The caique from Lavra shipwrecked

The caique from Lavra shipwrecked

by Michael M Nikoletseas
About the Author

(This is a new book about Athos. It is a continuation of the book The Caique from Lavra which is in the libraries of Harvard, Oxford and other Universities. The incidents related in this book are facts. Σύντομα στα Ελλινικά)

Fall 1983

End of August I could feel fall descending upon the skin of my arms. Summer had passed peaceful helping Father Prodromos with the chores of the archondariki making coffee for the pilgrims loukoumi and raki. On a couple of occasions Father Prodromos said

Mikhail get married or become a monk.

I kissed the hand of Father Prodromos my eyes wet and headed downhill to the arsanas with four or five others today the caique was coming.

The dirt road was wet and there was strong wind almost forcing us back. Waves broke on the rocks and jetted high up to the tower of the small port. A gendarme outside his office high up below the tower his back toward us paced back and forth raising his arms to the clouds.

The caique appeared in the midst of breaks of giant columns of white foam aiming the narrow mouth of the tiny port now lurching toward the dark rocks.

The pilgrims screamed and ran back uphill. The gendarme now facing us waved his arms telling us something or blessing us I could not tell. It was a dance the caique the gendarme the pilgrims over and over again like in an ancient drama. This was all the gendarme's doing.

The pilgrims left on a truck to Karyes later that day. Bad weather continued for days, the caique came and the dance was repeated, then there was no caique winter no pilgrims. Father Athanasios, whose age nobody knew said on a dark December night an angel swooped over the little port and lifted the caique up into a pitch black sky with the handsome policeman onboard.

He was weeping, waving his arms toward the Lavra, like a child the cop like a baby.

None of the monks believed Father Athanasios who himself vanished in the desert on the west side of Athos.

Winter 2025

On the stairs to the upper deck and lounge of the fast boat Dafni-Ouranoupoli one more escape from the Holy Mountain. Father Efraim of Megisti Lavra carrying my enormous suitcase myself following holding my pants up snail speed. Some fifty pilgrims behind us followed patiently. Father Efraim put down the suitcase pulled my pants up and struggled to tighten my belt as much as possible. There I stood no embarrassment

Mikhail you are a soldier of Christ I said.

Father Iosif of Lavra the guardian of the foundation stone of Athonite Orthodoxy of Athanasius, the priest of Artemis the one that carries a trident, "stratiotis tou Christou" he said, leave my bones on the Mountain he said, never call me back he said when I called him to tell him I left. Got the virus 4 times, went no place, you left he said.

The lounge was full. An Aegean air pilot set up a table and chairs for me, a long time to Ouranoupolis.

Mikhail you chicken out, third times you run away, a mighty soldier of Christ. Nineteen eighty three-2025 boy scouting in the academia shuttling Greece USA.

But always came back. Back in early eighties the cop at Thessaloniki airport was clear

You forgot something on the Mountain, go back, I will follow you wherever you go.

Thousands of miles on the dirt roads Lavra Hilandari forty years now forgot something in my dreams.

The monastery of Constamonitou is deep in the hole where the souls of monks saints and sinners flicker for a moment posses a living act out their message or dance and return in the dark abyss. For those who have eyes. Filaretos welcomed me

come to the trapeza eat something, we are sinking he said, those of you orthodox fight he said and merged with invisible.

Merry Aglaios followed me, acted his jokes when I walked in the long corridor in the monks quarters, a heavy breeze of a sound oozing from the hollow work suits hanging outside the cells, ice crystals the pierced my soul, I fled in horror.

Agathon broke up my confession at his grave, father Spyridon said tomorrow night in church. There after confession we talked for a long time,

These were Father Agathon's last words he said. I asked Father Spyridon to repeat, I heard but cannot remember. In his last days he was at another level. Spyridon uttered unintelligible sounds, I sat next to him at the stasidi silent. We got to get some sleep father Spyridon said and stood up to leave.

Patera Spyridon, you did not give me your blessing.

The blessing, he said, rushed into the sanctuary, and come out wearing the petrahili
On your knees he said. He covered me with his petrahili, mumbled the blessing and I was not.
Holly communion later he said, later.

Escaping from Constamonitou is not possible but I have experience. A worker from Uzbekistan agreed to drive his truck oner the mountain paths and take me to Karyes. I have never driven this route he said I go by instinct. We drove around the mountain for many hours dark and raining. We were here before he said, I must drive uphill now, this wall was not here when I came.

We slept in a small brick hut in the forest at Kapsala, he stayed awake feeding the fire. Early morning he drove me to Karyes to catch the shuttle to Dafni and then a boat for my escape from the Mountain. Now the urge was weak. I decided to abort and go to Karakallou monastery. Father Symeon of the desert had told me "Xeropotamou, Karakallou, Constamonitou, there!".

We drove to Karakallou. I identified myself, I am fighting the same agonas as you I said. They offered me hospitality for three days. Close to midnight Father Christoforos knocked on my door and asked to use my mobile. Wanting privacy he took me to a deserted part of the monastery. After the call we sat on beds facing each other and talked both nights that I stayed there. I remember nothing of his talk yet I felt I understood the changes he made in me. My urge to escape grew again, I could not handle the emotion, i did not tell Father Christoforos did not tell anyone. Take your hat off Pater, you are a handsome monk, your eyes, your eyes, I know you. I did not, did not tell Pater Christoforos "I know you Pater, you were a cop at Thessaloniki airport in the eighties. Go back to the Mountain you had told me, I will follow you wherever you go, you had told me" I sat there silent staring into his black eyes somewhere in Anatolia helpless what will be done is already dome.

Not so fast Mikhail, you must first pass the mysteries of Orthodoxia. Now you are easy victim to deamonia. Soon the bell will chime for morning service.

He put his arm around my shoulders and helped down the stairs to my room.

In the morning I positioned myself outside the archondariki to arrange for a shuttle to take me to the port at Dafni. Now my desire to escape was stiflingly urgent.

My mobile rung Mikhail all goes well at Constamonitou? This was Pater Arsenios of Megisti Lavra who had helped me get off the boat at the arsanas of Constamonitou monastery a couple of weeks ago.

Good to hear you Pater Arsenios, I am not at Constamonitou.

Where are you Mikhail?

Karakallou.

Pause, a long pause.

You know where I am? On the road below Karakallou. Get your suitcase ready will be there in a few minutes. Megisti Lavra we go.

Here I am at the archodariki of Lavra without a permit forty years later. It was there where I left it. At the bottom of the stairs I made the sign of cross an act I rarely do as I find it spoils my prayer. Athanasios the layman assistant archondaris welcomed me and patiently listened to my story.
I was assistant archondaris to father Prodromos I said/

I was led to the suite for dignitaries and not the communal dormitories..Around noon I called Father Prodromos, the abbot.

Father Prodromos I am here in Lavra!
Staying for a few days he said. For ever I said. I will propose to the gerondes, see you at vespers, he replied. At vespers I join the line of pilgrims, mostly devout Slavs, to get his blessing. Lightly bowing his face mostly hidden under the black hood he held his hand out for thee pilgrims to kiss.

I am Mikhail, I said, kissed his hand and held it against my forehead my whole body shaking. He raised his head and stared at me. Lit by a single candle his face white as milk his eyes black as coal a smile of joy.

After vespers after trapeza we walked up to the abbot's residence for confession. I have been looking for you at the archondariki I said. Show you around he said this is where I live this my little parekklisi. We sat on the stasidi next to each other and I emptied my soul out. Kneel down he said and he covered me with his petrahili. He whispered the blessing it took some time and touched my head a couple of times I heard a click When I got up I looked at his face I wondered if this was him, this was a different man.
You receive holy communion Saturday with the monks he said,
We talked for some time, archondariki of the eighties, my life in the States, my currant status. I was looking for you at the achondariki I said and choked.

I went to bed early church starts at two in the morning. I lay in bed I could see Athos slopping across the window in the wall of the fortress two meters wide,.I prayed listening to Firfiris

ΚΥΡΙΕ, ἐκέκραξα πρὸς σέ, εἰσάκουσόν μου· πρόσχες τῇ φωνῇ τῆς δεήσεώς μου
Lord here I cry unto thee, hear me, listen to my voice, grant my prayer

I chanted along wiping my tears blowing my nose my muscles quivering I fell asleep.

Around two in the morning the talando sounded around the yard of Lavra tatatata tatatata. I rushed to church unfinished business. A single wax candle lit each section of the church, the Katholikon built by Athanasius a thousand years ago. A monk was reading in jubilante mode, an exquisite voice a tenor Hours later more pilgrims arrived. I decided to look for the stassidi where forty years ago I was invaded, the old monk that chanted kyrie eleison begging and threatening the Lord. An old monk was sitting at the stassidi moaning quietly. I sat near hm and prayed. He stood up and started crying like a child loud rubbing his eyes with the back of his fingers God you deserted me. I was invaded, sat motionless for a long time. I walked up to him and touched his shoulder, my totemic beliefs. He got angry, I am sick he said and pointed with his finger Go!

After trapeza shortly before sunrise I exited the southern gate to walk around the fortress. Evanescent clouds, nefeles, crowned Athos, I raised both my arms closed my eyes was flooded by His presence. I dragged my feet uphill along the fortress. A Greek flag on a building as the path bends north I read "Hellenic Police" Lord I know I whispered. There is always a breeze as you leave the protection of the fortress.

A day or two later outside the southern gate I met Papa Petros feeding his cats some twenty of them. He responded to my greeting in \English. I look German people say green eyes white complexion but my thick fingers and long thick nose tell of my Aegean roots. We soon found out that wε enjoyed talking to each other talking about nothing certainly not about saints or God. This Tigress he said, that is Pocopico he is boss. A hansom monk in his seventies he spoke in an almost sensuous manner. "Play ball. play ball and you will see Maduvala" this was like a refrain of a song. When he got irritated he repeat "Dobre vichi, dobre vichi" many times, hissing. Later he invited me to the chapel of Panαgia Koukouselisa and taught to chant in the Little Litany. Take antidoro and kiss the priest's hand after liturgy he advised me and line up with pilgrims kiss the bones of the saints once in a while, soon your status will change from pilgrim to probationary monk. We stayed up late in my room chatting long spells of sillence what counts in friendship is being together. Sometimes he fell asleep but continued talking unintelligibly.

Patera Petro where do I wash my underpants, I brought a huge suitcase loaded with underwear, ran out. Tell arcchondariki he said, you are still a pilgrim, hold on he said and rushed out of the suite. He came back holding a bag full of undrerwear a jacket and a sweater. Try this on, he insisted I put on the sweater. He sat in silence his face blank. I remained silent too.

I called him after \i left Lavra because of the virus. Get well he said. One of these days I will hear a voice behind me Patera Petro, I will hear a voice behind me.

One night he grabbed my arm and led me to the stassidi for the dignitaries where bishop Chrysostomos sometimes sits. I resisted the honor, Father Symeon a friendly megaloschemos monk urged me on, there I sat for all to see, I thought like Pokopico the top cat.

Before long I became known to all as the old professor of Medicine who wants to become a monk at Lavra. Most monks liked me and asked for advice with medical problems. Father Ierotheos, the archondaris, saw that I am comfortable and talked to me for hours on matters relating to monasticism/ He convinced me to abort my reflexive escape after I witnessed improprieties one nigh in a cell next to mine. Saint (I forget his name) hung on patiently, the monk sleeping on the bed above his pissed on him every night, he said to me. I stayed.

to be continued, daily