Page 105 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
I bang the mournoraki glass on the table. “Bring me a phone!”
She jumps, then runs off. The other diners gape at my rudeness.
But all I can do is spin my glass forcefully, my thoughts spiraling with it. This is the curse, I know it. I’ve been waiting for it to appear, feeling its closeness…What Helene and I had—and her belief that the curse could be broken—was too good to be true.
My mind begins to race through scenarios of what’s happened.
If Helene did inexplicably go for a post-dinner walk without me, she could have lost her footing and slipped off the edge of the cliff.
Or perhaps she was mugged and she’s lying injured in an alley.
Or a car careened out of control and hit her on the sidewalk.
Or, or, or…
There are infinite ways to die.
I grip the tablecloth and scan the cliffside sidewalk below me frantically. Then the dark rock face and the ocean, as if I could see an unconscious body in the sparse moonlight. She could be anywhere—anywhere except here with me, where she’s supposed to be.
The waitress returns without the phone, but with her manager.
“Sir, if you would kindly come with me to settle your bill over there…” He isn’t happy with me, but he diplomatically gestures to the silverware alcove, away from the guests I’ve been disturbing.
I apologize and pay in cash, leaving triple the tip the waitress would usually earn. After that, the manager lets me use the restaurant’s phone.
Helene’s cell doesn’t ring. Instead, I get a message in Greek: The number you are trying to reach is unavailable.
Panic spikes in my chest.
I call the police.
“I understand you are worried, sir,” the woman on duty at the desk says after I explain what’s happened. “But from our experience, if there is no sign of a crime, then your girlfriend has probably gone for an evening stroll.”
“Is that the only reason anyone here can come up with?” I am trying not to yell, but I’m yelling.
“Sir, I cannot tell you how many tourists have been entranced by the beauty of Santorini and wandered off to enjoy it, only to return a few hours later, boasting of a stunning secret beach they stumbled upon or a Greek wedding where they were invited to join in the drinking and plate smashing.”
“I promise you,” I say, “Helene isn’t a drunk wedding crasher. For one thing, she’s six months pregnant…”
“We will start to look for her,” the woman says. “But try not to worry too much. I’m sure your girlfriend is okay.”
Try not to worry?Helene is the target of an age-old curse that kills her every time. There’s no such thing as worryingenough.
After I hang up, I call the sole hospital on the island, because I’m not going to rely only on the police.
But no one has been admitted who fits Helene’s description. There hasn’t even been a single pregnant woman in the hospital all day.
Please be safe somewhere,I think.Please let there be a reasonable explanation.
The iron shackles of the curse tighten around my heart. It’s harder to breathe, my pulse racing but struggling, as if being squeezed through every artery and vein.
I climb Imerovígli’s warren of white staircases. Check every alcove, every pathway. Is Helene here in this alley, slumped over? There in that shadowed corner, mugged and beaten? Or perhaps around the bend, in the lightless niche, hurt or…
Stop.I can’t let the last thought in. Already, I can feel the whirlpool of defeat churning, reaching out to suck me in.
Every second passes in agonizing slow motion, my chest tight in the grip of fear, my heart ready to explode in grief with every turn I make in the maze of steps and alleys.
Nothing.
