The Girl On The Wall

This post is an entry into the Scholar and Scribe "Romance" edition invitational. If you'd like to join the fun, you can find the post HERE

Image by Heiko from Pixabay - the two original (now restored) snake goddesses found in Knossos by Arthur Evans

Phaistos, 2009

"Mister Mike, come see ! We've found a thing !"

Mike looked up from his notes at the local worker. "Me ? Where's Professor Jackson ?"

"Day off, Mister Mike."

He stood and followed the man to the dig site a hundred yards away. A small cluster of local archaeology students stood around waiting for Mike. He was no older than them, but they looked up to him as Professor Jackson's assistant. When he'd graduated from Oxford with honours the previous year, his tutors had said he was the most promising archaeology student they'd taught in many years.

As soon as they saw him, the lead student started talking at him in an excited tone. "We were digging in the lowest level of the West Court right at the Middle Minoan 1B boundary and a plastered wall fell away. You've got to see what it revealed ! Come, quick !"

Mike followed, and then he saw why they were so excited. His jaw dropped.

There, perfectly preserved by the overlaid plaster, was an early Minoan fresco. But not just any fresco. The image of a snake goddess, from before they were thought to have existed. She had the classic multi-layered flounced skirt, a coiled snake in each hand, and open bodice revealing her perfect bosom. What was amazing was how lifelike she was compared to the stylised renderings of later periods. She was young, and she was utterly beautiful ! She looked as if she was in her early twenties, with pale skin and hair curled and oiled into tight ringlets.

"Wow," was his first reaction. "She's incredible, so realistic. She must have been drawn from life, a real person. Her expression is so beautiful and kind. I wonder who she was, what her story was, her name."

That might, Mike dreamed of her, awaking with regret that he was fantasising about a girl who had been dust for nearly four millennia.

So he carried on his studies, but couldn't quite get her out of his mind or his dreams.

Athens 2012

Mike sat outside the coffee shop in Athens, sipping an espresso and reading the latest journal. He glanced up, and his heart stopped. There was a young waitress inside, just walking behind the bar, and she had her face. That incredible, beautiful, kind face. A mirror image of the girl in the fresco.

It wasn't possible of course, and Mike tried to calm himself down. He'd wait until she came to the row of tables outside to take someone's order, and see if he could speak to her.

After fifteen minutes, there was no sign of her. Perhaps she only served the indoor tables. He picked up his empty cup and took it in, but there was no sign of her.

Putting his cup on the bar, he asked "I saw a waitress in here a few minutes ago..."

"Sorry, she just clocked off and went home. She's on holiday for a month now, going to one of the islands."

"Could you give me her address or telephone number ?"

"No, we can't do that. But write a message on this napkin and we'll pass it to her when she's back from holiday."

Paris 2019

Mike had never heard back from the cafe. He understood; their staff probably got propositioned all the time, and they'd want to protect a young beautiful waitress from unwanted attention.

So now he was in Paris to attend a symposium on Late Helladic earthenware pottery. He was due to give a talk on cross-cultural transmission in the Aegean.

He walked past a gallery in a side street just off the Boulevard Beaumarchais, the Yvon Lambert Galerie, according to the sign on the wall. There, he saw a painting. The same face !

Hurrying inside, he asked if it was for sale, and if he could be put in touch with the artist.

He emerged with the carefully wrapped painting a few minutes later, a phone number, and a wallet that was lighter by a couple of thousand Euros.

As soon as he returned to his hotel room, he called the artist's number. The phone was answered after a couple of rings.

"Bonjour, c'est Pierre."

"Hello Pierre, you don't know me, but my name is Mike Chadwick. I bought one of your paintings today, the one you called 'Greek Girl'. It's beautiful. I just wondered if you could tell me who the girl is ?"

The artist's voice came though the phone's speaker, in perfect English but with a heavy French accent.

"Ah, she is indeed beautiful. I bumped into her in a cafe, she sat for me very willingly that day but I had to work fast, she said she was only in Paris for a short while. But she never gave me her name or a telephone number. I'm so sorry."

Mike thanked the artist and ended the call. It felt like she was teasing him, that he was chasing a phantasm. But he had to put it out of his mind (even though he dreamed of her that night), the symposium was the next day.

He arrived at the symposium early, and spent the day listening to lectures, meeting up with long-time colleagues, and generally milling around. The lecture he was due to give was scheduled for late afternoon, so he had all day to kill.

Finally the time came. His lecture went well; it was one he'd delivered before, and the room was full. Some of the audience were a bit boisterous; a group of American students who looked muscled-up and more likely to be at home playing American Football than in a lecture. But it was all good natured.

At the end, after the inevitable Q&A session wrapped up and as Mike was slipping his notes back into their binder, he looked up and saw the American students filing out.

And there she was ! She was in the row behind where they'd been sitting, and had been entirely hidden by their bulky presence.

Stunned, Mike could only stare. Then he caught himself. That was so rude of him. The girl gave him a kind of half-smile, and it felt like the room lit up. He was so embarrassed he found himself looking down at his notes. Momentarily. And in that time, she was gone.

This time, he was determined not to lose her. The room was virtually empty, so he walked, almost sprinted, to the exit. He wanted to catch up with her, talk to her so badly.

The double door led to an ante-room beyond; these places are always laid out like that, it's where everyone gets their coffee fix from tables laid out with long rows of identical white too-small cups before going into the lecture room.

As he rushed through, he felt a hand lay on his arm, and stopped. He looked, and it was her ! But this time, she had a wide smile on that perfect face.

"Have you been looking for me ?"

Her voice was musical, multi-tonal and rich, with just a hint of an exotic tone to it.

Mike tried not to get flustered, but couldn't help it. This was the face he'd dreamed about so often for all these years, and the slender but perfectly proportioned body he'd seen on that plaster wall a decade ago. This close, he picked up a slight musky warm scent, which he'd swear was natural not some shop-bought perfume.

"You... " he began, "You're the girl in Pierre's painting..."

"Yes," she nodded. "And the waitress from Athens. And the mural in Phaistos."

It sounded insane, but she said it in such a matter of fact way.

"How is that possible ?" he asked, feeling unable to form a more coherent sentence.

Her smile widened. "You said it yourself; I'm a snake goddess. Can you imagine nearly four thousand years of having no choice but loneliness or submitting to brutes who only want to use me for something ? When I saw you looking at me on the wall, and asking who I was rather than what I was worth or what I could do for you, I knew you were the right one. Every time I looked in on you, I could see I was still in your dreams. We are meant to be together. Forever. After all, I am a goddess. It's what I do."

Mike didn't know how he knew, but he realised that every word was true, and he accepted it.

"I think I've been in love with you from the moment I saw you. But I don't even know your name."

She laughed, a sound like liquid silver. "Why, of course you know it. I am Ariadne."