Finding Atlantis - 14. Epilogue

It was dark in the harbour, the wall glowing softly white, reflecting the evening lights of the sloping town. The sun had been down hours now, its last light having faded from the sky completely, throwing a pure indigo curtain up over the shades of blue, crimson, gold and pink. There was no moon to gild the curves of the land and the stars shone all the brighter. The sea was calm, flat as freshly made bed, a mirror held up to the sky. Four miles away across the bay, a bright strip of lights showed the little town on the Greek island, still awake and happily celebrating the last of the summer weather. Winter came late to this part of the world, the days lasting long and glorious right through September. The tourist season was over, the streets washed clean by the first early rain, the tour boats in the harbour moored fast, their sails reeled in tight, their engine propellers lifted from the water, lying in hibernation for the sun. Tomorrow would be the last day of summer, everyone could feel it. It would be the last day with a clear flawless dawn, the last of the hot breezes that were, even now, spiralling their way across the planet, heading south, seeking out the summer. Tomorrow would be the last perfect day.

Only one boat in the harbour showed a light. A paraffin storm lantern hung on the boom of La Belle Mere, throwing light across the golden decks. The dying red of hot coals and the bucket of scraps was testament to a good meal, but the inhabitants were not visible aboard the ship. In the galley, Aleksi stood at the sink and washed up, watching his lover through the wide hatch into the cabin. They had lit all the lamps, but the light was still wan, casting deep shadows and brilliant highlights across the room. Aleksi had changed much over the summer, his skin was a deep brown now, having turned by degrees from the ghost white of the rest of his Finnish family. His hair was blonder, more golden, and longer, falling into his eyes and making him blow it distractedly out of his vision. He’d filled out, no longer skinny and short of food, but muscled and rough from hard work. But it was Krilla he was watching, for the fisherman was being a little distracting.

Krilla was asleep, had been since they’d finished dinner, grilled fish, caught straight out of the harbour wall by hand, Krilla throwing the slippery silver beasts up to Aleksi’s waiting arms. They had got soaked, but it had been fun, and necessary since there were still a whole box of fish, ready for tomorrow, waiting up on deck. Aleksi’s was never quite sure why washing up was always his job, since now he could cook, and catch and skin fish, if not quite as easily as Krilla, who had, after all, been doing it his entire life. Krilla looked much as he always had, deeply golden, with a wavy mass of bright gold hair that had now curved around his throat and shoulders as he slept, pillowing him in precious metal, falling over the sharp angles of his features. Blue eyes were closed, but Aleksi knew, that from so long with his lover, that Krilla’s eyes were always the colour of the sea, and would now be an inky near-black shade touched with the same green as the phosphorescence of the deep.

It was the fact that Krilla was dressed in exactly nothing that was really distracting Aleksi from his task. Krilla’s sheet had long since fallen to the floor. They had, after many nights where one or another of them ended up on the hard wooden floor, and after the nearly disastrous morning when Tamil came to wake them up because they were both sleeping naked on deck again in the harbour, made alterations to the cabin for the coming of winter. One of the upper bunks had been removed and a new arrangement fitted in place where a double bed could be folded out from the wall, its legs snapping out as it was lowered. Krilla was spread across this, very dark against the white counterpane, his long calloused fingers touching on the little blue and gold fish that adorned the hem. Aleksi smiled to see him so at peace, and on that which had been their first gift, sewn for them by Aika Shad, who was the woman who kept them both in clean clothes, hot food, and offered a bed on land should it get too late to stroll back down to the boat. Aleksi had to admit he no longer liked sleeping on land. Krilla wouldn’t sleep much, but tossed and turned and muttered and waked constantly, drifting in and out of realistic lucid dreams. There was a noise from the deck, the soft creak of a footfall and Aleksi went to drape the sheet over Krilla before climbing the companionway, scampering up the steps like a cat, to greet this visitor.

Aziz was standing on the deck, looking wan, tired and nervous. He was looking into the fish box, watching the catch swim about each other, hopeful of food falling from above.

“Hey Aziz,” Aleksi’s Turkish had much improved, though it had always been good, and he had acquired a smooth Antalylian accent, “What brings you here?”

“Alek,” Aziz gave him a forced smile, and always referred to him by the shortened version of his name, “Allah! Everyone in my house has gone mad.”

“No surprises there.”

There was a creaking from behind them and Krilla appeared in the companionway, wearing the sheet like a sarong around his slender hips, despite the fact that his slacks had been in easy reach when he’d woken up.

“Dude,” He frowned at Aziz, who stood on deck like a frightened rabbit, all tense and startled, “Aren’t you supposed to be getting married tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Aziz grinned, coughed and sat down. Krilla brushed his hair out of his eyes and was reward with a smile from Aleksi and a hand holding out a hair band. Krilla looped his hair back quickly, a recent habit acquired from one of Aziz’s younger brothers, the tenacious and alternative Yusuf.

“So what’s up?” Krilla came and sat with his friend while Aleksi went to stoke up the coals and set the kettle to heat up again.

“They’ve all gone crazy,” he waved towards the land, an expansive gesture that took in half the town, including his own house, tall and narrow halfway up the hill, though it was hidden from the harbour by the twist of the cobbled streets, “Aslan has moved out of our room for the wedding so that I have more space, what with all the crap I’ve got to do. He’s sharing with Yusuf and Murat has had to set up camp in the main room despite the fact that all the guests are coming in the morning so he’s not too happy and is getting under everyone’s feet. Mother and Yusuf are having major fights over his bloody jewellery. She wants him to take out that septum piercing for the photos tomorrow, and I’ve already said that I don’t give a damn weather he wears the damn thing or not. Aslan is pissed about having to wear blue because he’ll match you two and Dad has been out in the garden all day smoking and trying not to talk to anyone. Ali and Shalla and that lot are over in Aunt Burcu’s, and she keeps sending out for someone to help with whatever task she’s dreamed up and on top of it all we’re so busy that I haven’t seen Shalla since she arrived the day before yesterday.” The tirade over Aziz took a deep breath and stared at the two blond men on who he had intruded, “I didn’t mean to disturb you guys, but I just wanted a few moments of quiet.” Suddenly he looked petrified and uncomfortable. “I didn’t actually…er…disturb you guys did I?”

Aleksi smirked, tempted, but he felt kind of sorry for Aziz, and decided to let him relax.

“No, Krilla was sleeping.” He poured the tea, looking over to his lover as Krilla pouted childishly.

“No fair Alek, and I was planning to tell him he’d interrupted right in the middle of a really good fuck.”

“You’re such a bad liar love,” Aleksi said, handing him one of the impractical little tea glasses, “You don’t have it in you to keep a lie like that going.”

“I do so!”

“Sorry Kril,” Aziz said, nodding gratefully to Aleksi as he took his tea, “Guess you’ll just have to wait until I’ve gone.”

“Yeah,” Krilla gave him a wicked grin, “Right after.”

The three young men sat on the deck and sipped their tea in the quiet light of the flame.

“And how is Yusuf,” Aleksi asked, “Apart from fighting over body modifications?”

Aziz scowled.

“You know Mum found out about his tattoo the day Ali arrived?” Krilla shook his head and Aziz went on, “He turned up on the dock, late, wearing one of those ridiculously thin white shirts he’s so fond of. Idiot went and left it open at the bottom, and his skin is not dark enough to hide that much black ink. Got the damn thing going up and around his navel. She sent him home and lectured him for about an hour. Pattern disappears down his trousers and only Allah knows how far it goes.”

“Not sure he’d want to find out,” Krilla said carefully, “Though I sure do.”

“Kril!” Aziz and Aleksi piped up at once. Both looking equally mollified.

“You’re terrible dude,” Aziz said, shaking his head, “Are you two coming for the breakfast tomorrow, or are you stopping in afterwards?”

Krilla sighed and weighed up the absolute delight of Aika’s cooking compared to the hassle of getting out of bed that early, being respectably dressed before ten and the possible arguments and last minute panicking still bound to happen.

“After,” he said decisively, “After all we’ll be there for lunch and dinner.”

“And the actually wedding,” Aleksi added, “It is the important part.”

“Everything seems to be the most important part,” Aziz sighed, “You know, sometimes I wish we’d gone for a western wedding. A day, a dress, a honeymoon. No fuss.”

“Yeah,” Krilla scoffed, “You’re mother would be so pleased with that!”

“Indeed,” Aziz replied dryly, “Shalla is having her henna done, hands and feet, takes fucking forever. She called just before they started, to say hello because she won’t be able to use her hands for the next four hours.”

“Poor thing.” Aleksi tutted.

“She’ll look amazing though,” Krilla said, giving Aziz a thump on the shoulder, “Anyway I thought the groom was supposed to go out and get wasted about now.”

“I am out.”

“Duh,” Krilla grinned at him and caught Aleksi's arm, “Love, do we have any alcohol on board?”

“Yes.”

Krilla smiled a slow, sly smile. Aziz groaned.

*

Four hours, three bottles of strong red wine and a full bottle of raki later Aziz lay wiped out on the deck, head to head with both the others, playing with a lock of Krilla’s shining hair above his face.

“So,” he said soberly, “It there any more?”

Krilla went to lift the bottle, forgetting that he’d given it to Aleksi.

“I think I’m drunk,” he said clearly before dissolving into a fit of giggles.

Aleksi raised the bottle to the lamp above their heads, having to squint and tilt his head so that he and Krilla were nearly cheek to cheek before he could see right.

“No. Not sure. Don’t think so.” He passed the bottle back to Aziz with slack fingertips. The glass thudded on the deck and rolled across to the guard rail, where it lay silently. Aziz read the red printed label of the bottle several times before looking back up at the light. It seemed to draw all his attention.

“I’m going to have such a hangover tomorrow.”

Krilla giggled again.

“You’re getting, ahem, married tomorrow.”

Aziz groaned.

“If I die, kill me afterwards.”

“Hmmm.” Aleksi hummed thoughtfully, his usual grace with words failing him miserably, “I think I might be drunk too. How novel.”

Aziz turned his head to peer sideways at the Finnish boy.

“You not get wasted much?”

“Not on raki.”

Krilla was still giggling.

“I have this friend,” Aziz began in the tone of one who is drunk but will hold forth regardless, “Carpet maker. He says you drink one glass of raki,” he held up one finger, “You see carpet go shiny colours. Two glasses,” Two fingers waved now, “And you see the carpet fly. Three glasses,” again, a respective gesture with his hand, “And you say, ‘What carpet?’”

Krilla recovered from his laughter to add on the end, mimicking Aziz’s voice as best he could.

“But you drink four glasses of raki and the flying carpet is a lion!”

Aleksi lowered his brows in a critical fashion.

“But we’ve had way more than that. I don’t see any lions.”

“Ah,” Aziz sighed in a satisfied manner, “We don’t have any glasses.” And with that, he fell unconscious. The two young men regarded their friend and the deep black of the night sky for a while in silence.

“It’s late.” Krilla said.

“Hmmm…”

“Come on love.” Krilla got up, took a few deep breaths, supporting himself on the boom and walked down into the hull. He returned with a blanket which he draped over Aziz’s prone form. “He’ll be OK.”

Aleksi got up by stages, the boat swimming around him, quiet unlike the motion of the sea which he had grown used to. Supported over Krilla’s arm, they made their way downstairs. Krilla lifted the hatch to the galley closed while Aleksi fell onto the unmade bed. He tugged at his lover’s clothes, peeling him out of layers of linen, before dropping his own cotton trousers, donned earlier when the sheet had been threatening to reveal him. Now he spread the covers over them both, entwined tan bodies in a sea of white and placed his head on it’s familiar pillow of Alek’s chest.

“Kitta sona,” he murmured, “My shining boy.”

But Aleksi was already asleep. Even so, his arm came across to hold Krilla tight and so Krilla sighed in relief and let go of his tenuous hold on consciousness.

*

When Krilla woke up the first thing he saw was Aleksi’s hand, his arm currently being used as a pillow, curving across the bed. He still wore, undamaged, the white and blue stone and gold bracelet Krilla had found for him, a treasure of the lost city of the sea. The second thing he saw was Yusuf, dressed all in pale green and leaning against the wooden door jamb. He screwed up his eyes against the light coming down the hatch. It was morning. That wasn’t good.

Yusuf was the second youngest of the Shad brothers, one of four boys all rapidly turning into men. Yusuf was not too much like the rest of his family. Sure he was tall like them, unusual in itself, with their olive skin and dark hair, but he grew his long, wore sharp clothes cut in western and traditional styles mixed together, had each of his ears pierced three times and a silver ring through his septum, and now, as the fall of his outfit barely hid, the inky black lines of a tattoo. Aleksi and Krilla especially, took a certain interest in this particular member of the Shad family. He was the only one who had not been shocked when Krilla had come out, who had accepted them instantly, wordlessly. Aleksi was convinced the boy was gay, or at least swung both ways. Krilla, who had known him for longer, said that Yusuf was just Yusuf and would let the matter drop. But he too was curious.

Krilla became slowly aware that he was naked. Naked and watched. And entwined with his boyfriend.

“Morning,” Yusuf said brightly, the next time Krilla hazarded to open bright blue eyes.

“Unngh,” Krilla found his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, his throat dry as old paper. Wordlessly, Yusuf handed him a tin mug of water. Krilla drank gratefully, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Why are you here Yusuf?” Krilla asked as he risked a glance down at himself. Relief flooded through him as he found that both he and Aleksi were covered by the sheet and several cotton throws.

“Came to fetch the groom,” He chirped, looking pleased with himself, “But I just thought that you two looked so damn cute, had to stop and wake you up.”

“What time is it?”

“Nearly ten.”

“Shit.”

“Indeed,” Yusuf inspected his fingernails as he spoke, the perfect picture of languid relaxation, “And he’s still sleeping like a baby, going to have a terrible headache when he wakes up in the sun.”

“Has he missed the breakfast yet?”

“Not quite, Mum’s holding it for him. She’s pissed.”

“No shit,” Krilla sat up, rubbing his temples and trying to sweep his hair out of his eyes, “Look Yusuf, go wake him up so I can get dressed. We’ll come up to the house with you guys.”

“Probably best.” Yusuf took another mug of water and sprang up the companionway to the deck, calling out, “Oh Aziz…”

Krilla turned to his lover and reached down to breath in his ear.

“Eia naiana kitta sona,” he stroked Aleksi’s jaw as the pale jade eyes flickered open, “Time to get up Alek.”

Aleksi made a little mewling sound in the back of his throat like a kitten and wrapped his arms closer around Krilla, pulling him back down to the bed.

“No way.”

Krilla chuckled softly, disentangling himself from his lover’s limbs.

“Yes love,” He got out of bed and cast around for some clothes, finally locating the box which had hidden itself beneath a pillow, “Its Aziz’s wedding day.”

“Bugger.”

“Not now.” Krilla began to throw clothes at his white blond friend, “Get dressed, Aika’s got our good clothes.”

Up on deck Aziz was sitting in the little streak of shade cast by the main mast, clutching his head while Yusuf folded up the blanket.

“You left me on deck!” He groaned through his fingers as the boys appeared in the companionway.

“To be fair,” Yusuf said evenly, “I don’t think you would have appreciated being down there with them. Stop complaining.”

“Figured you’d wake up,” Krilla said, stretching fluidly, “And move over to the hammock.”

Aleksi prodded the empty raki bottle with a bare toe.

“Allah…How much did we drink?”

“Meh,” Aziz said non-commitally, not really venturing his sense of judgement to offer a solid opinion on the situation.

“Shall we go?” asked Yusuf, who was already waiting by the prow, sandals in hand.

And so it was that the four boys arrived at the Shad household just as Aika was getting really stressed, preparing to send Murat out as well to try and find them all. She was quick to berate them, but faster to give each of them a hug afterwards. The breakfast, which was supposed to be a formal affair, turned to chaos as each of them had to go and take showers and then Aziz, accompanied by Tamil, Krilla and Aleksi, had to go to the barbers. The fact that Shalla was just down the street in the hairdresser’s irked Aziz as he sat back and dozed while he was washed, shaved, massaged and generally pampered. Krilla took the opportunity to wander along the street and visit the bride, still wearing his sailing clothes.

Shalla was shocked and delighted to see him and Krilla received a smile and quick kiss on the cheek for his trouble. Her hair was being trimmed and styled, her make up was arrayed out in front of her and she turned over the little silver compact mirror in her fingers nervously. Her hands had been henna dyed with intricate geometric patterns in deep brown narrow lines. As she opened her palms Krilla saw that a flower had been drawn in the left, and two tightly curved fish in the right, the only deviation from the otherwise perfect symmetry.

“Lovely,” he said, smiling at her in the hairdresser’s mirror.

“How’s Aziz?” she asked, keeping her voice light.

“Recovering. He came to La Belle Mere to escape the riot in his house and we all ended up drinking rather a lot.”

“You hardly look worse for wear.” Shalla said smiling.

Krilla shrugged.

“I do wasted rather well. All that sea air.” He grinned, “I’d better get back before they miss me. See you in a few hours.”

“Thank you Krilla.” Her voice was earnest, full of meaning.

“You are most welcome my dear.” Krilla said softly. And bowed himself out.

Krilla had paid for both he and Alek to have handmade outfits for the wedding and Alek was pleased and excited as a child at Christmas to be getting his own tailored clothes. They dressed in Yusuf’s room after he had finished, Aziz being helped into his outfit by his father, who was the only person seemingly qualified for the job. Krilla had a fluted, fitted suit of rich aquamarine linen, the shirt was pale blue silk, and the buttons were lapis lazuli that he had found himself. He had a deep blue silk cravat, pinned with a gold fish. Aleksi’s outfit consisted of trousers and a shirt in thick white cotton with a long pale green linen split coat with blue brocade and blue buttons. Around his throat were a string of lapis beads that Krilla had hauled up from the deep many years ago, and that had languished in the box of Japanese fishing floats ever since. Krilla brushed his hair back and let Aleksi plaited it into a braid lying along his spine, tied at the end with a knotted green cord, one of the many fragments of twine that Aleksi would pick at and form with his fingers while thinking of other things.

Aziz and Shalla signed the register for their love in a little white washed square building on the edge of town. Not everyone was there of course; most were waiting in the main square which had been appropriated for the purpose of the party. But Krilla and Aleksi watched, hand in hand, along with Ali and Tamil and the rest of Aziz’s brother’s, as they wrote their names down together on the page. Shalla was stunning, her dress made of many layers of silk, white, palest blue and fish silver, her hair strewn with points of light like diamonds in the midday sunlight. And as everyone had predicated, it was a day of perfect summer, the sky was flawless, the sea was amazing, birds twittered in the orange trees and everyone was happy. Afterwards Aziz and Krilla embraced silently and Aziz pressed a smile to his friend’s shoulder. And then they went to lunch.

Lunch had been prepared by nearly everyone to some varying degree and it seemed, for a moment, that the whole population of the little fishing town had turned out to see Aziz and Shalla married at last. Set out on trestle tables in the square was everything from Krilla’s special grilled fish with olives and lemon to a dish piled high with the last of the season’s fresh soft fruit. Krilla stained his fingers red with raspberry juice. Aleksi’s lips were the same colour. They shared conspiring winks across the table that nearly no one failed to miss.

Then Tamil stood, being the eldest member of the groom’s family and made a short speech before he turned to the happy couple, seated tightly next to each other at the head of the table and presenting them with a black lacquered box. This was the ‘taki’, the traditional gift to the married couple. Shalla opened it with shaking fingers to remove a long string of pearls interspersed with diamonds set in gold. She nearly yelped in surprise and Tamil laughed. Many others gave gifts, mostly money in envelopes, blue edged with silver as Aziz had decided proper. The sun was sinking gently down towards the sea, which was even now becoming darker and more placid, by the time that most of the guests had left and Krilla felt it fine that he should lean into Aleksi's shoulder as they sat side by side watching the newly wed couple dance, forehead to forehead, speaking only with their eyes. It was at the end of that song when the two of them came over and dropped into seats facing the two blond fishermen.

“Congratulations,” Aleksi said warmly, “You two make a handsome couple.”

“Thank you Alek,” Shalla said, beaming, she gathered her many skirts up and tucked them around her ankles, “But then, coming from you.”

Aziz nudged Alek causing the younger man to blush and look at his hands in his lap.

“I have something for you.” Krilla said, and brought from some inner pocket a square shape wrapped in blue velvet.

Aziz opened the package and they both stared at the box in his lap. White and blue with intricate gold filigree. A gift fit for a king. A gift from a king. Aziz tried to open it and failed, not knowing the secret set of pushes and clicks required to help him get into the amazing delicate work before him.

“One day, probably when you and I are both old,” Krilla said, his eyes sparkling in time with the sun on the waves, “And we speak of this day with the fondness of a memory of long ago, you will have learned to open the box. And when that day comes, you will both know how much I have truly valued your friendship. For now though, you may only guess at what lies in the treasure of the deep. After all,” he grinned, “I’m not going to tell you.”

“It’s so lovely,” Shalla said turning the box over in her delicate fingers. “Thank you.”

“Wait. Alek love, give them your present.”

Aleksi blushed, but Krilla prodded him gently.

“Tirana ha kawne e’ie.”

“OK.” Aleksi handed over to Aziz and Shalla’s waiting hands a small silver tube, on the cap was engraved a fish. “Here.”

Aziz opened it to reveal a little scroll of parchment, on which was written, in a round, steady hand, a single sentence in the Arabic script. Aziz laughed.

“You taught him?”

“Yes.” Krilla kissed Aleksi’s hand, “Go on, say it.”

Aleksi smiled, proud of his one new skill.

“There is only one true god and Mohammed is his prophet.”

And so the sun went down upon the sea.