It was still raining Tuesday morning, strong gusts of wind buffeting the small Greek island. The old fishing boats rocked at their anchors in the harbor, which strained to secure them against the rough waters.
“Good morning,” she whispered in his ear. “I never knew it could be like that, so wonderful, so consuming, yet so kind. Oh, Jack, thank God for that ferryboat bringing you here to me.” She twirled the hairs on his chest into small loops as they lay with their bodies intertwined. He chuckled in agreement.
The rain stormed outside and they listened to it beating the roof above their bed. Tuesday, she thought, as she lay in his arms. Three more days of glory, and then the ferry would come for him. Having just found him again, she didn’t want to give him up, no, not after all these years. But what could she do? She wasn’t going lose him again.
He interrupted her thoughts, whispering, “Just my luck, I come to Greece and it rains. It has never rained any other time I’ve been here.”
“Well… We will just have to spend the whole day in bed,” she said with the enthusiasm of a giggling girl, cuddling closer to him. Then she said with a start, bouncing to her knees, “Now you can teach me the Argentine tango and I can teach you how to speak Greek. What do you say? Huh? Jack?” Her eyes grew wide in excitement.
Jack could not say a word. He lay there looking at her, watching her bright, emerald green eyes glistening like precious gems. She knelt in front of him, wearing only a smile, her body like that of a goddess. She was beautiful and he wanted her, again.
“Later,” he told her. “I have a better idea of how to spend our morning.” He pulled her back onto him. “I’ll teach you to dance later.” The rain, which had stopped briefly, began again in its relentless, pounding rhythm.
Soon exhausted, they fell back together, and were soon asleep in each other’s arms. They held each other close, never wanting to let go. They had found their peace; they had found one another once more.
When he awoke, Jack said quietly, “Good morning, lover girl,” as she lay beside him, dozing like a baby, her head resting on his chest. He had found her after all these years. Now what was he going to do? He was determined not to lose her. But how? He had to have a plan.
“Kalimera,” she muttered without opening her eyes.
“What?” he asked her.
“Kalimera is Greek for good morning.” She stretched her arms, lifting briefly from him before returning to her warm nesting spot. “Remember the deal? I teach you to speak Greek and you teach me how to dance the Argentine tango,” she said, her eyes still closed.
“Right. Well, if you insist, especially since it looks like it’s going to rain most of the day. We better get started. Let’s see what music you have downstairs. Ready?”
“Neh!”
“Knee?”
“No, neh. That is Greek for yes.”
“Neh? Okay.”
Once downstairs, he began pulling out CDs, while she made coffee, Greek style.
The secret of Greek style coffee was simple—a tablespoon of Nescafe’ instant coffee crystals with a teaspoon of sugar was placed in the bottom of a small coffee cup. Next, this was ground together with a couple of drops of cream, then whipped with a spoon to create a fluffy texture, before adding boiling water to create the cappuccino effect that the islanders loved so dearly.
Ravenna toasted some bread that she had bought in town and added some marmalade from her reserves she kept in the cupboard for Trevor and her British tourists. She set the table with everything needed for a proper Irish breakfast. Some muffins coated with butter and orange marmalade were her favorite, followed by two eggs and the links of English sausage she had bought at the market.
Jack cleaned the table when they finished eating, and he spied an old coffee maker sitting, unused, in the corner. He chuckled to himself; it reminded him of Gabi. His wife was a gourmet chef, but she was never that technologically inclined.
He thought back, looking at the old machine. When they lived in Chicago, to ensure they had freshly brewed coffee every morning, one of them would prepare the coffeemaker the night before. The process was the same every night: fill the reservoir with water, add two scoops of freshly ground coffee, sprinkled some fresh vanilla powder over the grounds, and turn on the timer. Simple enough. Then it would be ready for them when they woke up the next morning.
But Gabi would sometimes put in the water but forget to add the coffee, or put in the coffee but forget to add the water. Sometimes she would remember both, but then she would forget to turn on the timer. So after that, Jack “volunteered” to make the daily coffee for the two of them. He chuckled to himself, looking at the unused coffee maker, and suddenly he missed her. He missed her terribly.
“Ready?” Ravenna asked, jolting Jack from his memories.
“Yes.”
Jack moved the tables in the bar to open up the room for a dance floor and put on a Carlos Gardel tango CD. “How does this one sound?”
“S’agapó.”
“S’agapó?”
“No, Jack. S’agapó. It means all right or okay, in Greek. But the g is pronounced like the y in yeah.” She smiled at her inside joke. If he only knew… She would tell him later. For now she wanted to enjoy listening to him say the magical words.
“S’agapó!”
“Yes, now you got it.”
“S’agapó!”
“Neh!”
“I remember that one. Neh means yes. Right?”
“Very good, Jack, you are catching on quite well. Now… teach me to dance.”
Jack took her in his arms, drawing her close. “The key to the Argentine tango is the frame your arms make and the walk. They are both crucial. The Argentine is a dance of love. The dancers are very close and only separate when the female is going to turn or make a movement. The frame is erect…”
“Like this?”
“No, more erect,” he told her, correcting her posture with his hand pushed into the small of her back. “Like that. Your posture and frame always remains the same.”
She straightened her back and tilted her head.
“Yes, like that, Ravenna. Good! S’agapó!”
Her inside joke caused her to smile; she thought she should tell him that it was Greek for I love you…
“Next is the walk. They call the Argentine walk the caminar and it is the most important part of the true Argentine. Step forward, but do not lift one foot until the other is completely on the ground, still standing erect. S’agapó?”
She responded in kind, saying, “S’agapó!”
Ravenna tried to perfect it, but Jack continued to correct her, first her posture, then her walk. All she wanted to do was to hold him once again in her arms. Dancing was a means to that end. But if she had to learn the Argentine walk, it was worth it.
They practiced in unison across the floor, back and forth, back and forth, and soon her steps were matching his. They traversed the small tile floor of the tavern area after many tries. Finally, after hours of practice, she’d had enough of practicing the walk.
“Very good,” Jack told her. “I think you have the hang of it.”
“Thank God,” Ravenna laughed.
“The Argentine is a dance of spontaneity and improvisation, but it does have many steps, probably more steps than most dances. Most dance songs are two minutes long, but a tango can last ten or twelve minutes.”
He came close and took her right hand with his left and struck the familiar pose of the Argentine. He was very close; she could see the small, light blond hairs on the back of his neck. She knew then how much she loved him. She loved him so much, it scared her.
Using his right hand, he encircled her waist, then placed his hand on her shoulder blade, pulling her even closer. “See, with just my one my hand here, I can steer you wherever I want you to go. Watch.”
He began to walk forward and she walked backward, and using just his right hand to guide her, he turned a sharp left, then a right, then a spin, then forward. He controlled her every movement across the small, impromptu dance floor.
Jack held her close, his right thigh touching the inside of her leg.
She could feel him pulsing beside her as they did the tango walk. She closed her eyes while she danced, her body reacting to him as they moved. Her feelings surged inside of her as they walked the Argentine. She shivered, pressing tight against him, her chest against his. His leg moved between her legs as they danced, and her heart was pumping. She wanted him.
“There, how’s that?” he asked her.
“Great,” she said, trying to catch her breath. Wow, she thought to herself. Now she understood why it was called the “passion dance.” More—she wanted more. She never wanted this to end. She could dance with him forever.
“Now for the basic,” he said, as they resumed the pose and began to walk the Argentine walk. “I am going to teach you the basic step to start with, but after that you can improvise and do just about anything you like.” She looked into his eyes and saw that he was all business. “S’agapó?” he asked.
Is it getting hot in here? he asked himself. To hold her in his arms and feel her body… He didn’t know how long he could do this before lifting her in his arms and taking her to bed.
“S’agapó.” she responded. She loved to hear his voice say those words.
“So, here we go. The Argentine is an eight-count dance. The waltz is a three-count, the American tango is a five-count, and the rumba is a four count. The Argentine is the only dance that is eight-count. S’agapó?”
“S’agapó.”
“So, there are purists who say that the Argentine must start off to the side, mainly because most of the clubs that dance the Argentine in Argentina are so cramped that you can’t start any other way without stepping on somebody else’s foot.” He demonstrated the step for her. “So it goes one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight. S’agapó?”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“No. In Greek it is ena, dio, tria, tessera, pente, exi, epta, octo.”
“All right. I’m pretty good with languages, so let’s try. Ena, dio, tria, tessera, pente, exi, epta, octo. S’agapó?”
“Very good, I’m impressed. You have traveled to the islands a lot, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, drawing her into his arms, assuming the dance pose again. It was very difficult for him to control himself while holding her close, her body pressing into his, her leg slipping in between his, brushing him ever so softly.
They practiced for hours before taking a break for lunch, and then they were back at it again. She was picking it up quickly. Ravenna peppered him with Greek phrases and words as they danced, always the taskmaster. Teaching her was going to be tougher than he thought. Maybe we need an early afternoon Greek nap?
He chose all kinds of music to dance to, some fast, some slow. “You can dance the Argentine to just about anything,” he told her.
They stopped dance practice and Greek lessons to have dinner. Sitting across from one another after dinner she asked with a twinkle in her eye, “This is hard work. I think we need a shower, don’t you?”
“Yes, I agree.” He took her hand and led her back toward his room. “But I have one question for you. What does s’agapó really mean?”
“It means I love you.”
“I figured as much,” he said with a chuckle.
Jack swept her into his arms and embraced her, not wanting to wait a moment longer. Tomorrow was another day, but tomorrow was also Wednesday. Friday would be here soon enough, bringing the ferry that would take him away, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. But they still had a few more days in paradise.
Jack was falling in love all over again.