‘In honor of lineage’
My heart beats quickly as I peer over the edge. I realize that I’ve been clinging to a nearby tree for support. My friend Luke leaps from the cliff easily, with a whoop. Thoughts race through my head, even faster than my heart beats. Now Andrew, after a running start, launches through the air swiveling rapidly, before finally breaking the icy cold surface below. “Fuck it, you only live once” I say to no one in particular while inching closer to the rocky ledge. I look around, momentarily admiring this spectacular vista. My eyes trace the peaceful shore across from me. I notice a hawk flying gracefully in a lazy circular formation. There is a slight breeze upon which I smell a multitude of alpine wildflowers. All of my senses are heightened. I can feel every speck of crumbly sandstone beneath my bare feet. The current of the river is calm and steady.
My friends are waving their arms now, inaudible shouts of encouragement fly away in the breeze. “All or nothing” I say, while poising myself for the 30 foot dive. In this last moment, I find myself wondering what Pappou would think if he could see me now. My grandfather died before I came along, but I know that we are kindred spirits. Then in one smooth movement of abandon, I bend my knees and lunge forward over the precipice. I am flying now, headfirst, down towards the water. No more thoughts. Pure exhilaration. I feel myself smiling, eyes wide. Then there is nothing. My friends shout out in horror, but I don’t hear them. I don’t feel the rock smash into my forehead. I don’t see Luke scrambling desperately towards my limp body, or the look of fear on Andrew’s face. I don’t taste the dark blood that is carried away by the current.
I awaken as a stream of consciousness, an observer. I exist in a different state, one without judgment. I am the dream and the dreamer. I find myself watching a boy, about my age. He looks like me. One can see that he has been hardened at a very young age. He was forced to become a man early. I see him awaken in a dark and dingy room. His left leg is flung carelessly over the side of his hammock. He hasn’t shaved, but the hair grows sparsely on his young face. His clothes are dirty, and he uses an old sack for his pillow. There are noises from above. Footsteps follow commands, and intermittent booms and bangs.
“Krieeek, woosh, kriieck, boom, krack, woosh, krick, booom.” Back and forth, back and forth. Sometimes a violent jerk, more often than not, a slow nauseating dance. Louie has been an active but not always willing participant in this dance for quite some time. Staring at the tally marks next to his hammock, Louie realizes that another day must be marked. With thoughtful precision, Louie unwraps the dirty but soft handkerchief. He carefully pulls out his prized possession, a worn but beautiful Cretan dagger. He steadily scratches a diagonal mark into the wall. With a raised eyebrow, Louie counts the tally marks. The marks, which he had meticulously organized into twelve rows, now spread across a second column. With a smile, Louie realizes that almost two years have passed since he boarded the ship as a sixteen year old stowaway. Within a month, he hopes to be on American soil.
Before returning it to his mother’s handkerchief, Louie pauses to examine the knife. He inspects the simple, beautifully formed V-shaped hilt. He’s been told that this part of the dagger is made from the durable horn of a ram, and though it is clearly worn, the handle still has a mysterious glow about it. As he slides his finger along the blade, painful memories of family flood his awareness. He remembers standing next to his father on the beach. The emerald-blue water of the Mediterranean; lapping at their feet. His father is telling Louie a story that he’s heard many times before. Louie listens attentively. He is excited, but also dreading his oncoming voyage. Babá is telling the story of how he acquired the dagger which he holds proudly in his right hand. Tales of Babá’s adventures had spread throughout the Peloponnesus, down through Mani, and even up to Sparta. The people here are known for their fierce nationalism, and love to hear of his daring exploits. Babá is describing the feast that was laid out before him after his arrival to Crete. His mustache is bouncing excitedly as he lists off the plentitude of dishes.
“So I looked up from the delicious dolmades and pasticcio in front of me, and noticed a pretty young lady staring in my direction.” Babá continues. “Of course, back then I was much more handsome, so I didn’t think anything of it. Next thing I know, we are all up dancing, plates are breaking, wine is flowing… beautiful celebration. I go to sleep that night, and all of a sudden two huge Cretan men are standing over my bed. One had a long steel dagger; the other was holding a shotgun.” He mimicked each of the men holding their weapons over his bed.
“I tried to stay calm, until I could figure out what was going on. I recognized them from the party earlier, and didn’t think that they wanted to rob me. They made me get dressed and waited for me outside. They brought me to their home, and it turns out that the pretty girl I had seen earlier is their sister!” At this point, Babá began chuckling, as he always does.
“They said that I must marry her immediately. I thought that they were joking, so I decided to play along. When they gave me this dagger as a wedding present, I realized that it was no joke. They said that because we had made eye contact over the dinner table, I must marry the girl or she would be considered a slut. They couldn’t bring shame upon their family, so marriage or death were my only options. I convinced them to let me get your uncle Stavrou from the boat so that he could come to the ceremony.” He then tells Louie about how he tricked his younger brother, Stavrou, into sleeping with the girl that night.
“After you sneak into her window, you must show her this dagger and she will know what to do.” Stavrou was still a virgin, so when his brother promised him a beautiful woman for the night, he didn’t really think it through. “So I walk back into the house like nothing happened, and tell the brothers that Stavrou is on his way, and that we should drink to celebrate. I brought some of your grandfather’s ouzo from the boat, and started pouring us all shots. So while I am getting them good and drunk in the kitchen, your uncle Stavrou is making love to their sister, upstairs. By the time that they figured out what was going on, they were too drunk to fight. Stavrou decided that he was in love, so I agreed that he could keep the girl, if I could keep the dagger.” Babá recalls.
“So that is how Theo Stavrou met your Thea Maria, and how I came upon this knife. Unfortunately, we are not welcome in Crete anymore.” Babá says thoughtfully. He then turns to Louie solemnly, and looks down at his 16 year old son.
“Now it is time for you to take this dagger, you will need it more than me. One day, you will hand it down to your son, and tell him of your adventures with it.” Louie remembers Babá handing the dagger to him. He was giving him more than the knife though. He was handing him a burden. It was time for Louie to become a man.
As Louie remembers this last day in his beloved homeland, strong emotions well up within him. He does not allow himself to cry anymore. Louie knows that he must be strong now, like his cousin Foti who lifted the five hundred pound cannon in the village of Petrina. Foti’s legendary strength will be talked about for many generations to come. Louie knows of many strong men and women in his family, whom he must live up to. He still remembers the old stories of his people fighting to remain free during the Ottoman invasions. They were all Maniotes. His family prides themselves on being from the only region of Greece to maintain independence during all of the Greco-Turkish conflicts. While the men of Mani were fighting in the daylight, the women of Mani were known for seducing the enemy to their beds, and then slitting their throats.
Louie thinks about his mother, and his younger siblings. He hasn’t spoken to any of them in nearly two years. There was talk of a new conflict that would reach them soon. The Ottoman Empire decided to dedicate itself to a campaign against the Christian people. Louie heard his father call it genocide. They had been receiving letters from his uncle Demo, who lives in New York. Demo made America sound wonderful, he always referred to it as “The land of opportunity.” So, as their eldest son, Louie had to pack a small bag of belongings, and kiss his mother and siblings goodbye. His father gave him a short hug, reassuring him that “everything will be beautiful” and “we will come to America soon”. Louie knows that they won’t. If he had stayed in Greece, he would be fighting in the army right now. He imagines the trouble that his parents would get in for saving their son’s life.
Louie is awakened from his daydream with a shout. A young French sailor opens the large metal door. “Yiassou malaka!” says the sailor to Louie. The Frenchman is older than Louie by a few years, but still exudes the playful boyishness of one who hasn’t yet seen real tragedy. “Good moo-orneeng Frédéric” replies Louie in broken English. This is how they communicated with each other for over a year now. Frédéric had picked up a little Greek while sailing through the Mediterranean, and was attempting to teach Louie some English and French during spare time. He had learned English fluently as a boy, as it was required in his elementary education. Frédéric was the one who had first discovered Louie’s presence aboard the ship. One night when he was completing patrol duties below deck, Frédéric found the young man huddled away in a dark corner of the storage room. After the discovery, most of the men remained wary of this strange young stowaway. Frédéric was the only person aboard who knew of Louie’s intentions to reach America.
“Today is a good day for you Louie boy…” Frédéric says with a large grin.
“What makes you think this?” responds Louie.

“Today, we will reach your land of opportunity. The place where gold paves the streets” says Frédéric with a roll of his eyes. He isn’t as naïve as Louie, but he too is drawn to the allure of New York City, though he would never admit this to his fellow Frenchmen. “You have four hours to prepare yourself” Frédéric’s tone suddenly turned more serious. “If the authorities find you, they will send you back to Greece… or maybe worse”. Louie ponders this possibility for a moment.

“No, I will make it to America… nothing can stop me” he says defiantly. “Okay, in four hours I will open up your door and then you must hurry. You will have to swim for a long time. Here is a plastic bag, try to keep your things dry.” Then Frédéric handed Louie a small wad of American dollars. Louie looked up at him with astonishment. “It is nothing… I traded with the other men, it should get you a few meals at least” says Frédéric smiling at the look on Louie’s face. “Take care of yourself, Malaka” he says affectionately before turning and walking towards the door.
“Frédéric!” exclaims Louie suddenly.

“Yes Louie?”

“Thank you for everything, my friend”.
Louie is pacing next to his hammock anxiously now. Every so often, he begins swinging his arms around in circles, imagining himself swimming to shore. He reads the letter from his uncle one more time, to make sure that he knows where to go. His plan is to ask the first nice-looking person he sees if they know where he can find Shanley’s on Broadway. From what his uncle says, it is the fanciest restaurant in the world. Louie ponders his future. He is scared, but determined to stay strong. He believes that he must succeed, not for himself, but for his family whom sacrificed so much to get him here. He wonders if the people in New York will be as unpleasant and smelly as most of the men on this ship. He wonders what the women will look like, and if any of them can cook like Mamá.
After what seems like an eternity, the door opens. Louie quietly ascends the metal staircase, following a silent Frédéric. When they reach the top, Frédéric nods at Louie, and begins walking to the other side of the deck. Louie knows that this moment is important. His heart is racing, and his mouth is dry. He stops to admire the brilliant city sprawled out in front of him. His eyes are met with infinite twinkling lights. The ship is still a long distance from shore, but a childhood full of night-time swims, has trained Louie well for this test. Louie finds himself gripping the railing for support, peering over the edge of the boat. Frédéric has told him stories of men who lost their minds at sea, and jumped overboard only to be chopped up by the ship’s massive propellers.
“Now or never” says Louie. He makes sure that his bag is secured to his waist. For a moment he thinks about the Cretan dagger, folded away safely. Then, in one swift movement, he steps onto the railing, bends his knees and launches himself outwards. He is flying down towards the icy cold water below. No thoughts. Pure exhilaration. Accustomed to the warm waters of Greece, Louie is startled by the bone-chilling cold that meets him. He begins to swim towards the lights. After swimming for more than half the distance, Louie allows himself a short break. He is no longer cold, only wet and tired.
After a few breaths and a quick prayer, he continues. Suddenly he feels a sharp pain tear through his left leg. He glances down just in time to see a large fish swim away. Blood is pouring from his leg, where the fish’s fin cut a long gash. Louie begins swimming again, faster than before. He knows that he is losing blood quickly. As he nears shore, Louie is swimming only for survival. He no longer has the ability to think of his past or his future. He only has one goal, and that is to reach shore. Finally, after a momentous struggle, Louie reaches solid ground. He pulls himself up to his feet. He walks towards a street where he sees people. Louie knows that a good life awaits him. He is filled with hope for his future. He is filled with pride from his past. Then he falls down and sleeps.
“Yo bro, can you hear me?” I open up my eyes slowly, light rushes in. “You okay bro? We thought you were donezo man… totally fucked.” I recognize Andrew grinning at me. “Hey Luke, check it out dude, Greeko here decided to join us!” Andrew calls out across the room. “Holy shit bro, we thought you went Terry Schiavo on us for a while… how you feeling?” says Luke with a mixed look of relief and concern. “I feel… alive.” I respond hesitantly. Speaking seems new and strange. “How long was I out for?” I ask slowly, savoring the words as they form on my lips.
“Man, you were officially dead for like ten minutes” exclaimed Andrew excitedly. “You lost a lot of blood on the way to the hospital".

“Yea… all over the back seat of my car, douche” Trey interjected with a ball-busting grin. Suddenly I remember everything that happened. My jump off the cliff. The boat that Louie was on. I suddenly think of my parents and sister.
“Have you spoken to my family?” I ask.

“They’ll be here soon” Trey responds. Then, I float away with the morphine current, into a dreamless sleep.
Things have changed. It has only been a week since my fateful cliff dive, but I came out of it a different person. My friends notice the change in me, but they don’t say much about it. They are just happy that I’m alive. Perhaps it is due to my mysterious visit with Louie, or maybe it’s just because I lost a lot of blood. I’ve often wrestled with the concept of fate. As I reflect upon the last week, I can’t help but feel that everything is as its meant to be. This afternoon, my father comes to meet me for lunch. We go to our favorite NY hot dog joint. “Two with everything… light on the mustard. Side of fries please.” We always order the same thing. This hotdog place was opened up eighty years ago by a Greek immigrant. It’s not the fanciest place you’ve ever seen, but they’ve got the best damn hot dogs that you can find.
“Son, you are eighteen now…” my dad begins unexpectedly. “It is time that I pass this down to you.” He slowly unwraps an old handkerchief, and procures an old dagger. I feel my mouth open in awe, and chills run along my spine. He hands me the dagger, and tells me about its history. He tells me about my grandfather, Pappou Louie, and his trip as a stow-away on a French barge ship. He tells me about my great grandfather, and his brother Stavrou. Then he tells me about himself, and for the first time, I look at my father as one man to another. As I hold the Cretan dagger with reverence, I am overwhelmed with hope for my future, and pride for my past.