Carmel Kostos — Inserting a new frame in Clift’s story of Kathy and Fotis

They reached that place in the ascension of the pathway towards the citadel, where you’ve come so far, that there’s no point turning back. But she did, for a moment, glance back, taking in the breathtaking scene below — on her left, the sparkling port of Pothia, and on her right, a triangular glimpse of the aqua Aegean Sea. Then, she forged ahead, following him as he too pushed on upward, seeming to conquer the steps uphill one-by-one; displaying his athletic strength, honed from the years of working the sponge fields. 

They reached the first of the ten chapels that are said to be scattered across the citadel. This one required a sideways diversion off the main pathway. She wanted to stop. He was eager to push on ahead to reach the walled plateia that was becoming visible in the distance. She brushed past him, while momentarily turning to walk backwards, glancing at him, before stepping on, upwards towards the terracotta roofed chapel, until she reached its ancient, wooden doorway. 

Yet, she didn’t go inside — something felt familiar — she turned towards the fortified wall behind her, its embrasure quaintly framing the village below. It felt like not being inside the world, while at the same time looking out onto the world, she thought, as if looking out through a window, or at a painting.

The bells of the village church below rang melodiously, and in that moment she knew he was nearby; he had caught up with her, she could feel his energy. Nervously, she blurted out that this scene reminded her of the quarry in her hometown in Australia where her father worked. There, a gap in the granite wall following the years of quarrying had opened a view onto the ocean, which was both stunningly beautiful and perilous — the greens, the blues, and the white caps of swirling, heaving sea that signaled danger. But here, now, in this moment, there were signs that Kathy chose to ignore. It was too late.