DK981 did not shed a single tear during the funeral. She had to be strong for Frederica, Athena and Daniel. She drove her car behind the coffin carrier. Frederica said: 'This does not feel real, it feels like a movie'. Athena was crying and Daniel was lost in his own thoughts. When they arrived, she held Frederica's arms to make sure she will not collapse. The church was lit with wit candles and the heat was unbearable. Too many people were squeezed in and some where out, smoking in the churchyard. DK981 was dying for a little nicotine but she had other responsibilities and urgent matters to attend. They were all there, his friends, their relatives. Scattered where a few men that she recognised as Anna's friends. They were bronze-skinned from the summer sun. She nodded at them and they nodded back, not a single smile there. It wasn't long before the first shenanigan: the family started arguing about seats. It was their way to cope with sadness. Arguing in the most improbably moments. She let go a strong yell 'HEY. Can you all please sit down and respect my father?' Her voice did not break for a second. They all obeyed and she was pleased with her newly gained powers. She followed the mass mechanically. It was all in ancient Greek. The young Orestis, her nephew, was there too. He was accompanied by his other grandfather Thodoris, once her father's best friend: they haven't spoken to one another for at least fifteen years, after young Orestis was born and his parents split. A divorce was a shame for both families in Greece, yet it was more shameful that they had a child to drag about. But death, at the time, ended being more serious than puny social issues. 'We are all united to deal with death' she thought.
The funeral went on and on and then people started arguing why the coffin isn't open. She had to shout inside the church again. 'Can you please respect the man inside the coffin?'. They stopped talking. And then everyone went out for the burial. The tall priest was accompanied by a younger helper. Strong men carried the coffin out while a byzantine choir sang about the vanity of this life and the certainty of death. As family members were incapable of moving the coffin down, elder Thodoris joined in. 'I will help you buddy in your last home' he mumbled. Everyone was crying, apart from Xenia and Anna. Athena was in tears, 'I will miss you father' she said.
Then the dinner. It was al fish and seafood. DK981 did not cry, still. Then coffee, the 'coffee of courage' as they called it after a funeral. Then home. Everyone was trying to relax. DK981 did not want to stay at home with the others. She called her friends. And while she was waiting she went to her favourite rock, inside the woods, behind their village house. Her digital neurons recognised it as her favourite place of solitude. It was on a field of lavender bushes. She remembered her father telling her the story. The field was a wedding gift from her grandfather to her grandmother. She planted lavender to use on their pillows and bedsheets. And there she let go, on the rock, for hours. She called her father figure and mentor, Andrew, straight after. He encouraged her to get away and write about it. And so she did: the rest of the day she spent with her friends on the beach. And when she came home, late hours, she sat on her netbook. And wrote.
One of the my memories is long walks in the woods with my father. As my parents were fond of travelling, we've been to far too many places in Greece and beyond. When, a few minutes ago, I went to hand pick tomatoes from our garden in Cephallonia, I realized that he knew how to plant the sweetest and most flavoursome fruit possible. And once he taught me how to pick it too. He told me: ‘you know they’re ready Anna, when they want to be removed from the plant, when they bring absolutely no resistance at all’. He certainly was aware of the powers of nature and he ‘worshipped’ everything wild and natural. He was, afterall, a hunter.
My father would take me up in the mountains, explain to me everything about plants and mushrooms, point out which are edible and which hallucinogenic (!) turn around tortoises for me, showing me the wild horses, waking up at the break of dawn to warm milk for me and make some coffee for my mum (even when they had a silly argument the night before). My father had saved me from boars, bears, snakes and cows, he was the one who first threw me as a baby in the sea (I was petrified but I did not cry), he taught me how to drive up in the mountains, gave me my first riffle when I was 12 (!!?!), hugged me and carried me home when I fell and hurt my knee badly, waited outside the hospital when they removed the plaster from my foot, kicked my ass totally when I had my first car accident, winked to me every time my mum interrogated me about where I was the night before, but never complained about the length of my mini skirts. In short, my father was awesome.
My father was a very active man. Most people who didn’t know him quite well might show some sort of disbelief, especially as his rather ‘interesting’ apple-ish figure was the indication of delicious culinary addictions. He sure loved his food. He would occasionally dig out an exotic delicacy from an international food store and either read all about it or simply try to use it in his own terms. Either way, the result was never disappointing. He would cook for his friends too, and he would invite them over, drink lots and lots and lots of wine, or go to eat at theirs. I cannot find the words to describe how great it was when we had a dinner party or a barbeque at home. In the end, he would sing drunk with his friends, argue about politics and history, everyone would laugh at his jokes, he would drive my mother furious by eating way too much food and pouring wine over her ‘early 20th century handmade table cloth’. My father was an amazing man, he had numerous friends who adored him, was risky in nature but intelligent enough to run away from trouble fast and, most importantly, flawlessly. He was an independent man who was brave when fighting with the forces of nature, loved good food, his friends, his family, was always ready to help out people but also respected their freedom, a virtue so rare to find.
I spoke to my dad for the last time exactly two days prior to his death. He was in the emergency unit. these were two hard months; me and my mother were always by his side, talking to him, holding his hand, caressing his hair, commenting on his amazing tan. Some people don’t like to remember him like this, but I do. He was strong and courageous up to the last minute. Although he was uncoscious at most times, we had this special kind of communication. He would recognise my voice and would raise his hand to reach for me and weakly hold me while I was talking to him. He would occasionally smile when I was narrating him funny stories from home. He would often look at me kindly with his leaf-green stare. He tried to remove the wires once so he can pass away and from that point onwards the nurses gave him the nickname mr. Orestis the ‘Taliban’. I’m sure when me and my mother weren’t there he was winking at them, they were all pretty girls, you see. And he loved good-looking women. It always made him upset when beautiful girls were waiting alone at bus stops or if they were not dressed stylish enough for his liking.
Most importantly, my father has never a conformist; he would do exactly what ‘HE’ had in mind. And my major question was always the following: ‘DAD! How can you always know what’s right and what’s wrong?’ To which he would smile (my father NEVER grinned). I will never forget his words: ‘You just do what your heart tells you. Your heart always knows. Your mind may be at times tired, weak or confused, but the heart always knows what’s right for you and your beloved ones’. He was right, as always.
The next days, I enjoyed spending time with my friends on the island. My friend Harry was there to support me emotionally, smoke and get drunk with me and give me the occasional foot massage. As Anna was not allowed to visit the island for five years during her marriage, I had to recall all the unpleasant memories off her memory banks. Harry seemed interested in knowing all about Anna's marriage, the despair, the fears, the violence. He had no idea I was now a different person, DK981. An android send to earth on a mission. The naked truth was, she went through Scylla and Charybdis for quite some time, or so I told Harry. He stared at me with his charming, dark and slightly ironic smile and said: 'I know Anna'. It was great seeing him. I knew his family was putting pressure on him regarding his future. I felt with him, maybe because Anna has been in the same place. 'If you feel like going away, just go' I told him. I wanted him to understand that all the little stories Anna made up in her youth about her past, were the result of inexplicable loneliness and fear for the world that surrounded her. A human egoplasm, is not necessarily strong, but an android like me knew that emotions mattered little and the point of this life was not to be strong but to feel strong. A human egoplasm is much like Darth Vader. Prior to being a Sith, on the Jedi path people were thought to be good and kind- just like in Star Trek.
Anna, the human egoplasm whose body I was trapped in had memories of her trust being totally broken, never to be mended again. I went through Anna's numerous diaries. Everything was named after her age in years. I opened the one that was numbered '18'. She wrote:
'When I was very little, I'd lend my eraser or my pencil to the classmate next to me, never to get anything in return; not that I was expecting much! Ever since, my life and my world narrowed down to those who made me feel better. I stopped talking to Vasiliki because it was, at the time, the right thing to do. I hope she will apologise one day and then so will I and that she will be capable to understand how much I love her as my best friend in the world'.
Then I looked at the one tagged as '24'
'I could not understand how people I loved and respected in the past have failed showing me some reciprocity, including the trasvesty of my only serious relationship, I myself got into when I decided to get married. Maybe, I wasn't an angel myself, or at least there wasn't any angelic sentiments involved, ever. I never really liked compromising, and my job, or my creativity, rather, pulled me in directions of my soul where I could find peace. For quite sometime, I felt like a hermit; alone in four walls. I was happy there: untouchable, sinking into my own, existential experiments. My happy boy, JP was calling me everyday, stressed about my silence. How can one put into words feelings so deep and obscure, my tight yet fiery relationship with my mother, the pure, unconditional love for my father, my brother's nerdy world and my sister's cute neurosis. I was a lone wolf, or so I was told. I was called many things in my lifetime, from coldhearted bitch to irritating 'know all' and I have done mistakes which I paid dearly'.
Harry looked at me as I was explaining what was going on in Anna's head and laughed. 'Dear god' he said. You haven't changed a single bit! Fancy grabbing the keys? I can bring my guitar. We can jam'. That has always been the solution in Anna's book. Jamming. Playing music, creating. But in DK981s world there was also writing. It helped her get all the memories together.
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