Candles

“So, what would you like?” the woman behind the glass counter asked in Greek.

“Erm,” Julian began, “can I please get a Freddo, a…cherry Loux”, he paused dramatically, examining of the counter’s contents, “two spanakopites and a sokolatopita”.

“Certainly”, she smiled reassuringly. “For the road?”

“What?” he responded.

“Are you going to have it here?”

“Oh”, he said, going red. “Yes.” After a moment, he added “thank you.”

“15 euros,” she said.

Julian took out a twenty euro note from his wallet and handed it to the woman. She gave him a 5 euro note in return, which he promptly placed into his wallet.

“Receipt?”

“Yes, thank you.”

They waited for a few moments while a black and white tongue inched staccato out of the register. With a satisfying rip, the woman tore the receipt free and handed it to him.

“Thank you,” he said, sliding the receipt into his still-open wallet.

“You’re welcome,” she smiled in reply. “Knives, forks and napkins are over there,” she said, flicking her head in the direction of a red trestle table running along the wall to the right of the counter.

Julian walked over to the table and picked up two knives, forks and napkins, before walking back towards the table where his smiling father, Nick, was waiting.

"What did you get?" Nick asked.

"Coffee, Loux drink, and two spinach pies," Julian replied, matter-of-factly.

“How’d you go?’ Nick asked.

“All right, I think,” Julian replied sheepishly, relieved to be speaking in English once more. “Would’ve just been easier for you to order, though?”

“Ah, c’mon, mate. It can’t be that hard to order food and some coffee, can it? Besides, it’s good practice. This is what we send you to Greek school for.”

“I guess,” Julian replied.

They spend the next few minutes sitting in silence, scrolling through their phones and listening to the hubbub of their fellow travellers sitting and talking around them, along with the sounds of knives and forks clinking on plates. The bus trip up from Athens had been long and hot, and what few topics of conversation had remained to them after three weeks of travelling together were quickly exhausted. The lull was broken when they looked up and saw the server bringing their food and drinks towards them.

“Loux” she said.

“Here,” Julian replied, “thank you.”

“Freddo”, she said.

“Yes, thank you,” Nick replied.

Next she put down the two plates of spanakopita, one in front of each of them. Nick looked up at her to see what else she was holding.

“And the sokolatopita,” she said. Nick could see that she was smirking.

“In the middle please,” Julian piped up. “We’re sharing.”

The server put the plate of sokolatopita down between them.

“Kali orexi,” the server said cheerfully, then walked off.

“Chocolate pie?” Nick said, eyebrow raised, once the server was out of earshot.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” Julian said.

The duo spent the next fifteen minutes devouring their food. The spanakopites, or spinach pies, were so huge that Nick only managed to eat half. He took a few bites of the chocolate pie, before leaving that alone as well. Not letting anything go to waste, Julian ate his piece of spanakopita, then finished off his father’s piece and the rest of the chocolate pie for good measure.

Once their plates were empty, the server came back to clear the table.

“How was it?” she said, as she lifted the plates into her arms.

“Terrific,” Julian replied, grinning. “Very delicious.”

The server smiled. “Beautiful.” She paused for a moment. “Which part of Australia are you from?”

“How did you know we are from Australia?” Julian replied, surprised.

“I have family who live in Australia, including little nephews and nieces. Your Greek sounds just like theirs.”

“Oh,” Julian said. “We are from Adelaide. South Australia.”

“And where are you going now?” she asked.

“We are on our way to Mount Athos”, Nick replied. “To visit my brother. He’s a monk at Vatopedi monastery.” Nick’s older brother, Elijah, had been a monk at the monastery since before Nick was born. His father visited him every few years. This was the first time he was taking Julian to meet his brother.

“Truly?” she said, her ears pricking up. “Ah, bless him. And bless you both as well.” Then a sadness overcame her. “I wish I could go to Mount Athos. To go and see…it must be so beautiful there.” Women were prohibited from visiting the Holy Mountain. According to Christian tradition, the Virgin Mary washed ashore on Mount Athos after a shipwreck and, left awestruck by its beauty, asked her Son Jesus to make it her garden. Since then, Mount Athos has been regarded as the garden of the Mother of God, and all other women are prohibited from visiting it. “Go well,” she said, as she collected the empty plates, before taking them to the kitchen. Nick and Julian grabbed their respective drinks and joined the busload of tourists heading out of the cafeteria towards the car park, where their shiny blue and white tour bus waited for them. The Mediterranean sun blazed so hot it seemed to have melted Julian’s legs, based on the way he sauntered across the bitumen, straw from the cherry Loux in between his teeth, humming the tune of “I Want You” by Savage Garden. They got half way across the car park when Nick heard a voice.

“Excuse me,” a female cried said. “Wait, please. One moment.”

Nick and Julian turned and saw it was the server from the cafeteria. She still had her apron on. She was holding a 5 euro note in her hand.

“What’s happened? Is everything all right?” Nick asked, slightly alarmed.

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” she looked down sheepishly, seemingly embarrassed by causing him to worry. Then she looked up again. “It’s just, well, since you are already going to Mount Athos, I was wondering if you could do me a small favor.”

“What kind of favor?” Nick asked.

“Nothing major, I hope. I just wonder if you could please light a candle for me? In the monastery? Any one will do.”

Nick was struck by her request. It was remarkably simple, and yet felt extremely profound. For a moment, he did not know how to respond to her.

Interpreting his hesitation as reluctance, the server held out the 5 euro note to him. “Please, will you do me this favor? I will pay you.”

“No, no, it’s all right,” Nick said. “You don’t need to pay me. We will light a candle for you. I promise.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you very much. I…” she began to say, before stopping herself, turning and rushing back towards the shop. Nick watched her go. As she reached the wooden steps at the front of the cafeteria, he suddenly remembered he did not know her name, her number, or any other way of contacting her.

“Wait!” he shouted. “Wait a second.”

If the woman heard him, she didn’t show it, as she pranced up the stairs towards the cafeteria’s open double doors. Nick resolved to go after her.

“Dad,” a male voice cracked. He turned and saw Julian standing beside him. He noticed, for what felt like the first time, that they were the same height.

“Dad, come on. The bus is going to leave without us.”

Nick took one last look at the cafeteria, then, feeling defeated, he followed his son towards the bus.

***

Three hours later, the bus pulled into Ouranopolis, the City of the Sky, and one of the ports to catch a ferry to the Holy Mountain. Like Mount Athos itself, Ouranopolis is situated on the easternmost prong of the upside-down trident that is Halkidiki. Nick and Julian had arranged to spend a night in Ouranopolis, and then catch the ferry first thing in the morning. They got off the bus and, upon collecting their luggage, went to their hotel, where they checked into an unadorned room with two single beds. They left their luggage in the hotel room, then rejoined the group from their bus for dinner at a local Greek tavern. Before they knew it, the table was covered in plates piled high with pork and chicken gyros, pork meatballs and spicy, curled sausages, thin-cut potatoes flavored with lemon and oregano, and fresh salads of rich red tomatoes, plump purple olives, and sickles of onion so sweet they could be eaten on their own, all glazed with olive oil and dusted with crumbled pieces of feta cheese.

“Enjoy the meat,” Nick told Julian amidst the din of conversation and clinking cutlery. “We won’t be eating any where we’re going.”

“Well, in that case, I’d better stock up,” Julian replied, spearing a meatball with his fork and swallowing it whole.

After the feast ended, Nick and Julian stumbled back to their hotel room, where they fell swiftly asleep.

***

The next morning, Nick and Julian showered, packed their things and, dressed in long pants and long-sleeved shirts, they checked out of their hotel room and headed for the marina to catch the ferry to Mount Athos, only stopping briefly at a stall to buy a couple of koulouria for breakfast. The town’s main street was lined with grey, brick two-storey buildings with burgundy window panes and terracotta-tiled roofs. Yellow, rectangular sun shades were already extended in anticipation of the summer sun’s arrival. They soon arrived at the port, where a line of pilgrims waited patiently at the Pilgrim’s Office to collect their permit to enter Mount Athos, the Diamonitirion. Even though it was only collected on the day of departure, organizing a Diamonitirion was a process many months in the making. First, a prospective pilgrim needed to apply to the Holy Mountain’s Bureau in Thessaloniki and send all the relevant identification documents, a process that, thanks to the wonders of modern technology, could now be completed via email. The majority of permits were valid for up to four days. Pilgrims who wished to stay overnight at multiple monasteries also needed to contact each monastery individually to organise lodgings, and there were a number of other administrative steps besides.

Nick was confident he had completed all of the steps correctly. Yet he was always the most nervous right before collection. He had read horror stories about the Holy Mountain’s at times byzantine bureaucracy providing a last-minute stumbling block to even the most organized and well-intentioned of pilgrims.

When it was their turn, they were greeted by a middle-aged man with a few long strands of black hair combed mendaciously back across his otherwise bald, spotted head. Even though the sun had only just risen, his forehead was coated with a sheen of perspiration, his white shirt already appeared to be soaked through.

“Names?” the man asked impatiently.

Nick gave the man their names. The man scrolled through his computer, absentmindedly clicking his tongue against his teeth.

“I’m sorry,” he said gravely. “Your name is not on the list.”

Nick’s heart skipped a beat. “What?” he asked, shocked. “What do you mean our name is on the list? We are supposed to be leaving for the Mountain today.”

“I am sorry,” the man replied, a bit gentler. “I am just going by what is on this list, which your names aren’t.”

“But how can that be? I followed all of the steps. I know exactly what to do. It isn’t the first time I have come here, you know.”

“I am sorry, sir. There is nothing I can do. Neither of you are on the list to receive a Diamonitirion. Therefore you may not enter.”

“Damn,” Nick said through gritted teeth.

“What is it, Dad?” Julian asked, sensing something was wrong.

“Please sir, I am going to have to ask you to move. There are other pilgrims waiting.”

Nick gave an exasperated sigh and angrily stepped out of the line. He did not for the life of me know what had gone wrong. He had travelled halfway across the world to see his big brother, only to be turned away due to an unknown administrative error. Yet as disappointed as he would be not to see Elijah, he could not stop thinking about the woman he had met at the cafeteria, and the promise he had made to her. Nick intended to keep his promise.

“What are we going to do now?” son said, tears welling in his eyes.

“We are going to Mount Athos.” Nick said reassuringly. “I didn’t come all this way to be turned back now. I’m going to call my brother. He will sort out this mess.”

With that, Nick pulled out his mobile phone and dialed his brother.

Nick waited on the phone for about 30 seconds. He was about to hang up when he suddenly heard someone pick up. “Yes?” a man with a deep voice asked. He sounded out of breath.

“Elijah,” Nick replied. “It’s me.”

“Nick! Hello! How are you?” He paused. “Is everything all right?”

“Not exactly,” Nick replied. “We’re at the Pilgrim’s Office. I booked everything. It was supposed to be all sorted. But they won’t give us our Diamonitiria. They say our names are not in the system.”

“What? Are you sure you organized them?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Nick chuckled bitterly. “I’ve done it before. I don’t know what’s gone wrong. But unless it’s fixed we won’t be seeing you. Anything you can do?”

“Hmm, I am not sure. The monks are pretty strict about these sorts of things, and it’s not like them to admit fault. What day did you say you emailed the Pilgrim’s Office.”

“January 15,” Nick replied, “of this year.”

“Okay. Hold on. I will see what I can come up with. Call you back.”

Elijah hung up the phone abruptly.

Nick and Julian waited beside the window of the Pilgrim’s Office for about 15 minutes before they heard the office phone ring. The bald man picked up the phone, then listened as someone gave him orders from the other end of the line. Then he hung up the phone.

“Nikos?” the man said.

“Yes?” Nick responded hopefully.

“Looks like it’s your lucky day. Someone from the Monastery has arranged for you to have the Diamonitirion. And your son too. Just give me one moment to organise those for you.”

“Of course,” Nick replied, grinning. “Thank you.”

After another five minutes, the man handed Nick two documents. “There you are. Enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you very much,” Nick said. Then he took a 10 euro note from his wallet and handed it to the man. “Grab yourself a coffee. You’ve earned it.”

“Thank you” the man said, his face lighting up. “Go well. But hurry, the ferry will leave any minute.”

“Right you are,” Nick said, a boyish grin creeping across his face. “Well, I’m glad that’s over. Now, Julian, let’s go and see my brother. Adventure awaits.”

***

Ten minutes later Nick and Julian were seated comfortably about a ferry sailing towards Mount Athos. As they sailed alongside the peninsula, Nick looked out across the sea towards mountains covered in forest, and dotted with churches of various colors and sizes, like little storybook castles.

“So,” Julian began, “why did your brother become a monk?” he asked softly.

Nick slowly shifted his gaze from the scenery unfolding in front of them, and turned to look at his son. Then he sighed.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I’m not even sure my brother truly knows. But I can tell you what happened. You’re old enough to know the basics, I think. My brother is the best person I know. He’s doesn’t stand out in a crowd physically — you’ll see that you are probably taller than him — but he has a huge heart, a smile that can light up any room, and a personality that’s larger than life. I don’t know of anyone who ever met him who didn’t absolutely fall in love with him. He is the most academically gifted person I have ever met, and the whole world seemed to be at his feet. My parents had such high hopes for him, and were counting down the days until he went to university to study medicine or engineering or law. With his gifts, he could have done whatever he wanted. He followed his heart, and decided to study history instead. That knocked him down a few pegs in my parents’ estimation. But he didn’t care. He was doing what every person who is put on this Earth should aim to do: to do what makes them happy. He excelled at that, of course, and, shortly before he graduated, he was offered a teaching position at his university. Before he took up his position, he travelled with three other guys to Greece for a holiday. While he was in Greece he met a girl. She was mixed: she had Greek heritage, but also African heritage. Sorry, I should specify, she was from Mozambique. Our parents and grandparents chose to migrate to Australia, her relatives — on her father’s side, that is — chose Mozambique.”

Father paused, weighing his next words carefully. “Long story short,” he sighed, “she returned to Australia with him. That’s when the trouble started. Because she was mixed, and didn’t look people typically expect Greeks to look, she copped a lot of racism. My parents were blindsided and embarrassed by the whole thing, but they wanted my brother to be happy, so they bit their tongues. Until they found out she was pregnant. That caused a lot of problems. My brother was fiercely loyal to her, and so reacted fiercely to anyone he thought was speaking against her. It caused a lot of bitterness. You have to understand, he would tell me, that the person you choose to be with is a reflection of who you are, and what you value most in this world. An attack on the person you love is not just an attack on them, but an attack on you as well.

Once the baby was born, things looked set to improve, and everyone seemed determined to at least try and play at being happy families. But from its first breath the baby was a sickly little thing, and after several near misses, she finally died six months later. After that my brother’s one true love upped stumps and flew back to Mozambique. We never heard from her again. Soon after they separated, my brother went to visit Mount Athos. He had always wanted to visit it, he once told me, but had never had the opportunity. When he finally got there, he decided he didn’t want to leave. He became a monk and has been there ever since.”

“Far out,” Julian exhaled. “That’s a pretty full-on story.”

“It is. But I think you are old enough to hear it. Or part of it, at least. Just promise me you won’t repeat it to anyone. Even though it happened some time ago now, it’s still a bit of a sensitive topic, as you can well imagine.”

“I promise,” Julian replied. “I don’t understand one thing, though. How could she just leave her whole life behind to come back to Australia after just one summer with him?”

“That’s a story for another day,” Nick father said.

Nick turned and looked back out across the wavy Gulf of Athos. Julian’s eyes lingered on his father a while, until he saw a rivulet of water, its trail shimmering in the sunlight, streaming down from beneath the lens of his father’s sunglasses.

***

After an hour and a half they disembarked at Dafni, the chief port of Mount Athos, stepping off the ferry onto a concrete pier. Before them was a small settlement of half a dozen grey brick buildings, and behind that was Mount Athos, the Holy Mountain, rising vertiginously before them like a frozen green wave.

Once they had stopped admiring the view, Nick and Julian followed the rest of the pilgrims towards the waiting bus. Suddenly, they noticed a dusty black Jeep speeding towards them. Before they had time to react, the Jeep pulled to a dramatic stop a short distance away, and out jumped a man of average height, his face covered by a short, black beard streaked with grey, and wearing a black cassock.

“Nick!” he cried.

“Elijah!” Nick replied, rushing towards the monk and plunging into his outstretched arms. Julian followed his father awkwardly.

“So good to see you, Lij.” Nick said.

“And you, little brother,” Elijah said. Then he noticed Julian approaching. “And this must be Julian. I am so glad to finally meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.” Julian replied.

“How are you?” Nick asked. “Keeping well.”

“Yes, thanks be to God.”

“What a nice surprise.” Nick said. “But aren’t you supposed to be at breakfast?”

“It is breakfast time now, yes. But as soon as the morning liturgy finished I just had to come and see you.”

“You answered my phone while you were at the liturgy?” Nick asked, shocked.

“I had to excuse myself to take your call, yes. Luckily I had my phone on so I heard you calling. I suspect I will have to answer for that. But don’t worry about that. The main thing is that you’re here. You made it. Now, jump in. Let’s go to the monastery. We don’t have that much time together. We had best make the most of it.”

Nick and Julian threw their bags into the back of the dusty Jeep, then hopped in. Nick sat in the front passenger seat, and Julian sat directly behind him. Elijah sat down behind the wheel, and they sped off towards Vatopedi Monastery. On the way there, Elijah told them about some of the places they were passing, and about life at the monastery. When they weren’t eat or praying, each of the monks had jobs that helped to keep the monastery running. Elijah explained that many of the monks did jobs they were trained to do before coming to the monastery, which for him was digitizing and analyzing the monastery’s voluminous archives. “There is a treasure trove of knowledge to be found here,” Elijah said.

In the distance, Nick and Julian spotted a crowd of tall stone buildings rising upwards towards the clear blue sky. The buildings grew larger and larger until they were driving right alongside them. The monastery buildings were made from sandy-colored brick for the most part, and topped with a mixture of rectangular roofs and rounded domes. Wooden, painted sections jutted out of the highest storeys of the buildings at seemingly random intervals that seemed to defy gravity.

Elijah parked the Jeep in front of the complex. “Welcome to Vatopedi,” he said proudly. “This is one of the oldest monasteries on Mount Athos. It was founded by three monks all the way back in the 10th century. Most of the artwork here has been painstakingly restored, but if you look underneath, the original images are still intact, and date back to the 14th century. The monastery is home to seven unique, miracle-working icons of the Virgin Mary, as well as thousands of old manuscripts and books the likes of which can be found nowhere else on Earth. The monastery’s archives have kept me busy ever since I arrived her, and will probably do so until my last breath. There is simply not enough time to show you all of it. But I will do my best to show you our must-see treasures. Follow me.”

Nick and Julian followed Elijah up a shallow, semi-circular set of steps and through a striped red and white archway. Once they had passed through the archway, Julian could see that the buildings that made up the monastery were arrayed in a triangular formation around a cobblestone courtyard dotted with trees. They wandered across the courtyard, taking in the sights and sounds of the monastery. Elijah led them to a church with a smooth façade, painted a deep red color with golden stripes, and with a four-faced tower rising out of the roof on its right side.

“This building” said Elijah, “is the monastery’s main church, the katholikon, where some of the monastery’s most famous artworks can be found. Let’s go and have a look inside.”

Nick and Julian followed Elijah into the church. Once they were inside, they beheld mosaics depicting various saints, as well as the Annunciation, using hundreds of little golden tiles. “These mosaics are believed to date back to the 11th and 14th centuries,” Elijah whispered. “And these frescoes, over here” he said, directing their attention to other paintings on the walls, are said to have been painted by Manuel Panselinos, or someone from his workshop. Panselinos was a painter from the Macedonian School, and one of the most prominent artists of the Palaiologan Renaissance. His most famous paintings are in the Protaton Church in Mount Athos’s capital, Karyes, but I think you can agree that these are pretty spectacular too, yes?”

The trio spent the best part of an hour silently admiring the artwork all around them. The silence only ended once Elijah asked if they were ready to move on.

“Ready to go?” Elijah asked. “No rush, of course, but there is still so much to see.”

“Yes,” Nick said. But can we light some candles first.”

“Of course,” his brother replied.

Nick wandered back towards the entrance to the church, where the candles of a dozen pilgrims already burned. He placed some money in an oaken box beside the candles, then took seven of them. He handed one of the candles to Julian, then he carefully began to light each of the remaining six, one by one. One for himself. One for his wife, who was his life partner, and had given him two beautiful children. One for his daughter, who had her final exams in a few months. For his mother and father, who had given him life, and who were not perfect parents, but had always meant well, and had done their best. Finally, he lit a candle for the woman from the cafeteria, and silently wished that, in doing so, it would help to heal her pain.

When he was done, Nick turned and was surprised to see his brother standing beside Elijah held three candles in his left hand. He grabbed each candle, lit it, and placed in deep in the dark sand. The candles’ flames flickered for a moment, then burned brightly beside the rest. Here, at least, all their flames burned together as one, and would continue to burn until melting into waxy oblivion, or until they were plucked by the hand of a monk at put out. Whatever their ultimate fate, at least they would be together for a time. For Nick, that was enough.

“Ready to go?” Nick asked.

“Yes,” Elijah replied, blinking, fire and water dancing in his eyes.

They exited the church and found themselves back in the courtyard. Nick stopped suddenly.

“What is it?” Elijah asked.

“Just give me a second,” Nick replied. “I need to make a phone call.”

“You know, you shouldn’t really be making phone calls from inside the monastery if you can help it,” Elijah said. “This is supposed to be a place of quiet reflection.”

“Please,” Nick said. “It’s important.”

Elijah looked all around them. “Okay, but make it quick.”

Nick took his phone from his pocket, only to see he had no reception.

“Damn it,” she said. “No reception.”

“Not surprising,” Elijah said. “For obvious reasons, most telephone companies don’t bother servicing Mount Athos.” Elijah grabbed a mobile phone from his cassock and handed it to his brother. “Here, try this one. But, just so you know, it doesn’t have internet access.”

“Ugh, then how am I supposed to search for the number I need to call?” Nick asked.

“Wait,” Julian said after few moments. He pulled out his wallet and flicked through the scraps of paper stuffed into it. “Yesss,” he hissed triumphantly. “I still have the receipt from the cafeteria. Maybe that will have the number on it. Let’s have a look.”

Julian handed his father the receipt. Nick examined it and, sure enough, found a phone number at the top.

“See,” Nick said, jokingly, “this is why I teach you to always get a receipt.”

“Whatever,” Julian said half-heartedly, too pleased with himself to care.

Nick held the receipt in one hand, and dialled the number into Elijah’s phone with the other. When he was done, Nick held the phone up to his ear, his arm quivering in anticipation.

The phone rang for around 10 seconds before someone answered.

“Yes?” a woman asked.

“Uh, good day,” Nick began. “Is this the woman I spoke to the other day? The woman who gave me money for the candle.”

“Yes!” she gasped. She took a moment to compose herself. “Yes it is. What do you want?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to tell you that we have lit a candle for you. Your candle burns bright on the Holy Mountain. At Vatopedi Monastery. God be with you always.”

What Nick heard next was the sound of a woman weeping, but whether out of gratitude or sadness he could not say. Then all he heard was the click of the phone being hung up.