*Greece*
Talya and I arrived in Greece in late August of 1975, not long after the United States and the rest of the other NATO countries began an extended period of doing nothing about Turkey’s sudden and bloody take-over of most of the Greek portion of the island of Cyprus. As an American lecturing at the University of Thessaloniki for a year I spent the first few weeks trying to convince some very angry students that my position on the issue was not synonymous with my government’s. Karamanlis was in power but most of those who took my courses were old enough to have personally experienced the rule of the Colonels and they understood the distinction between a people and their rulers; by October there were no pickets outside my classroom, but there were still a few pointed anti-American questions every so often just to keep me on my toes.
Theo Petrakis was the other American in the department and we shared the same office, but he had less of an adjustment to make. He spoke modern Greek fluently and he’d been to the university before, seven years earlier during his first sabbatical from Harvard. I’d read his early book on Melville and liked it. I could remember the sheer power of the writing better than I could remember the intricacies of his argument about Pierre, or the Ambiguities, but those were the hectic Berkeley days when I’d buy stacks of used paperbacks at the store on Telegraph Avenue and then go across the street to the Café Mediterranean and sit for hours drinking coffee and reading myself into a stupor, so my remembering the force of that book in particular seemed worth mentioning when we first met at the welcoming cocktail party given in our honor by the department chairman, Christos Vanidis.
“Your book on Melville’s treatment of moral responsibility is an impressive piece of work. Do you still believe what you wrote about it then?”
“Didn’t know anybody remembered the damn thing. You must be one of the ten people who bought it and read it besides my mother. Yeh, I still believe most of it. Haven’t touched the subject since, though -- almost as Byzantine a thing as Herman’s style or the church on the corner here. Melville a specialty of yours?”
“No, just liked your book. And I’m afraid I only bought it in paper -- and used at that.”
“Ah, a truly wise man; do you, perchance, like sailing and retsina as well?”
“Enjoy the first though I’m no expert and I’m just beginning to acquire a taste for the second.”
“Etsi bravo. And life’s manifold possibilities are once more made manifest. I see a good year in our futures!”
“Excuse me, Theo, but there’s someone over here I would like you to meet.” He moved off with Vanidis, half-raising his glass in mock salute to me as he left.
Talya came up with two Greek women in tow and introduced them as graduate assistants and fraternal twins -- the only females working in the whole department as it turned out -- who had offered to give her Greek lessons three times a week either at their home in the center of the city or at the apartment we’d found out in the Karabounaki section. Kiki was the shorter of the two and the more outgoing, but they were both strikingly attractive. When I shook hands with Cassandra I couldn’t help staring at the thin streak of white that ran through her otherwise coal-black shoulder-length hair. She blushed a little but seemed to be used to the reaction.
“It is what you call a birthmark, I think. I surely would not dye it like this.”
“I apologize for staring, but it’s very attractive on you. I’d call it one of those lucky accidents of birth.”
“Sometimes I wear a hat to hide it and sometimes I just forget about it and live with the attention it receives.”
She began to look uncomfortable so I let Talya, who I knew had sensed the same thing, lead them away toward the group around Theo and Vanidis on the other side of the room. Kiki looked back with a small smile as they walked off, but Cassandra seemed either self-absorbed or just plain disinterested as she said goodbye. I figured it hadn’t been one of my more successful social moments.
At the office the next day I asked Theo about the department and the university and what it was like, in general, to live in northern Greece for a year as an American.
“The last time I was here it was very exciting. My parents came from the south -- actually from Heraklion on Crete -- and they always talked of this part of Greece as the center of radical politics in the country. They meant the left, I imagine, and they were correct; Thessaloniki, and particularly the university, has often been a source of whatever socialist opposition the rightists would tolerate in this century. Sort of a training ground for the young politicians who would eventually try for the big brass power ring down in Athens. When I lived here in ‘68 it was right after the TET offensive in Nam and this place was zoosvile for an American -- one day they’d boycott my classes or threaten me as I came to work, the next I’d get rousing applause for the most uninspired lecture. You’ll notice the students here are usually older than those at home – it’s like that throughout the country -- so in those volatile days it wasn’t unusual for me to socialize with them on a regular basis. I was invited for coffee and meals quite often and the political discussions were always heated ones. The university was closed because of riots for a while and so we’d gather at a café on the paralleia, those who were interested in hearing or jeering at this visiting napalming fascist pig, and we’d talk. Not much literature got discussed, but it sure as hell wasn’t boring.”
“Did you come here alone that first time too?” Vanidis had mentioned to me the previous night that Theo was divorced and had taken a small apartment in the student section of the city just north of the walled campus.
“Yes, all alone then as well. I’d been married for almost eight years -- ever since my last year in graduate school -- but we packed it in just before I took my first sabbatical. Probably lucky there were no kids.” He didn’t sound very convinced about the last item.
“What’s the department like? Is Vanidis as friendly as he seems -- and why so few women?”
“Christos is okay most of the time, but I understand the department is due to get its first lucrative chair and he’s only acting chairman right now so I imagine he and Pappas, the only other senior person, will be quite carefully lining up support -- both here and outside the department, in the higher halls of academe and the Ministry of Education itself, where it really counts -- and scrambling for the plum. Christos can be a pompous little tyrant if he feels pressured, I imagine, but Pappas was a tough bastard even seven years ago and I doubt that he’s mellowed much since. He’s certainly the better scholar, though -- his field is linguistic theory -- and his students fear him but insist that he’s brilliant in class.
“Whoever gets the chair will automatically head the department and, while it’s really none of our business in the long run, I guess someone up there will eventually ask for our opinion. Right now it looks like a classic case: Christos Vanidis, the competent administrator, in competition with Nicholas Pappas, the productive scholar, for control of the department. Hardly a world-shattering event, but it’s the little things that mean a lot to some people.
“And speaking of women -- and why shouldn’t we? -- the reason they are not visible in abundance around here is that this illustrious institution, for all its radical students, still rather accurately reflects the general society in the way it dispenses its rewards. Women may earn degrees and strive for the seats at high table these days in Greece, but the best seats are still reserved for those dark-eyed little boys, so pampered by their mamas and sisters, who will grow fingering gold chains around their necks instead of worry beads in their hands and will contrive to run the proverbial show until something drastic upsets the sexual imbalance. Maybe a page from their own feminine past is in order -- a national crossing of the legs, so to speak.”
“I met Cassandra and Kiki last night. Any idea how they got their jobs here -- extra-bright grad students or some political pull?”
“I don’t really know. They weren’t around the first time I was here, of cour
se -- I don’t imagine those Levantine lovelies are more than twenty-three or twenty-four, and I think someone said they still live with their parents -- but I got the feeling last night that neither of them is just another pretty face. Vanidis actually asked for their opinions last night, in public, in front of some heavyweight people from the Ministry and that’s hardly the standard chauvinistic operating procedure around here if you’re trying to impress the current Greek establishment with your credentials for being chosen honcho of the largest department in Greece’s largest university. Methinks the ladies bear watching, wouldn’t you say?”
“Quite so. And what’s the American community in this city like -- the business people, the American Consulate crowd -- worth making an effort?”
Theo hesitated a moment and gave an unguarded look of slight suspicion before he responded.
“If you mean worth the effort for you and Talya, I can’t tell you. Some very sharp people at the consulate and the usual slew of self-serving bureaucrats, but I don’t know you two well enough to know if their social whirl is to your liking. Can’t hurt to give it a try, though. If you mean to include me, I can tell you that the last time ‘round the State Department crowd had a hands-off policy when it came to visiting academics -- not one invitation to their modest manse on the waterfront all year -- and the U.S. Information Agency’s cultural affairs officer, who’s supposed to be our helpful liaison with both the Greek government and the university payroll people, wasn’t much better. Maybe things will be different this time; they certainly couldn’t be any worse.”
I was beginning to feel as if my forte was fast becoming the touching of raw nerves -- first Cassandra and now Theo. I changed the subject.
“Maybe together we can liven things up down there. At least there’ll be a different group to deal with after all this time. How ‘bout some lunch?”
Ours was one of the newer buildings on the campus, all concrete and glass with tasteless touches of some highly polished silver-colored metal added here and there to give it the look of post-modernist West at its worst, but as we stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor we stopped to read the faded inscription on a copper plaque attached to the base of a rectangular piece of beautifully striated marble that stood in the very center of the large slate-floored lobby. It explained that the school was at one time known as the Aristotelian University and that the piece of marble displayed here was a piece of the original building of that institution. The relevant dates were thick with green corrosion and impossible to read, but seeing that old rock in that new lobby made me think of faded glory and of a book that had just come out a few months earlier. It was a foreign idealist’s very critical view of what modern Greece had become and it was not very popular with the Karamanlis government; I’d read it just before our arrival and hoped it was an overstatement of the case.
“Theo, have you read Greece Without Columns yet?”
We were walking down the cracked cement steps of the front entrance and about to pass through one of the gates in the university’s old stone wall that gave access to one of the busiest sections of the city itself.
“I started it a few days ago. A bit jaundiced, I’d say, but as far as I’ve gotten he seems to know whereof he speaks. It’ll be interesting to hear what our students think of it.”
We chose a taverna that Theo remembered as having good pastitsio and we found a table for two in the rear, against a wall decorated with several brass and copper cooking utensils and close to the cooking area. After ordering something to drink we got up and picked out the dishes we wanted, both of us relying heavily on the advice of the friendly cook who also seemed to be the owner. There was only one waiter and by the time he’d brought us our taramasalata and fresh bread the room was filling up and we’d made a decent dent in the small bottle of retsina. Theo seemed relaxed and very pleased to be there.
“It’s a nice place, isn’t it? Some romantics even call these places one of the essential elements of modern Greek culture. Some of the tavernas are little more than greasy spoons, but most -- like this one -- make me feel good about my heritage. Part of the reason I came back again, I guess.”
“Talya was the one who really wanted us to take this offer when it came. She and her sister had been here before -- not up here, but to Athens and around the Peloponnesus -- with their parents when Talya was very young and she had fond memories of small villages with goats and donkeys and bright sunny days and colored fishing boats and she wanted us to see if it was all as she remembered it. There’s an old red Volkswagen bug for sale at a garage near us and I think we’ll buy it this week. We want to see as much of the country as possible, the islands and Crete and the south, and we’d like to get up to Yugoslavia and maybe Bulgaria too if we have the time.”
The food was as good as Theo had remembered and the retsina no longer reminded me of turpentine and I held the glass up to my lips and the pine scent rose into my nostrils. We decided to go home for a little traditional rest after lunch instead of returning to the office so we took our time with the meal and even treated ourselves to a little ouzo rather than have desert. I noticed that Theo took the clear liquorice-tasting fire straight while I had to add water and turn the drink milky-white before I could even sip it and I was about to comment on the advantage of his inheriting a caste-iron stomach from his Greek ancestors when I saw Kiki and Cassandra come in. They didn’t really look alike but my first fleeting thought as Kiki recognized us and they started our way was that they seemed to travel as a pair and maybe that added to what I’d already decided was the erotic nature of their charm. They were upon us by the time Theo noticed them but his surprise was only momentary and he quickly suggested we all move to a now-empty table for four in a small alcove off to one side of the room. When we were seated he addressed the women.
“Dr. Vanidis tells me your family came from Crete originally, as mine did. Do you still have relatives there?”
“Yes, but only our grandfather -- our mother’s father -- and one elderly aunt are still there. They live on a small farm a few miles east of Heraklion, not far from the U.S. air station. Our parents moved to the mainland and came to Thessaloniki many years ago so my father could find work. He works with leather and furs and all the jobs in that business have been up here in the north for a long time now. We go back to visit our grandfather quite often.” Kiki then turned to me.
“Have you ever been to Crete?”
“No, not yet, but I have every intention of going there. I understand that the beaches are wild and beautiful on the south shore.”
“And often very windy.” Cassandra added. “The tides can sometimes be very dangerous at those beaches that seem to be the most peaceful and pretty. Most of the tourists -- that is, all those except the hippies who are still at Matala in the caves and the trailer camps -- use the northern beaches near Heraklion. The wind can get bad there too, but most of those beaches have restaurants and shelters and regular bus service to and from the town. Unfortunately they are getting to be very crowded during the summer and early autumn and those closest to town are often very dirty. It used to be very nice near our farm, but lately it is not very pretty.”
“I stopped at the air station once,” Theo said, “when I visited Heraklion back in 1968. It had no planes that I could see, just a lot of radar and communications equipment and a few very bored American airmen. I hear that it’s been expanded quite a bit since then and now it’s one of the sore points between your government and ours. Doesn’t Karamanlis say he wants the U.S. to get out of there?”
“He says it,” Cassandra replied, “but he and his party will never do anything about it. Some people think the station should be moved to another island; others think it should be moved out of Greece altogether. There have been some demonstrations against Karamanlis’ government because of its inactivity regarding this issue, but not very big ones and they have not yet been violent ones. Some people think, however, that it is only a matter of time befo
re the government will be forced to do something.”
The women went to choose their food and Theo and I nursed our drinks.
“Do you get the feeling that our Hellenic beauties do not think exactly alike when it comes to Greco-American relations?” he asked as we and almost every other man in the room followed their progress to the counter. Kiki moved energetically, with an open and apparently innocent smile; Cassandra seem to cover the same distance with less effort, holding her self more erect and giving the impression of being more aloof from her surroundings, her gaze as often downward or toward some middle distance as directly at anything or anyone.
“Can’t really tell. But I’m surprised that neither of them is married yet. I thought such women in this country were usually anxious to attach themselves to wealthy and much older men at an early age.”
“How do you know they’re not?”
“Don’t they both still live with their parents?”
“True, but that doesn’t mean much these days. Apartments for young couples are so expensive and hard to come by now, specially in a city like this one, that it’s common practice for young people to move in with one set of parents until they can find a place of their own. The more well-to-do parents often buy the newly married pair an apartment as a wedding present, but many young people aren’t so fortunate.”
“They certainly dress as if they come from a great deal of money. That black skirt of Cassandra’s must have cost at least twice what she earns as a graduate assistant each month.”
“You’ll get used to it.” He smiled as the women started back to us. “Young Greeks in this town spend a disproportionate share of their income, whatever it happens to be, on clothes. You’ve got to admit it makes for great people-watching from the sidewalk cafes. And my guess is that either of them would probably look delectable even in a burlap sack.”
“You were talking about us,” Kiki said as she sat down, a good-natured pout directed at Theo and a conspiratorial smile at her sister. “What were you saying?”
“I asked Theo if either of you were married and he said both of you would look gorgeous in bikinis.” I sensed that they would have been more comfortable if I’d said Dr. Petrakis, but I didn’t want to perpetuate that kind of formality if we were going to work together for a year.
“Isn’t that what you call a non sequitur?” Kiki asked with mock seriousness, but they were both actually blushing a little.
“No, Kiki and I are still unmarried. How long have you and your wife been married?”
“Almost ten years, but we’ve known each other much longer. Talya and I met when we were both students.”
“Do you have any children?” Kiki asked.
“No, we don’t.” They both tried not to show their curiosity and Cassandra was more successful. She turned at once to Theo.
“You’re not married, are you -- Theo?” She hesitated on his name but once she got it out she didn’t seem to be self-conscious about it any longer. And a touch of the courageous as well, I thought.
“No, not anymore. I’ve been divorced for quite some time. And what about the others in the department -- are there eligible young men among the other graduate assistants or the teachers?”
Kiki looked questioningly at Cassandra for a second or two before answering and I hadn’t been able to see if there’d been a responding glance; Cassandra’s look seemed to be directed at the table top and the food they were now eating.
“Dr. Vanidis is married and he has two sons. Dr. Pappas is still a bachelor, but he is only forty -- such things are not unusual here. Men often wait until they are older and well-established before they marry and have a family.
She glanced at her sister before continuing.
“The other teachers are either married or not very interesting and there are many other graduate assistants who are still single. But we are in no hurry -- it is only our mother who sometimes gets a little worried.” She smiled and bent to her food.
They insisted on paying their share of the bill and as we left the taverna they declined our invitation to take a walk to counteract the effects of the meal, saying they had to get back to the department to work and that it was only the lucky foreigners who were able to take off whenever they wished. We said goodbye and Theo and I strolled toward the waterfront. The avenue that ran in front of one side of the university campus was wide and tree-lined and the sidewalks were crowded with people heading home for their midday meal or doing some last-moment shopping before the stores closed for a few hours for the afternoon. By the time we reached the narrow streets of the older part of the city, the section where the old copper and furniture and clothes shops were, the traffic had thinned out and we were walking on some nearly deserted pavement. As we turned onto Tsimiski, one of the major shopping and banking streets, we caught the last of the crowds leaving the stores. Theo waved to a tall young man in the doorway of the Citibank building who was just looking up and who smiled at Theo and waved back.
“Iannis, my banker,” he explained, “a man to whom I shall introduce you at your earliest convenience. He was once a student of mine; one of the more active ones, as a matter of fact.”
We turned right off Tsimiski and left onto the paralleia along the waterfront, the large and impressive buildings on the shore side alternating with more modest ones of only three or four floors and all of them facing a half-moon shaped harbor with loading cranes and large fuel storage tanks at one tip and the headland that formed the Karabounaki section of the city at the other. Theo pointed out some of the sights as we moved along.
“That castle-looking thing on the edge of the park over there is called the White Tower. It’s supposed to be the city’s most notable landmark but it’s never impressed me very much. I prefer that huge bronze of Bucephalus, Alexander’s horse, standing on that white stone pedestal further along the paralleia. Set against the bay like that it sometimes looks like the noble beast is walking on water, if you get the right angle.
“After dinner in the evening this walk is the most popular one in town; up and down, old people, kids, and young couples, everybody taking the air and checking out everybody else. Sometimes it’s so crowded you have to work just to make it a few blocks -- when the weather is good, that is. In the winter it gets very cold, particularly along here.”
We passed a kaffeinion that was almost empty now, only a few older men bent over the plain wooden tables, small white coffee cups and white saucers to one side, the inevitable board for the Greek version of backgammon spread open in the center. No women, no decorations, just strong coffee and the game. Farther along we came to a beige building with no windows on the ground floor and a very inconspicuous unpolished brass plate with the words “Consulate of the United States of America” attached to the reinforced concrete at eye level just to the right of the door. There was a single black button above the plate.
“It’s called the low profile approach to international relations. Many people around here remember us rather fondly from the post-World War II period, but some of the younger folk have no such nostalgia for the land of milk and honey. A few years ago our CIA Chief of Station disappeared from his Athens office and turned up dead out here in the Bay of Thessaloniki -- at that time still called Salonika by most of the natives -- and there were conflicting stories about who was responsible and what the guy was doing here that got him terminated in such a watery way. There were marches on the consulate organized by some of the university students; a few bricks were thrown and even a few shots fired, but no explanations about the presence of our intelligence people were ever offered -- at least none that convinced any of the organizers of the demonstrations. For a while the papers carried articles about possible American activity directed at Yugoslavia from here – we’re only an hour from the closest border crossing, and the city of Skopje is just a straight run from there -- but it all vanished from the front pages after a few days.”
Theo pointed to the flag flying atop th
e building and the black bars on the door.
“We still fly the flag, of course, although it’s a smaller one than it used to be, but now there are bars at uncle’s gate and if you want access after certain daylight hours you have to ring the bell and be recognized and admitted by the duty officer. It’s a small post, our consulate up here, but rather a sensitive one at times. The embassy down in Athens is too far away to pick up any rumblings up here in time to use them to any advantage so the consulate gets the job, as far as I can tell.”
We crossed over and walked back on the water side toward the commercial docks and the storage-tanks, the pavement warmed by the afternoon sun and the cargo ships at anchor serving as dark backdrops for the few white-sailed pleasure craft tacking close-in on the bay. As long as I didn’t look too closely at the garbage washing up against the stone sea wall on our left I could imagine I was walking along the shore of one of Greece’s fabled islands instead of along a major thoroughfare in the heart of one of her most populous cities. Theo indicated a restaurant across the street that was still crowded and which seemed to be making no preparations to close.
“Olympus Naoussa, probably one of the best -- and most reasonable -- restaurants in the whole town. As popular with the rich tobacco and shipping people as with the less affluent university crowd. Waiters in clean white jackets who remember serving royalty and who know the lengthy menu by heart. Politicians on the make are careful to be seen there and the foreign diplomatic community is always well represented, as is the foreign press. It’s not fancy inside, just comfortable chairs and white tablecloths and fast service, but many of Thessaloniki’s important people make it a habit to have lunch here. Some of the rest of us like it because the wine is cheap and the moussaka goes light on the potatoes and melts in your mouth.”
Beyond the restaurant the waterfront streets became shorter and the nicer shops gave way to small ship chandlers and hardware stores and hurry-up souvlakia stands that catered to the seamen and dockworkers who clustered about in knots of apparent idleness, their black wool watch caps or black Greek fishing caps looking somewhat somber and uncomfortable in the glare and heat of the afternoon sun. I noticed an American tanker, one of the Shell Oil fleet, tied up to one of the larger docks, her waterline markings high and dry, but she didn’t have any steam up and nobody seemed interested in loading her. A small Yugoslavian trawler was tied up alongside a Greek ship at the next dock and the traditional afternoon break wasn’t keeping them from being unloaded. As Theo and I passed one group of workers Theo was saying something about the recent refusal of a Greek union to allow its members to handle U.S. cargo and I got the distinct impression from the looks we received that our speaking English was not exactly endearing us to the local population. I feigned an interest in a shop up on one of the wider side streets and steered us away from the water and back toward Tsimiski Street.
After walking aimlessly for a few more blocks we paused at a taxi stand and finally convinced one of the off-duty drivers to take me to Karabounaki. Theo said he wanted to walk back to his place so I climbed in and said goodbye. As we pulled away Theo waved and headed in the direction of the university.
At our apartment Talya handed me a letter she’d already opened. It was an invitation for both of us from Jonathan Blackbridge, the American Consul General, to a reception in honor of the Greek Minister of Education who had recently been appointed by Karamanlis. I thought it was a nice friendly gesture on the consulate’s part, but Talya had a different explanation.
“We’ll definitely go, of course, even if it’s only to see what those people are like, but I’m sure their guest lists are determined by more than general friendship extended to any Americans who happen to be residents here. With the junta leaders who ruled Greece between 1967 and last year now on trial or in jail and with this new government trying to stabilize things and steer a moderately right-of-center course, I imagine our striped-pants crowd will be out to make friends and influence people. You and Theo are in a good position to know what the university types think about all this and I’ll bet you two get invited to these affairs quite regularly, both to help them keep tabs on which way the intellectual wind may be blowing in this part of the world and to impress the local powers that be with the charm and perspicacity of our visiting scholars. Just remember, whither thou goest ---.”
“I know, and it’ll be the perfect place for you to wear that new black dress you bought. It’s not for another two weeks so I guess I have time to go out and buy a tie. Certainly wouldn’t want to embarrass anyone considerate enough to invite us to a party without even having met us.”
As it turned out the reception was thoroughly enjoyable. Talya was mistakenly greeted as a Greek by the handsome and debonair West German consul who tried to atone for his error by being very attentive to her the rest of the evening. The food and drink were excellent, although little concession had been made to the fact that we were in Greece. The barmen dispensed Kentucky bourbon and twelve-year-old scotch with something approaching abandon and the plates of rare roast beef and silver bowls of fresh cold shrimp were being replaced as fast as they were emptied. After introducing himself Blackbridge made sure I met the consulate’s military assistance advisor, Dan Kubish, and the United States Information Agency’s cultural affairs officer, Ronald Jackson. Kubish was a genial fat man who ate enormous quantities of shrimp and drank glass after glass of ice water and who eventually invited Talya and me to spend a day on a small boat he said he had docked at one of the Karabounaki marinas. Jackson was an ambitious class three Foreign Service information Officer who bluntly blamed his not being a class two on his being black in a predominately white agency. He was sarcastic and often bitter about his slow movement through the ranks of his profession, but he was careful to spend a good portion of the reception with either Theo or me, asking us about our impressions of the staff, the students, and even the administration of the university. After I introduced him to Talya I could tell she didn’t trust him, but he was sharp enough to sense her feelings and when he rather graciously offered us his two season tickets to the Monday night performances of the Thessaloniki state orchestra -- he said he was given the box seats by virtue of his position as the cultural affairs officer but he very seldom had the time or inclination to use them -- Talya relented a little and smiled at him as I thanked him for his kindness and accepted the tickets.
Kubish seemed to know everyone there and it was he who introduced me to Bruce Meadows and his wife, the directors of the American Farm School which was located just north of the city. Kubish had mentioned that Meadows was an ex-OSS officer who had spent time in the nearby hills in the 1940’s, had become a missionary of sorts after that war and had returned to Greece to found and run a school for deserving Greek children who were taught the latest in modern agricultural techniques in the supporting atmosphere of a private boarding school. Meadows was something of a local hero it seemed; he and his school had survived the many swings of the Greek political pendulum and Kubish thought Meadows’ reputation among the people of the region, if he ever took out Greek citizenship and ran for office, would assure him of a political victory. His best students often got scholarships to study in the States after they left the Farm School and when they returned to their country they usually found important jobs in a nation that was still highly dependent on agriculture.
When we shook hands I noticed the scar on his neck, just below the left ear. It was from a very old wound, maybe even thirty years old, and the bullet must have come very close to tearing the artery and killing him. He was in his sixties, lean and trim and patrician-like with his Anglo-Saxon good looks and his corduroy Norfolk hunting jacket, well worn at the elbows. He looked directly at you when he spoke, with an insistence that must have been disturbing to many, and when I called Talya over and introduced her to him I watched him run his eyes over the black dress and settle without hesitation on her face. His Greek wife, Rodanthi, was smiling at his obvious pleasure in the appraisal
and I was suddenly struck by the similarity of the two women’s dark features; if Rodanthi could shed twenty years and twenty pounds she and Talya might, in dim light, pass for twins. Meadows shook Talya’s hand but spoke to his wife.
“Salonika is now graced with another beautiful woman.”
He then turned back to us. “I hope you two will come out to the Farm School for a visit one of these days. It’s only a ten-minute ride from where you live and Rodanthi and I are very proud of the place. If you like to sail we could go out one day -- Theo has been out with us and he could come along again if he liked, and if you don’t mind. You don’t have to call ahead -- just come out whenever you feel like it. We can get away for a sail almost any time.”
His wife seemed genuinely enthused about the idea. “Yes, please do come out. We’ll pack a good lunch and maybe even sail as far as the closest finger of Halkidiki, the three pronged peninsula to the east of the bay. There are some fine beaches there and it might still be warm enough for a swim, if we’re lucky.”
Theo and I met at the roast beef and he, too, seemed to be enjoying himself even though the bar had no retsina to offer. He told me he was settling for Jack Daniels and he was beginning to wonder if it was the American brew that was bringing the whackos out of the woodwork.
“See that large blonde lady over there, the one talking to Kubish and the new Minister of Education? She’s the wife of some visiting American congressman – said she and her husband got invited at the last minute – and a few minutes ago she came over and introduced herself and then pulled me into a corner, looked around in classic paranoid fashion, and whispered in my ear, ‘Avoid the scary Langada Pass between Sparta and Kalamata in the winter.’ Then she looked around again to see if anyone else might have heard her pithy whisper and then she scuttled away. Whacko, my friend, absolutely whacko!”
“Don’t complain. At least this time around you’re getting invited.”
“Yes, but the price one has to pay just for some decent hooch and some superb roast beef.”
As the reception was breaking up Jackson came over to where Talya and I were waiting to say goodbye to our host.
“They didn’t find me a very fancy apartment when I started this assignment last year – a lot of people won’t rent to blacks, I hear – but I’d like you to come up for drinks and dinner one of these days. I’ll put together a small group and have my secretary send you an invitation. It’s only a few doors down from here on the same street, fourth floor, with a rather boring view of the bay – ever notice how tedious it can be looking at water like this every day? – and the place is even smaller than the one I had in Chad five years ago, but I’ve got a good cook and I’ll invite some interesting people for you to meet. I’ll be in touch. Goodnight.”
As we left I saw him talking earnestly to Theo, who was also waiting to thank Blackbridge and say goodbye.