The Immortal Read Free Page B

brown eyes were bloodshot.
    "A little. But if I sleep now I'll never get on the schedule here." She stowed her cheap suitcase in the corner. Her family didn't have much money, even though it seemed as if they must because their only daughter had gone to Greece twice in a year. Her parents were anxious to keep her happy—for various reasons. Of course my dad was running low on funds as well. He had to sell something soon, even if it was only a movie-of-the-week or a sitcom pilot.

    "Do you want to go into town and walk around?" I asked.
    "No, we can do that after the sun goes down. That's when the action starts. Let's go snorkeling, but not 15
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    here. The beaches on the other side of the island are much nicer—there are Agrari and Paradise." Helen rolled her eyes. "Lots of naked bodies on those beaches."
    "How do we get there?" I asked. "Can we take a bus?"
    "Maybe, but we don't want to. The best way to get around is on a motorbike. We can rent them outside of town for less than fifteen bucks a day. Have you ever ridden a motorbike?"
    "No, but I'm game." I had seen couples on the bikes on the way to the hotel and it looked like fun.
    "You have to learn how to shift gears. No one wears a helmet here. It can be dangerous."
    "If you did it, I can do it," I said.
    Helen was amused at my confidence. "Well see," she said.
    We changed into fresh shorts and T-shirts and bade my father and Silk goodbye. They were already half asleep. Hora was ten minutes on foot. Walking into town along a bumpy asphalt road, we passed what looked like a worthy beach. I still couldn't get over how clear the water was. But Helen reassured me that the beach was nothing compared to what we would see on our motorbikes.
    The surrounding houses were all white, dazzling in the sunlight, their balconies festooned with glorious geraniums and pots of basil. Closer to the city, the houses grew thicker together, and I could see that one facade blended into the next, with narrow flagstone
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    alleys winding between them. Helen stopped at a bike shop at the edge of this wonderful town.
    She was familiar with the bikes, and I suspected she-had used the place on her previous trip. A pleasant young Greek woman with spotty English helped us pick out bikes—two new Hondas. She demonstrated how to shift gears, kicking successively down with the left foot. It didn't look hard, but Helen warned me that I would need practice to get the hang of it.
    "Wait till you're going uphill," she said. "Then you'll have fun."
    Helen's prophecy came to rapid fruition. Our bikes were low on fuel, the Greek woman warned us. We had to go straight to the gas station, and by luck the place was straight up the hill from the shop. I got the bike going well enough and was out on the road, but I quickly lost speed as the incline steepened. Helen was in front of me, pulling away, as cars and other motorbikes roared past me. I thought I was in first gear, the best one for a steep hill, but I must have been in second. I kicked the gear lever, and still I continued to slow down. The bike slowed to the point that it was in danger of falling over. Then it stalled.
    I coasted over to the side and dug my sandals into the asphalt. The bike was trying to roll back down the hill.
    "Damn," I said.

    The scooters had kick starters. I fiddled with the gears before giving it a kick and discovered I had been in third gear. Using the heel of my left foot—the front of the foot upped the gears, the heel lowered them—I
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    ground myself back to what I hoped was neutral and then, with my right foot, gave the starter pedal a good swipe. Apparently I wasn't aggressive enough. Starting a bike is a real macho thing, I realized.
    Putting a slight sneer on my lips, as if I were James Dean, and gritting my teeth, I gave the pedal a real he-man slap. It roared to life.
    I rode all the way up the hill in first gear. I was taking no chances on stalling out. Helen was