Falling Stars
SWOOSH! PLOP! Another star falls into the Aegean. It floats for some seconds in the black sea, heaving under the high wind off the coast of Santorini, then dims and sinks from sight.
The fishermen bobbing in their boats beneath the moon, move towards the place where it had dropped, but find only ripples widening on the glassy surface of the sea.
Stavros and Eleni, who live in Kamari and whose father is a fisherman, run to meet the boats in the early morning, as the first faint rays of sun slant through the tamarisks.
“Guess what we saw!” says their father.
“A shark,” suggests Stavros.
“A mermaid,” says Eleni.
“No, a falling star,” replies their father.
“Aren’t the stars fastened in the sky?” asks Eleni.
“This one wasn’t. You should have seen the splash,” says her father, hauling his nets out of the boat.
That night, the children look long and hard at the stars shining over the massive rock of Mesa Vouno. The stars wink back, but seem securely fixed in the clear night sky.
“Let’s see if any are falling into the sea,” suggests Stavros, and although they should be in bed, the children creep out of the back door and down to the beach. The waves lap gently, as though disclosing secrets.
“Look, a star!” cries Eleni, pointing. But it is only the bobbing light of a fishing boat.
The huge wave comes without warning. It rears twelve feet high, curling at its crest like frenzied lace and washing with a roar over Eleni and Stavros, sucking them coldly down, down....
They are standing in a garden; bubbling and breathing with feathery flowers. Their fronds wave and suck. One opens like a rigid star, gleaming silver in the blue light, tiny fish darting between its outstretched arms.
“There’s the fallen star,” breathes Stavros. But Eleni thinks it is a rare form of flower that has adapted to water. The flowers wave around a fountain, carved from coral.
“Look!” exclaims Eleni. At the end of the watery garden stands a palace, glistening with seaweed and encrusted with shells.
From within, the children hear a groan that sends ripples through the water garden. The plants bend as though listening in fear. The star flower quivers. Some of the coral crumbles from the fountain.
Eleni and Stavros swim among darting fish towards the palace. Another groan.
Suddenly, a gigantic arm thrusts through the green weed draped across one window. Fish swim swiftly out of reach, as the craggy fingers open and close.
“Let’s go home,” suggests Eleni, as the palace trembles. But Stavros has already reached the door, where a big brown crab clings instead of a knocker. There is no need to open the door. Another huge hand thrusts through and scoops up the children. They are lowered gently to the slippery floor, which is scattered with patterned stones and squashed fish.
And in the centre of the huge room squats a giant, covered in barnacles. Water weed is wound untidily round his head, his blinking eyes seem to float like pools reflecting fish and the patterns of the pebbles, while sand and salt cling to his white beard.
His arms hang outside the palace, his legs, bent at the knees like mountains, fill the room. Weed hangs from every limb.
“What fish have we here?” he gurgles in a water-filled voice.
“We’re NOT fish, we’re children!” objects Stavros, whose voice is watery too with fear. “Who are you?”
“I am Atlas, son of the great God Poseidon. Father of the Pleides, the Hyades and the Hesperides.”
Eleni and Stavros know they are the names of stars.
“Where are we?” they ask together.
“In Atlantis of course. My great green kingdom that was sunk in the tidal wave when the volcano erupted on your island.”
The children know of the great eruption around 1600 BC that shattered Santorini.
“The Gods were punishing me and my brothers. But we fought back. Unfortunately we lost and Zeus made me hold up the heavens for eternity. How long it has been! Right now I’m taking a rest.”
“Is that why stars are falling into the sea?” asks Eleni.
“I daresay,” replies Atlas indifferently.
“What was Atlantis like before it sank?” asks Stavros.
“Perfection,” says Atlas. “Palaces, temples, a harbour with a hundred boats. Orchards with fruit that changed colour and shape according to your taste, trees strung with chocolate drops, springs of orange and lemon-flavoured water. It all disappeared in half an hour and now it’s only fit for fish.
“And I’m tired. For all these years I’ve held up the sky above Europe, Asia, Africa and America. The sun has burnt my shoulders, the wind has whistled through my hair, the snow has frozen my beard and the rain soaked my bones.
“Now men have sent up aeroplanes and space ships and things that fly round for ever in orbit - so much metal. I have a headache. Let the clouds collapse, the planets plunge, the sun slither and the moon....”
He is interrupted by a great SPLASH and a big piece of the palace ceiling falls onto his left leg. The water rushes hectically at the weedy walls and the red, yellow and green fish dart as though demented. Clouds of dust drift through the green water.
“Must be more stars!” sighs Atlas. And, indeed, a blinding silver light shivers through the palace.
“Our father’s a fisherman. What will become of him?” asks Stavros.
“Oh, Poseidon will look after him,” promises Atlas. “If you can get me out of here, I’ll show you the rest of Atlantis. I’m only a fraction of my normal size - I can alter that at will, but I’m still too big to be down here. Atlantis is all water now and there are far too many fish. But we have a few mermaids and other miracles.”
Atlas tries to move the arm jammed in the palace window and twitches one of his long legs. The toes are out of sight. Then there is another SPLASH and an even larger lump of ceiling comes down with a crash, while one wall shakes.
On the floor lies a fallen star which shimmers in a dance of leaping light. The children see a yawning gap above Atlas’s head.
“Aha! I might just be able to get through that,” he says. “I suppose I should go back to work.”
The children, still dazzled by the star, swim through the door with a shoal of frightened fish. Atlas heaves his great limbs, his knees and head poking through the hole in the palace roof.
The walls tremble and two collapse. With a roar like thunder under water, Atlas stands upright, his shoulders shattering the remains of the roof. A tumult of water carries Eleni and Stavros high above the seabed in a shower of fish and through shining weed and winking anemones.
They land with a CRUNCH on the black beach. Still the sea crashes and curls in waves with giant crests. Suddenly, a fishing boat bounces over one and lands beside them. Their father climbs out, very wet, and astonished to see Eleni and Stavros shivering on the shingle.
“Poseidon saved him!” cries Stavros.
His father looks puzzled. “I lost all my fish, but I’m lucky to be alive,” he says. “It’s odd because there wasn’t a storm. Just enormous waves and two more falling stars. What are you two doing here?”
“We thought you might be in danger,” explains Stavros. His father would scoff if he told the truth.
As they walk wearily up the beach, Eleni whispers to Stavros, “What a shame we didn’t see the mermaids and other miracles.”
But no more stars fall into the Aegean.
“Atlas must be back at work,” comments Eleni.
When the children ask at school about the lost land of Atlantis, they are told that no one knows for certain where it lies. But Eleni and Stavros do, and they wonder when Atlas will weary and return to rest once more under the waves.
Atlas takes a rest from holding up the world
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