At first it was a tiny black speck on the horizon. An insignificant blemish on the mighty blue sea.Georgiou squinted and strained to focus on the object as it bobbed up and down in the distant waves. Was it a boat?
He hadn't seen another soul in ages, he wasn't even sure if anyone else was still alive. It was hard to know. There hadn't been electricity for years. No one from the outside had ventured toward Mount Athos for more than a decade, perhaps longer.
Georgiou could not allow himself such thoughts. Another person? It was wishful thinking, perhaps a sin. There was a small part of him inside which yearned for human companionship. The monk fought it often in his younger days, considering it an obstacle toward his own spiritual enlightenment.
Once old Demetriou died, Georgiou found himself alone. The others had grown sick and died. He had tried to avoid the old monk, but Demetriou insisted that no man, holy or otherwise, should die without someone to say a prayer for his soul. That was nearly eight years ago.
He banished the thoughts of sitting with Demetriou, slurping on broth as the old man discussed religion and the world with him. Georgiou missed him, but could not admit that to himself.
Now this speck had grown larger. It could not be a boat. Georgiou explained it away as a large piece of driftwood. He knew it was indeed a boat, but his mind conjured a false memory of what a boat looked like to convince him otherwise. Was there anyone on it?
Surely there could not be. Someone would have come by now if there were others.
And yet this object seemed to be deliberately approaching his shore. Why?
It would not take long for his question to be answered. An arm waved frantically back and forth from within the boat. Georgiou had been spotted.
He panicked for a moment, thinking he should run. Run he did, yet his feet carried him toward the surf, not away from it. The figure jumped from the boat and bounded toward him in joy.
Georgiou froze as the figure drew closer. He tried to remember how to talk, it had been so long since he had spoken with anyone. And something else gave him pause. The figure seemed strange somehow. Who was it?
For a moment, he had thoughts of sharing soup, hearing news of the world, perhaps sharing a laugh. Far from being a sin, the thoughts seemed wonderful to him. He had plenty in his garden to share with the stranger. Perhaps he was meant to reach a higher plane of existence through charity.
Or perhaps it would be someone to say a prayer for him when he was gone.
It was not to be. As the figure's features became discernible, Georgiou scowled.
"This holy place is closed to women," he shouted. "You must leave." He turned and walked away.
Catherine, possessed by carnal thoughts, wondered if she could change the monk's mind.