The caique from Lavra shipwrecked

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GREEK - ΕΛΛΗΝΙΚΑ

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. Kai στα Ελληνικά)

THE CAIQUE
FROM
LAVRA
SHIPWRECKED
by
Michael M Nikoletseas

copyright ©2025 by Michael M Nikoletseas
Published in USA

ISBN: 979-8316237616

(Excerpt from the paperback)

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 four 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 time 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 Konstamonitou is deep in the hole where the souls of monks saints and sinners flicker for a moment possess 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 he said

we are sinking he said, those of you Orthodox fight he said and merged with the 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 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 came 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 Konstamonitou is not possible but I have experience. A worker from Uzbekistan agreed to drive his truck over 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 rain.

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, Konstamonitou, 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 a soldier of Christ.

Not so fast Mikhail, you must first pass the mysteries of Orthodoxia, stay on the Mountain. Now you are easy victim to daemonia. Soon the bell will chime for morning service he said.

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

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

My mobile rang

Mikhail all goes well at Konstamonitou?

This was Pater Arsenios of Megisti Lavra who had helped me get off the boat at the arsanas of Konstamonitou monastery a couple of weeks ago.

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

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 archontariki 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 archontaris welcomed me and patiently listened to my story.

I was assistant archontaris to father Prodromos I said. I wrote The Caique from Lavra.

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! Forty years!

Staying for a few days he said.

Forever I said.

I will propose to the gerondes, see you at vespers, he replied.

At vespers I joined 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 the 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 archontariki 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 Prodromos, this was a different man.
You receive holy communion Saturday with the monks, he said.

We talked for some time, archontariki of the eighties, my life in the States, my current status.

I was looking for you at the archontariki 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 Diakodionysis 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 him 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.

I shivered. There is always a cold 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 handsome monk in his seventies he spoke in an almost sensuous manner.

"Play ball. play ball and you will see Madouvala" this was like a refrain of a song. When he got irritated he repeated "Dobre vichi, dobre vichi" many times, hissing.

Later he invited me to the chapel of Panαgia Koukouselissa and taught me 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 dokimos probationary monk.

We stayed up late in my room chatting long spells of silence 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 archontariki 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 underwear, 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 archontaris, 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 night 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.

Never missed church day and night never missed trapeza never missed my morning walk southside of the fortress even in light rain my Wisconsin polar jacket. A furtive Ψ-prayer to hug God somewhere on mighty Athos hanging over my head my policeman at the end of the road. I did not know then there was more in the hug.

One day I ventured beyond the policeman south into the forest. Father Theodochos Lavriotis and Ioakim Agianniotis both young cantors who send you spinning in the air, one tenor one baso, caught up with me on the trail.

Want to join us to Agoi Anargyroi?
You think I can make it?
We'll help.

The dark smells of the forest we prayed at the cave of Koukouzelis and headed straight uphill to Agoi Anargyroi a tiny flat space amongst huge monolithic white rocks. They called Father Iosif God bless God bless we enter the tiny yard Father Iosif standing above our head in his seventies stocky fixed us with his black eyes the eyes of dog patient not blinking a dancing chant broke out

The new dokimos is here the new dokimos is here take over the keli.

Ta daemonia ta daemonia cried the tenor and the baso tell Mikhail about the daemonia.

He grabbed my left arm kept me at a distance and led me to the massive rocks, at a distance like a victim offering to the gods.

Oi dodekatheoi he said they come here and perform their rituals. This cypress tree is a thousand years old Agios Athanasios walking stick he stuck in this rock and it grew roots. This was the throne of the king before 963 and here is the vomos where the victim was slaughtered.

I stooped and drew the palm of hand in the stone basin all the way to the spout where the blood flowed.

He continued dragging me around the steep rocks.

This is a sun dial now this is before 963 this the calendar nine squares in a circle ten months, a year. This is Artenis the trident the branch in the other hand.

He insisted I walk over the steep white rock holding me by the arm at a distance like an offering is held.

Now we walked back to the keli a small porch of sorts a small house a tiny chapel, just enough space for the four of us to stand.

They built the chapel and ta daemonia destroyed it at night. Agios Athanasios completed it in one day and held liturgy ta daemonia left he said.

Agoi Anaegyroi the two doctors colleagues of yours do not kiss the icon you’ll spill the oil of the candili on your head, touch the icon and kiss your hand.

I squeezed his arm

I want to pray I said.

We go out he said to the cantors leave Mikhail alone.

I stood on the stone that Athanasios stood a thousand years ago the altar at arm’s length
.
Ευλογημένη η βασιλεία του Πατρός

I whispered

Ευλογημένη η βασιλεία του Πατρός Blessed be the kingdom of the Father the rest I cannot tell.

When I came to I shouted Orthodoxia or Thanatos. I will follow you wherever you go the cop said.

Witness to the birth of Athonite monasticism Mikhail now go back to Lavra witness the death. God crushed Athanasios under the rubble of the majestic Katholikon he was building. Orthodoxia or Thanatos.

These days I feel it heavy on the skin of my arms fall is coming. All pilgrims are gone. I have not gone down to the arsanas for many years. I will get bold one day and walk down the hill see if the gendarme is still around.

Father Athanasios, whose age nobody knew said on a dark December night an angel swooped over the little port of Lavra 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 he said.

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

These days I talk to Father Prodromos my gerontas often. It is very late the pilgrims are gone the caique the cop.

Vocabulary

Agion Oros
Holy Mountain, Mt Athos

Lavra
Monastery

archondariki
A section of the monastery for welcoming the pilgrims

loukoumi
a type of sweet, Turkish delight

raki
a type of alcoholic drink, tsipouro

Athanasios the Athonite
St Athanasius, the founder of the monastery of Megisti Lavra, the first monastery on Mt Athos

skete
monk dwellings outside the twenty main monasteries on Athos

fat L
Macedonians pronounce the letter L in a characteristic way that sounds like Lh.

trapeza
the dining hall of monasteries

campana
church bell

kyrie eleison, pronounced kerieh eleh eson
lord have mercy on me

arsanas
the port of a monastery with its ancillary buildings

gendarme
policeman

Karyes
The administrative center of Athos

stasidi
a special wooden armchair found in orthodox churches

gerontas
a monk, my gerondas refers to the abbot, the hegoumenos of the monastery

Credits

Image:
The Storm
Ivan Aivazovsky, Russia 1817−1900
Painting, 1850, 82×117 cm
The National Gallery of Armenia, Yerevan