Greek Fire

by Winston Graham

  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.

  He had little enough energy to look round the place. There was a courtyard and various other doors, one of which he found unlocked. It led into kitchens and then downstairs into queer cell-like rooms with the sound of water lapping close under the windows. In one of the rooms was a bed. He stripped off and lay down on the bed. In a few minutes he was asleep.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  He woke to the sound of someone whistling. It wasn’t a jolly tune but three or four notes repeated over and over again in a monotonous and depressing way. He got up, knowing at once where he was but not realising it was full daylight. He pulled on the clothes he had, which had lost some of their wetness in five hours.

  A man was coming down the steps carrying a bag. He was short, square shouldered, red haired and walked with a limp. He didn’t seem to notice the eye at the door, but when he got to the bottom step he put his bag down and said:

  “Your health. There’s clothes here and food. And Carlos will be here for you tonight.”

  Gene came slowly out. “ Your health. What time is it? My watch has stopped.”

  “Nine o’clock. I’m later than usual, but last night was the Festival, so one is up later today.”

  The man had a queer neck as well as a limp; the bones were deformed and he held his head as if looking round a corner. Gene bent to the bag and pulled open the string.

  His suit and his shoes were inside.

  “The food will cost you eighty-four drachmae. Meat is not cheap in Greece today. And there is bread and fruit and wine.”

  Gene gave him two hundred. “ I should not have heard you but your whistle woke me.…”

  “You slept well?”

  “Like a log.”

  “Just so. Just so.” Angelos gave him a peculiar smile. “You a foreigner?”

  “Why d’you ask?”

  “It says so in the paper.”

  “I have some Greek blood.”

  “Ah. But your eyes are too light.”

  “What about your own?”

  Angelos laughed. He laughed silently with his head on one side and his mouth open. It was like a man having a fit.

  “The police are looking for you, koubare. They’ve not found you yet. You were last seen at Argos. That true?”

  Gene nodded as he got into his suit. He was used to summing people up quickly. Young Salamis had been as clear as day. Not so this man. One was in muddy water from the first word and the first glance.

  “Have you looked around the castle?”

  “No. I came straight in here.”

  “Instinct—that’s what it was—instinct.” Angelos had his convulsion again. “Well, there’s nothing to the castle. But I warn you if you move about keep off the skyline, for someone will be sure to notice you, and the police don’t believe in ghosts even if we do.”

  Gene followed the man up the stone steps. Outside the sun was blinding. They were not on view in this enclosed courtyard.

  Gene said: “Someone is coming for me tonight?”

  Angelos looked at him round the corner of his shoulder. “Tomorrow morning. Carlos will pick you up, and I shall be glad to see the back of you, I can tell you; but he cannot do so till the moon has set, which will be at four. You’ll see his boat leaving the harbour at sundown. A handsome boat. I wish I had one like it.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. It’s a blue one, and if there’s a breeze ’twill carry a red sail. In the night ’twill come back for you. You’d best be ready on the little quay. There’ll be no light but you’ll hear the engine. Once you’re off you’ll be in their hands.”

  Gene walked with the man across the courtyard and found himself limping in company. Angelos looked at him suspiciously and Gene had to say: “ I caught my foot on the rocks when I landed.” He slipped his shoe off again and looked at his heel.

  Angelos twisted himself with laughter. “Sea urchins. They’re all over these rocks. They’ll give you trouble. Once in they’ll never come out. They’ll fester and weep. Only way is to cauterise ’em. Red hot needle. Something for you to do this afternoon.”

  “I can’t wait to try,” Gene said.

  As they came to the outer door Angelos stopped again and looked at Gene over his shoulder like something he’d forgotten. “I’ll have to have the key, mind. Leave the door unlocked when you go. I’ll come early tomorrow morning and lock up.”

  “It’s a queer place to live.”

  “Think so? Oh, some people like it. My uncle liked it.”

  “Was he the owner?”

  “He lived here. He was called Angelos too. On the side of the angels, eh? That’s what I always say.”

  “Have you ever lived here?”

  This amused Angelos. “ No. It was all finished before I grew up.”

  “What was?”

  “This place. You know what it was?”

  “No.”

  “I thought not. Some people don’t mind. Some people do. Hundreds of years ago it began. This part belonged to the Italians. Venice, you know. Up there, on the cliff, that’s the prison, see? They had a hangman, of course, ready when needed. But we Greeks didn’t like a hangman in our midst—and a foreigner at that—in the town, hobnob
bing. Wasn’t nice. And dangerous for him. He’d get his throat slit. See? So he lived here. Lived here for centuries. And even when there was independence, when Greece belonged to the Greeks, they still kept the hangman here. This was his house. And this was where they did the dirty work. That was where the gallows used to be—up there. My uncle was the last executioner. They’ve moved it away from here now. Pity, for by rights the job would have been mine.”

  “Pity,” said Gene.

  “Yes. Comical you being here really, considering what you’re wanted for. Very apt when you think of that room you slept in. I suppose you went there just as if you’d been guided.”

  “Guided to what?” said Gene.

  Angelos opened his mouth and laughed silently sideways. “ That used to be the condemned cell.”

  Gene lay in the hot sun, his damp shirt steaming, and watched Angelos row away across the pale water of the bay. Gene was no surer of him than after the first word. He had gone off limping, sly, peering, gusty, lustful, full of slightly obscene laughter, leaving his prisoner where he could get at him any time. There were eighteen hours yet during which Angelos might call at the police station and earn the reward. A sobering thought.

  As the heat of the day grew, the prickles in his foot began to throb and he tried to dig them out. The sea urchins clustered all round this island like a second fine of defence, evil black pincushions showing through the glass-green water. Perhaps one had grown for every man hanged. Difficulty about getting the prickles out was that they constantly broke, and he gave it up half done to eat some of the food Angelos had brought.

  After he had eaten, and with a rag round his foot, he looked over the castle. The island was tiny, no more than a rock jutting out of the bay, the castle a round keep with a central tower, a few dungeons, an enclosed parade yard. He went down again to the room where he had spent the night. It was only six or seven feet above the sea. There were still the marks to be seen where the window bars had been removed. The walls had been re-plastered, and he wondered what scrawls and last messages the new plaster covered up.