from Chapter 12

Ariadne flew from Montreal to Athens via London. She was fearless, excited and ready to live her own life after leaving the maternal enclave in Canada for the vast olive-scented bosom of Greece. On the plane, as her index finger traced the red and blue lines from the new world to the old on the airline's fold-out map, a flock of snow-white birds, light and transparent as clouds, escorted Ariadne through their sky, guiding her to their roost.

She took a short holiday on the island of Nysas because an ancient Greek woman sitting next to her on the flight told her that in a previous life Ariadne had lived there as a princess. Perhaps, clucked the seer with the hooked nose and hazy eyes, the prince was awaiting her return.

Back in Athens, a brand new apartment on the outskirts of city seemed to be awaiting her arrival. On her second day she found the fifth floor temple, its white floors still covered in a thin layer of marble dust upon which no foot had ever left its print. From the kitchen window she could see Piraeus, with its basin of blue sea water rocking rusty trawlers and passenger ferries to sleep. The white and beige houses on the surrounding hills opened and closed their shutters like heavy eyelids with the waxing and waning of the sun as if they too were being hypnotized. A marble balcony ran the length of the apartment where Ariadne could sit late at night looking for falling stars, wishes on the tip of her tongue.