was helping the old baker, I had to do it, and I know about that."
"Well, tell him then."
So the young monk told the Geronda.
The old man was answering back, but it would take long time. The rookie started to worry about it, then he turned impatiently to the young monk and said, "Well, what did he say?"
He said, he remembers when he was younger, he had to help the baker sometimes, and he knows about that. He also said what a good idea.
Michael was as excited as if he had won the first lottery prize. He embraced them happily, with the Geronda and the young monk not to be able to understand what such big fuss was all about.
When things calmed down, the old man gave instructions to Anastasios, and he left bewildered, after shaking his had.
"Come," the young monk said, "we have to see someone; by the way, what is the other half of the truth?"
"That... I will tell you when I can."
They reached a shed, which looked like a plumbers shed. A monk was working on some pipes, and when the young monk explained the reason for their visit, he nodded, and off they went to the bakery. He examined it from inside and out, then he explained to the young monk that it would take some time, because they would have to install a beam first.
Before the young monk left, they all went together and brought in the window as it was quite heavy, and the maintenance-monk and Michael started to work.
They worked for two days after Michael finished baking the bread, and on the third day; it was ready after some small touches by Michael.
"Come, and I will tell you the other half of the truth," Michael told the young monk, when he found him peeling potatoes in the kitchen.
"Why don't you tell me here? No one understands, and can't you see, I have to peel half a bag of potatoes."
"I cannot tell you, so I will help you with the potatoes, then we will go," he said. He grabbed a knife and started to peel potatoes.
That moment the Geronda walked in the kitchen baffled. How could this man be in two spots at the same time? He had just come from the bakery and he thought he saw Michael working on the window.
When the potato peeling had finished they went to the bakery, but just before they went in, Michael asked the Anastasios to close his eyes, and guided him in, then he said, "You can open your eyes now...tarararara!!!"
"Oh... what a beautiful view! That is amazing!"
"That is my other half of the truth."
"That is fantastic."
"Isn't it beautiful?"
"I can see that, it is so panoramic."
"And you can slide the bread directly outside on the table."
"Exactly, what a marvelous idea!"
After all the excitement Michael said, "Tell me; I know you don't really need any money here, for everything is provided, but for personal things like razor blades, toothbrushes and creams, or for a coffee if someone goes to the village, what does he do about money?"
"Come with me, and I will show you," said the young monk.
They went to a building that was used as a welcoming hall, with many benches around for the visitors when they happened to come as a group. The monks usually guided visitors into this hall, serving them loukoumi and coffee, said the young monk, and they went upstairs, and entered a huge room. It was a kind of studio with many icons, and komboskini, a sort of a rosary used by pilgrims in various festivals when they are praying.
There were two monks; one working on an icon, and the other on a komboskini. They were so engrossed with what they were doing that they did not notice the two visitors.
The young monk led Michael downstairs again, sat on a bench, and said, "Look they make the icons and komboskini, and sell them in various venues. This is their main assignment. When others have time they come to help. Participating in it is not a priority, but the money they make is split equally for everyone. It is simple; the more people help, the more goods for sale; the more goods for sale, the more money in the box; the more money in the box, the more pocket money for everyone."
"But how can I help? I don't know anything about kombosh... I don't even know how to say it, or icons either."
"Well, they will teach you. They start usually with komboskini, for icons take longer. It is an ancient technique, using the yolk of the egg as a base, but they will teach you that, if you are interested."
"That is fantastic! I want to learn how to paint icons."
"Well, you may have to do that, after you learn making komboskini."
"Can you please organize it for me to come and help?"
"Are you sure about it? You hardly have time for anything else."
"I should be able to squeeze about one hour every night, before I go to bed."
"Well, let's go and talk to them then."
They got up again, and the young monk talked to one of the monks, who said he was pleased to have Michael work with him, and that he could start any time he wished.
The young monk told Michael, and then he said eagerly, "Well in that case I will start now."
He thanked Anastasios, and sat down to get his first instructions about how to make komboskini.
The young monk was walking towards his cell when he saw the old man coming from opposite direction. Geronda is looking for me, he thought. I wonder why?
"Have you seen the window they installed?" the old man said. "What a beautiful job they did, and what a nice view."
"I said the same thing when I saw it, Geronda."
"Now, why didn't I think about it, when I was carrying the bread around the bakery?"
"I said the same thing, Geronda."
"By the way, where is he? I want to congratulate him for it."
"He is in the workshop, helping the monks with the komboskini."
"But how can that be? A while ago he was working in the window, then I saw you two peeling potatoes, now you tell me, he makes komboskini!? I give up." And, shaking his head, he walked away.
That night Michael as he lay in his bunk, thought, how could he overcome this problem that was in the back of his head. How could he avoid going to esperino? This was afternoon prayers. Everybody had to go, and although they didn't mind if he didn't go, he felt bad about it as he was the only one in the whole monastery, and it looked very bad.
A few times he went, but he would say to himself that this was the last time, as he could not understand anything. He had solved the problem with the morning prayers because at that time he was baking bread. He solved the Sunday service because he was going fishing, but about the esperino? What could he do about it?
He lay there thinking but nothing would come, and he fell asleep.
It was at midnight that he sprang from his bunk saying "...scones that is it, yes, scones!" and then after a while he fell back asleep.
Next day, before esperino, he went to the bakery and baked some scones. He took them to the dining hall, made a big pot of tea, put some butter and marmalade on the table, and as the scones were still steaming hot, he went outside the chapel, and when the monks started to trickle outside, he indicated the dining hall, and said, "Trapezaria parakalo," which meant, "To the dining hall please."
It was an instant hit.
This is fantastic! Michael thought. Now I will be able to experiment with different baking to make the sweets I want.
The days were gone, and the day of reckoning arrived. Tonight Michael had to make the big decision of his life. Up to now he had erased this day completely out of his mind, but he had not the luxury for this anymore. In all these days, there was a silent agreement, that nobody would bring it up; neither him, nor the monks. It seemed that as long as they would not bring up the subject the time would last forever.
This night the rookie hardly closed his eyes; he had to choose between his mind, and his heart. For his heart told him to stay, and his mind and logic said to go back to work, and how irresponsible it would be to leave such an important work.
Finally he fell asleep, knowing what he was going to do, but not wanting t
o admit it even to himself.
After Michael finished baking the bread, he found the young monk and together they went to see the Geronda.
"Please ask Geronda," he told the young monk, "how long can I stay here?"
"You can stay as long as you want to my son," he said.
Michael's heart quivered.
"What is the procedure, can you please tell me?"
"You continue as you do now for three months. This is the formality. After that, you will become a novice monk, and you will wear a black rob. There is a small snag, but I think we can overcome it. After three months, your tourist time that is allotted will finish. We will have to make an application for an extension, and again next time. You may even have to go over the border, and come back and start afresh all over again. Turkey is not far from here and you can return the same day. We will find a way; you can be sure about that."
"Then... that it is then."
The old man embraced him, and with eyes filled with tears said, "Welcome aboard son."
So did Anastasios, then Michael new that a new page of his life had already started.
The same day, Michael went to Chora to take care of some things at home, to notify the network, and his apartment, and to purchase a few small personal items. They told him that there was an internet-café somewhere there, and when he found it, and opened the door to enter, he bumped into a very attractive girl with the longest, blackest, shiniest hair he had ever seen in his life. It was so black, that it looked almost dark shiny blue, reaching down to her waist. As he pulled back in order to let her go first, he made things even worse, because he hit her wrist.
"I am so sorry," he said.
"Ladies first, still applies, you know!"
"I am sorry I didn't see you; I had so much in my head when I was opening the door, but tell me; you speak English? How come?"
"We must be expatriates, judging by your accent."
"Don't tell me you came from the big..."
"Yes..." she nodded.
"That is fantastic," he said, "but why are we talking here standing? Can I offer you a coffee?"
"I would love a cup of coffee."
So they sat down, and he ordered two cups of coffee.
"Tell me then," he said, "What are you doing here? Are you on vacation here?"
"I am visiting my aunt, and having my vacation."
"So you are doing two in one."
"Well you can say that, but what are you doing? Are you a student?"
"No, I am a baker; actually I am a senior representative of a major television network."
"That sounds impressive!"
"No, I am actually a monk, a novice monk. Actually I will be a novice monk in two and a half months."
"Oh... and what do you do, for your spare time?"
Michael, without noticing her ironic tone of her voice said, "In the afternoons I bake scones."
"Scones... eh... what about at night?"
"At night, I make komboskini, but soon I will learn how to paint icons."
"And what about Sundays then?"
"Sundays I am always going fishing."
"Well then," she said in an annoyed manner as she got up abruptly, "you are full handed, aren't you?"
"I am sorry," he said, "it did not occur..."
"No, it wouldn't," she said, and left.
Now, what did I say wrong? He said to himself. I must be more careful with women.
He sat there for a while, and finally when he composed himself, he started to work.
First he sent an e-mail to his employer, saying he was sorry to be leaving his work without prior notice, but he had decided at the last minute to become a monk, and that he was aware of the fact that there was a penalty applied for not notifying in advance when quitting a job. If there was still some money due to him, please send it to.... and he gave the address of the monastery.
Then he rang one of his friends whom he knew was always looking for a cheaper place to live, something like his small apartment. When he heard that the Michael's apartment was available, he was elated. Michael told him where the key was and to move in, put his belongings in a cupboard, and keep paying the rent to this agency. One day when he came back and managed to collect his belongings, they would go together and make the transfer official. The guy on the line was overjoyed and thanked the rookie heartily.
After that, Michael bought some personal items, and went back to the monastery.
"Honey, you did what you could," the chairman's wife Lillian said. "If you could not do it, nobody in the world could. Who could challenge such a legal machine by himself and win? And even so, you managed to win the first battle. You did your best, which is all you could do."
Some time had passed since Adam Clarke the ex-chairman of WCFET and his wife had cut short their vacation on Patmos, but finally he realized that he had to concede he won the first battle, but he lost the war.
He could not possibly go on any more with this legal machine opposite him. Already he had spent considerable time and money for someone he hardly knew. His wife was right. After all, the recommendation may have been overturned, but the Teacher was still free, and continued with his work. It could be not so bad after all.
Perhaps it is time to take care of my wife, he thought. After all, I promised her that I would make it up to her for the interruption of our vacation and it seems that now is the ideal time for it.
So it was a time for reconciliation, for reunion. The last ten years since he became chairman of the WCFET, they may have lived together, but totally one-sidedly, and the time had come for him to balance things up.
They would go to her favorite restaurants, to the movies, even to a square dancing ball, which he would not dare do for anything before. They would take the car, and go to neighborhood towns and sleep overnight there and whenever they stayed home, he would help her with the housework. He even managed some cooking. Can you believe that? He thought, before that I did not even know where in the kitchen my wife kept the plates and the cutlery. Or where the laundry in the house was situated!
The rumors and the newspapers articles were in full swing. The arrest of the Teacher was imminent; since of the overthrow of the original recommendation, it was only a matter of time. Friends of the Teacher warned him to lie low; to hide or to leave the country and go somewhere else, but the Teacher was adamant, why should he hide? People hide when they have something to hide, he would say.
That was also the first question of the interviewer of a major newspaper asking the Teacher that day.
"Teacher," he said, "newspapers articles, and the social media are suggesting that your arrest is imminent; what do you have to say about it?"
"I don't have to say anything; I don't live my life according to rumors, whether they derive from the social network, or respected newspapers like yours."
"But sir, they talk about your imminent arrest; does this not bother you?"
"I already said that my life is not run depending on rumors."
"Okay, I will try to put it in another way, I will ask you; how would you feel if you arrested today? This is not a hypothetical question; it is a question of high probability."
"I would feel sad very sad."
"That is obvious, but which reason would be the biggest factor in making you feel sad?"
"That my work should come to an end so abruptly."
"Is that all? Aren't you afraid of the prison? You may spend the rest of your life incarcerated."
"That is my last worry; in fact, that may give me some time to myself. But I feel my time has not come yet for that," the Teacher was saying, while he watched two athletic men with suits waiting for the interview to finish.
"How can you say that?" the interviewer continued, also watching the two men, "when we see right in front of us that this is imminent?" And before the rooster crows three times, the moment the interview finished, they burst inside and told the Teacher he was under arrest, and that he had the right to remain silent. So he was; the
only time he spoke again was when finally they reached The Hague, except when one of the Interpol officers told him. "Sir, my duty is to bring you safely to the international court of justice for court proceedings. The rules specify I am supposed to bring you there handcuffed. I am prepared to avoid doing that, and I am willing to take the responsibility for my action, if you give me your word that you will not try to escape."
"I do," said the Teacher.
And they started the long journey to The Hague.
Although this was foreseen, the news of the arrest of the Teacher caught the media and the social network like a wildfire. Most of the comments made were in favor of it with some small exceptions. There were some small demonstrations around the world, but they were too small and too peaceful to be reported by the media, which mainly concentrated to the alertness and highly professional attitude by the new administration of the WCFET, and especially its new chairman John Watson. He was riding high; he was on top of a crest wave looking down at the world, satisfied that he accomplished something that the whole world had been waiting for.
That day, the new chairman of the WCFET was the man of the day, he was so much in demand from the media, and he was pleased to respond, and especially from live television shows, that he reached home in the early hours of the next day. He was exhausted and sank to a chair as soon as he reached home. His wife, watching him parade in front of her on the television screens, had mixed feelings, for she was proud of the achievements of her husband, but something was telling her that it was not right. She managed to suppress this, and welcomed her husband in her arms, showing how proud she was of him.
They talked for a while, for all this attention that was on him this day. He asked how the little one was, made a light snack, had a shower, and they went to bed.
Not long after, they heard a thump in the girl's room next door. They ran in, turned on the lights, and saw the girl in the floor, white, pale and unconscious. Her mother picked her up, and the chairman ran to bring a glass of water. When he tried to stroke her forehead, his wife cut him cold, and as sharp as a razor, saying, "Don't touch her, don't you ever touch her again! I know this all has to do with you and your damned work," and as she got up, while the little one was coming back to consciousness, and her husband was hiding his face in his hands as he sank in a chair, she added loudly, "Repent now!"
The mother with the child in her arms walked out of the room, the new chairman finally got his hands away from his face and as he got up, he looked on the table, on a white paper written with an orange crayon in block letters, REPENT NOW.
Next day the new chairman hardly talked to his wife. He went to work, and his office was bombarded with congratulations from all over the world. Even the State Secretary congratulated him, and all his colleagues wanted to talk to him, but he asked his secretary not to let him be interrupted by anybody.
He shut down the Internet, phones, telexes, and doors, and opened up a bottle of whisky.
When Adam Clarke heard of the arrest of the Teacher, he became withdrawn. He became so remote that his wife was really concerned about him. She considered visiting a psychiatrist to ask his advice but it occurred to her that nothing was wrong with her husband, and