Makarovia! Yes, I Know Where That is! Sophomore Year - 49. Chapter 49

Athens

Athens! The beginning of civilization, philosophy, heros and theater. Myths. Modern and ancient mixed together. Yea! I hoped we'd spend a couple of days there. This was going to be farther away than we'd gone the past week. Captain Agius told us wherever and whenever we should, he would do. Peter knew I wanted to go there, so now was the “when” and Athens was the “where.”

We also messaged Henri about coming in late, or early depending your perspective. We didn't want him to get up to make breakfast too early in morning wasting his time and resources. I'm sure you've heard the phrase “raising the bar.” He raised his own bar for excellence. We expected him to blow our senses now, but we didn't want him to feel pressured and hurried.

It was four-thirty in the morning when we got into bed and then maybe an hour later when we went to sleep. I'm certain you know what we did for that hour in between.

When you normally wake up is when you usually wake up or close to it. I'd only gotten four hours of sleep. My attempts to get more only got me another hour. The need to go to the bathroom arose. Peter was still sleeping. As was his habit, he was spooned up behind me and his arm held me securely. Almost like he was afraid I was going to get away, but the need to pee was telling me “go now!” I tried to remove his arm gently so I wouldn't disturb him. I knew I'd fail, but I tried. As I was raising the arm, I felt him stir. Instead of letting me go he tightened his hold.

Chuckled in frustration I just rolled over. Even in that semi awake, sort of still asleep zone; Peter's desire to keep me with him and so strong. That was very nice. My husband was protective. I was, too...about him. I kissed him gently and whispered to him. “Sorry, Babe, but I gotta go!”

Now, he waking up more, but still groggy. “What? Go? Where are you going?”

Kissing him again I smiled. “Right here if you don't let me go.” I laughed a little. “I haven't wet the bed in nearly two and a half decades. I will again soon if I don't get to the bathroom.”

“Oh.” Peter raised his arm and then smiled understanding the urgency. “Sorry.”

“Why!?” I asked. “Don't be sorry! It's very reassuring to me.” I kissed him again quickly. “Be right back.” I slid out and raced to the bathroom. I almost felt guilty going to the bathroom in here. Yes, it's what every animal does. But it was so pretty here, I felt like I was pissing in a rose garden or even an art gallery. Would you want to do that?

As I was coming out, Peter was going in. “This is your fault.” Using his mocking tone of grouchiness voice.

“What's my fault?” I grinned as he went to the “water closet.” You know, the little room within the bathroom so you can go to the bathroom in more private? “It's my fault I woke you? I had to go and you weren't letting me go!”

“Not about that.” Peter griped as I heard him relieve himself. He and I have been together having long ago gotten over the need for privacy to do that. “Your suggestion about having to pee made me need to go myself.”

I laughed about that. “And that's my fault!? You would have to soon anyway. It's morning!”

The only time the door was closed was if we had to poop. That wasn't because of the need for privacy, but for courtesy. We know we all do it, but keep the negativity associated with it. It's bad and just nasty. Forgive me Willie, I love you, Buddy. I love almost all you've done, but there's a line in one of your play that works here, with some changes. What's in a name? Shit by any other name still stinks. We start early telling children everybody poops. Poop. It's a cute name but it's still shit. The word is used to convey something nasty and bad. I liked Romeo and Juliet, but loved it if it were about Romeo and Tybalt, Juliet's male cousin. Then we would be talking. If you're called a shithead is not a compliment on how smart you are. There are so many names, vulgar, silly and cute, but...there was a circulating fan in this water closet to help take care of that. There was even a deodorizer to help even more!

I'm off the topic. No more digression. I promise. For now. Back to the Honeymoon.

He came out smiling more like his happy self. He kissed me letting it linger a while. “Have I told you I love you today?”

“Technically?” I grinned. “You have. There were several times after midnight.”

His eyes rolled and he looked at me. “Okay.” He said in concession. “Have I told you I love you since the sun came up?”

“Only when you just asked me if you said it, but no.”

Peter chuckled. “I love you, husband.”

We kissed again. “I know. I love you, husband.”

“I know.”

I wasn't a sailor, but knew ship's speed was gaged in knots. How many knots the Duchess' was traveling, I didn't know. I still would have no idea, or could understand if I was told how many knots it was. The distance we needed to travel was farther than Venice to Kotor or Kotor to Corfu. We had to go between two of Greece's landmasses under a bridge which connected them for street traffic; saving them from going a long way around or the need to wait for a ferry.

The two landmasses were the Greek mainland and the Peloponnese. The Peloponnese was almost an island but was joined by a narrow strip of land less than five miles wide. They had tried for thousands of years to try to ease crossing this isthmus to save time for quicker accumulation of profits. It was for business.

We go from the Ionian Sea...almost to the Mediterranean Sea, but veering off between those landmasses under that almost mile long bridge into the Gulf of Corinth. At the city of Corinth we take the Corinth Canal. That was a major boon for Corinth as many ships used it for rest, a meal, bathed or replenish supplies. Corinth was always prosperous as people used Corinth frequently. It was located at center of the isthmus and now the canal did too, for trade.

If you were raised like me, you certainly knew that city. Remember First and Second Corinthians in the Bible? That's the city the Apostle Paul wrote to the citizens there! But we still wouldn't have arrived in Athens. Close, but a little more travel was needed. We would go to the Megara Gulf to get to the Gulf of Elefsina! That's a lot of gulfs, I know, but if we went that way we saved on fuel and time.

Makarovia was buying the fuel, food and paying the crew...plus all fees for berthing and the fee to use the canal. The uranium was coming out and the money was coming in. Oh, yes, I almost forgot. We also needed an SUV to take us places in Athens. Peter and I weren't driving, but Mercea was.

The Countess was letting us use her yacht. It was only fair we paid, but I didn't want to see the bill. It was expensive. Why? Did we think we deserved it? We didn't. But being married in to a family of leaders...which I just married into. It was necessary to ensure security. There still the threat of the Consortium, the Extremists in the Middle East and people like that drunk woman last night made it so we had to.

We returned to bed, but the sleepy spell had been broken.

“It was nice to meet Holly and Gary.” I said as we just cuddled. And dozed. We weren't going anywhere a while.

“Gary Coleman,” Peter said out of the blue. “Why is that name so familiar?”

“You saw sitcoms from the United States.”

“Sure.” Peter nodded and then his eyes got wider as he remembered. “Yes! Different Strokes, in the early nineteen eighties! Wow, he really changed.” He grinned. “He certainly grew up, changed his ethnicity...”

“And resurrected!” I added.

Peter chuckled. “It was a pretty good show.”

“When that woman came,” I said sadly. “I admit it. I was embarrassed.”

“Why?”

“She was American!” I stated disgusted.

Peter frowned. “How do you know that? They also speak English in Canada.”

“Her accent!” I explained. “Even drunk...she slurred words, but with a Northern Midwestern States accent...like Wisconsin or Minnesota. She was the embodiment of nouveau riche trailer trash. She gave Greece a bad example of the people from the United States!”

“You'd recognize the accent. I just heard English.” Peter squeezed me to him. “She had access to money.”

“Right.” I shrugged. “Not for anything she did or even the one that brought here did. I'd almost wager they lucked out on a lottery ticket or won a big law suit.” Thinking about it was making me angry. I took the conversation in a new direction. “We left Corfu in the early morning hours. Didn't Captain Agius say it would take just a couple of hours?”

“He did,” Peter grinned. “He also said depending on the traffic it would only take a couple of hours.” He kissed my head. “He meant boat traffic.”

I nodded. “Because of the canal. Everyone wants to use it.”

“Yep,” Peter answered. “It's very narrow. Only one ship at a time can go through.”

“But better than going that long way around.”

Peter smiled. “What will we find to do?” He asked as he kissed me.

We found something to do.

We showered and changed, leaving our quarters to hunt down Henri. The Duchess was big, but not that big. We weren't that hungry at the moment. What I knew Peter needed and I wanted was coffee. We knew he'd be in the galley. We asked a crewman who pointed to a door slightly ajar. Peter and I weren't surprised to find out his quarters were attached to the galley.

Peter knocked gently making the door open more. Henri's quarters were not big. Compact would be right the right word. Henri was lying on his single bunk reading a book. It was written in French, but I knew what the book was about. The front of the book had a close-up picture of something cooked on a table. Food. It was the man's passion!

Henri looked up and smiled instantly. “Bonjour!” He looked at his watch. “Soon it will be afternoon.”

“There's no rush to cook, but can we get our coffees?” I asked.

“Certainement!” Henri said getting up.

Again, that word was so close to the word in English, I knew what he meant. Most languages in Europe had the same basis...except Russian, Ukrainian and Makarovian... Sorry. I left the topic again.

“We could do it ourselves...” Peter began.

Henri looked alarmed. “Then why would you need me if I let you do that?” He shook his head. “I have a purpose being here and I do it gladly.”

We followed him into the galley and watched him prepare our different coffees.

“You really like to cook.” I ventured.

Henri shook his head. “No, Monsieur. I live to cook.” He chuckled. “There is a saying, if you love what you do, you'll never have to work.” He started the coffee brewing. “I do love it. I feel alive when I cook.” He turned to us. “Since it will be lunchtime soon, may I suggest a seafood brunch?”

Peter grinned. “Anything you cook will be great.”

“Give me forty minutes.” Henri instructed.

“Forty minutes?” I smiled asking. “Why not say a half an hour, forty-five minutes or even an hour?”

“Because I know how long to prepare things and I want what I give to be at the peak of flavor.” Henri handed us our coffees as he confessed and waved his hands away from us in a shooing motion as said, “Pschtt!”

Peter and I walked out on deck into the sunshine. Peter laughed as I set the timer on my watch. I looked at him.

“We need to be on time,” I said logically. “I try never to be late. I set I for thirty-five minutes.” Accounting for travel, we would be right on time.

We were in the Gulf of Corinth. We could make out a small strip of land in the direction we were heading. The engines of the Duchess didn't make much noise., but was silent now. I guess a boat can idle like a car. We weren't moving except a gentle rocking as we floated. We were waiting our turn. There were three ships I could see in the distance that had been here before us. We couldn't make out how many were on the other side to come Saronic Gulf to the Gulf of Corinth where we were at the moment.

“At least we're in comfort here.” I said gratefully. “In Charleston, I wasted a lot my life waiting for a drawbridge to open and close. It could be a barge or sailboat to get through on the International Waterway. All I could do is find a new song on the radio or CD. Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel the only other option.”

Peter nodded a shrug. “We had to wait months for Spring to go outside.”

Turning to him I tapped on his chest as I asked. “Are you one-upping me?” The exact word translation didn't work again. I explained what that meant.

Peter was nodding as he understood. “Yes!”

He yelped laughing as I tackled him onto a cushioned lounge.

Nothing really happened out here on the deck except making out. It was my watch that reminded us it was time for Henri's delectable creations. Self-control barely kept us from running to the table, but we did walk faster than we normally did.

At the table, Henri had set platters, bowls and something that looked like a pie. It wasn't a sweet one anyway. It bubbled and steamed. All of it smelled wonderful.

“You did all this in forty minutes.” Peter said doubting the possibility.

Henri looked surprised and a little guilty. “Well...yes.” He gave a grudging nod. “I had it prepared and in the réfrigérateur.” That word in French was just obvious. “Never do I freeze.” He waved at the pie that wasn't a pie. “This is a Crab and Shrimp Quiche.” He waved to a bowl of rounded shapes I knew were shrimp, but they were covered in a dark and glistening sauce sitting on what every Southerner easily recognized as grits. I really didn't care for grits, but I kept my mouth shut. “This is a lightly tangy, spicy Caribbean Shrimp and Grits.” I quickly told myself this I had to try. It sounded good! He waved at the steaming platter. “This is Lobster Benedict.”

“Damn.” I said just like we did seeing the house in Boston for the first time.

Peter nodded in agreement. “What he just said.”

“Fresh juices, coffee...oh,” Henri reached under the cart and presented me with that important glass of milk. “Prendre plaisir.” Enjoy.

I pointed a thumb at Henri. “You just can't help but love this guy!”

Peter nodded. “I know!”

Henri smiled shrugging. “I love to do it.” He left us to do prendre plaisir.

The marvelous oral food orgasms came again. We had to get Boris to get the recipe from Henri. Boris wouldn't be offended, would he? This is a Monet and Van Gogh moment, right? Super painter with beautiful paintings, love both of them, but are they're different.

The wait for the passing through the canal took a little while, but I didn't mind the wait. We didn't have to drum our fingers on the steering wheel. The Duchess had moved closer slowly and waited for the ship coming through to exit. Our number came up. We moved slowly toward the narrow entrance. It was finished in the late nineteenth century. Ships were smaller then.

The tall rocky coastal area made the canal's entrance seem even more narrow. The Duchess wasn't that wide. The freighter that had come out for us to go in was wider. I imagined the crew reaching over the sides to touch both canal walls. At the same time!

The Captain was handling the passage through the canal. Not that he didn't trust any of his crew. They could do it. However, if the Duchess did suffer any damage as in scraping the side, he alone would be held responsible, so he did it himself.

No one had to tell me what the speed was. I could see that as the canal's rocky wall slowly passed by. There were no locks. It was dug at sea level. The six kilometers, or four miles, didn't take too long. There was the next ship waiting to go next.

“The trip to Malta we won't take this again.” Peter told me happily. “But it did save us a whole day or two going through the canal!”

It was getting dark when we arrived at Pireas. This neighboring port community was only two or three miles from the heart of Athens. Many of the ferries dropped off people and their cars here from the islands off the coast of Greece.

Smiling at what I beheld, it just happened. My heart rate even rose a little in anticipation. Peter was smiling too. At me. He was amused at seeing me smile like I had. We were definitely married, because I knew what he was thinking! I waved at the many buildings there. “This is what I was talking about!” The buildings where clumped like many other older cities and towns, but these looked like stadium seats. Because they were! The farther back they were, the higher they sat to give everyone an unobstructed view of the water and boats. There were a whole lot of boats and ships here so there were plenty to see.

The Port Authority boat came to us. They did that. We hadn't been awake when we arrived at the other ports.

A Greek man with the dark hair in his middle years boarded shaking hands with Captain Agius. This man had met the Captain before as the greeting was comfortable and familiar for both of them. There was a comfortable conversation we could barely hear between them. The Duchess must come here often.

Peter and I didn't leave the deck. We weren't in hiding...much. You knew what they did and knew what he talked about having no knowledge of the spoken language.

The questions were standard. What was he carrying, what were the intentions and how many onboard? As the man asked the questions, he was glancing around and his gaze came to us and his reaction was typical. Eyes widened, he looked at the Captain, said something as he pointed at Peter and me. Then something to the Captain who raised his hands speaking to the man. People are the same around the world! Are we who he thought we were? And the Captain saying yes then asking him to keep it to himself. The man nodded and the of course was understood. Who needed a verbal language for any of that?

The Duchess was assigned a berth. Ships of all sizes were spread out here at this busy port. There were three cruise ships were here all lit as it was getting later and getting darker. The city shores were beginning to light up. Yes, this was exactly what I wanted. The mixture of old and new buildings. And most important, the ancient were here.

There was some crumbling ruins of what was left of the gates that had been part of the walls for the city of Pireas. Some of the wall was still there, too.

It was time for Henri again. Knowing it would be good my mouth watering before I even knew what he was serving! I was like Pavlov's dog and salivating at the sound of a bell. I was conditioned.

Coming out in his usual good mood he whistled as he brought in the cart on which were two silver covered dishes. Removing the covers revealing a small bowl and smaller plates on each of the dishes. “This is an Escarole Souffle.” I thought souffles were sensitive to noise and rapid movements and that sort of thing or they fell. They used that on many comedy TV shows. He wasn't loud or rough, but he wasn't worried. He waved at our plates where some toasted bread had something round on it. “And here you have Calamari Bruschetta.” The bread was a sliced baguette.

“Calamari?” Peter asked. “You mean...” he thought, “what is vosʹmynoha in English?” He waved his arms in a flowing fluid motion. Peter said he hadn't eaten seafood in Makarovia. He didn't know it. The problem was, I never heard it used in Ukrainian or Makarovian. I didn't know the word. There are words we never used.

“And has eight arms or tentacles,” I chuckled waving my arms in the fluid-like the motion Peter used. “It's squid.”

Peter looked confused. “I thought that was an octopus.”

I shook my head. “That's a different eight armed sea creature. They're both mollusks, but different creatures.”

“Oui,” Henri nodded waving his arms, too. “Calamr is French for squid.”

Three grown men doing the arm waving was funny!

We didn't even have the main course yet!

The souffle was light, full of flavor and the Calamari Bruschetta savory in that sweetish sort of taste the meat of lobsters had. I'd had Calamari before. Raised in Coastal Carolina, unlike Peter, I knew what the word was. Over-cooked or under-cooked it could tough and chewy. Henri knew how to cook it very well. It was light, tender and so tasty.

Watching us using the monitor Henri came pushing the cart. He took our used plates and bowls. Placing two more plates in front of us, he took the silver covers off. On both plates were two...hockey puck sized biscuits. Those biscuits looked as if whatever was inside them had blown off the top of the biscuits. The stuffed contents had erupted from inside and steam came up to entice us to lean in closer to get as much of that rich smelling aroma as possible.

“Lobster Newberg!” Henri said. “I hope you enjoy it.”

We did. The sweet taste of lobster with a creamy taste with the bite of cayenne pepper. Absolutely wonderful.

Peter was loving it, but looked at me. “Why am I feeling disloyal?”

I knew he could see my surprised reaction. It wasn't about what asked about, but how similar our thinking could be. “Damn, Peter,” I smiled shaking my head. “We really are married. You're having some of the thoughts I do.”

Peter chuckled. “We did it before we married. It must be because we have family that came from Russia.” He jabbed the air above his plate with his fork indicating what was on it. “I am loving this. Everything Henri has cooked has been excellent. Am I being disloyal to Boris?”

I laughed. “Do you think Henri is better than Boris?”

“Well, no,” Peter replied. “It's more than just professional jealousy. Boris is a damned good chef. I love him, you know that.” He shrugged and pointed to his plate. “Henri is just as good and I find myself loving Henri, too. His personality and happy demeanor is easy to love.”

I nodded. “You think you're cheating on Boris?”

“Aren't I?” Peter asked.

That's when Henri came in the dining area. “No, you're not.” Henri answered. Now, he saw both our puzzled faces and smiled. “If you didn't want me to understand; you should have gone to Makarovian. The equipment has sound, as well.” He chuckled. “On the professional jealousy part,” he shrugged. “That going to happen between any two chefs. We compete to serve the best of what we can do to impress anyone we cook for. It's like a race, we both want to win!” He held his hands out to show the helplessness he knew would happen. “On the love part,” he smiled. “Does it hurt to love another person?” He shook his head. “I don't think so. I love cooking on the Duchess. I have all I need and know where everything is and how to use it. I love the Count and Countess von Bar. I love to cook for them. I have more than enjoyed cooking for you two. I love you as well.”

I nodded. “Apples and oranges. Realism and modern art.” I grinned and pointed to Henri. “You are a Monet. Boris is a Van Gogh.”

Henri nodded happy that I got it. “Exactly!” He chuckled and leaned in for mock secret telling. “I'd prefer being a Renoir. Claude was good, but personally, I think Pierre-Auguste was better.”

“Sure.” I grinned. “Even in that analogy taste is involved.” Henri smiled nodding at that.

The shrugging nod said Peter understood. Then he looked at Henri. “You take vacations.”

“I do.” Henri said. “There can be weeks when I'm not needed at all.”

“Would you come to Makarovia? Or even Boston?” Peter asked. “We'd love to see you. You won't have to cook, if you don't want to.”

Henri's smile was warmer with genuine affection now. “I will.”