I did not anticipate it.
Blood flies in the space between us,when the woman brandishes the knife in my direction a second and a third times, screaming for Stelios.
Then something else happens to my body.
The warm liquid cascades down my thighs. In a matter of seconds, though, I go from soft to hard, and the steady stream is an arch flying across the side of the bed, its yellow gleaming with the sun light. If the sound was not audible when the liquid streamed to form a pool around my feet, it is suddenly outrageously distinct as it splashes on the ceramic floor.
I can't see her face clearly, but I know the woman has seen it. She gasps, lowers the knife, and slowly turns her back to me, to sit on the edge of the bed.
"I'm sorry" I say, and my voice is that of a child repenting.
I can't stop it. My bladder is in control. When it's finally done, there is silence in the room, and outside too - for three or four heartbeats only.
People are shouting at the bottom of the stairs. Then these people are shouting at the top of the stairs. And the same people shout running along the veranda. It is shouting to the top of their lungs that they break into the room.
I am paralyzed, as if that certain part of my body holds the privilege to reaction. It pulsates and throbs and kicks to the shouts and heavy steps of the approaching mob. When they enter the room, I quickly place a hand in front of my pelvis. Not so much to cover my nudity, as to detain the white spurts from flying any farther than my palm.
I do not understand Greek.
But I do understand people, and the reason why I am taken to the police district for sexual offence.
A slim silhouette in the distance, her short hair and the long dress, both white, shine under the moonlight. It is not just an unadorned elegance, but a certain unmistakable personality in everything she does and wears that denounces her.
She gives a start, and backs a step - until she recognizes me.
"It's you!" I watch her smile broaden, as I stride along the beach and approach her. "Of course it is! I should have known you would be here!" She takes the last steps towards me. "But not in my wildest dreams you would be naked!" She exclaims, touching my abdomen.
I blush, and want to retort that I am not naked, when I catch a glimpse of her breast under the loose fabric of her dress. I forget what I wanted to say.
"Are you in for a swim, darling?" She asks. With a gracious movement of her shoulders, both straps slip and the whole dress collapses around her ankles.
I gasp at her nakedness, and once more, as she takes me by the hand into the cold sea. Side by side, feeling the unstable pebbles, leaning against each other for support, we take careful steps, each seemingly taking us into colder waters. When the wavelets, bringing us the silvery light in a steady flow of crests, are breaking at the top of my thighs, I halt, shivering.
"Aren't you taking those off?" She inquires, her hand on my waistband. As I nervously grab her wrist, she answers her own question. "I guess you are not." Smiling, she radiates joy and confidence. "It's up to you, darling."
Patting my butt, she gives a laugh, and plunges into the sea. I watch her swim towards the moon, her tanned body breaching the trail of liquid silvery. More than the cold, it is the beauty and the strangeness of the scene that paralyzes me. There are moments when I expect Daniela shall turn her head and wave at me, beckoning me to join her - and then I'll dive. But she never does. She swims as if having forgotten I am there watching, waiting.