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The Rape of Galatea

Toney Dimos

    Andreas and Jorge sat at a cafe near the port in Piraeus sipping coffees, when Andreas saw a woman named Galatea, dressed in black, holding her newborn baby Yazmin against her bosom so tightly the child appeared to be suffocating. Her two other children, son Selim and daughter Electra, aged 11 and 9, trailed behind her. Other women wailed holding the corpses of their dead children having refused to give them up before departing for Greece.
    Galatea had found passage on a British warship from Smyrna that had arrived carrying a vessel full of Greek refugees in the autumn of 1922. With the inferno in Asia Minor, droves of refugees poured into the area from across the Aegean seeking solace. Andreas could see the despair and fear in the woman’s eyes and got up from the cafe table to approach her. “Kyria,” he said, “Ms.”
    Galatea ignored his overtures at first calling to her children to move quickly, even though she had no place to go. Her Turkish husband Ahmet, a decorated military officer in the Greco-Turkish War, had been assassinated by a Greek sniper at the Battle of Dumlupinar. The marriage had proved divisive for both of their families, even following the birth of Selim, named after Ahmet’s father, and Electra, named after the mother of Galatea from Crete. Nevertheless, with the continued conflict between Greece and Turkey, her existence across the Aegean had become untenable. Her Greek family had excommunicated her years earlier after her decision to marry Ahmet and convert to Islam, given that her grandfather had been skinned alive by the Turkish authorities in Crete for attempting to incite a revolt against their rule, while his family blamed Galatea and her people for the death of their son, casting out her and the children as well.
    “Kyria, parakaló,” said Andreas, standing in front of her to preclude her from advancing. “Parakaló, Kyria, I have a job for you and a place for your children to live.” The woman stopped and glared at him and said, “I’m not some loose woman if that’s what you seek.”
    “No, madame, I simply want to help a woman and her children in need.”
    Galatea paused, glaring at Andreas eye-to-eye. He maintained her gaze for several seconds until she said, “endáxi, páme.” Andreas took one of her suitcases to lessen her burden, as she instructed her children to follow her lead. Andreas shouted to Jorge that he would see him later at the shop.
———
    Within a week of arriving in Piraeus, Galatea began to work as a clerk in the commodities trading office Andreas and Jorge ran. Selim and Electra, fluent in Turkish, would study Greek lessons from school to improve their language skills in their new home, and Yazmin would sleep typically in the cradle Andreas had purchased, while their mother would manage administrative tasks, clean, and do whatever else was needed. Jorge kept his distance from her, wary of what Andreas’s real intentions were. Galatea, however, had taken notice of Jorge and could sense his power and the attention women paid him. She found it both amusing and arousing how matriarchs throughout Piraeus and Athens would bring their daughters to him for consideration of marriage. She admired Jorge’s tact and facility in gently declining the steady stream of overtures.
    In time, though, Andreas became less subtle with his intentions for Galatea. He would ask her to accompany him on walks after the workday had concluded, to which she would tell him to go home to his wife and children. She always was quite careful in how she rebuffed his overtures, afraid that he may seek some form of retribution by firing her, leaving her with limited prospects for herself and her children.
———
    A little more than a year after Galatea had arrived from Smyrna, Andreas had asked Jorge to meet him for a drink at the elegant Select Cafe adjacent to the port at ten in the evening. He told him to be on-time, because it was regarding an important business opportunity involving a prominent businessman from Alexandria named Sophocles Kavafy with interests in cotton and wheat. Andreas had been instrumental in helping some of Sophocles’ distant relations find jobs after they had been forced to flee Asia Minor. As a gesture of gratitude, Sophocles had made an appointment to meet Andreas during his visit to Athens before embarking on a business matter in Beirut.
    The father of Sophocles, Ptolemy, had established commodity interests in Egypt facilitated through his marriage to a local Coptic Christian woman named Demiana whose family had maintained land rights on the Nile delta for centuries. Sophocles, the eldest son, had begun to take greater ownership of the business in the last couple of years, as his father’s health had begun to deteriorate.
    Jorge arrived a few minutes early and found Andreas at his usual table inside the grand cafe featuring a Belle Epoque interior. After removing his coat, he stepped into the bathroom to wash his hands. Upon returning, he found Andreas and Sophocles seated, whereby both men stood, as Jorge arrived at the table. They shook hands and exchanged greetings before sitting to discuss the venture.
    Sophocles shared how his family wanted to expand their enterprises more efficiently and deeper into Europe. Jorge instantly became intrigued as it was the type of venture he had wanted to pursue based on ideas he had outlined in his notebooks. Andreas and Sophocles proposed to Jorge that he would go to Alexandria and establish the operations there. They presented the terms for a generous salary in addition to an apartment and expense account to help develop social connections. Jorge pushed for an equity stake as well. Though Sophocles admired his moxie and courage to ask, he deflected the request out of hand. Nevertheless, Jorge agreed to the proposition and would be set to sail to Egypt within a month.
———
    The night before Jorge was scheduled to leave Piraeus to begin his journey to Alexandria, Galatea prepared a meal to celebrate his birthday. Andreas had provided her generously with a three-bedroom flat that he had used previously with his wife and three children before moving to a mansion above the city. Jorge arrived at the flat around eight in the evening feeling confident and enthusiastic about the new stage in his life. Andreas opened the door to the apartment giving him a warm hug. Selim and Electra ran to the door wishing him happy birthday. Electra hugged one of his legs refusing to let him walk.
    Galatea was in the kitchen preparing the meal still with Yazmin asleep in the children’s bedroom. Jorge and Andreas made their way there, while Electra and Selim returned to the living room to play with their toys. Upon entering the kitchen, Jorge presented her with a bottle of Mastica from Chios and a medley of sweets he had purchased for the occasion. She thanked him giving him a hug that lasted longer than usual. Andreas observed Jorge’s awkwardness as he tried to pull away in spite of Galatea’s unwillingness to let go.
    Jorge excused himself from the kitchen to go play with Selim and Electra in the living room, leaving Andreas and Galatea to finish the meal preparations. Andreas entered the space with two glasses of whiskey a few minutes later. “Yia mas!” he said, toasting Jorge. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”
    “Of course,” said Jorge. “I don’t think I will sleep tonight.”
    “You deserve this opportunity, cousin. You’ve worked hard for it. I know you won’t let us down.”
    Jorge nodded his head in assurance believing he was ready, while continuing to play with the children as if they were his own, teasing, admonishing, and hugging them. Galatea observed this from a distance for a few minutes realizing the type of father he would be. Soon after Galatea told everyone dinner was ready in the dining room. As Jorge walked by her, Galatea gazed at him intently in plain view of Andreas.
    In the dining room, Andreas sat at the head of the table with Jorge to his left and Galatea to his right. Electra and Selim sat next to each other to Jorge’s left. He helped them cut and eat their food while Galatea watched in admiration. The three adults made small talk through the meal of lamb, potatoes, and salad. Jorge and Andreas refrained from mentioning anything related to his work upcoming in Egypt. The St. Matthew opera by Bach played in the background. Galatea always played classical music over meals believing it would enhance the education of her children.
    Throughout the dessert course of baklava, Andreas noticed how Galatea could not keep from gazing at Jorge longingly. Jorge felt this as well but didn’t acknowledge or reciprocate it. Around 9:30 in the evening, Galatea put the children to bed. Jorge kissed them goodnight, knowing that this, perhaps, was the last time he would ever see them. Andreas and Jorge retired to the salon where they drank more Mastica.
    The men smoked a couple of Cuban cigars Sophocles had given them as a gift. They made small talk about Jorge’s preparation for departure in the morning to Alexandria. As the men spoke, though, Andreas’s thoughts were more on Galatea than Jorge. “What is taking her so long?” said Andreas.
    “Let it be. She’s putting the children to sleep.” said Jorge.
    “I’m going to go see what’s taking her so long.”
    Jorge made nothing of it, as Andreas walked down the hall to the children’s bedroom. Upon approaching the room, Galatea exited the bathroom in the hallway. “What took you so long?” said Andreas. “We were waiting for you.”
    “The children were fooling around too much and didn’t want to go to sleep.” said Galatea.
    “Ah, okay. You look very beautiful tonight. Did I tell you that?”
    “Thank you,” she said trying to avoid his gaze.
    “I said you look very beautiful this evening.”
    “And, I said ‘thank you’. Jorge is waiting for us,” she said looking at him sternly.
    Andreas then tried to kiss her, but she rebuked him with a look of disgust, saying, “think of your wife and children.” Galatea pushed him away and made her way down the hall calling Jorge’s name. Jorge could see she was flustered and asked if everything was alright. She responded that the children were just being ornery. Andreas then entered the salon asking Jorge for another glass of Mastica.
    The three of them made small talk for a while before Jorge checked his pocket watch and realized he had to leave to prepare for his journey. He took one last gulp of Mastica and got up from his chair as the Bach opera finished.
    Galatea went to her bedroom to collect his coat. Upon entering her room, she went to the top drawer of her dresser and took out a note she had written to Jorge, which she slipped into his inside coat pocket. She returned to the foyer of the apartment where Jorge and Andreas were standing at the door chatting. Galatea handed Jorge his coat and watched him closely as he put it on. Jorge thanked her again for the meal and her hospitality. They kissed on the cheek and hugged.
    When Jorge tried to naturally let go of the embrace, she held on tightly for a few seconds. Upon releasing him, Jorge smiled at her to conceal any awkwardness and said goodnight. He shook hands with Andreas and said he would see him in the morning at the port. Andreas closed the door to the flat, as Jorge made his way down the winding staircase. When he heard the latch lock to Galatea’s apartment turn, Jorge thought it strange, as Andreas was preparing to leave as well. He stopped and looked up at the door, but then dismissed it and continued to the street.
    Inside Galatea’s apartment, Andreas fastened the chain lock after turning the key. Bewildered, Galatea asked him what he was doing. Andreas turned to her, his eyes enraged with jealousy and scorn and said, “You, poutana,” he said to her. “After all I’ve done for you and your children, you love him.”
    “What are you talking about?!” said Galatea.
    “Don’t play stupid with me!”
    “You’re being ridiculous!”
    “Oh, am I?” he said slapping her across the face.
    “Andreas, parakalo, my children are here.”
    “You’re children? Your Turkish bastards, you mean,” he said moving closer to her taking off his suit coat.
    He grabbed her hair and pulled her into the living room throwing her on the sofa face down. Andreas unfastened his belt and unzipped his pants. Tears fell from Galatea’s eyes, as she struggled to overcome the weight of Andreas’s body. He pulled up her dress and tore her underwear off. Galatea let out a scream and began to weep. Andreas told her to shut-up. Just as Andreas thrust back to begin to violate her, Galatea heard the voice of her son Selim. “Mama, mama, what’s wrong?”
    “Agápi mou!” said Galatea.
    Startled, Andreas got off Galatea and quickly pulled up his pants. Galatea covered herself, wiped her tears and went to her son. “Why are you crying?” Selim said.
    “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said. “I wasn’t feeling well. I heard about something sad, that’s all.”
    “What is Kyrios Andreas doing to you?”
    “We were just playing a game,” she said, hugging her son firmly. “Kyrios Andreas was just leaving.”
    She glared at Andreas with disdain, as a deep feeling of wretchedness overcame him. “Help me walk Kyrios Andreas to the door, agápi mou.”
    At the door, Andreas and Galatea looked at each other with utter antipathy. “Tell Kyrios Andreas, goodnight,” said Galatea.
    “Kaliníxta, Kyrios Andreas, see you tomorrow,” said her son.
    “Kaliníxta,” said Andreas.
    Andreas glared then at Galatea and said, “you know he’s leaving tomorrow for Egypt. You’ll never see him again.”
    Galatea looked at him, as the tears returned and began to trickle down her cheeks.
    “That’s right,” said Andreas, “shed more tears for him, you pathetic whore and traitor. You’re finished. Don’t come to work tomorrow. I want you out of this flat by noon.”
    She shook her head in acknowledgment and locked the door behind her. She walked Selim back to his and her daughter’s bedroom and put him back to sleep. He asked her why she was crying again, and she told him not to worry. She was just a little sad, she said, trying to comfort him. She lay in bed between her two children, stroking her son’s hair until her tears put her to sleep.
———
    On the first night of his journey from Piraeus to Alexandria, Jorge stood alone on the top deck of the Danae observing the full moon. He smoked a couple of hand-rolled custom Egyptian cigarettes while listening to the ship cut through the open waters. After making a few more notes in his notebook, Jorge returned to his room for a night cap. Once in his room, he poured himself a brandy and lit a cigarette. He reached inside his coat pocket to take out his wallet when he found the letter Galatea had left him. He took out the folded note, curious of its contents. The front side read:
    >Giorgos
    On the inside, the note read:
Giorgos,
    I hope you had a beautiful birthday. My children and I have enjoyed getting to know you over the last several months. And, I myself have grown quite fond of you. Or, should I say, I’ve fallen in love with you. You may think I’m foolish, but I must tell you how I feel.

Love,
Galatea

    Jorge grinned in delight after finishing the letter. The paper was lightly scented with Galatea’s French perfume. He was quite flattered by her confession of love. He, of course, had sensed an attraction, and felt an affinity as well. However, he doubted the feasibility of realizing something with her. Nevertheless, part of him now regretted following Andreas’s advice of not telling anyone he was leaving for Egypt.
    The next evening Jorge tried futilely to write a response to Galatea. Over a few Jameson whiskeys and some dark chocolates, he would stare at the blank stationery paper from the liner in vain. He would write: “Dear Galatea,” and then look at the rest of the blank page for a while and then crumble it up and start again. Jorge would get up and walk around his room taking drags of his cigarette looking for the right words. By four in the morning, he had fallen asleep on his bed, pen and paper in hand with the photo of him and Ayse, his deceased fiancé, in front of the windmills of Mykonos resting on his chest.
    In the morning, Jorge sat in the first-class lounge reading a telegram he had received from Andreas wishing him luck. His cousin said that he would be sending him more money upon his arrival in Alexandria. After reading the telegram from Andreas, he began to write a response to Galatea. He told her of the work to be done in Egypt, and that he was looking forward to life in Alexandria; he asked her how her children were and what she was planning for Christmas.
    Towards the end of his message, his hand had begun to tremble a bit, as he began to address her confession of love. He told her that he was flattered and surprised by her feelings and that he, too, had found her alluring, but had never considered a romance with her. He said that he would keep her in his thoughts upon establishing himself in Egypt and would see how they felt about each other in time.
    The day the Danae was scheduled to arrive in Alexandria Jorge stood on deck watching the city come into view. Jorge disembarked the ship onto a bustling port where he heard a symphony of Arabic, French, English, and Greek. Jorge was looking for an associate of Sophocles who Andreas had said would be waiting at the port to take him to his apartment on Rue Lepsius. Yet, he saw no one. He surveyed the port, declining the overtures of peddlers and beggars. He checked his Swiss pocket watch from Zurich after twenty minutes had passed.
    A sinking feeling overcame him, as he made his way to the courier service at the port. He dashed off a quick message to Andreas stating no one had arrived to meet him. When he asked the clerk if any money had arrived for him, the clerk responded that only a telegram for him had just been received. Jorge took the message, which read:
Giorgos,
    If you’re reading this message, you must have made it to Alexandria. By no doubt now, you’re wondering where Sophocles’ contact is as well as money. Alas, my cousin, there has been a change of plans, that is all I can say. Don’t expect to receive anything from me and consider yourself free from any obligation to Sophocles and myself.

Andreas

    It was only years later did Jorge learn the truth behind the intrigue. Seething with jealousy for Galatea’s affection for Jorge and shame from his own attempt to violate her, Andreas plotted against his cousin. After he watched Jorge leave Piraeus, Andreas contacted Sophocles and told him that he had fired Jorge for stealing from him but that he had another family member would do a better job in Alexandria. Andreas said he would cover all the costs to send him there and reimburse Sophocles the money and time he had invested in Jorge.
    Sophocles sensed something afoul but agreed to the terms not wanting any other delays. From there, Andreas removed Jorge’s ability to access any money from his bank accounts, which Andreas had co-signed to open, given Jorge was considered a minor when he first opened them. Finally, he intercepted the telegram Jorge had sent Galatea. She would thus die thinking Jorge had spurned her.
    Overcome with his own shame and disgust for himself, Andreas set out to destroy Galatea next. He cast her out from her home and job and proceeded to smear her reputation in Piraeus, stating she had tried to seduce him and make him leave his wife and children. She subsequently moved to Athens and worked a couple of fleeting maid jobs. Desperate, she turned to prostitution; yet, within a short time, she became overwhelmed by the indignities of her life. At night, unable to sleep, her mind raced to the past, particularly the long evacuation she undertook with other displaced Greeks across Anatolia while still pregnant with Yazmin.
    She recalled the night her youngest child was born, when her water broke during relentless rain. Men, women, and children, exhausted and humiliated, walked in silence in a convoy of humanity exceeding 20 miles across the Anatolian plain for Smyrna. She fell onto the muddy road, wailing in agony, knowing that she was in labor, fearful that her baby would be stillborn. At first, Selim and Electra hadn’t realized their mother had fallen, as their malnourishment and lack of sleep had dulled their senses. A peasant couple in their 70s stopped and helped Galatea onto the small cart, drawn by a cow, that the woman’s 92-year-old mother had been sitting. The old woman graciously gave up her place to walk with her son-in-law, knowing that Galatea was in childbirth.
    As the procession of people kept moving, the rainfall worsened, and the peasant woman placed a blanket over Galatea in the cart to keep her as dry as possible. She helped her to deliver Yazmin, whispering for her to “push, push, my child.” Only the sounds of Galatea screaming were heard through the driving rain. Electra observed her mother, and feared she was dying. She began to cry, imploring her mother to not die like her father Ahmet. One night, as her son Selim lay next to her in bed, tears streamed down Galatea’s eyes, as she recounted the anguish of the recent past. She said to him stroking his head, “If I died, Selim, would you miss me?” He said nothing pretending to sleep. Later that evening Galatea took her own life in the kitchen with arsenic.
    Selim had found her the morning after on the kitchen floor and understood instinctively what she had done and why. Soon after he returned to Piraeus and plotted to avenge his mother. One hour before he, Electra, and Yazmin were to take the Artemis, an overnight ferry to Chania in Crete, where they would go to the remote mountains of Sfakia to find their mother’s family, Selim stepped inside Andreas’s office who had been working late at night. He told Electra to wait for him outside the shop with Yazmin and that he would be back in 10 minutes. Selim made his way through the shop into the back office where Andreas was overlooking the status of some accounts.
    Recognizing Selim, Andreas said, “What are you doing here, you Turkish bastard?”
    “I’ve come here to kill you,” said Selim, pointing at Andreas a Cretan dagger his father Ahmet had found on a battlefield in Anatolia and had given him as a gift back in Smyrna.
    “Well, come do it,” said Andreas undaunted by Selim.
    He stood firmly waiting for Selim to strike. “Well, what are you waiting for?” said Andreas.
    Paralyzed by fear, Selim raised the knife, but failed to act. Seeing him tremble, Andreas knocked the dagger from his hand. As he attempted to flee the shop, Andreas tackled Selim and pinned him to the ground straddling his chest. He wrapped both of his hands around Selim’s neck. Selim struggled at first to free himself from Andreas’s grip, but soon his eyes began to close and his capacity to resist waned.
    Yet, just as he was squeezing the last breaths of life from Selim, Andreas felt the sharp edge of the Cretan dagger plunge deep inside his back. He shouted in agony and rolled off of Selim onto the ground wailing in pain, futilely attempting to try and pull the blade out of his back. Flailing about disoriented with blood pouring out of his body, Andreas saw Electra standing over him with a cold stare fueled by the resentment she felt toward what she perceived to be the softness of her brother and the cowardice of her mother.
    Andreas reached up futilely to try and grab her, but she simply pushed his hand away and pushed him to the ground, whereby he landed on his back - his full body weight, thereby plunging the blade entirely through his midsection with the tip now protruding from his belly. As he took his last breath of life, Electra glared at him and spat in his face, leading her brother to the Artemis.

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