The Taint of Midas

by Anne Zouroudi

  ‘Hermes Diaktoros,’ said the fat man. ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘The boat was my father’s,’ said Sostis. ‘Man and boy, he’s been a companion to me. We’ve had some adventures together, me and Agatha.’ The coffee was boiling, its fragrant foam rising to the pot’s rim. He took the pot off the flame and turned off the gas, then lifted a section of the wooden bench to reveal neatly packed storage beneath. The fat man saw life jackets and a blanket, a ball of twine, spanners and a mallet. There was a large aluminium saucepan holding plates and cups, knives and forks, and from it Sostis chose two demitasse cups painted with Japanese ladies in kimonos. He ran his finger around their insides to remove the worst of their stains, then poured the coffee, handing the cleanest cup to the fat man.

  ‘No sugar, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘No biscuits, either. We’re low on niceties.’

  ‘I don’t take sugar,’ said the fat man. He tasted the coffee, finding it excellent. Beneath the canopy, the day seemed cool. In lines of white crystals, the salt water was drying on his body, the salt powdery in the hairs of his forearms and calves.

  ‘There’s fresh water under your seat,’ said Sostis. ‘It’s not cold, but it’s cool. You’ll be thirsty after swimming.’

  The fat man stood and, lifting his seat, took out a cooler and two beakers. He filled the beakers and drank deep from his own. The water was fresh and sweet, well water collected from winter rain. He sipped again at his coffee, then peered into the red bucket near his feet.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘but your catch is poor.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ said Sostis, ‘but I enjoyed not catching what I didn’t catch. A boat, a line, and the quiet of the sea – what more could a man ask for?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Though my wife doesn’t see it like that. She curses the day she married a lazy dog like me.’

  ‘This isn’t your trade, then?’

  ‘Sadly not. I’m a barber by profession. I have a shop in town.’

  The fat man raised his eyes to the sky, ascertaining the position of the sun.

  ‘You’ve closed early today, then.’

  ‘What time is it? Noon, one? I don’t wear a watch. I close when I’ve done my quota for the day. A dozen heads, morning and evening, puts bread on the table. When I’ve done my dozen, I’m out the door. Today I was lucky, I got a few regulars in early. I’ll be back there tonight, when it’s cooler. My wife curses me, tells me how rich we’d be if I put in proper hours. We could have two shops, she says, hire people to work under me. But look at me! I’m an unlikely boss for anyone. And there’s nothing we need that money can buy. I was blessed with one son – no daughters’ dowries to find. He curses me, too, sometimes, for the electronic gadgetry I don’t buy him and the designer shoes he doesn’t have. I say to him, go barefoot, like me, then you won’t need shoes. And if he’s bored, he can take a line and fish. Poor beggar. Can there be a worse curse than a lazy father?’

  ‘The wisdom to know you have enough is a blessing, surely, not a curse?’

  Sostis laughed.

  ‘Well said, friend, well said! Come and say it to my wife sometime, wipe some of the sourness from her face. You see this place? Could any man not recognise its beauty? I brought her here once, but she was bored. No company, she said, and the stones too hard to sit on. She has no love of solitude. Not like me.’

  ‘Then I’ve intruded on you. My apologies.’

  ‘None needed. I smell a kindred spirit in you. And not many folks find this place. How come you did?’

  ‘I was here last some years ago. I lost something of value then. I had a vague hope of recovering my property.’

  ‘What did you lose?’

  ‘A ring, a gold ring. It was of sentimental value, a gift from my mother. There was less of me then – the ring slipped from my finger whilst I swam. It’s a slim, slim chance, of course, after all this time. But I am by nature optimistic.’

  For a moment, Sostis was silent.

  ‘This ring,’ he said, ‘what was it like?’

  ‘A plain band set with a small gold coin, an unusual coin. It had a rising sun on one face, a young man in profile on the other.’

  Without speaking, Sostis rose and slid back the wooden door to the inner cabin. Stooping inside, he took a plastic tub with the fading imprint of a margarine brand on its side. The tub was filled with oddments – screws and washers, a key tied on a length of twine, fuses and fuse wire, assorted buttons, a pencil stub, a rusting lighter, the cork from a wine bottle. He rummaged until beneath it all he found the glint of gold, and took out a ring. Its shine was dulled by dirt, but unmistakably it was a ring such as the fat man had described.

  Sostis held the ring out to the fat man.

  ‘Like this?’ he said. ‘Looks like your luck is in.’

  The fat man’s smile was broad.

  ‘Where did you find it?’ he asked.

  ‘I found it in the shallows, here,’ said Sostis. ‘It caught my eye amongst the rocks. I thought it was my lucky day then, too. But I only wore it once. Here, take your ring. You’re welcome to it.’

  He placed the ring in the fat man’s hand, and the fat man, pleased, held it up to catch the light.

  ‘You didn’t like my ring,’ he said. ‘How come?’

  Sostis closed the cabin door and returned to his seat.

  ‘It’s a strange story,’ he said. ‘I’ve told no one.’

  ‘You’ll find me discreet,’ said the fat man, ‘and a good listener.’ He tried the ring on the third finger of his left hand, but it was too small. He placed it instead on his little finger, where it fitted very well, and he admired it there.

  Sostis took a drink of water.

  ‘How many years ago would it have been? You’ll know better than me, perhaps, the date you lost it. I came here to fish on a day the weather wasn’t good. It was late in the season, the wind was picking up and it was threatening rain. But I didn’t want to be at home, listening to the same cracked record of my wife’s complaints. Because of the weather, I’d stayed longer in the shop than usual, but it did me no good: the weather kept everyone close to home, and the takings were poor. All fuel to her fire. So I came to take the boat out, even though it was against my better judgement. And as I prepared to cast off, your ring there was winking up at me amongst the rocks. I fished it out and put it on my finger, pleased as punch at my good fortune. Something, I thought, to keep the harridan quiet. Forgive me, but my first thought was of selling it. It’s a beautiful ring, antique it seemed to me, and I knew a jeweller who’d be glad to buy it. I put it on my finger, and it looked very well there; it made me cheerful, because I thought if I caught no fish – and the way the weather was, I expected nothing – I still had this precious thing to justify my trip.

  ‘I didn’t plan to go far. I thought I’d tow a line for tuna – you’ll know they like the windy weather – make a tour or two around the bay and then head back. Well, I certainly had no more luck that day. A kilometre from shore, the engine died. No warning – it just spluttered and cut out. So there was I, alone and drifting – but I wasn’t drifting back towards the beach. I was being blown towards the headland over there.’ He pointed to the east, where the shore ascended steeply in rocky cliffs. ‘And believe me, you don’t want to be drifting over there. They call it the Dragon’s Teeth – shallow water and sharp rocks that’ll slice through your hull like paper. Now I’m not a bad swimmer: that wasn’t my worry. But I’ve no insurance, and if I lost my Agatha . . .’ He patted the engine housing as one might caress a dog. ‘Well, there’d be a lot of haircuts needed to replace her, and a lot of time to be spent with my dear, gloating wife whilst I was boatless. But there was nothing I could do. I was drifting with no other boat in sight. So I decided to wait until I was in shallower water to drop an anchor off the prow, then swim a line from her stern to the rocks. That would hold her fast whilst I tried to fix the engine. So we drifted and drifted until we were getting into shallower water and I could see those ro
cks coming into clear view. But the water was still too deep to drop the anchor, so I waited some more until I saw a spot I thought would do OK. And I was just about to drop the anchor when . . .’ He shuddered, and crossed himself over his heart. ‘I thought I saw a face looking up at me through the water, a foot or so beneath the surface. A man’s face, I was sure, pale as death, eyes wide open and staring, and beneath the waves his mouth moving, as if he was speaking to me. Well, in that moment, friend, I learned what folks mean when they talk of your blood running cold. But the boat was still moving, and we passed over this face, so I crossed to starboard and looked down into the water – and damn me, something was still there, so I knew I didn’t dream it. Part of me thought it couldn’t be real and part of me thought I must get him out. I was scared, and I couldn’t think. I ran for the boat-hook, but by the time I’d fetched it we were amongst the Dragon’s Teeth, and everywhere I looked there was no sign of any man.

  ‘So I went to drop anchor, and dropped it willy-nilly hoping it’d catch and hold us before damage was done, and in a minute I felt it hit bottom and I tied it off. So now all I had to do was swim to the rocks and tie a stern line, and we’d be secure. But I did not want to get into that water. Not because it was cold and choppy, but because I didn’t want to be bumping into any dead man. In my mind I was persuaded, see, that’s what I’d seen – a dead man talking. So I talked myself into it, and from somewhere I found the courage to strip naked, and in I went. By God, it was the coldest sea I’ve ever known – unnatural cold. I carried the line to the nearest rocks and tied Agatha secure – and all the time I was in the water, I was looking over my shoulder and down at my feet, thinking he was behind me or below me, I didn’t know which. But I believed he was there somewhere in that cold, cold water, and that he’d like my company permanently if he could catch me. I swam out and I swam back as fast as if the devil were at my heels.

  ‘I dried and dressed myself, and then set off a flare. I might have fixed the engine, but my need for company out there was strong. I knew the flare would be quickly seen – there’re always craft in the channel beyond the bay – but there was no knowing how long before the coastguard would get to me, since I was pretty well hidden amongst those rocks. Well, for a while I sat in silence. The sea was dark and agitated, and the wind was making strange noises in the awning. And after a while my imagination started playing tricks – first I heard a knocking on the boat side, then I heard a slithering on the prow. And then, merciful God! An engine, and the coastguard comes roaring round the bay.

  ‘Of course I told them I’d seen a body in the water. They launched a dinghy and took a look around – and it wasn’t long before they found the body.’ He laughed. ‘I felt a fool. It was a billy goat fallen from the cliffs, a week at least in the water, hairless and rotting and stinking all to hell. Imagination, they said, and shadows; the water causes distortion, changes shapes. I suppose they’re right. But as they towed me back to shore, I took off your ring and put it away inside the cabin. I couldn’t tell you why, but it seemed to me no coincidence that the wearing of it led me to see a dead man’s face. I haven’t worn it since, and I never showed it to my wife. It wouldn’t have been to her taste, anyway. She likes the modern style, in everything; but, thinking she’d appreciate the cash, I offered it to a jeweller in the market. Happily for you, he wouldn’t take it. More than his job was worth, he said, to touch antiquities. So I brought it back here, and kept it. I thought, in any case, it would be wrong of me to pass on to someone else something that troubled me. Maybe, I thought, it was no accident that it was in the water. Maybe someone else saw what I saw and wanted to be rid of it. But I’ve no business saying so, have I? It doesn’t trouble you, I see. Forgive me. It’s a beautiful ring. I’m sure you’re glad to have it back.’

  ‘My mother will be delighted,’ said the fat man. ‘It’s an old family piece. Of course I must give you something for your trouble.’

  Sostis held up both his hands.

  ‘I want nothing,’ he said.

  ‘Well,’ said the fat man, ‘it may be, in any case, I’ll come across in my travels something that would be a suitable token of my thanks.’

  ‘Travels?’ asked Sostis. ‘Are you a traveller, then?’

  ‘Throughout this country and our islands, yes. My business makes it necessary. Sometimes I have been beyond our existing borders, though still within the limits of our ancient boundaries – mostly to parts of what is now Turkey, what was claimed by the Ottomans. Our boundaries have moved so often, no man could ever hope to keep track of them.’

  ‘I spent some time in Turkey,’ said Sostis. ‘The Turks are the finest barbers in the world. I took a boat to Marmaris, and apprenticed myself there to a man who spoke very little Greek. And I spoke less Turkish, so the process was slow; but for a fee he taught me all he knew. When I returned, I told no one where I’d been. They appreciate my skills, but I would never call myself a Turkish barber. Or even a barber in the Turkish style. They’d rather die here than give business to a Turk.’

  ‘The prejudice runs deep.’

  ‘So what brings you here? It’ll be family, no doubt.’

  ‘Not family, no. I have a house near by, where I am staying for now. A good friend of mine has died suddenly, and his affairs demand my attention.’

  ‘What friend?’

  ‘Gabrilis Kaloyeros was his name.’

  ‘My condolences. I knew him, by sight only. The melon man. He was very old. I suppose his time had come.’

  The fat man’s face darkened.

  ‘Indeed it had not,’ he said. ‘His end was brutal and untimely. A hit-and-run. A cowardly, despicable crime, especially when such an elderly man is involved.’

  ‘The police are looking into it, then?’

  ‘They had me at the head of their list of suspects, as the finder of the body. Though I think they have reconsidered now.’

  ‘Their minds are simple. They look always for the obvious.’

  ‘You have a good head on your shoulders, barber. Yes, the obvious is their usual domain; but the obvious is very often not the truth. I specialise in hidden truths, and the truth is hidden here.’

  ‘You’re a detective, then?’

  ‘A sometime investigator, shall we say?’

  Sostis was thoughtful for a moment.

  ‘It troubles me you say the old man’s death was not natural,’ he said, ‘because I know of someone for whom his death might be very convenient.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A client of mine. Paliakis is his name. Aris Paliakis.’

  ‘I see.’ The fat man nodded. ‘And why would Gabrilis’s death be convenient for Mr Paliakis?’

  But Sostis was reluctant to say more.

  ‘You’d be surprised what people tell me when they’re sitting in my chair,’ he said. ‘Some treat it like the confessional, treat me as if I have a priest’s obligation to keep silence. I’m not a gossiping man – most I keep to myself – but the things they say! Mistresses and misdeeds, dirty deals and malice . . .’

  ‘But, as you say, you have no obligation to keep silent. Do you know the story of King Midas? King Midas had a secret only his barber knew – that Midas had been cursed by the god Apollo with a pair of ass’s ears. The barber told no one, but the secret burned inside him. So to unburden himself, he dug himself a hole and whispered what he knew into the ground. Regard me as your hole in the ground, and tell me what you know of Aris Paliakis.’

  ‘You know him, then?’

  ‘I seem to remember our families have had dealings in the past. But this Aris, I have not yet met.’

  ‘Well, Aris Paliakis has fingers in many, many pies. He fishes the rising tide of tourists – the mosquitoes that plague us in their thousands. He hires them cars, he feeds them in his restaurant, they sleep in his hotel, they buy their souvenirs in his shops. They call him – what’s the word? – an entrepreneur. A crook, to you or me. He started in a small way, and now he’s built a fortune. He’s a man w
hose lust for money can’t be satisfied. His greed is like a thirst that can’t be slaked.’ He drank deeply from his water beaker. ‘Every Friday, he sits down in my chair to get his hair cut, and every Friday, he talks to me about his plans. In the past, those plans were small, though the whole has added up, bit by bit, to an empire. Now he has his sights on bigger things. What, exactly, I don’t yet know, but the site he has in mind is the hillside at the Temple of Apollo.’

  The fat man laughed.

  ‘He’ll have to look elsewhere, then. The temple’s an ancient monument. He’ll never get the necessary permissions.’

  ‘Never say never, friend. He has a son, Pandelis – a lawyer and a very clever one, unmarried and his father’s right-hand man, with nothing to do in life but to bend the law whichever way his father wants it. Money changes hands, no doubt of it. And where the palm-greasing doesn’t work, he sends his second son, Kylis – his delivery boy, his debt collector, who might apply a little pressure where it’s needed. Pandelis the brains, and Kylis the muscle. With poor old Gabrilis out of the way, you can’t help but think Paliakis’s way is clear. The temple’s no Parthenon, is it? When all’s said and done, who’ll stand up for a few old stones? You wait, friend. There’ll be blind eyes turned, permissions’ll be issued, and the bulldozers’ll move in before you know it. Who’s to stop it? Old Kaloyeros had no children; who’ll inherit his land? If there’s no one to object, the way is open.’

  For a while, the fat man was silent. Sostis threw his coffee grounds over the side, then leaned out of the boat to rinse his cup in the sea.

  The fat man rose.

  ‘I must go,’ he said. ‘Thank you for your hospitality. And my ring.’ He laid a hand on Sostis’s shoulder. ‘Take my word for it, friend. There’ll be no construction at the Temple of Apollo. The game is far from lost. In fact, it hasn’t yet begun.’ He pulled a long curl of his damp, salt-matted hair to its full length. ‘I need a haircut. Tell me where to find your shop, and one day soon I’ll be one of your twelve heads. And tell me where to find this Aris Paliakis and his sons, too. I’m thinking perhaps it’s time for me to go visiting.’