Margarita Nikitaki
We land by prop plane on the Greek island of Paros, almost exactly two years late.
And so we were all reinvited, two years later, to celebrate his marriage.
I understood very well.
Christiana, a harborside restaurant in Ampelas, on the Greek island of Páros.Credit:Margarita Nikitaki
I know very few of the invited guests; Enrico, none.
It is to be a week in a glass house above the Aegean.
A murder mystery, I wrote to Doug when I accepted his invitation.
From left: Octopus with fava mash at Siparos Seaside Restaurant, in Naousa; bougainvillea in bloom in the town of Lefkes, on Páros.Margarita Nikitaki
I wrote back: Guessing is the fun part.
He and his brother run a car-rental business together.
Paros has been famous since the sixth century B.C.
From left: Café tables in the main square in Lefkes; Naousa’s Faneromeni Church.Margarita Nikitaki
Round-shaped Paros: an island worn smooth from so many hands.
But it is also the birthplace of the truculent, bawdy warrior-poet Archilochus, of fox and hedgehog fame.
Good shields can be bought.
Sunbathing at Monastiri Beach.Margarita Nikitaki
It is an island of beaches, mountains, and windswept rocky cliffs.
How startling the first drive is in an unknown place.
Only later do we realize they were there all along.
Boating around Antiparos.Margarita Nikitaki
Enrico searches the radio for any song he recognizes.
Whos going to be murdered?
I ask the radio star, and in her cunning way she points at Enrico.
A terrace at the Rooster.Margarita Nikitaki
The foreigner, she whispers, winking.
Enrico looks over, none the wiser.
Who would murder someone with a smile like that?
The ferry to Antiparos.Margarita Nikitaki
It is almost impossible to do both.
Doug and Michael have unashamedly chosen food.
A plate of starters, the waiter suggests:tzatziki, choriatiki, melitzanosalata,favas.Horta,wild greens.
From left: An open-air lounge at the Rooster, a resort on the island of Antiparos; dining by the harbor in the village of Naousa, on Páros.Margarita Nikitaki
Then a fish in a salt crust, no?
Doug gestures to me and we go inside, to where Mario himself is waiting.
He shows us an ancient-looking marble vessel, filled with fish and ice.
From left: The nighttime scene at Naousa’s Fotis All Day Bar; cocktails on the beach at Fotis.Margarita Nikitaki
A big one, I think!
Mario says, and I merely point.
Who can name a fish in a foreign place?
We begin our feast, and later, out comes the fish, its salt crust set aflame.
In the morning, our first casualty: the radio star.
The rest of us drive to rocky Monastiri, where we find sun beds and pineapple and wine.
Here, they look miraculous.
The rocks are pitted from the wind and sea, hardly rocks anymore.
We come across a lighthouse.
I watch as it elopes across the rocks to a separate destiny.
I return unscathed and unworried.
Good shields can be bought.
Across from him at the pool, a tiny white-masked bird dips bread into the water.
Here are the steep, mortared-stone paths of Greece that one dreams about, without the crowds of Naousa.
A local potter is so handsome he makes our groups collective heart leap.
It seems to hover there: a dinner guest impatiently awaiting our arrival.
More of the same starters, just as delicious.
Some of the local smoked mackerel, an octopus for the willful Italian, and another fish set aflame.
We remember Mrs. Yee, the second-grade teacher.
The public swimming pool, the terrifying darkness of Tilden Park.
We have to talk more about all this, he says as were getting into our cars.
The doctor, his husband, leaves with him.
I imagine we are being picked off one by one.
It isntClue!I tell Doug.
ItsAnd Then There Were None!He seems unworried.
Imagine an ancient Greek fisherman naming something after an elephant!
Everywhere, the circling birds of morning.
A plate of starters, the waiter suggests:tzatziki, choriatiki, melitzanosalata,favas.Horta,wild greens.
Then a fish in a salt crust.
Enrico begs off again for his wild beach.
Im anti-Antiparos, he explains.
But alas, she is still too sick to leave her room.
A car ferry takes us across the water, and we drive to a resort called the Rooster.
Ridiculously, I wonder if I could pull this off at home.
Do you think I can pull this off at home?
Back on Paros we board the rented boat.
I am not made for boating, as I am not made for most activities conducted in broad daylight.
I anoint myself with sunblock and cover myself head to toe in linen.
The Minotaur wont catch me.
I sit in the shade, wondering what I will say to my dermatologist.
Around the islands we go, past blue lagoons and arches sea-carved from the rock.
We could have taken the radio star after all if she were willing to sit in an inflatable banana.
I see him with his notebook on the shore, surely irritated by the approaching boat of strangers.
I am a naked middle-aged American on a beach; I recognize a recurring nightmare.
The professional declutterer, wanting me to feel at ease, promptly removes her top.
I grew up with hippies, she explains.
Enrico offers some fruit he brought, water, a sandwich.
We lie in the sand and the waves come and go at our feet.
Perhaps Italy knows many things, but Greece only one.
Say goodbye to the island Paros, Archilochus wrote.
Farewell to its figs and the seafaring life.
It has become clear to me that, with her airtight alibi, she could be the murderer.
Enrico and I demur; our plans are strict.
But in fact, the radio stars suggestions will come to pass.
Above, the Parthenon will glow against the deep blue night.
I will sit astounded by good luck, and beauty, by the surprising happiness of middle age.
But before that, one by one, we depart for ferries or planes.
The declutterer squeezes my hand in solidarity; we have braved nakedness together.
Then they also say their goodbyes; only Enrico and I are left.
We drive to the one place we have not seen in Paros: the southern tip.
Piso Livadi: precisely the town we could see from Lefkes, the end of the Byzantine Road.
We take a table by the water and order coffee.
As if on cue, a coffeepot-shaped cloud passes overhead.
Quiet ecstasy and sweet content.
Enrico smiles and brings out his book.
Ah, I think, the murderer.
My lover just wanting us to be alone.
Here I lie… Archilochus wrote, struck through the bones with love.
The Rooster: A secluded resort on neighboring Antiparos with 16 villas, a restaurant, and a spa.
Fotis All Day Bar: This white-walled retreat in Naousa is famous for its hearty brunch.
Mario by the Sea: Choose your own fish at this institution in the town of Livadia.
