Forth into Light

by Gordon Merrick

  “Go in peace, comrade.” Sid lifted his hand in benediction.

  “You’re a good guy, Sid.” Jeff turned and flung himself down the stairs.

  Peter awoke with Judy’s head on his shoulder. When he stirred, she stirred with him and their bodies automatically moved into position for making love. With morning, they had become practiced lovers, delighting each other with known pleasures, so that they were quickly locked in the throes of a shared climax.

  Only after passion had receded did Peter wonder about the time. He sat up in the enormous bed, trying to remember where he had seen the clock. He spotted it behind him, built into the paneling of the bulkhead. It was almost eleven-thirty. “My God,” he exclaimed. “Sweetheart. I never want to see you in clothes again, but shouldn’t we meet Mike Cochran?” By the time he had completed the question he was lying out in the bed again with his mouth on her breast.

  She ran her fingers through his tousled hair and held his head for a moment and then pushed it firmly aside and sat up in her turn. “You sleep so beautifully. You make love so beautifully. I want to see if you’re beautiful when you’re being a serious art expert.”

  She left him and was quickly, efficiently, bathed and dressed and looking beautiful, despite their active night, when he joined her on the covered deck. They had a cup of coffee together with only a few minutes to spare before their noon date.

  He was glad they were going to be occupied for the next hour or two. He needed a little time to adjust to what had taken place, was still taking place between them. Except during business trips, he had never before spent a whole night away from home. He was feeling more unfaithful than he liked, even though he knew Charlie wouldn’t mind, might not even know it if he had got up early enough. He kept his back turned to the eastern arm of the port, and the house. He had had one of the most sexually satisfying nights of his life—with a girl!—and his body was restless for more. Fortunately, they hadn’t time; getting out among people would break the absorbing physical connection he felt with her.

  He glanced at the chronometer and finished off his coffee. “Nobody ever does anything here when they’re supposed to,” he said, “but Cochran’s from another world. We’d better run.”

  She didn’t indulge in any maddening little feminine delaying tactics but was immediately on her feet ready to go. He didn’t allow himself to touch her until they were on the gangplank. When he put his hand on her arm, he immediately wanted to turn her around and rush her back to the enormous bed. They went dutifully ashore. Passing the Meltemi, Peter noticed that it was closed, which was odd at that hour. The port looked unusually still, with few people about.

  Sid Coleman and Dorothy were conspicuously alone at Lambraiki’s. Sid gestured frantically as Peter and Judy approached and hardly waited for introductions to be performed before telling about Dimitri’s arrest and Jeff’s morning visit.

  “He’s left with Mike,” Sid concluded. “How does that figure to you?”

  “Left? How could he? You mean already—on the morning boat?”

  “Michael Cochran? On the regular boat? No, a special caique. Laid on by the police. They’re taking him to the mainland and driving him to Athens. Don’t you wish you wrote movies?”

  “How peculiar. We had a date with him.” Peter and Judy exchanged a glance. “Did Jeff say anything to explain the big rush?”

  “I gathered they were eloping, friend. Maybe they didn’t want to explain to George and Sarah.”

  Peter frowned. “Jeff’s a fast worker. I wonder how he and Mike got together. Did he tell you what they’re planning to do?”

  “Just that Mike’s taking him to the States. I advised against it, but who listens to my advice? But wait. Now listen. There’s more. They’ve taken Costa to Piraeus. He went on the morning boat. Manacled. Stavro told me.”

  “Oh, damn.” Peter’s frown deepened.

  “And you know what? He didn’t take the money. Jeff did, to lend to Dimitri.”

  “You’re kidding! You mean it? The silly little bugger. Why didn’t he tell me? I came pretty close to guessing. We’ve got to make your pal Dimitri give it back.”

  “Don’t worry. He will. I’ve got him by his busy little balls.”

  “What an idiotic mess. The only person who gets hurt is Costa. Dammit, I don’t like that.” He stared thoughtfully at the table for a moment and turned to Judy. “Do you know when Mike’s planning to leave Athens?”

  “Not a definite date. As I understood it, he was coming out here just before he went home.”

  Their eyes held for a moment and Peter gave her a little nod before turning back to Sid. “Are you going to stick around down here for a while?”

  “I don’t know. Where is everybody? Until you came along, I was beginning to think we were the sole survivors.”

  “They’re all probably sleeping it off. Look. Stay here and wait for George. He’ll be along any minute. Tell him whatever you think you ought to tell him, but get him to go to the police and throw his weight around to get Costa back here. They may not believe he’s got his money back unless they see it. I wish I had the cash to leave for him. I’m going to make Jeff come clean. We’ll have Costa out by tomorrow morning at the latest.” He looked at Judy and found her radiant eyes on him, her expression alert with eager anticipation. “Tim wasn’t so dumb to give you a yacht. We can get there about the same time they do.”

  “We’re going up on the yacht together?”

  “It seems to make sense.” His voice added a private message to the simple words while he looked into her eyes. He took a deep breath and burst out laughing. “We’re not safe in public. You better go back to the boat and tell your crew to get ready to shove off. I’ll run up to the house and get a few odds and ends. I’ll be with you in no time.”

  They both stood. Sid looked up at them. “This is great. You’re beautiful people. Is there anything else you want me to do? I mean, you’re really getting some action going.”

  “Get word to Dimitri that you want to see him as soon as he’s let out. You’re sure you’ll get the money from him? Then get it to George as soon as possible.”

  “No sweat, comrade. Maybe not today, but tomorrow sure.”

  “Good. I suppose it all has something to do with your precious dope, but I don’t have time to hear about it. Jeff will tell me.” He held Judy’s hand and exerted a slight pressure and they exchanged another look. He turned from her hastily and was off.

  By the time he had reached the house, he had decided he wouldn’t interrupt Charlie’s work. There wasn’t time to talk about Judy. Charlie would question him in his approving loving way; he wasn’t sure he was ready yet with quick answers.

  The house was quiet. The children would be down swimming. He had his story ready for Martha, but after he had tossed some toilet articles and a change of clothing into an overnight bag he decided there was no need to go look for her. She was probably swimming too. He wrote a quick note for Charlie and left it on their bed:

  Love—Rushing. Taking advantage of Judy’s yacht to try to spring Costa. They’ve taken him to Piraeus. Sid knows the whole story. Also helping Judy with Raoul’s business heavily mixed with pleasure. Back tomorrow or next day. I love you.

  Circling the port once more he saw that Sid’s table was filling out with familiar faces, but George and Sarah were not among them so he didn’t stop. At the boat, he found the motors running, a sailor performing nautical chores forward, and the captain at the wheel. A steward in a white jacket asked if he wanted a drink. He inquired for Judy and was told she was below.

  He turned away absent-mindedly without ordering anything and restlessly paced the deck. The throb of the motors, under his feet, the sense of being catapulted into adventure that leaving port on a small boat always gave him, contributed to his awareness that he was committing himself more positively to the unknown. He had told himself that he had to hurry in order not to give himself time to think; he knew that he hadn’t wanted to see Charlie at the
house, that he wanted to keep his feelings for Judy intact, undissipated by sharing. For the first time in years he was allowing another person to divert the inner flow of his attention from Charlie. He didn’t like it, even if Charlie didn’t care. He wished impatiently for Judy to come and make him feel that he really wanted to do what he was doing.

  In a few minutes, she joined him and the look they exchanged did much to still his conscience. They sat together on the covered deck and ordered beer as preparations for departure continued.

  “How marvelous we’re chasing Mike together,” she said. “That is what we’re doing, isn’t it—going to look for Mike?”

  “That, and trying to straighten out the island idiocy.”

  “I’m a bit confused about that. The lovely thing is that it all seems to fit together.”

  “Like us.”

  “Yes. I adored ordering lunch for us just now. It gave me a lovely little feeling of keeping house for you. If I spend another day with you, I’ll turn into a nice normal little housewife.”

  “We’re certainly going to have another day together. Am I going to be stuck with a normal little housewife?”

  There was an earthy note in her laughter that hadn’t been there yesterday. “I don’t think even you could turn me into much of a housewife. There’s something missing in me. I found out a great deal about myself last night.”

  Their eyes flew to each other at the reference, brimming with scores of intimacies and ecstasies, and then a light of humor came up in Judy’s and they simultaneously burst into laughter. To Peter, it was exonerating laughter. It cleared the air. Whatever was happening to them, they hadn’t got in too deep.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me?” he asked.

  “Tell you what?” Her eyes were sparkling.

  “What you found out.”

  “Of course. But not yet. Not now. I have to make sure I know how to say it.”

  The look she gave him was intriguing but reassuring. He watched the gangplank being brought aboard with a deep sense of relief. Once they were on their way, so that he would have no choice between being here or with Charlie he was sure it would seem more right to enjoy himself. After all, he wasn’t just dashing off for pleasure. It was important for him to see Jeff, he was determined to extricate Costa, and he might even do Tim a good turn. Judy made it fun, but he had a serious purpose.

  The stern lines were clear now and they were moving out on the anchor chain. He took a last quick, less guilty look up at the house. This was a business trip, really. It wasn’t the first time he had left them here to go off on a business trip. He would be back tomorrow or the day after.

  The rattle of chain ceased. The bow swung around to the harbor’s entrance. The motors became a muted roar under them and they were off. Their eyes sought each other again and they laughed with the simple pleasure of being together.

  George Leighton woke up in a strange room. In a strange bed. With strange bedfellows. He awoke with a sudden rush into consciousness and struggled upright as he became aware of the unfamiliarity of all his surroundings. The first thing his mind registered was that he was still wearing a shirt and trousers and that two naked girls were asleep in the bed with him. One of them was Lena, Joe Peterson’s girl. This was as much as his senses could encompass for a moment.

  His head pounded, his stomach heaved, he almost dropped back onto the bed again, but his eye was caught by the bed on the other side of the room. It contained a trio of reverse sexual composition—Joe and the pretty German boy and one girl, all naked. Fragments of the evening before began to fall into place. His mind collided into the scene with Sarah and his heart leaped up in panic and he struggled to his feet. Bodies on both sides of the room shifted and snorted and whimpered and were still again. He swayed on his feet and careened a few paces across the floor.

  Sarah and the earthquake and Joe’s group taking him in tow. The money. That was the night before. Joe and his group and drinking himself into oblivion. Whether quickly or slowly he couldn’t remember. He still had his clothes on. He fumbled for his fly and found it closed. Still celibate?

  His head swung heavily about as he tried to find a way out of the unknown room. He saw a staircase opening in the floor and made uneven progress toward it, trying to make as little noise as possible. He felt on the edge of physical collapse, as if his body could never be put right again, but there was a deadness or tranquility in him that made this awakening less daunting than any he could remember for a long time.

  When he reached it, the staircase looked perilously steep but he picked his way down it without mishap. The house was a primitive island dwelling with a kitchen but no sign of a bathroom. He went out into a courtyard and relieved himself of last night’s drink. He saw that the sun was oddly high in the sky.

  He returned to the kitchen which was crowded with dirty dishes and doused his head under the spigot affixed to a small tank hanging on the wall over a table bearing a basin. He began to feel as if he might recover, but only after several days’ total rest.

  His ears picked up the sound of loud ticking and he realized that there must be a clock somewhere. He followed the sound and found a dented old alarm clock on a cupboard shelf. Its hands pointed at one-twenty. It had to be wrong.

  Yesterday’s unpleasantness with the police had reassembled itself in his mind. He remembered asserting airily that he wouldn’t allow Costa to be victimized. He and Joe had been due to go to the police first thing this morning. The hell with Sarah. The hell with Mike (had he kept a check Mike had given him?) but he hadn’t conceded defeat on all fronts. Costa was still his responsibility.

  He found a fragment of mirror hanging on the wall and ducked down to look at himself. He was shocked, almost indignant to see how much his recuperative powers had already accomplished. He looked quite presentable except for his sprouting whiskers. His clothes were dirty and rumpled, but there was nothing to be done about that.

  He had to see the police chief immediately. It was doubtless later than it should be, but it couldn’t be afternoon. He ran his fingers through his hair and hitched up his trousers and found he could manage his body as he went out again through the courtyard.

  He got his bearings and realized where he was. The house was quite low in the amphitheater of the town. A maze of narrow streets separated him from the police station. It was so much cooler than yesterday that he found he could walk quite briskly without working up more than a light sweat.

  Nearing his destination, he came out onto a small square shaded by great spreading umbrella pines on which was a tavern much favored by the local population. He started across it and caught sight of the police chief among the scattering of somnolent drinkers. He was sitting at a table alone and very upright, his military cap in place, in front of a glass of ouzo. George altered course and approached him. When he saw him, the captain rose slightly with a crisp bow and indicated the chair beside him.

  “Ah, Mr. Yorgo. I had expected to see you earlier. Will you join me?”

  George seated himself. “I was just on my way to see you now.”

  “At this hour? Surely even a poor policeman may have time for his lunch.”

  “The clock at home must be slow again,” George said hastily. So it was after one.

  “What may I offer you?”

  “A beer might be a good idea.”

  The captain snapped his fingers and issued orders. “You joined in the celebration last night?” The captain’s sharp little eyes flickered over George’s untidy clothes.

  “I had something to celebrate. I was sitting right under the bell tower when it went.” Was that worth celebrating? If it had fallen on him, he wouldn’t have had to face today, homeless because he couldn’t go where Sarah was poorer by the loss of a friend, washed up.

  “The whole island had reason to celebrate. No one was seriously injured. Only minor damage. I believe the clock tower was the most serious. We were lucky.”

  George took a thirsty swallow of the beer that
had been put in front of him. His head reeled slightly and then he felt everything inside him settling into place. “And what about my money? Any luck there?”

  “Ah, no. I am sorry. So far, we have failed. Costa is very stubborn. My men tried many forms of persuasion, but he would tell nothing.”

  “In that case, he’s innocent. You’ll have to let him go.”

  “Let him go?” The captain’s stare dismissed the suggestion. “We sent him to Piraeus on the morning boat.”

  George leaned forward. “What does that mean?”

  “It is normal routine. He will wait for four or five months in a very uncomfortable prison until his case is heard. He has a record. With Mr. Peterson’s accusation, he will certainly get a year. How much more because of your—suspicions, it is hard to say.”

  “Without any evidence?” George objected.

  “With stolen money, what evidence can we expect to find? Do you think Costa will go around with sixty thousand drachmas in his pocket?”

  George was momentarily silenced, his disgust with himself reviving as he was presented with the result of his failure of nerve. His protests yesterday seemed feeble in retrospect; his behavior seemed completely foreign to the way he was used to conducting himself. Wreck a man’s life for the sake of two thousand dollars? He must have been out of his mind. He drained off his beer and sat back with decision. “Very well. I’ll have to go to Piraeus, too. I’ll find the best lawyer in Athens. I’m going to get Costa out.”

  “As you wish. You are a philosopher, Mr. Yorgo. Such matters are not for a policeman. I do my job as best I can. To me, Costa is a troublemaker. If he has a few small bruises, can I allow him to display them and claim the police gave them to him? No, no, no. You want quite rightly your money back. I do what is required to get it. With what result? I arrest Dimitri because Costa accuses him of peddling the dope. I search the bar. Nothing. Costa makes a fool of me. He gives me a list of Dimitri’s customers because people who want dope will steal for it. Am I to lock up all your foreign colony? No, no, no. I will catch the source. If it’s Dimitri, I will catch him soon. No fear. But dope is a serious matter. Costa takes his story with him. We will have special—do you say narcotics?—yes, special narcotics police here spying on everybody. You hear him put blame on your son with his story of passing money to Dimitri. You want to free such a man? Forget your philosophy, Mr. Yorgo. Leave Costa to me.”