Hearts of Stone (7 page)

Karl Muller cleared his throat. ‘We have talked about this, my dear Heinrich. All great nations rise and fall in their time. Even ours.’

‘That was before, Herr Doktor. Now a new Germany is rising. One that shall last a thousand years.’

A flicker of irritation crossed Muller’s face before he replied. ‘I’m sure that all nations on the cusp of greatness made similar claims. History decrees otherwise. How can you doubt that, given the work that we do? Our profession furnishes the proof of the ephemerality of such ambitions. That much you have learned, surely?’

His assistant shrugged. ‘We live in a new age . . .’

‘No we do not. Every age is beset by the same delusions. Every leader is deluded by the sense of their own eternity, and the justice of their actions. From Xerxes to Caesar and down through the ages to Napoleon, Kaiser Wilhelm and now Adolf . . .’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘No one is immune.’

His assistant stared at him coldly. Before he could speak further their host leaned forward and cleared his throat. ‘It’s all very interesting but let’s not let the Jews spoil our meal, my friends. Besides, we have heard Herr Steiner’s plans for the future and I would like to hear what our other young people wish to do with their lives. What about you, Peter?’

‘Me?’ He started self-consciously, his mind still on the awkward exchange between his father and his assistant. ‘My future?’

Katarides smiled encouragingly. ‘Yes.’

Peter struggled to organise his thoughts. ‘I am not sure. I would like to become an archaeologist, like my father, I suppose.’

Karl Muller shook his head. ‘You don’t have to say that.’

‘I know. But I would like it. You have taught me to understand the value of history. That it defines us all. Tells us where we came from, why we have become as we are, and that if we learn anything from it then we can perhaps improve things. Like you told me, Papi, those who do not understand history are condemned to repeat the mistakes of the past.’

Karl Muller chuckled. ‘And those who do understand history are condemned to sit, unheard, and watch it happen.’

Peter felt hurt by his father’s words and his pain was evident and at once Karl relented and raised a hand to squeeze his shoulder affectionately. ‘I am sorry. I have become cynical. Anyway, I would be proud to see you continue my work. Really. Now, what about you others?’ He looked across the table. ‘Eleni?’

The Greek girl glanced at her father before she spoke. ‘I should like to travel. I want to see more of the world. I want to see America. I want to see Hollywood.’

‘And how do you propose to do that, my girl?’ Thesskoudis scoffed. ‘You are as pretty as a peach, but not like the great beauties seen in Old Mikalos’s picture theatre. You will never be a film star. You will make some man a proud husband one day. A good man, with prospects. And you’ll make a fine mother, I’m sure.’

‘Hush!’ his wife hissed. ‘Enough from you. Let the girl speak.’

‘But what more is there to say, Rosa?’ he protested.

‘Whatever she wants to say. Speak, girl.’

Eleni coughed and continued in a quiet voice. ‘I want to be married one day. And have children. But not until I have seen things for myself, and not just in magazines or on film. I want to find a good man. With prospects, yes. But one who will love and respect me.’

‘As your father does me,’ her mother said gently. ‘He surely does. But there is no race to find such a man, my girl. He will come, in time. Until then, do as your heart bids.’

‘Your mother is right,’ said Katarides. ‘While you are still young, see as much of the world as you can, read as many books as you can find. Don’t be satisfied with the United States. Go to the Far East. Go south to Africa. Stand in the shadow of the pyramids and on the shores of Madagascar. Fall in love, Eleni. Not just once, but many times, before you marry. And then tell your children tales of all you have seen, and all you have known. Then you will have lived . . .’

‘Thus speaks the poet!’ Thesskoudis laughed and poured himself another raki. ‘And have you done all these things?’

‘Not as many as I would like,’ his host admitted. ‘But I will. Or die in the attempt.’

His guests laughed. The poet’s gaze turned to his son. ‘And you, Andreas. How would you answer the question? What are your plans? Since you seldom speak of them to me.’

Andreas’s mirth quickly faded and he looked down at his hands. ‘I know one thing. I will not become a poet. I lack the necessary feeling for words.’

‘Yes you do. For now. But I am no less proud of you.’

‘I do not ask you to be proud of me,’ his son responded with quiet defiance. ‘There are other paths a man can follow.’

‘Of course there are. The choice is yours.’

‘Then I have chosen.’

Katarides could not hide his surprise. ‘Oh? Perhaps you should explain youself.’

Andreas ran his tongue along his lips and nodded, his dark eyes making his expression intent and determined. ‘I have decided to join the navy, Father.’

The poet frowned. ‘The navy? Why?’

‘For the very reasons you gave. To travel and see the world.’

‘There are other means.’

‘I know. But I also love my country and want to serve Greece. And defend her.’

‘From who? That blustering fool Mussolini? He will never amount to much. And when you serve Greece you also serve that scoundrel General Metaxas, and that milksop king of ours whose strings Metaxas is pleased to pull.’ For the first time that evening, Katarides’s composure failed him and a raw expression of anger and pain creased his features as he continued to address his son. ‘Think again. If you serve men like Metaxas, then you serve those who would stamp down on democracy and even the expression of views that run counter to theirs. Andreas, you would be holding the gun that is pointed at those people of Greece who even dare to question their government. Would you point it at me? Your father?’

Andreas sighed. ‘You tell us to choose our own paths in this life, and now it seems that you hold true to that principle only as long as I agree with your politics. I am not a leftist. I have read about what the communists have done in Russia. I do not want that inflicted on Greece. I have made my decision. I will join the navy. In fact . . . I have already sent my application to the naval academy.’

‘Then pray God they turn you down.’

Andreas stared back directly, with a thin smile of satisfaction. ‘I have already been accepted. I am leaving Lefkas to begin training at the end of October.’

‘Oh, no . . .’ Eleni muttered as she stared at Andreas with a pained expression.

Katarides was silent for a moment, and there was a tense stillness around the table. Then he sat back in his chair, picked up his raki and flipped it down his throat before he spoke again. ‘I see. Now I know your mind. I hope it is what you want.’

‘It is.’

‘Then you will appreciate the treat I have arranged for tomorrow,’ Katarides responded with a touch of bitterness. ‘To say goodbye to our German friends.’

Peter exchanged a brief enquiring glance with his father but Karl Muller shook his head.

‘A treat?’ Thesskoudis grinned. ‘And what would that be, my friend?’

Katarides folded his hands together again. ‘I have hired Yannis Stavakis and his fishing boat. He will take us out to the islands tomorrow. I thought a final excursion would leave a favourable impression on Dr Muller, Herr Steiner and young Peter. Sufficient to tempt them back to Lefkas in due course. The cook has prepared food for the trip. It was my intention to make a day of it. And now, thanks to my dear Andreas, we will have one more crew member than I anticipated.’

Andreas stirred uncomfortably at the barbed remark and there was a brief silence before the policeman clapped his hands together.

‘Capital idea! A boating trip. Why not?’

‘I thought you would approve,’ Katarides responded with a quick smile, then stood up and faced his guests. ‘It is late. Given that we shall be starting early, an early night is called for. I hope you will join me tomorrow on the quay at seven in the morning. Now, I am afraid, it is time to bid you all a good night.’

Chapter Seven

Y
annis Stavakis was sitting stroking his white beard while sitting on a mooring post and smoking a cigarette when his passengers arrived in two cars and parked them on the side of the street opposite the quay. His boat,
Athena
, was tied up alongside. She was one of the largest fishing boats in the harbour, over twelve metres from bow strake to stern post. A small pilot house rose from the weathered timbers of the deck and a large covered hold for the catch and nets took up most of the main deck ahead of the mast. Usually Stavakis sailed with a teenage boy to help, but this day he was intending to use the engine. His was one of a handful of powered craft amongst the fishing fleet and Stavakis maintained and spoiled his engine as if it was a delicate child. Even though he begrudged paying for fuel when he could get wind for nothing he delighted in the steady vibration of the engine and was content to charge Katarides more than sufficient to cover the cost of the diesel as well as the hire of his boat.

As it was early in the day the air was still and the sea glassy and smooth and the dawn haze almost obscured the shore of the mainland. The rest of the fleet had departed hours earlier, at the first sign of light, to reach their fishing grounds. Stavakis drew heavily on his cigarette, making it flare with a soft hiss, then flicked the butt into the harbour. He stood up and bowed as Katarides approached with his party.

‘A fine morning, your honour.’

It was universally known amongst the islanders that the poet from Athens came from a wealthy family, and more importantly, his writing had won widespread acclaim. Not that many on Lefkas had read his work. And so he was spoken to with a measure of sentimental respect by those who knew him slightly, even if he preferred to be called Mr Katarides.

‘That it is, Stavakis. Is your craft ready?’

‘Aye, your honour. Welcome aboard.’ He waved them towards the edge of the quay where the deck of the boat was a short step down. Peter quickly went first and reached out a hand to help Eleni. She smiled gratefully and went to sit on the small foredeck. The others climbed down, with Andreas carrying the hamper that held the day’s supply of food and drink. Stavakis indicated a small cupboard at the stern.

‘You can put it in there, sir.’

Besides the poet, his son, Dr Muller and Peter, there was Eleni and her father. His wife had refused to come, having no liking at all for boats.

‘It is a shame that Herr Steiner could not join us,’ said Katarides.

‘Yes, quite,’ Karl Muller replied. ‘There were some final details that needed attending to. Paperwork, that sort of thing. I thought it best to ask Heinrich to deal with it rather than rush at the last moment.’

‘That is a pity. I dare say he would rather be with us than stuck in the house dealing with such details.’

‘I dare say,’ Muller acknowledged, then quickly looked round at the boat, noting the clean paintwork and orderly appearance of the craft and its equipment. ‘This looks splendid.’

Stavakis climbed aboard and made his way to the controls in the small pilot house. A moment later the engine coughed and turned over and, after the application of a little choke, settled into a steady rhythm. Water spat from the exhaust pipe. Satisfied that it was running smoothly the fisherman emerged to untie the mooring ropes and ease his boat away from the dock. As it drifted out he returned to the wheel, slipped the engine into gear and eased the throttle open. With a gentle shudder
Athena
moved away from the quay and cut a wide easy arc across the calm water of the harbour before passing the weathered mole first built by the Venetians centuries before.

Peter, Andreas and Eleni sat on the foredeck, legs hanging over the side, revelling in the air washing over their skin and through their hair. Their fathers sat amidship, holding the stays to steady themselves. The German had brought his hat but the brim lifted and threatened to carry away and he had to hurriedly remove it and tuck it under his spare arm. The fisherman, who knew no other life than the sea, regarded his passengers with amusement as they grinned with unalloyed delight. Glancing up at the peaks on the mainland he saw that there was no sign of the thin clouds that usually heralded a stiff breeze later in the day. The Ionian rarely experienced any storms in the summer months, but sudden, powerful winds often sprang from nowhere, and passed just as quickly, leaving the sea flat and airless.

They passed through the narrow stretch of the channel at Kariotes and the sea opened out in front of them, the mainland to their left and the coast of Lefkas to their right, and ahead in the distance the islands of Sparti, Skorpios and the larger Meganissi, the main feature of the day’s trip. Here and there were the bright triangles of distant sails, clearly visible against the startling blue of the sea. Thin trails of smoke from powered vessels were the only marks against a flawless turquoise sky.

Muller turned and shaded his eyes as he stared towards Lefkas, picking out the hill beyond which lay the small valley he had devoted years of his life to exploring. It seemed to diminish in significance before his eyes, yet he, and only he, knew of the great secret it contained. One which he would reveal to the world when he was good and ready. And then he would bask in the astonishment and admiration of his peers and share the same legendary reputation of the great Schliemann himself.

‘It is a beautiful sight,’ Thesskoudis broke into his thoughts. The policeman had discarded his cravat for the day and wore a light jacket over an open white shirt. He smiled warmly at the German. ‘Truly I am blessed to call the island my home.’

‘Indeed. It is something of an oasis in a troubled world.’

Thesskoudis gave a dismissive wave. ‘Forget all that. Such things come and go.’

‘I hope you are right. But my superiors in Munich are sufficiently concerned to call us back.’

‘Bah, a gang of nervous old women. Pay them no mind. After all, your Chancellor, Mr Hitler, is hardly likely to want another conflict unleashed upon the world. He served in the Great War and knows the face of battle. He will not let your people endure that again.’

‘I suppose not.’ Muller made himself smile. ‘I should not worry.’

‘There! We’ll make a Greek of you yet!’

Katarides had been listening as he sat, face raised towards the sun, eyes closed, drinking in its warmth. ‘Perhaps this is how diplomacy should be settled. A few men sharing a boat trip. Who would not find cause to agree on terms in such a paradise? Our leaders have forgotten the simple pleasures. Those are all that matter. The rest is detail but they mistake it for the truly important aspects of life. They have lost their souls.’

‘And you seem to have been drinking, my friend!’ Thesskoudis laughed loudly, his fat stomach shaking. ‘I have the secret of your muse . . . raki! Eh?’

‘Raki? Sometimes. It could also be a beautiful woman, or a child. Or a view such as this, or even a sensation.’

‘But mostly raki.’

Katarides turned to him. ‘Yes, she has the easiest virtue of any muse I know.’

The other men burst into laughter and were joined a moment later by Katarides, despite himself.

The sound caused the three at the bow to look round.

‘They’re having fun,’ said Eleni. ‘And why not? How can anyone not have fun on a day like this?’

Her lips parted in a wide grin as she lifted her chin and breathed deeply. Peter saw her breasts lift sharply under the cream linen cloth of her blouse and he felt his heart quicken before he remembered that this was his last day. Tomorrow he would leave Lefkas and Eleni, and he felt a sharp sorrow at the prospect. He must do something, he told himself. He must confess his feelings for her before it was too late. After all, he fully intended to return to Lefkas as soon as possible. If she knew how he really felt, maybe she would return his affection in kind. As he thought, he was aware of the contact between their bodies, thigh to thigh, and every so often the movement of the boat caused her to sway slightly against him, and then against Andreas. The proximity of her, the warmth through the cloth between them, wreathed around Peter like a heady perfume as the sea glimmered and glittered close by. And through it all the chunk-chunk-chunk of the engine.

‘It would be different if Heinrich was with us,’ said Andreas. ‘The swine . . .’

Peter turned to him, the sun glinting off his glasses. ‘Swine?’

Andreas nodded. ‘You heard him last night. All arrogance and ignorance. I pity you, Peter, if there are many like him back in Germany. I’ve heard that National Socialism has become like a religion to your people.’

Peter could not deny it. Even before he had left to join his father he had seen the changes in his country. The removal of certain teachers at the gymnasium he had attended. The disappearance of selected books, music and even newspapers. And everywhere the relentless optimism of the converted. It did indeed have the appearance of religious fervour and he was half in awe of it, and half afraid. But there had still been plenty of relatives and friends of the family who had regarded the new regime with bemusement and quietly mocked their pompous salutes and fancy dress. It could not endure, they said. Yet Adolf Hitler and his followers seemed to be the darlings of fate. Success after success had fallen into their laps and nearly all Germany loved them for it. Maybe Heinrich Steiner was no different. Had it not been for his father’s devotion to his academic discipline, and insistence on sharing that with Peter, then perhaps he too would have been seduced by the promise of the thousand-year Reich.

‘Heinrich’s not so bad, when you get to know him,’ said Peter. ‘He works hard.’

‘So does our servant’s mule, but that alone is not enough in the company of others. He is a dullard. I can just see him pulling on one of those brown shirts and shining his boots the moment he returns to Germany.’

‘But you are the one who wants to put on a uniform and join the navy,’ Peter replied pointedly.

‘Ha!’ Eleni laughed. ‘He has you there, Andreas!’ Her laughter died away and she stared at him seriously. ‘Did you really mean it?’

‘Of course.’

‘But I thought you were teasing your father. I was certain of it.’

‘Then you were wrong.’

‘But why? Why do it?’

‘For the reasons I gave.’

‘But there are other ways to travel and see the world, Andreas.’

He shrugged. ‘But I love my country. We live in uncertain times, Eleni. I want to protect my country. My family . . . My friends. You.’

She gazed back at him for a moment, and then struck him lightly on the chest. ‘You’re teasing me!’

‘No.’

She shook her head in wonder and turned abruptly to Peter. ‘He’s mad. Tell him so.’

He wanted to agree, to spare him from any dangers that might befall Greece. It was a small country, on the fringes of diplomacy. Peter knew that well enough from the news he read from home. Yet if Andreas was to attend the academy of the Royal Hellenic Navy then he would be far removed from Eleni. Far enough and for long enough for Peter not to have to share her attentions should he one day return to Lefkas.

‘Andreas is right. It is the duty of everyone to protect their country. I would do the same if I were him.’

‘See?’ Andreas nudged her. ‘Peter understands.’

‘You’re both boys. What is there to understand? You all like uniforms and weapons and the idea of being brave. That’s all you think about . . . No. Not quite all.’ she concluded with a shy expression, then shot her hand out. ‘Look!’

Fifty metres ahead the sea churned and turned white and flashes of silver darted above the surface as a school of sardines was forced to the surface as they were hunted by larger, stronger fish. The three watched transfixed as the prey tried to escape amid the spray of violently disturbed water.
Athena
passed close by and Stavakis spared the spectacle a cursory glance as he steered with the tiller between his knees and opened his tobacco tin to roll another cigarette. Ahead, the long silhouette of Meganisi opened up before them. The sun had risen well above the mountains on the mainland and spread its warmth over the Ionian Sea. Stavakis eased the tiller to starboard a fraction as he altered course towards the channel between Meganisi and Lefkas. As he had anticipated, from the clearness of the sky, the air remained still and the water flat. The poet and his guests would have a fine day of it, the fisherman thought contentedly.

In front of the pilot house the three men had taken off their jackets to be more comfortable, and were sitting on the hold cover. They had finished their small talk and were enjoying the pleasure of being out at sea on such a fine day. At length Thesskoudis stirred and nodded towards their children.

‘It does a man’s heart good to see the youngsters so happy. It is truly a golden age to be. With everything to look forward to for the first time. Before experience begins to spoil the pleasure of it all.’

Katarides looked at him with a surprised expression. ‘My dear Inspector, I had no idea you had the melancholic soul of a poet.’

The other man shrugged. ‘We are no different, my friend. We feel the same about life, joy, sadness, beauty. Like all Greeks. The difference is you possess the skill to set it down in words. That is a gift I shall never have. While you write poetry, I write reports. I suppose both serve their purpose. Besides that, I have all that I could wish for in life. And I pray to God that my Eleni has the same.’

‘She’s a fine girl,’ said Katarides. ‘No. A fine young woman. I am sure you are proud of her.’

The policeman smiled self-indulgently and then, as Greeks do, he returned the compliment. ‘As you must be, about Andreas. A handsome lad. I know Eleni likes him, though she does not say so. But then, I am sure she is not the only girl in Lefkada who feels the same about him.’

Katarides stared at his son. The broad shoulders were hunched forward slightly as he sat wedged up against the girl, the fringe of his hair stirring in the air. ‘He reminds me of his mother. I see her in his face. Now he is all that is left of her, besides memories. If I lose him, I lose everything.’