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Don’t be the Lamb

Easter Fireworks

There was no build-up.

I had expected everything to be closed, but quite to the contrary, the street was lively as we stepped out at 10 p.m. to look for some entertainment.

We settled on what was quickly becoming our regular: Cosmogonia Bar where the locals outnumbered the tourists, the atmosphere was convival and great music played as the night wore on.

And wear on it did: at a quarter past eleven there was still no direction in the way people were ambling up and down the street.

“I think I should go,” I said to John. “I have no idea where everybody is supposed to come from, but come midnight it’s going to be packed out there. Perhaps I should climb up the hill for a better view.”

‘Out there’ was the church yard, barely fifty metres down the road from the bar. Directly behind it was the hill that led up to the fortress. From there I was hoping to get a good vantage point over the crowd that was supposed to gather a few short moments from now, lighting candles at the stroke of midnight, like twinkling stars that announced to the world that Christos anesti—Christ is risen—and Easter had arrived.

I had a beer to finish first. When I stepped out barely a quarter of an hour later, the street had miraculously filled with people. Young and old, visitors and locals, huddled shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the church entrance, awaiting the announcement with bated breath, candles in hand.

There was no way of getting through to the path that led up the hill.

Somebody pressed a candle into my hand. I turned to see another tourist behind me, grinning.

I shook my head. “I’m a atheist!”

“Me too. Enjoy!”

From the direction of the church, flickering lights began to appear. Already?

I handed the candle over to somebody who must have dropped theirs. I wasn’t worthy of it, but I hoped the guy who’d given it to me wouldn’t mind.

Easter Candles

Truth be told, I was too busy clicking away—with the flash off but feeling somewhat dirty nevertheless.

Then fireworks exploded behind the church tower. And something else: shots rang in the air and charges of dynamite shook the ground.

I became a little worried. The land wasn’t parched, and Easter happens every year, but yet…

Suddenly the scene turned unreal. As if in a dream, I watched great orange tongues of flame licking at the hillside, building up into waves that crested the trees and broke at the wall of the fortress, threatening to engulf it.

If the wind turned—just a little—the town would be next.

“Do you think that’s staged?” I whispered to the guy behind me.

He looked grim. “Doesn’t look staged to me. But by all means snap away. Don’t mind the town or the people.”

I stood frozen, staring at the flames, while all around me the people cheered on, oblivious.

Easter Celebrations


The crowd dispersed. Not knowing what to do in the face of the human tide welling out from the churchyard, I let myself drift along, back to the bar.

Yanis and Maria were behind the counter and the punters were drinking as if Easter hadn’t happened. John was the sole remaining tourist. He hadn’t budged.

“The hill is on fire!” I shouted over the music.

Yanis didn’t seem to have heard. He held up two bottles of Mythos. “Happy Easter! Drink for me!”

John didn’t pay much notice either. He and Yanis were engaged in a lively discussion when I finished my beer and went back outside.

The path up the hill was clear, but the smell of smoke and gunpowder was thick in the air. Had I followed my original plan, I would have been roasted like a Pascha lamb.

A forlorn police car stood within the walls of the ruined fortress. The fire was out.

There was no sign of any burnt trees.

There was no sign of any fire engines either. Yet I had seen with my own eyes how entire trees had been engulfed by the flames. Had it been a hallucination?

I met nobody up on the hill or on my way down. A lonely song floated up as I approached the church. The doors stood open, spilling light from the golden altar, in front of which knelt the priest in resplendent robes, arms spread, singing his lonely chant.

Easter Exuberations

The next day, we walked back up to the fortress. The only sign of the damage were some cases of ammunition, spent sticks of TNT and a few patches of burn grass, and the only smell that hung in the air was that of lambs turning on roasting spits in every garden and courtyard.

When we got back to Anonymous Homestay, Sofia got up from the family table to carry some Pascha lamb, tzaziki and cheese pastries over to us.

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