Chapter II

The Mediterranean heat wreaks havoc on southern Europe, specifically Loutro, a small town in Crete, difficult to access, calm sea, a phone that never stops ringing. From across the room of a small house, sitting in his favorite armchair, with black hair, black eyes, his chin resting on the palm of his right hand, he keeps staring at the phone that never stops ringing. For three-quarters of an hour, he spent this way until he decided to answer. He pressed the green button, brought the cell phone to his ear, listened attentively, frowned, grunts, ended the call, slammed the phone against the wall, ran his fingers through his hair. His anger was such that he punched the wall, piercing it completely. He went into his room, tidied everything up at night as if he were fleeing from something or someone leaving the town under the cover of darkness and a moonless sky.

At dawn, he arrives in Athens in search of an old friend. It takes him two hours to find her. She welcomes him with open arms. They exchange a few words. The woman nods, asks him to wait a few minutes, and leaves him in the living room. The hostess returns with clothes, suitcase in hand, and a letter-sized manila envelope. She shows him the way to one of the rooms in the house. The man enters the room, takes a bath, finishes cleaning up, shaves, changes his clothes, and leaves the room with suitcase in hand, this time carrying a rectangular briefcase. He says goodbye to the woman.

On the way to the airport he makes a couple of calls, he hates technology claiming that it is things of the devil and to be a creature of hell as he calls himself that is saying a lot, on more than two occasions he wanted to crash his laptop against the ground, he armed himself with patience and opened his laptop starting to catch up on the last few years (seventy-seven to be exact), he knew about the cell phone, the television, his favorite was the radio, he hated the internet, he knew of its existence and its use by Artemis who came to visit him from time to time, the last time that was five years ago.

Eleftherios Venizelos International Airport, an intercontinental flight takes off for the Americas, ten hours into the flight and about two hours in immigration. He's on hold at Mexico City's Benito Juárez Airport until the next day, to transfer to his final destination. He takes the opportunity to buy a cell phone so he can communicate with his brother. He decides to wait in the airport lounge for the flight that would leave at four in the morning for northern Mexico. To kill time, he plays with his cell phone and tries to understand the damn technology.

At eight in the morning he lands in northern Spain, steps off the plane, inhales the air, smiles, bites his lower lip, runs his fingers over his lips, throws his suitcase over his shoulder, on his right, the rectangular briefcase, leaves the airport, sees few people passing by.

—Hundreds of years without coming here, it feels good to breathe this air.

—At least one thing hasn't changed: the habit of talking to yourself.

—Ha! Lorenzo, my old man, how have you been? —A man with gray hair, honey-colored eyes, and dark skin.

—From what I see, better than you, boy.

"Did you get a good look at me now?" He opens his arms and spins on his heels.

—Elián, even though you are almost five thousand years old, in my eyes you are still just a simple boy.

—Four thousand five hundred and forty-five, did you forget? I stayed at forty-five, I was already an old man.

—In those times, in these you are not.

Elian's passion

—Now, what am I? A teenager?

—Since I know I'm not going to beat you, I'll shut my mouth. Come on, get in the car.

-Thank you.

They get into a modest car, a 2020 Sentra sedan, nothing out of the ordinary. Elián settles into the passenger seat, leans his forehead against the glass, watching the route ahead. Lorenzo gets in, turns on the air conditioning, and starts driving. Silence takes over the moving place. The newcomer turns on the radio, the announcer begins to speak. Elián, behind him, imitating the accent, speaks a couple of times until his Spanish sounds like that of the locals.

—And Dario? He was the one who called me.

—He's at work, in Hermosillo.

—Oh! Too bad for him, with this pandemic.

—Although it doesn't affect us, it has hit us hard, like everyone else.

—Yes, I'm aware.

—How so? If you're never at important meetings, you're not on social media, communicating with you is a real ordeal.

—Not for Artemis and Kadir, they haven't had any problems for four hundred years.

—The next meeting will be in a month, and it's our turn to host it.

—I'll talk to the guys so we can get everything ready.

—Are you planning to do it here? But we're in a pandemic, we're still in a pandemic.

—It will be done here and that's it.

—Yes, yes, as the Lord says.

They take the road towards Aldama, a small, quiet agricultural town, surrounded by forests, very close to the Chuvíscar River, after almost half an hour of driving they arrive home, Elián was the first to get off, the strong aromas of his family reach him where he is standing, Lorenzo honks the horn, Elian was going to get out of the car, but Lorenzo doesn't allow it.

—Dad's here!

—Children, your grandfather has arrived.

-Grandfather!

Everyone, no matter their age, comes out to greet him. When Lorenzo sees the children, he lets him out. The 1.96 meter tall Greek kneels down, opens his arms, his grandchildren and even his great-grandchildren don't hesitate to throw themselves at him. The older ones wait patiently. They can finally "get rid" of all the little ones. His children are the next to greet him: two men and two women. Calix is the one who formally greets him. Before lunch, he locks himself in his room with Calix. When this happens, everyone at home knows not to interrupt them. Although the order is obeyed, it's impossible not to hear the reproaches, screams, and invocations of countless supernatural beings from both the son and the father. In the end, an uncomfortable silence falls. Everyone hates that silence and would rather hear the screams.