Chapter 3
Emma walked the dusty dirt path along the rows and rows of grapevines. It was just after the harvest, and the vines were bare and sad looking. Emma felt much the same and fought hard against the dark thoughts that tugged at her when she let her mind get too quiet.
A group of trees marked a crossroads. Emma swung her backpack to the ground and propped herself up against the trunk of a large olive tree. Enjoying a respite from the sun, she sipped her water. Emma decided that she would rest for a few minutes here, and then, hopefully, find the road before dark. She studied the map, but soon found her eyes bobbing in the gentle warmth of the afternoon.
Emma’s eye snapped open when a boot prodded her leg. She flung herself wildly away only to collide with a heavy built man standing next to the tree that she had fallen asleep against. He grabbed her to steady her and was speaking low and soothingly in Greek. Emma recoiled from his touch and stumbled back against the tree.
Emma shook violently as she sucked in deep breaths to calm the hysterical fear that was burgeoning in her chest. “Who are you,” she demanded in English. She tried to sound authoritative, but her voice had trembled badly, sounding like a frightened child.
The men exchanged glances, and in faltering English, the taller, burlier of the two replied, “Why you here?”
Emma’s trembling subsided a bit as she reoriented herself to where she was and perceived that she wasn’t in immediate danger. The men were dressed in work clothes, and Emma decided they were likely vineyard workers. She looked at them noticing that they must be brothers with their striking similarities. They both had thick curls that were in need of a trim. Besides their build, one was much lighter and leaner than the other, the only other major difference was the burly one had a mustache.
She ran her hands over her face and tried to fish in her mind for any Greek words she knew that might help. She hadn’t had much time to study the language and truly had only a handful of phrases.
“American,” she said pointing at herself. “Lost? Perdu,” she added trying some French. Their blank looks told her that they didn’t understand. She blew out a frustrated sigh and bent to grab the map. The men shouted and took several aggressive steps toward her in response to her movement. Emma jumped back and raised her hands. The men were not armed, but they were much larger and stronger than her.
“Easy fellas,” she said in English. She nudged the map with the toe of her boot so they could see it was only a piece of paper. She pointed at it and tried “Pou?” She wasn’t sure she had the pronunciation for “where” correct, but the smaller of the men looked at where she was pointing and seemed to make the connection.
Their rapid exchange in Greek was completely lost on Emma, but soon they were pointing to the pickup parked on the road and gesturing that she should go with them. She shook her head. There was no way she going anywhere with two strange men who had just figured out she was a lone, lost hiker. The smaller man snatched her backpack in a fast movement and walked toward the truck. The man she was beginning to think of as ‘stache took a few steps toward her and with a universal gesture of his arm communicated, “Ladies first.” She couldn’t leave without her backpack, and while she wasn’t happy about the situation, she really didn’t think they were intent on doing her harm.
Emma swung herself into the cab of the truck and ‘stache climbed into the back. The smaller man, who Emma decided to call Red for the color of his shirt, put the truck in gear and they were soon bumping over the dusty road. There was a tense silence in the truck. Emma ignored it and tried to take in the route.
Soon they pulled up to a large building. Emma smelled the strong scent of fermenting grapes immediately when Red opened his door. She grabbed her backpack, but Red pulled it away from her before she could get a good grip. She shot him a dirty look that he ignored as he pointed to the door of the building. With no other good options, she let herself be marched between the two men into the building.
A short, stout man stood with his back to the door looking out a window that viewed the huge vats. The year’s grape harvest must be stored there Emma realized as she looked around the office. Red was already speaking. The stout man turned around and regarded her with an unfriendly stare. He asked a few questions to Red in Greek, and then with a nod, he picked up the phone. Emma wasn’t able to follow the conversation, but she gathered by the tone that this new stranger regarded her with the utmost suspicion.
After he hung up, he dismissed the other two with a wave and indicated that she should sit in the chair facing the desk.
“I prefer to stand, thank you. Can you help me get to the main road?” Emma asked hoping the man spoke English.
“Sit. You sit,” he replied as he took a seat in the office chair behind the desk. Emma didn’t move. “Sit,” he said again this time pointing emphatically at the chair.
“I’m not a dog,” Emma muttered as she perched on the edge of the indicated chair. “Look, I just need to get to the road.” She looked around for her backpack and was relieved to see it sitting just inside the door. She started to stand to grab it, but the man barked, “Sit.”
“I get it. I sit. Pencil? Paper?” she asked pantomiming drawing in the air.
“Sit. He come.”
That got Emma’s attention. “Who? Police?”
The man just looked at her and then picked up the phone again. This time she recognized one word- police. Great job, Emma thought to herself. Why don’t you give him some more bright ideas?
“Look, this is all just a big misunderstanding. I just need to get to the road. Please.” Emma pasted her best puppy dog eyed look on her face and leaned in just a little. “Come on, just point me to the road. You don’t need this headache.”
Still, he just sat there looking at her with the same stony look. She tried one last time, “Look, you can’t hold me here. I haven’t done anything wrong.” His expression didn’t change, and Emma lost her temper. “What the hell is wrong with you? Forget it, I’m out of here.” She pushed to her feet and started for the door. She grabbed her bag and started to swing it on her shoulder.
The man was already there and grabbed the other side of the bag. Soon they were in a tug of war pulling the backpack between them. Emma was cussing worse than any sailor she had ever met. The man was keeping up a steady stream of Greek that Emma assumed he would not be saying if his mother was present.
The door opened behind her, and the man abruptly let go of the bag. She staggered back, and as the weight of the pack added to her momentum, she lost her balance. Just as she thought she was about to hit the ground, a pair of arms scooped her up and set her back on her feet. She didn’t need to turn around to know that there was a very large, very muscular man behind her.