Lesley Walker — Shadow World

Two hundred and thirty steps to a “blind” gate. That is enough to deter many from venturing up, whether Seljuk raiders, pirates or 21st century tourists. We climb like Kathy, puffing, hearts beating, taking breaths. Like Fotis, the mountain men climb easily, pausing to offer a hand, a shoulder, a step up, a rest. As we get higher, the later Chora spreads out below, houses like packaging, white and brown boxes piled on each other and the mountain beyond crisscrossed with paths. Our feet crush oregano and purple-flowered thyme and release the smells of kitchens and good food.

A flash of yellow catches my eye as I pause for breath, a swallowtail butterfly, gold and black, delicately dancing on the white rigani flowers, its shadow momentarily passing over an ancient stone slab. Its shadow is colourless, a black butterfly on stone. In the mountain’s harsh sunlight, the butterfly, papilio machaon, reminds me that this is a place of shadows. Kathy, exhausted from the same climb, walks into shadow, “pansy-coloured and freezing cold”, and sinks down abruptly, unable to move. We climb on up to the gate, and then up to the terrace, seeking the shadow’s cool. I think again of Fotis, standing here among the stones, “proprietorial and proud”, “cloud shadows” rolling over him, streaming out like garments. Kathy sees and knows his transformation. Like the swallowtail, the diver has become a prince. Like the swallowtail, a metamorphosis. Like the swallowtail, resplendent for an all too brief moment. The shadows are gathering.

Note: the swallowtail butterfly is known as Machaon, Μαχάων, in Greek. Machaon was the son of Asclepius and was a healer during the Trojan Wars, mentioned in Homer’s Iliad.