Greek Fire (28 page)

The train stopped and his friends got out. He waved to them through the window. Many people were leaving the train here, and the guard said there would be a ten minutes stop, so he got out and walked slowly along the platform stretching his legs and trying to blink the sleep from his eyes. Another train came muttering in on the opposite platform, a steam train going the other way. The engine had been built by Krupp's, probably for shunting work, seventy-three years ago. The carriages might have come from an old nineteenth-century print. As it shuddered to a stop, doors opened and crowds streamed out, many young people laughing and joking, a few carrying blowers and wearing paper hats.

As they went past, Gene said to the guard of the steam train: “What is it? What has been happening?”

“The festival at Nafplion. It's held every year.” He moved on, furling his flag.

“Those police on the platform,” said a girl laughing as she went past. “ Why were they there?”

“To look after us,” said her boy friend, and blew his paper blower in her face.

Gene stood still. There were a lot of children on the train and they were taking a time to be got off. Police on what platform? he wanted to hurry after the girl and ask. But did he need to ask? Like a lump of heavy driftwood in a shallow stream, Gene began to move slowly with the crowd. As he did so he saw two men making for the waiting automotrice. They were not in uniform, but you couldn't mistake them. They stopped at the centre door of the train and one of them drew back and glanced up and down so that he could keep the whole train in view. He had his hand in his pocket. The other man got on the train.

The driftwood, as if it had come into deeper water, began to move more easily with the stream. At the barrier there was a cluster of people waiting to go through, children, black-clad women, boys laughing. It was a toss up—either that way or a dart across the railway lines. But always he had avoided the panic move.

The man at the barrier was snatching tickets as the people went through. There did not appear to be anyone with him, anyone watching. Gene went through squeezed between a fat woman with a basket of oranges and two short-trousered bare-legged boys. The ticket was taken from his hand. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that one of the men who had gone to the automotrice was walking back to the barrier.

Outside the station dim street-lights and a narrow rutted square. Walk in the same direction as most of the crowd. A man in a taxi, seeing him better dressed than most, called out to him but he hunched his shoulder and went by. It seemed a long walk but he did not look round again. Twenty steps to the corner, ten, five. A long street. People were spreading out, this way and that, giving him less chance of cover. A darker street to his right, leading back in the direction of the railway lines. He took it.

He got to Nafplion just after midnight. He had walked all the way. In the dark and along the country roads there was little danger; even if the police were sure he was in this area they would not have great forces at their disposal. No doubt the taxi had been found, and at once the police had been alerted along the various routes he might have taken, south towards Piraeus, north in the direction of Levadhia and the main railway line to the Balkans, west into the Peloponnese with obvious attention to the only train feeding the area that night. It was his luck that he had got so far.

He had left his bag on the train. It held nothing of value except the food and brandy that Anya had put in; but for the police, if they identified it with him, it was proof he was in the neighbourhood and only a step ahead of them.

The town of Nafplion was still lighted. He came in along the Tiryns road; cafés were open and music came from one or two. He passed the bus station, where two crowded buses were just leaving, and made into the centre of the town. He had never been here before and had to ask his way. He found the cinema, which had clearly changed its religion, having begun life as a mosque: a few tattered posters hung outside, three photographs of film stars fly-spotted and faded in the sun.

“Constantinos Salamis?” he said to a passer-by.

The first did not hear him, but the second pointed back to a lighted doorway and went on his way trying but failing to walk straight. It was a taverna, bigger than it looked, music came from it as well as stumbling men. He went in and groped a way among smoke and feet and talk and the braying of an accordion; found a seat, slumped into it, for once near the end of his tether. He needed a breathing space and food and rest.

In the middle of a group three men were prancing rounds one other who, middle aged and thin and bald, was twisting himself into wild contortions and leaping into the air while the audience roared and clapped in time. Everybody had had plenty to drink.

“Sir?” A slim dark young man had come to the table, clearing an empty mug and wiping a dry patch on the table.

“Have you food?”

“No, sir.”

“Wine, then. And I want to see M. Constantinos Salamis.”

“I am Constantinos Salamis.”

Gene glanced at his neighbours. But they were all watching the dance and roaring witticisms and advice. “ Mme Lindos has sent me.”

The young man bent to wipe the table again. “I do not think we can serve you.”

“Why not?”

“We were not expecting you until tomorrow, and—it is difficult.”

“I can pay.”

“So would we, if we were caught. It is not the money.”

“Then I'll go.”

“No, wait, I'll bring you the wine.”

He went off and Gene stared at the dancers. At length one of them slipped and fell and there was a howl of laughter and applause.

Salamis came back. “If you are hungry there is this cold,
katsiki
. It is all we have.”

“Thanks.”

“And stay a while. This is a bad night. We will see what we can do.”

The man who had fallen had sprained his leg and they earned him to his chair laughing and cursing. Then two other men, without much urging from their friends, got up and began to sing an unaccompanied song which seemed to derive, as the cinema did, from the Turkish occupation. It was a love song hung with quavering trills and appoggiaturas, nasal, oriental and sad.

The cold kid, helped down with strong red retsina had a tonic effect. He began to recover, to look around. Salamis came back.

“When you go out,” he muttered, “ go to the back door. You will be let in.”

As soon as he had finished Gene paid his bill and left. This taverna was just the sort of place the police would come to. The sooner he was out of sight the better.

Mme Salamis said: “He must stay here tonight. There is not much risk and we can do no less.”

She was a pretty young woman except when she showed her teeth, which were decaying.

Salamis shook his head. “ I have seen too much of this during the war to risk it all again—my business, my wife, my baby son, even for Mme Lindos whom we owe so much to.”

Gene said: “ There's still six hours of darkness. I can be miles away by morning.”

“No, do not misunderstand me,” the young Greek said. “I will take risks but not by keeping you here. That is too much. Let me think. There are better places to hide.”

“It's not merely hiding,” said Gene. “I want to get away.”

“Oh, I think that is the lesser part. We had begun to make arrangements for that. Carlos has the better boat and he thinks nothing of being away a week. No, it is not that. It is keeping you until tomorrow night when one of the boats has the right excuse to go.”

“Let me fend for myself till then. I can meet you by arrangement.”

“Was that someone in the shop?” said Salamis. “Wait, I must see.” He went out.

Gene looked around him, at the cradle beside the girl, at the low wattage unshaded electric light, at the triptych in the corner with a red-glassed oil lamp burning before it.

“Do not worry,” said Mme Salamis. “ He will look after you.”

“I don't think I want to be looked after,” said Gene.

She smiled and went on with her sewing.

Salamis put his head round the door. “ It was no one. But wait, I have an idea and wish to telephone.”

After a while Gene said to the girl: “ Your husband speaks as if you were in the war. You look too young.”

She smiled again. “We are Cretans. During the war my husband fought—and then he was captured. The Germans left him and his fellows in the prison starving. I and my friends used to go down and feed them. We met then and fell in love and promised that if we lived through the war we would marry. Afterwards he was taken from the island and then I did not see him for six years. I thought he was dead.”

“You must have been very young.”

“My husband was eighteen when we first met and I was thirteen.”

For ten minutes or so Gene leaned with his head against the wall, half awake and half dozing. It was three o'clock and the lethargy and fatigue had come back to his limbs. He had had only broken and short sleep for the last four nights.

Sounds and memories adhered to his brain like strips torn from a complete pattern; the day's events had been blown to shreds and left only these defeated flags fluttering. The voices in the train, the grind of gears in the old taxi; Mme Lindos said: “ You've got to go; the police are coming.” And Anya: “Tell me, this fear is not true.” “ Those police on the platform,” said a girl's voice. “My spanner's too big,” he said. “ I thought you might have a smaller one.” He could not find his penknife; there should have been a corkscrew on that. And Anya said: “Take off the phone. Take off the phone, Gene. Take off the phone.”

He started up as Salamis came back into the room, his pale sallow sad face expressionless.

“Do you know the town?”

Gene stared at him, then shook his head.

Salamis said: “There is an island in the bay. Bourtzi. You have heard of it?”

“No.”

“There is a castle on it. Very small. The owner is away and there is no one there. The caretaker lives near here. I have been to see him. It would be a place to hide.”

“You can trust him?”

“Angelos? Ye-es. It is not our way to sell our friends.”

“I am not your friend.”

“You are Mme Lindos's friend.”

Gene said: “Do you know what the police want me for?”

“It's of no importance.”

“Do you know that they are offering a reward of 25,000 drachmae for my capture?”

“Money is not everything.”

“Thank you.”

The Greek glanced at the cheap clock on the mantelpiece. “It is time to go. The moon has set. You will need food and drink for at least twenty-four hours. I will arrange that with Angelos in the morning. There is danger tonight: first the risk of being seen in the streets now, which are empty; second of being seen going out to the island.”

“How far is the island from the shore?”

“Oh, no distance. Six hundred metres.”

“Then I can swim.”

“I hoped you would suggest it.”

The girl made a movement. “You should take him by boat, Tinos.”

“It was partly of his own safety I was thinking,” said her husband. “This is a small town, monsieur, and very little can happen without others knowing of it. The quay will be empty and dark, but I know from experience that we should be lucky if we were not seen using a boat.”

“I'll swim,” said Gene.

Salamis took a heavy key out of his pocket. “ This will let you into the castle. Inside you'll find a bed. Angelos will come in the morning. Now I'll take you as far as the quay.”

“There's no need. I'm used to finding my way in strange towns.”

“That may be, but it is necessary to know which parts of the quay to avoid. Also, in this case, two men are less noticeable than

one.”
The girl got up and went to the door and opened it to put an

empty tin out. “ There is no one about.”
Gene got up and held out his hand to Mme Salamis. “I have a

feeling that your husband won't allow me to pay him for his help.”
“Your feeling is right,” said Salamis.
“But you have a child?”
She looked up at her husband who frowned and then shrugged.

Gene said: “ No parent would deny his son.…”
The girl said: “Thank you. If Tinos will allow.” She accepted

money and folded the notes slowly into a small bundle.
“Thank you,” said Salamis. “Now come.…”

“It is quite safe from here if you can swim well. Do not lose the key.”

“You'd better burn the suit.”

“No, no. Angelos will bring it over to you in the morning. He will also bring you word of arrangements for tomorrow night.”

“We shall not meet again?”

“I hope not.” Salamis's teeth gleamed briefly in the dark. “For our own sakes, I mean.”

“Then good-bye. And thank you.”

“Down these steps. There should be nothing to run foul of between here and the island. God go with you.”

“And with you,” said Gene.

He found water at the eighth step, slipped slowly into it and began to swim. The water was quite cold but refreshing. There was no risk of missing his mark: boats and the harbour end stood out clearly in the starlight, and right ahead of him a black hump shaped like a coconut cake showed up between the jaws of the bay. Apart from the harbour light some lights still showed in the town, and there were evidently high cliffs to the east.

A few minutes brought him to the edge of the rocks. He had no difficulty in finding the landing quay, which was just a concrete step running out into the sea; but as he climbed up, a sharp pain went through his stockinged foot and he knew he had cut himself on something.

Twenty yards across a fiat sanded surface took him to the door of the keep. He limped up the steps, took the key from his belt and pushed it into the door.