It is an unspoken rule that every village needs a tramp. A village can have all the virtuous women in the world, but without at least one woman who will loosen her morals, it will surely implode.
Such was the common wisdom in the island village of Kos. The position had been filled for years by Daphne Rigini, but Daphne eventually got married and became respectable. And so Eleni Stefanopoulou stepped up to the responsibility. After her husband abandoned her when he was drafted into the Turkish armada, Eleni was lonely, and she enjoyed the company of men to take her mind off of her sorrow. Five years later, she was still fulfilling the duties required of the unofficial position. She worked on her uncle's farm by day, and by night she would meet men from the village and offer them brief bursts of ecstasy in the cloak of the warm evening air.
It was a good life, all things considered. Eleni was beautiful and admired. She felt important. And she was constantly enthralled by the moments of intimacy she shared with men around the village. She liked the way that Yiorgos Theodorakis would hold her neck when he kissed her. She liked the shy, steady pulse of Nikos Kazantzakis's fucking. She liked how Kostas Merakis would always bring her little gifts of fresh bread from his bakery. Eleni discovered a newfound freedom in the untethered pursuit of pleasure.
Still, there were some men who were decidedly off limits. Eleni's uncle generally had no objection to the open secret of Eleni's pastime, but he warned her never to give herself to a Turk. "They're not like us," he explained. "They worship a different God."
Eleni disliked the Turks as much as any other Greek in the village did-those powerful colonizers who taxed the Greeks twofold and brutally repressed any attempt to resist their rule. Still, the abstract Turks who ruled over the Ottoman Empire from afar with an iron fist did not really resemble the everyday Turks that Eleni saw in the village. The Turks of Kos bustled about selling fish and produce in the marketplace, haggling over the prices. They attended their mosques as dutifully as Christians attended their churches. And in the evenings, groups of Turkish men would sit on the docks, twirling their moustaches and pontificating about women, while not 200 meters away, groups of Greek men would do the same.
There was one man in particular who entered Eleni's thoughts more than she liked to admit. Deniz Ozturk. He was a fisherman, tall and full figured, with features that had been roughened over the years by the sea. Eleni liked the sight of his bulk; she liked observing the deft way his calloused hands would wind rope into intricate fishing nets. But it was not these qualities that set Deniz apart. It was the expression on his face, steadfast and unwavering with a continual twinkle in his eye, as if he was in on a joke that no one else around understood. Eleni seemed to see him everywhere. When she passed through the town market, she would see him selling the fresh fish he'd caught from his wicker basket. When she was collecting olives from her uncle's olive grove, she would hear him whistling as he walked by.
But of course, Eleni was never so crass as to actually talk to him. She simply observed him from afar. He, in turn, observed her. She could see him stealing glances at her when they bustled by each other. She felt the way his eyes took in the sight of her body, the way they bored through her clothes and imagined the possibilities for what lay beneath. It was a pleasurable game, this absent flirtation, made all the easier by the fact that there was no end goal. Sex was impossible; it was forbidden. But furtive glances and coy smiles were fair game.
It was one particular evening in late September that made Eleni change her mind. Eleni often took her uncle's sheep to pasture in the hills overlooking the port of Kos. She would walk up with them to the cliffs overlooking the sea and gaze out at the vast expanse of blue as it crashed against the rocks. There was a cove that one could look down upon as the sheep grazed, shielded on all sides by towering cliffs and reachable only by boat. Eleni liked observing its tranquil, turquoise waters. On this particular evening, however, Eleni looked down into cove and saw a sight that she never seen before: a boat.
She blinked. It was not the presence of the boat itself that made her doubt her senses, but the sight of what was going inside of it. Someone was tied to the mast of the small sailboat-a young Turkish man whom Eleni recognized as Ergin Utlu, the carpenter's son. He was naked. His bronze skin glinted in the sunlight. The other man on the boat, who had his back turned to Eleni, lashed at Ergin repeatedly with a bit of rope, eliciting audible gasps and moans from the boy. These were not gasps of injury or agony, however. Eleni could recognize arousal when she saw it, and she could easily detect the pleasure this man took in the pain. She watched in rapture as the lashing carved red welts across his legs and chest.
What delightful perversion was this? Eleni gazed at the other man on the boat, the one whose face was obscured. She took note of his broad shoulders, his calloused hands. The man turned around, and Eleni's insides churned with arousal. It was Deniz Ozturk. His rough-cut face glowed with that same knowing smile he always had, the one that seemed to see into everyone around him, to know them more deeply and thoroughly than even they knew themselves. As Eleni watched, he took hold of Ergin's leg and lifted it up so that his legs were spread apart. Then he penetrated Ergin with a deliberate, persistent thrust. Ergin's body shook with exertion, and his cries of elated helplessness echoed against the cliff rocks.
Ergin looked up to the top of the cliff and saw where Eleni sat watching the scene. Eleni took a step back, embarrassed, but it was too late. Deniz had turned his head abruptly to look up at her too. Deniz raised his eyebrows in recognition. Then he smiled broadly and, maintaining unwavering eye contact with Eleni, continued to pound Ergin.
Eleni's face was hot. She felt a rush of moisture swell between her legs as she watched the scene unfold beneath her. She was captivated by Deniz's gaze, held to spot by Deniz's eyes as securely as Ergin was held by the ropes around his wrists. Deniz fucked Ergin with a calm, easy mastery. He looked so solid in his ruddy white shirt and trousers. Ergin, in turn, had a liquid quality about him; his glistening body melted into Deniz's. When Deniz had finished taking his pleasure from the man, he offered Eleni a flirtatious wink, then turned away.
Eleni drew in a deep breath. Deniz's wink had been more than a playful gesture; it had been an invitation. He had offered to treat her as he had treated Ergin on the boat. And every inch of Eleni ached to accept his offer.
***
The next day, Eleni heard Deniz's familiar whistling as he walked past the olive grove where she worked. This time, she did not smile at him coyly or offer him any flirtatious winks. She walked straight up to him and spoke.
"That's a mighty fine boat you have, sir!" She stood in front of him, her feet planted on the ground, looking up at him with an expression that dared him to engage her. She had never been this close to him before. He was tall-at least a foot taller than she was-and he seemed to inhabit his height with the utmost ease, utterly at home in his body. His features had a fierceness around the edges, but there was a relaxed amiability that emanated from the center, and Eleni felt reassured.
Deniz's curved mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Yes, I've seen you eyeing my...boat. But alas, a respectable Greek woman like you would never let me take you for a ride on it." He winked at Eleni just as he had the day before on the boat. He spoke in Greek with a slight Turkish accent, but the words he said strung together into phrases just as clearly as a native speaker's
Eleni played along with his game, feigning nonchalance. "Yes, that's too bad, isn't it? Of course, I would love to see everything you have on that boat. The mast. The rigging. But it is not to be."
"I'll be docking off of Thanos beach at noon on Saturday. Just thought you should know."
"In that case I'll definitely make sure not to be there."
"Great. I won't see you then."
There was a pause, then they both laughed. Deniz's eyes twinkled, and Eleni's heart fluttered. He tipped his cap and walked on, whistling as he went.
***
All throughout the week, Eleni waited in anticipation for Saturday to come. On Wednesday night, she met Nikos Kazantzakis by the pier for a quick fuck in the alleyway behind the fishmonger's. He penetrated her cleanly and precisely from behind, whispering to her in soft tones that she had the best ass on the island. On Thursday, she gave Kostas Merakis a good sucking in the back room of his bakery. She knew how to coax an orgasm out of him quite deftly, having done so at this time every week for years. He, in turn, knew how to pull her hair and run his hands over every inch of her body in the just the way she liked it. But even during these moments of intimacy, Eleni's mind wandered back to Deniz. What would his hands feel like on her body? Would he strike her as he had struck Ergin? Eleni was captivated by the idea. Much as she enjoyed the comfortable pleasures of her usual lovers' company, there was something enthralling in the danger of a new affair.
On Saturday morning, Eleni got dressed in her prettiest summer outfit, the one with the white cotton dress and the embroidered blue velvet vest. She washed her hair and pinned it back underneath a matching blue headscarf. Then she packed a picnic basket filled with stuffed grape leaves, olives, figs, and spinach pies, and made her way by herself to the Thanos beach. She walked more quickly than usual, fearing that someone might pass her by and ask where she was going, but she met no one on the path to the beach, and when she arrived at the beach, it was deserted. She sat down on the sand, smoothed out her skirts, and waited for Deniz's boat.
Presently, she saw the sail of the boat appear around the edge of the protrusion of rocks that shielded the beach. She recognized Deniz's figure waving at her, and she stood up, climbed up over the rocks, and walked across them to where the boat stood anchored. Deniz helped her hop on board the boat. The boat was big enough to stand on comfortably. Benches adorned the sides with one large bench in the center, and Deniz had painted the outside a bright green, the color of leaves in spring.
Eleni stood before him and hesitated. Now that she finally had allowed herself to associate with Deniz, she found that she was not quite sure how to begin to say to him what she had always wanted to say. Instead, she simply told him, "I brought lunch," and thrust the picnic basket in his direction.
He thanked her for the basket, then shook his head, smiling. He sat down on one of the benches and gestured for Eleni to sit down next to him. "So you can talk straight with me now," he said. "No one else is around. What's your deal?"
Eleni decided that candor was the best route. She sat down next to Deniz and told him, "I want you, Deniz Ozturk. I always have."
"And then you see me tying someone up on my boat and you think, 'well now I have to have him?' Some might say that's pretty foolish of you."
Eleni chuckled. "Would you say that?"
