Who Pays the Ferryman

by Michael J Bird

  The Australian shrugged. 'Right.' He looked at Haldane. 'I'll wait for you outside.'

  Haldane nodded. When they were alone, Spiridakis took a cigarette from the box on his desk and lit it. Then he turned to his friend. 'You know what I'm going to say, don't you?' he asked.

  Haldane was well aware of what was coming. 'This is none of my affair,' he said. 'That I should have stayed out of it.'

  'You of all people,' Spiridakis exclaimed. 'You are far too vulnerable, Leandros. When Katerina Matakis learns that you are helping Viglis she will not be pleased. Elena, she is your weakness. The secret only you and I share. In her Matakis blood is mixed with your blood but she does not know that. Offend her grandmother and you risk offending her. And then there is Annika.'

  'I already know Annika's position on this,' replied Haldane bitterly. 'She flows with the family current.'

  'And you condemn her for that?'

  Haldane shrugged. 'Let's say I'm disappointed.'

  'She is an educated woman,' said Spiridakis. 'She has travelled. But despite that she is still a Cretan. Of peasant stock. That is a birth right to be proud of. But it is also a heritage which is hard to shake off. Perhaps you expect too much of her?'

  'No more than I'd ever settle for,' Haldane countered quietly.

  The lawyer tried again. 'And Elena?' he queried. 'Will you risk the relationship you are building with her for this ... ' he shrugged. 'stranger?'

  Haldane regarded him closely and frowned. 'You'd have me turn my back on him?' he asked. 'On this whole shameful business?' His expression showed his disappointment. 'If so, Babis', he went on. 'Then as I expect too much of Annika, you expect too little of me.'

  The following morning Haldane was working on the caique as usual when he looked up and saw Major Krasakis approaching him from the road where his white, police Land-Rover was parked. He climbed down off the deck to meet him.

  'The burial is to take place then,' Krasakis said grimly as he came up alongside the boat.

  Haldane nodded. 'This afternoon. Only now there’s another problem. The undertakers in Heraklion have backed out from the job. Suddenly they don't want to know.'

  'That does not surprise me,' replied Krasakis.

  'And no-one's too keen to hire us any transport to get the coffin up to Dhafnai either.'

  The Major shook his head. 'Even people who have no stake in this will not wish to offend those of their kind who have,' he said. 'But transport will not be required,' he went on. 'I will provide it. And my men will do all that is necessary.' He sighed. 'They will be needed there anyway.'

  Haldane gave him a look of alarm. 'You think there could be a repetition of what happened the other morning?' he exclaimed. 'Despite the order from the Archbishop?'

  Krasakis nodded. 'I am certain of it,' he said. 'Perhaps even worse. Unless the police are there in strength.'

  'Violence!' Haldane said in an appalled whisper. 'At a funeral!'

  'It would require more than an order from the Archbishop to eliminate that risk.'

  'An order from Katerina Matakis, you mean,' said Haldane.

  The Major nodded. 'I have spoken to her. I have warned her', he said. 'She knows that if the villagers do make more trouble then I will have to act firmly against them and that people may be hurt.

  'And what was her reaction?'

  'Scorn. She hardly listened. What I have said to her will make no difference I fear.' He sighed again. 'There will be a confrontation. Perhaps a bloody one. And I regret that. '

  'No more than I do,' Haldane assured him. 'No more than Tony Viglis does.'

  Krasakis shrugged. 'Only if Katerina Matakis were to relent could that be avoided.'

  Haldane studied him. He was right of course. But how?

  And then he knew that there was only one possible way. 'Then someone else must speak to her,' he said thoughtfully. 'While there's still time. Someone close to her. Someone who perhaps she will listen to.'

  'No, Leandros. I told you,' Annika said vehemently. 'I will not interfere.'

  She had welcomed Haldane when he had driven up to the house hut not without reserve and once he had told her the reason for his visit she had immediately gone on to the defensive. And now Haldane was close to losing his temper.

  'But what you neglected to tell me then was that it was your family who is behind all this.'

  'I could not,' she replied.

  'Why?'

  Annika hesitated and looked away from him. 'I was ashamed. '

  'Well, that's something in your favour I suppose,' he said scornfully.

  Annika met his gaze again. 'I did tell you, though, that I understood why this is being done,' she reminded him.

  'But you also said that you didn't agree with it.'

  'I do not,' she said. 'What is happening is part of yesterday's Crete. A part I want none of.'

  'You say that,' taunted Haldane. 'But do you really mean it?'.

  ‘Yes.'

  'Then prove it. Speak to your mother.'

  Annika shook her head. 'No,' she said adamantly. 'It is none of my concern. No more than it is yours. It is hers alone. That Cretan yesterday is, for her, today. The grievance she feels means nothing to me but it is very real to her. She was there. In Dhafnai. She lived through those tragic times.'

  'My God,' scoffed Haldane. 'She can't have been more than a child in nineteen sixteen. And not even a Matakis then.'

  'She was eleven years old,' Annika said quietly and with dignity .. And when she married she willingly took on the burden of the vendetta as part of her wedding vows. To honour my father.' She paused for effect. 'Because, you see. it was his father and his uncle who were murdered by the Vigli.'

  Haldane was unimpressed. 'Even that's in doubt.' he snapped.

  'Maybe so,' Annika replied, bridling a little. 'But it is a doubt which my mother does not share. For her the injury which she believes was done to her husband's family is still an open wound. One that will never heal. One for which she feels the only balm to be vendetta.' She shook her head and her voice took on a softer tone. 'She is wrong of course. But she is my mother. And close to death. And I am part of the family whose honour she seeks to protect. How can I tell her that she is wrong in what she does without deepening the wound?' Now she was pleading. 'And who am I to judge her anyway?'

  'A civilised human being,' retorted Haldane savagely. 'Or so you pretend. Because if you won't do anything to try and end this enmity, to check your mother's craving for vengeance, to prevent what may happen this afternoon, well then that's all it is. A pretence. A veneer.' He struggled to control his anger, subdued it a little and tried persuasion once more. 'Speak to her. Try to make her see sense. That's all I ask. That's all anyone asks of you.'

  Annika stared into his face for a moment and then turned abruptly away from his. 'No, she said firmly,’ 'I will not hurt her.'

  'Hurt her!' Haldane exploded. 'A spiteful old woman who uses the respect and fear that others have for her as a weapon so that they fight her battle for her! And run all the risks.'

  'Even so,' mumbled Annika.

  'Then you are no less of a barbarian than she is,' he derided. He made a sweeping gesture which encompassed the room. 'So why the facade? The books. The records. Oh, yes,' he acknowledged bitterly. 'You've read the words but you haven't learned anything. And you've listened to the music but you haven't heard what it says. So why bother? It's all been a waste of time,' he regarded her scornfully . 'You said you were sorry for your brother, Petros. Because he hasn't found another horizon. But I'm sorry for you, Annika. Because you haven't either. It's only a mirage. It has to be if this vengeance, this spite, even by proxy, even by default, is a part of it. '

  He strode across to the side table, snatched up the photograph of Annika's two children and then crossed back to her with it and held it up to her.

  'Your children,' he challenged. 'What would they think of your new horizon? Would they be as proud of it as you are? Is it anything like theirs?' He tossed the photogr
aph down on the settee. 'Ask yourself that some time.' Then he swung round from her and stormed out onto the terrace.

  Wounded and bleeding but still defiant, Annika watched him go. She picked up the photograph and slowly crossed with it back to the table. She was about to put it down when she hesitated, frowned and stared thoughtfully at the two smiling faces.

  The village square was deserted when the convoy drove into Dhafnai and every window and every door was shuttered and barred.

  Major Krasakis was in the leading Land-Rover, sitting beside the driver. Haldane and Tony Viglis sat behind them. Following them was a police truck in which lay the coffin of Kissandros Viglis escorted and guarded by six policemen. And there were more policemen in the lorry at the rear of the strange cortege.

  Krasakis gazed warily out of his window as the procession moved slowly across the square. There was no movement of any kind; no sign of life. It was just as he had expected it would be. He glanced back at Haldane and the Australian. They, too, were anxiously scanning the square. No, my friends, he thought grimly, it was never here that they would be waiting for us. This is not the place they will have chosen to oppose us. Not in the village. They will be at the cemetery

  And he was right.

  The small cemetery was situated about a quarter of a mile outside the village; a cedar-shaded grove for the honoured dead of Dhafnai who rested in graves surmounted by stone or marble tombs at the head of which, in a glass-fronted housing topped by a cross, was a photograph of the one for whom the village mourned together with a cup of oil, a candle, a plate of olives, some small and treasured possession and perhaps a few coins; those things which they would need to sustain and comfort them on the long journey on which they had embarked and which was a custom established along before the cross crowning them had any significance in the world.

  The villagers were drawn up in ranks four or five deep around three sides of the cemetery, silent, sullen and hostile. Katerina Matakis was there too. She stood beside her car which was parked in a gap in the ranks which had been reserved for her. She was flanked on one side by Matheos Noukakis and on the other by Petros. Katerina's expression was grim, set and determined.

  The police convoy drove through the gates of the cemetery and pulled up a few yards from the grave which, reluctantly but on Major Krasakis' orders, the local constable, assisted by another policeman from a neighbouring village, had only recently finished digging. The resting bars and the straps with which the coffin would be lowered were in position. And Father Kaphatos, nervous and agitated, stood waiting at the head of the grave.

  There was an angry murmur among the villagers at the appearance of the three vehicles.

  As Krasakis, followed by Haldane and Viglis, both carrying wreathes, got out of the leading Land-Rover, the local policeman and his companion moved away from the grave and put on their jackets which were hanging over two spades stuck into the pile of freshly dug soil nearby.

  The priest glanced helplessly across at Katerina Matakis. She ignored him.

  The policemen in the lorry jumped down from it and, as those men in the truck, at a nod from Krasakis, removed the coffin, they dispersed and took up positions around the grave and facing the crowd. None of the police was armed but each carried a baton.

  The burial detail took the weight of the coffin on their shoulders and began the solemn procession to the graveside. Haldane and Viglis fell in behind them. Krasakis and a sergeant followed at a discreet distance.

  While Tony Viglis watched as the coffin was lowered onto the resting bars, Haldane stepped back a little and the Major came up alongside him. 'This afternoon will see the old man buried,' Krasakis said quietly, his eyes on the crowd. 'But he will not lie here for long I think.'

  Haldane shot him a horrified look. 'They'll desecrate the grave!'

  Krasakis shrugged helplessly. 'He is here against the wishes of the Matakis family. These people know what will be expected of them. I shall place two extra men on duty in the village. But I cannot keep them here forever.'

  Haldane felt the bile of sickness in his throat.

  Krasakis removed his cap and. with Haldane beside him. stepped forward to join Viglis at the graveside. The Major nodded curtly to Father Kaphatos to begin.

  Again the priest shot a look across at Katerina but then, very unwillingly, almost surlily, he began to mumble through the words of the Greek Orthodox burial mass.

  The villagers were silent throughout the ritual and when it was over Father Kaphatos, with a sigh of relief. made a casual sign of the cross and committed the body of Kissandros Viglis to the grave.

  The pall bearers took the strain on the lowering straps.

  The local constable and his companion removed the resting bars and slowly the bearers began to lower the coffin.

  Katerina Matakis shot a look at her son whose eyes were on the grave but he was apparently unmoved by the scene before him. She scowled and then let out an anguished cry. 'Will you let this happen?' she shouted. 'A Viglis buried in Dhafnai.'

  As if on cue the villagers responded with a roar of protest and started to move in on the grave. Haldane and Viglis looked up in horror. The bearers hesitated but then, on a signal from the sergeant, continued lowering the coffin.

  Krasakis frowned and called out to the crowd. 'Keep back.' But the villagers took no notice and surged in on them. Their arms spread wide, the police escort attempted to hold them back but, outnumbered. steadily lost ground.

  'Batons!' ordered Krasakis. The police gripped their batons and prepared to use them. Haldane could see from the look on Krasakis' face that they were only seconds away from the violence which the Major had feared and predicted.

  And then, suddenly. the villagers stopped dead in their tracks. Their cries of rage began to die away. first to a murmur. then to excited whispers and finally to silence. The eyes of all of them were on the entrance to the cemetery as were those of Katerina, Petros and Noukakis.

  Katerina's expression was one of stunned outrage while Petros looked perplexed and confused and Noukakis frowned. Krasakis, Haldane and Tony Viglis turned to look in the direction of the gateway.

  Annika Zeferis was standing just inside the entrance.

  She was carrying a wreath. Very slowly and looking straight ahead, she crossed to the grave and placed the wreath on the ground at the head of it. Then she took a step back and, with her eyes still on the grave, declared loudly and for all to hear, 'Rest here quietly, Kissandros Viglis. You have come home. I, Annika Zeferis, born Annika Matakis, say this.' She stooped, picked up some loose soil and, advancing to the edge of the grave, crumbled it onto the coffin.

  Confusion and whispers of bewilderment broke out among the villagers. Viglis surveyed the crowd while Haldane's eyes were on Annika. But she did not look at him. It was Katerina Matakis, however, who was the centre of Krasakis' attention. He waited, anxious to see what her reaction would be to this unexpected development. A great deal still depended on that.

  Furious, Katerina seized her son's arm. 'Your sister has lost her mind,' she hissed. 'She shames us. Stop her.'

  As if mesmerised, Petros did not move. 'Do you hear me,' Katerina continued vehemently. 'Do something.'

  Petros turned his head and looked at her, his expression blank. Then, obediently, he moved forward towards the grave and walked to Annika's side. She burned to him and they confronted one another in silence. The attention of everyone present was on them. Petros held his sister's look for a while and read the message in her eyes. He moved away from her, crossed to a bush of rosemary in flower a yard or so away and broke a branch of blossom from it. Then, returning to the grave, he placed the blossom alongside Annika 's wreath and picked up some soil.

  'Yes,' he declared in ringing tones. 'Rest here quietly, you Kissandros, who are now with God. I, Petros, head of the Matakis family, say this.

  There was a gasp from the crowd. Petros sprinkled the soil into the grave and then glanced at Annika who smiled and nodded to him.

&nb
sp; Anguished, Katerina closed her eyes and pressed a clenched fist to her lips to stifle her fury at this betrayal. She was beaten and she knew it.

  The villagers exchanged looks and then smiles. The head of the Matakis family had spoken. The vendetta was ended. They were no longer under any obligation. In death Kissandros Viglis had been welcomed back among them. Slowly the crowd began to break up and the villagers drifted towards the gateway of the cemetery.

  Two of the men who were among the mob, which only minutes earlier had been close to rioting, moved to the pile of earth close to the grave and took up the shovels embedded in it.

  Petros turned from the graveside and walked slowly back towards his mother and Noukakis. Haldane moved to Annika's side. She faced him. They studied one another. 'Thank you,' he said quietly.

  'For what?' she asked. 'For seeing the truth? For doing what I should have done at the beginning? Who should be thanked for that?'

  Haldane searched her face. If there had previously been any doubt in his mind he knew at that moment that he loved her. 'May I drive you home?' he said.

  Annika nodded. 'Yes. I would like that,' she replied.

  Side by side they moved away from the grave.

  Petros rejoined his mother. Noukakis was holding the rear door of the Citroen open for her. In the look which she gave him Katerina no longer made any effort to conceal her total contempt for her son. Petros gazed back at her unflinchingly. 'Annika is right,' he said levelly. 'Kissandros Viglis is dead, and so is the past. I will have no more of any vendetta.'

  'Because you have forsaken your heritage,' she spat.

  Matakis shook his head. 'No. I am proud of that which is good in it.'

  'Because you are a coward then,' Katerina Jibed.

  'If you wish to think that,' Matakis said with a sigh. 'But hear this, mother. From now on I am content to leave retribution, for any sin, in God's hands.'

  He offered his mother his arm but she scorned it and got into the car unaided. Petros shrugged and took his seat beside her. Noukakis shut the door and then got in behind the wheel.