An Apparition @ WEP Entry # Antique Vase

My days start with pots and pans. As they roll further, I push 'l' after 'p' and cook stories. :)

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“If you dare break the glass around me, dare peep inside …… beyond the pride, which you call luster ..…. beyond two and half a millennium - stashed, trapped, within my pores … born of clay, burnt of fire, touched by a few twigs ..… I’m all Memory …... of decays of my long-gone siblings and clan .....”

Through this outburst she confided for the first time. In a summer afternoon. I was sitting before her, appreciating red and black figurines on her lustrous black surface. At Northern Hall in this Villa de Papyri replica. Off duty.

If lucky, my post on duty used to be her. Else, I used to spend awhile with her after my shift. That “awhile” used to range from half an hour to hours, depending on my other jobs and family engagements, since my first visit here, half a decade ago, to reconnect to my Mediterranean roots.

Since that summer afternoon she used to sprinkle at me bits and pieces of her ancestry. Her passage from a Mediterranean island to this Pacific coast in New World.

That summer I spent several afternoons with her. My son was camping North. His mother was doing afternoon shifts at one job and evening on the other. I had only day and evening shifts in all my jobs.

I started here anew doing odd jobs since I had fled a military coup d'état, more than a decade ago. One of my jobs was at a Gas Station on Sunset Boulevard.

Mr. Benenio Klavan, my rescuer, used to be a regular customer there. He visited Turkey several times on journalistic assignments. He used to talk about home a lot. Once he suggested, “Why don’t you visit Getty Villa on PCH, Rafiq? You might feel at home. The ancient odor of life that you miss here, you may feel that there.”

Therefore, there occurred my first visit to this repository of ancient Mediterranean life. I still have my first five-dollar parking stub.

Soon after, I sought employment with them. Because of my Mediterranean memory they hired me.

Then came repatriation. Intellectual property laws were making the vase to return to Athens, Greece.

I got my ultimate opportunity to hold her in my arms. She sighed, “This’ so much wrong...”

I had no time to sooth her. Instead, I started wrapping her with bubble wraps. Then I peeped inside to fill it with paper shreds and met Eutropios, the potter.

In soft light of early morning, Eutropios was offering a prayer to Athena. Euaristos, his son, joined him. After that the father started wheeling vases. The son was drawing and curving on the surface of already dried pots, applying slip on them.

Eutropios left the wheel to knead some fresh clay out of natural pool. Euaristos took his turn on the wheel to scrub off excess mud from previous day’s sundried pots and vases.

Methodios, Eutropios’ apprentice, had just arrived. He brought some natural clay and was pacing towards the natural pool to sink it for getting rid of its impurities.

Suddenly, Methodios threw off the clay; rushed to the kiln, took out the firewood splinters from hearth, splashed water on it. Immediately the kiln was full of fume instead of flame. There were pots and vases inside for first baking. With sudden drop in temperature they all became crudely baked. Euaristos murmured, sticking his eyes on the wheel, “What’s wrong with you?”

Methodios spat his answer, “Wrong you are and your father. All you worship is Athena and Hestia. You must obey Circe. She sent me, Omodamos, to convey her wishes.”

Eutropios listened and asked Methodios, “Take the day off.”

Yet, Methodios stood stubborn by the kiln. Eutropios ignored him, prayed to Hestia, adjusted the flame in kiln and placed next batch of potteries for burning.

Methodios shrieked, “You didn’t pay heed!”

Then, he brought a log from the riverbank, rammed the kiln with it. Fumes started pouring out through cracks of the shattered kiln. Methodios grumbled, “Lesson from Syntribos.”

Leaving all work in hand, father and son started mending the kiln. They were too busy to mind Methodios.

Worshiping Hestia, again, Eutropios ignited the kiln. Euaristos put another batch of potteries in it.

Methodios charred the kiln wholly by airing it too fast and chuckled, “A spank from Asbestos.”

Euaristos ran to the pool, brought pales of water, drenched the kiln to cool it down.

Then, Eutropios asked for Hestia’s forgiveness. Methodios responded by hammering the whole kiln muttering, “Wrath of Smaragos!”

Sun was down. Eutropios called it a day.

Following morning, praying before Athena, as usual, he started working. Methodios pulverized the kiln, shouting, “Sabaktes’ ultimatum.”

Then he ran away.

Eutropios had to, hence, started rebuilding the kiln. Euaristos helped his father by mining fresh mud, carrying it to the workshop, sifting pebbles from finer clay, kneading lumps and delivering them to the building spot.

Once the kiln was ready to use, Circe appeared before Eutropios. She demanded, “Obey me.”

Eutropios denied. Circe turned Euaristos into a mouse.

Heartbroken, Eutropios brought the mouse home. At night, he dreamed that Athena had sent Hermes. Hermes whispered warnings about Circe into his ears and gave him an armlet of moly to ward of Circe’s magic.

Following morning, Circe appeared at Eutropios’ workshop. Before She could make a move, he grabbed her, dragged her to the kiln, tied her up on the hearth, as if he was going to set her afire.

Scared, Circe murmured, “Untie me. I’ll render such carnal pleasure that no nymph could ever render.”

Eutropios remembered all words of Hermes; hence, ignored Circe’s alluring advances. Instead, he made Circe swear in names of Gods, “I won’t further meddle with your affairs.”

Before leaving She brought Euaristos back to his human form.

Worshiping Athena and Hestia, Eutropios and Euaristos resumed turning wheel and burning pots.

I finished packing and sent off the vase towards its land of origin, among its pugnacious ancestors.

Also available at Google Books

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Thank You Denise for guiding me through the details about participating in WEP Flash Fiction Challenges.

WORD COUNT: 993

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