Benevolence

by Mihajlo Matković (Serbia)

Making a local connection Cyprus

Madly blue eyes. She had a bashful smile, madly blue eyes, unearthly red hair and a perfect cornrow over the left ear. Immediately, I wanted to know her better and I did the only thing I could think of: pretend I was lost. Unfortunately, she was staying just for two more days here, on the island of cats; or, the island of graffiti, 'to be fair'. “Aren’t you a bit too old for fairytales?” Andriana joked. I explained the nature of my trip and showed her my bucket list. After all these monasteries I’d visited, there were two more things to cross off: the Fairy Tales Museum and a shipwreck known as Zenobia. Something adventuresome, at last. Strangely, this encounter made me believe in coincidence – she knew the curator, Woah! Once inside the museum, I completely lost my breath. Cinderella’s dress, I presume, was hanging off the ceiling in a dimly light, with a small window as the only light source. It was a new shade of a blinding white. The overall atmosphere, for a moment, sent me back to my childhood wish - books attached to the plafond, words falling down like rain. With her red hair, I could tell why Andriana loved this place and what was her favorite tale. She even stole something, acknowledging the fact with that same timid smile of hers. For two days, I’ve been trying to find inspiration to finish this travelogue about Greek legends of Cyprus. Andriana not only helped me with that, but she’d also instantly become my muse. I had half of this text in my head already. If I had only known the other half would almost kill me… After the museum, before we left Nicosia for Larnaca - to visit the shipwreck, we went to cross to the other side. She talked about her childhood – growing up on both sides, two religions, two different cultures, South and North, which gave her the privilege of crossing the border. It made me wonder: is it a border if it can be crossed, or, perhaps, is it its core property to be traversed? Time will show... The Cyprus weather generally disappointed me, even for that time of the year: only about 20 degrees Celsius and it was March already?! The water was even colder, but at least it made the diving cheaper. The sun had just hidden behind the endless horizon of stars, saluting its rival, the moon. The water was as clear as they say, indeed now in the evening. The shipwreck seemed a bit eerie at this hour, but it didn’t stop her. Andriana was diving deeper and deeper. I followed, much slower, completely inexperienced in diving. At once, the sea became too heavy for me to move. All I could see was Andriana’s disappearance into the dark blue. Even though I could have drowned that night, it was worth it. As I was speeding for the surface, I watched the moon hid behind foreboding clouds. The next thing I knew: I was too far away to breathe another molecule of air. Call it euphoria, still, the bluest eyes came out of nowhere. Her red, dancing hair was glowing as her lips swam closer to mine. I could finally cross off the ultimate item on my list. ... It’s March 13th and I’m wandering down the beach, near my hotel, Navarria, thinking about the old legend on the Red thread of fate. It’s a story about finding our soul-mate unexpectedly and at the right moment. They say red is the benevolent dictatorship. I defy - blue, with the sea before me singing some strangely beautiful, yet unsettling tune; calling me, even whispering my name. If it weren’t for the letter, I wouldn’t be able to tell whether she was real or if I was just imagining her to break my solitude; nevertheless, the sparkling sand under my feet was real, and so was the deadline. I put my hand in a pocket and something stabs me: when I came to, after my scuba-debacle, surrounded by concerned medical staff, Andriana wasn’t there. Next to an envelope was quite a lonely gift. A tiny fork that stabbed me 'right in the heart'. Of Limassol.