The Feast of Lights in Aivali (Photios Kontoglou)

 

 

The Feast of Lights in Aivali 

By Photios Kontoglou

In seaside places they throw the Cross into the sea after the Divine Liturgy of Theophany. That is how they used to do it in my homeland too, and it was a beautiful and strange sight.

The procession would set out from the cathedral. In front went the exapteriga and banners, and after them the priests with the bishop, dressed in their golden vestments — many priests and archimandrites, because the town had twelve churches, and on feast days the smaller parishes would finish the Liturgy quickly and their priests would go to the cathedral, so that the celebration might be more solemn. The chanters were many as well, the best-voiced among them, and they chanted Byzantine — that is, Greek — music with majesty, not like today, when we have gone mad and turned our chanting into tasteless, foreign theatrical songs. Behind them followed a great crowd of people.

When they reached Angelí Beach, as that shore was called, the bishop and the priests would ascend a large wooden platform, beautifully constructed, to perform the Sanctification of the Waters. The people filled the shoreline and climbed wherever they could in order to see. The surrounding houses were packed with spectators. Women burned incense from the windows. On the sea side, there were gathered nearly a hundred caiques and countless small boats, with their prows turned toward the place where the bishop stood. Arrayed in this way, the boats looked like a fleet about to go to war. Farther out toward the open sea, you could see the large caiques anchored, also full of people. Others had encircled the boats near the shore, and they too were crowded — mostly sailors and children.

 

In those parts the cold is intense, and most of the time the masts of the ships were covered with snow — a very beautiful sight. On the rigging and ladders, on the yards and spars of the vessels, there were perched countless sailors, young and old. The sea lay calm, utterly still. Icicles hung from the rigging of many boats. Bitter, infernal cold. In each of the boats that had drawn close to shore and were waiting for the Cross to be thrown into the sea, one or two men stood on the prow, while two others manned the oars. Those standing upright on the prow were completely naked, except for a white cloth worn like a loincloth. Most of them were like wild beasts — powerfully built, broad-shouldered, thick-necked, hairy-chested, their bodies red from the cold. Their legs were strong and swollen like spindles — men of the sea, deckhands, boatmen, hardened by salt. Most had thrown their furs over their shoulders to keep from freezing. One or two, however, stood naked and crossed themselves from time to time. Their eyes, though, were fixed on the spot where the bishop would throw the Cross.

Among the naked men were Kostis Giorgaras, Stratis Bekos, Giorgis Sonios, Dimitros Boubas, Petros Klokas, Vasilis Arnaoutis, Crazy-Paraskevas, and others. I can see them before me as if it were yesterday. Giorgaras was a gigantic man, like Koutalianos, with a black mustache and a neck like a barrel. He had a kerchief tied around his head and looked like a corsair. Leaning on a pole, he seemed like Poseidon come to life. Dimitros Boubas was another sea-monster — thickset and broad-faced, dark like a Saracen — squatting low, wrapped in his fur, his eye fixed on the bishop. Patsos Arapis, known as Crazy-Paraskevas, had curly red whiskers and skin that was naturally red. He was brave and agile as a trick rider and felt no cold at all. In appearance he looked like a Russian. He had climbed up into the rigging of an anchored brigantine and stood motionless, like a statue. It was a mystery how he did not freeze. Petros Klokas was the only one not wearing even a loincloth. He was Europeanized, wearing tight trousers and a sailor’s cap. He was lean and stylish, with his hands clasped across his chest, pacing back and forth on the boat, talking constantly and putting on a theatrical show.

So when the procession approached the sea and the chanting could be heard from afar, a great uproar arose among the boats. The divers threw off their furs and the others pulled hard on the oars to get their boats close to where the Cross would fall. Some shouted from the rigging, others argued, others climbed onto the gunwales to see better. Finally the soldiers arrived and put the crowd in order. At the front went a Turkish officer, clearing the way for the bishop, shouting, “Yol verin efendia!” — that is, “Make way for the master!” The soldiers lined up in formation, and the chanters repeatedly sang, “When You were baptized in the Jordan, O Lord.” At the end the bishop himself chanted it and threw the Cross into the sea.

A great cry rose from the waters. Boats and caiques churned their oars and crashed into one another. Prows struck prows. Oars, poles, harpoons, and nets became tangled together. The divers plunged in, and the sea foamed as though dogfish were fighting. Many of them took a long time to surface, diving deep and searching the bottom for the Cross. For a moment a head would appear and then quickly vanish again before you could make it out.

Suddenly a head with red whiskers emerged, and a hand rose from the water holding the Cross. It was Crazy-Paraskevas. With two or three powerful strokes he swam toward the bishop and clambered ashore. He bowed, kissed the bishop’s hand, and gave him the Cross. The bishop took it, kissed it, and placed it on a silver platter, then handed the platter to Paraskevas. The chanters began chanting again and the crowd shouted with joy. Then the procession returned to the church. Paraskevas, stark naked, holding the platter, went around to the large coffeehouses and taverns, and each person gave whatever gift he wished. After so many hours naked and soaked, with his loincloth frozen stiff, he neither shivered nor even shrugged his shoulders. Red-bearded and lobster-colored, he reminded one of the Scythian Anacharsis, who in ancient times used to walk naked through Athens in winter, and when the Athenians asked him why he did not feel cold, he replied that his whole body was like his forehead, which never feels the cold.

At the moment when the Cross fell into the sea, all the caiques and ships anchored out in the open water turned their prows toward the East, from where Christ came into the world.

Source: From the book Aivali, My Homeland. Translated by John Sanidopoulos.