with concern. Say less!
I quickly got my fish and gathered my rods. My dad popped the truck open while scanning all around us with wide eyes. "Hurry!" He hissed.
"You know what it is don't you?" I told him suspiciously.
"Alki, gamò tin Panagía, shut up and hurry!" He snapped, this time panicked instead of alarmed.
We threw everything into the car. My dad slid into the driver’s seat and, as soon as I shut my door, he floored it down the dusty road. A thick cloud rose behind the Skoda as we sped away.
He drove like the devil himself was up our asses, eyes darting constantly to the rearview mirror.
“Dad, what was that?” I finally asked.
“I don’t… I don’t know.” His voice was flat, final, a warning not to ask again.
The pain in my stomach flared, sharp and unbearable, and for a moment I thought I was going to throw up.
Thankfully, nothing came out, and more importantly, nothing else happened.
We made it back to my dad’s house. Later, after devouring a few pizzas, exhaustion hit. He fell asleep on his bed, and I passed out on the balcony table, the night air heavy and still..
The next day was worse than that.