a Dodecanese chronicle
Day Nine
Patmos → Kalymnos · the Dodecanese
Fifty-three photographs and a clip, most of them a day late — no wifi, as Mark’s note explains — and the shape of the day is clear now: a morning swim off Patmos, the ships in the roads from the tender at 11.13, a tomato salad at two, and by 3.24 a cove on Kalymnos with a beach the party had to itself. The tender went up the fjord to Vathys at half past four — the mural that says HELLAS, the fishing boats, a taverna under a tamarisk — and back out under the cliffs at 5.22. Then the evening’s event: Mark on the aft deck at 6.07 with his foot in the crew’s hands and a pair of tweezers, Beck’s scoreline Sea Urchin 1, Mark 0, and the question she put to her phone at 6.37. Sundowners on the bow from 6.49 as the sky went pink, the moon over the water at 7.45, and the chef plating dinner at five to ten. Beck’s Black Book entry says where: Kalymnos. Mark’s note says what: a calm night in a deserted cove near Vathy — and something about a murder on board, which the log leaves to him.
Mandy’s 10.25 is the water itself, turquoise over sand; Maria’s 10.36 a swimmer at the foot of a rock wall with a strip of shingle, and her 10.44s the rocks and the bow, one of them sitting out on the foredeck in the sun. Craig’s clip is from the tender at 11.13: twenty-four seconds looking back at the roads, a cruise ship at anchor under the town on the hill, then the tall masts of a sailing cruiser. Beck’s 11.25 is the aft deck under way, two of them on the sofas with the towels out.
Craig’s three at 3.24 are the cove from the boat — a beach of pale stones under a wooded slope, blue water shading to green, one figure on the sand — and Mark’s 3.27 the same bay from further out, the bare ridge above it. Craig’s word on his frames was one: Akita! At 3.45 a frame came in without a name: two of the women on the bow cushions in black. Rod’s 4.24 is the head of the fjord at Vathys, fishing boats nose-in under the cliffs; Mark’s 4.26 the whitewashed wall painted with a lighthouse, a chapel, a heart in the Greek flag and the words HELLAS and VATHIS. Mandy’s 4.31 is one of the men on a bench under the tamarisk, and her 4.31 the harbour of little boats; Maria’s 4.34 the two of them close, sunglasses and the water behind. Beck’s 4.39 is the harbour whole, Mark’s 4.50 the fjord from the quay, Maria’s 4.55 a taverna under bougainvillea and her 4.56 a couple in front of it. Mark’s 5.01 is a shop of hats and bags with one of the women at the rail, his 5.02 the selfie on the quay with the boats, and Craig’s 5.04 the water in the harbour, clear to the bottom. The tender went back at 5.08, and Mark’s 5.22 is the way out: yachts moored under a wall of grey rock.
Everything written about Day Nine, in the order it arrived. The log has added nothing.
Four frames in one minute from two phones, all of the same foot. Craig’s 6.07 is the close one: a heel on a towel, two of the crew bent over it, a pair of tweezers and a tube of something. Rod’s 6.07 is Mark himself on the sofa in his swimmers, thumbs up, taking it well; Craig’s second the crew at work, and Rod’s second the concentration on the young man’s face. Beck’s 6.29 is the wide shot — the patient on the deck, the crew crouched, Mandy standing over them — and it is the one she put in the Hero folder, with the score. Her 6.37 is a screenshot of the advice she asked her phone for: What do you do if you step on a sea urchin.
Maria’s 6.49 is two of the women in white on the bow cushions with a glass each, the sky going pale behind; her 6.50 one of them alone with a bottle at her feet. At 6.54 a frame came without a name — three on the bow, one in a green shirt with the drinks. Then Maria’s pairs from 6.59 to 7.08: each couple on the same cushions, the same rigging above, the light changing between them. Rod’s 7.10 is two of the women with the plate of ham, Craig’s 7.14 three at the table, Rod’s 7.26 a portrait in a hat. Mark’s 7.45 is the moon over the water, a lit coast beyond. Mandy’s 9.04 is the cliff at night with the boat’s lights on it, and the last frame, at 9.55 and sent without a name, is the chef and the steward at the galley bench with a dozen small dishes laid out between them.
