The Taint of Midas

by Anne Zouroudi

  ‘But you had hit him hard, and he was frail. You saw the case was hopeless. He wasn’t dead, though, was he? Not quite dead.’ Dinos looked away, as if to where Mina stood, but his eyes were focused elsewhere. ‘No. I know he wasn’t, because he had only just let go of life when I reached him, and I travelled a long, long way to get here. So far that I arrived too late, and I blame myself for that. So I suppose you said a prayer for him, and made your cross, and drove away. But not too far. I was far away; you were near to hand. It was no accident you came so promptly with the ambulance; all afternoon you waited, listening to the airwaves for the call. It didn’t come, did it? But you wouldn’t use your phone, because you knew it might be traced. And then, at last, the call did come, and you came close behind, your conscience pricking, anxious to be sure the body was found. If they hadn’t found it, would you have guided them? I don’t think so; I think that would have been too risky. But you felt better, of course, that he didn’t spend the night out there, friendless, untended and alone. That would have been a dilemma, wouldn’t it, for a good Orthodox boy; the old man’s soul left out there for the devil to come and steal? Thank God it didn’t come to that, eh, Dinos?

  ‘So you followed the ambulance, and you were clever then, too. You parked your car so the damage wasn’t visible to us. It didn’t matter anyway, though the precaution was sensible; Gazis had me down for the crime, and their focus was on me and my Pony. And so you drove away, the body found, your conscience salved – what was one old man fewer in the world beside the rising star of your career? As for drawing attention to yourself with a radio appeal that might have closed the net on you – well, that would have been madness, wouldn’t it? So you didn’t run it. But other stations did. Of course they did. And so did the newspapers.’

  ‘Your theory is intriguing,’ interrupted Dinos, ‘but you should know, as I told George Petridis, the damage on my car was caused in a traffic accident. So look elsewhere for your heartless hit-and-run.’

  ‘I’m looking at you. Again, your best option was to run, leave town. But you, again, set too much store by your own cleverness. It was a very good idea, I grant you: involve yourself in a second accident to cover up the first. But it is possible to be too clever, you know. You have the cunning of a fox; but that has been your downfall. Do you know what the commonest colour of car is, Dinos?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Silver. Statistically, you were far more likely to hit a silver car than any other colour. But the car you hit was black. And the way it was told to me, you waited at the junction you had chosen until a black car came along, and then pulled out.’

  ‘My foot slipped. I wasn’t thinking. I was on the phone, I admitted that.’

  ‘You had your phone to your ear so it would look that way. But your attention was wholly on what you were doing. You were waiting for a black car to disguise the black-paint residue from Gabrilis’s bike that was already there.’

  ‘You’re insane.’ Dinos bent to pick up his flippers. ‘It had absolutely nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Unfortunately for you, forensics will prove my case. I’ve given Gazis the paint samples that will prove your guilt.’

  ‘I believe I’ll find another place to swim.’

  ‘No, no.’ The fat man raised his hands to object. ‘Don’t let me detain you any further. I’m glad we had this talk. It’s proved to me my suspicion that there is no remorse in you. You are indeed a heartless hit-and-run, as you so aptly put it.’

  ‘You’ve been too long in the sun, friend,’ said Dinos.

  He turned from the fat man, and, taking his kit, walked some distance away, across the shingle to the water’s edge.

  The fat man watched as Dinos pulled on his flippers.

  ‘Be careful out there, Dinos!’ he called. ‘That undertow can catch out any man!’

  But Dinos gave no sign that he had heard. Pulling his mask down over his face, he slipped into the sea smooth as a seal, and disappeared into the deep water around the rocks.

  Along the beach, Mina was saying her goodbyes. Moving quickly, the fat man took Dinos’s phone from his sportsbag and switched it off. Returning to his spot below the rocks, he zipped the phone into his own holdall, and folded up his towel.

  Passing Mina, he wished her a kali spera. At the beach bar, he bought himself an ice-cold lemonade, and made his cheerful way along the track back to his car.

  The water was cool, and Dinos’s ears filled with its solid silence. Swimming easily, he stayed close to the shoreline rocks, scanning for prey. He waved his hand through a shoal of tiny fish, their bodies transparent and glistening like opals, lit within by electric-blue and red; in a swarm they surrounded him, and he wafted them impatiently away. The talk with the fat man had disturbed him. There were issues he must address.

  Beyond the rocks, the clarity of the shallow water clouded into an infinity of petrol-blue, and there, for a second, something moved, the dark shape of a fish of excellent size; but when he turned his head to look full-on, nothing was there.

  Before he rounded the headland – beyond which the beach would be out of sight – he stopped swimming and, treading water, raised his head above the waterline and pushed up his mask. Mina was there; he picked her out by the rocks, pedantically positioning her towel at the perfect angle to the sun.

  Of the fat man, there was no sign.

  Reimmersing himself in the water, he swam around the headland, where the water became cooler, and the cold currents running in from the open sea caused him to shiver. Away from the shoreline, the quality of the water was changed, its cheering, attractive blue deepening to the ultramarine of depths, which felt, today, intimidating. For the first time he could remember, the sea made him afraid.

  He turned back towards the rocks, where the sun shone through the shallower water and the silvery light was bright. He peered down at a small octopus, wondering if it was worth his trouble, and as he did so he glimpsed that same dark shape ahead of him, to his right, towards the open sea. He turned again to face it, but it was gone, though its direction was clear. He kicked his flippers hard and moved faster in pursuit, and soon reached the weird formations of the Dragon’s Teeth, where sharp pinnacles of ancient lava poked up from the sea bed, the cones of rock dividing the water into narrow channels between them.

  He slowed, and looked about him. The splendid fish – a snapper, he thought, two kilos at least, maybe a little more – was in the open water to his right, but, as he considered strategy, some prey caught the fish’s eye, and it changed course, swimming away from the deep water and in amongst the Dragon’s Teeth.

  In the shallows, the fish was a gift to him. Harpoon raised to take the shot, he drew closer; but the fish would not swim straight, darting instead one way, then another, drawing him into the Dragon’s Teeth as though into a maze. The pinnacles rose around him like great stalagmites, and he swam with care amongst them, knowing the rocks were sharp as barnacles, and might grate the skin off him as easily as rind from a lemon. Always ahead, the fish’s scales flashed silver, and he kicked strongly to close its lead on him, until he drew close enough to take a shot; but, as the trident flew, the fish darted downwards after some prey of its own, and disappeared into the black mouth of a sea-cave.

  Hauling back the trident by its line, he forced it back inside the harpoon’s barrel. The fish, he knew, was trapped; many of these caves had little depth, two or three metres at most. Above the cave’s portal, he peered inside. All was darkness – except, he felt sure, for the silvery glint of his fish’s flank.

  The target now was an easy one. Filling his lungs through the snorkel, he dived, swimming forwards into the tunnel of rock. The water was cold, the light weak, but the fish moved like a shadow just ahead. He fired the harpoon; the trident pierced the fish through its side, and began to take it down to the cave floor. Quickly, he hauled on the trident’s cable but, on his waist, something slipped and, suddenly too light, Dinos floated upwards, watching his belt of weights fall
away below.

  His head cracked on the cave roof, his back hit the cutting edges of the rock. For a moment, he was dazed, and disoriented; then, impelled by instinct, he tried to turn, to reach the light behind him at the portal. But, without weights, the cave roof drew his body like a magnet, and his head and back soon hit stone once again. He knew he must swim down, but he had not yet made the turn, and so his efforts took him deeper inside the cave.

  His lungs were painful and, unable to resist, he took a breath. But no air came through his snorkel; instead, he swallowed the first mouthful of seawater. It choked him, and he coughed, but coughing was fatal, each cough drawing more salt water to his lungs.

  The fish pierced by the trident was already dead, and, before too long, the hands fighting the cave’s entombing walls were still.

  The fat man phoned the lawyer’s office again, and asked the secretary to put him through to Ilias.

  Ilias was cheerful, and keen to share good news.

  ‘It was quite straightforward,’ he said. ‘The paperwork’s all done, and signed and stamped at their end. All that’s required is a signature, with witnesses. I’m here all day tomorrow, at your convenience.’

  The fat man thanked him.

  ‘I’ll buy you lunch,’ he said. ‘I’ve a yearning for stifado, if you know anywhere where they prepare it properly.’

  Ilias laughed.

  ‘I know a place,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know if it’s what you had in mind. My wife’s an excellent cook, and her stifado’s better than my mother’s. Come and eat with us.’

  The fat man smiled.

  ‘It would be a pleasure,’ he said.

  Twenty

  Another dawn. Its pinkness brought a blush to the temple’s old stones; the first red light put a shine on the green-skinned watermelons, whose unwatered foliage was yellowing and crisp from neglect. On the sea, a fishing boat motored slowly out; from the hives, the industrious bees began their early forays.

  A white van turned off the coast road, carrying the Paliakis men up the track to Gabrilis’s land. In the driver’s seat, Kylis was whistling; his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, his breath unpleasant from last night’s cigarettes and ouzo. Beside him, Pandelis sat uncomfortably, moving his knee from the gearstick each time Kylis changed gear. By the passenger window, their father sat in silence.

  ‘Can’t you shut up?’ said Pandelis. ‘Your whistling is getting on my nerves.’

  ‘I’m feeling cheerful,’ said Kylis. ‘Or I would be if my head didn’t ache so much. I met this girl last night, a knockout. You should come out with me sometime, brother. A girl like that’d put colour in your cheeks. In one or two other places as well.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ said Pandelis, ‘spare us the details! The thought of you hard at it turns my stomach.’

  ‘Shut up, both of you,’ said Paliakis. ‘Kylis, park it here. We’ll get no closer in the van.’

  Kylis switched off the engine, and Paliakis moved to open the door.

  ‘Just a minute, Papa,’ said Pandelis. ‘I still think we should reconsider.’

  ‘We’ve been through this,’ said Paliakis. ‘Let’s get the job done, and go.’

  ‘He’s right, you know,’ said Kylis. ‘We won’t get away with it. They’ll know where to come.’

  Paliakis faced them, his expression angry.

  ‘And how would they know where to come?’ he asked. ‘Has either of you been blabbing?’

  ‘The civil servants, Papa,’ said Pandelis. ‘We’ve been through this, too. We’ve gone along with you this far, but this whole idea is crazy. We’ll find a better way, a legal way.’

  ‘Hell,’ said Kylis, ‘why don’t you just offer a fair price, and buy the land above board?’

  Paliakis turned towards them, pointing with his finger.

  ‘Now you two listen to me,’ he said. ‘The way things are – with compensation claims and drop-offs in trade – if we have to pay full price for this land, there’ll be nothing left to fund your lifestyles, nor mine either. And we’ve already established – I thought we had already established – whilst we’ve got olives here, and archaeology, our new friends on the council won’t be issuing building permits. So we’re going to clear this land of its impediments, and we’re going to do it, all three of us, together. This is a family business; we’re going to work as a family, and get our hands a little dirty. Now, I know that you two don’t have a pair of balls between you. But, just for once, for Christ’s sake have some guts. We can be done and gone in twenty minutes, back in town in half an hour, and the land’ll be ours for next to nothing. So get off your arses and let’s do it, before the day gets too old.’

  Paliakis climbed down from the van, and opened the rear doors; as he began untying the thin rope that secured the gallon containers, the morning air was filled with the stink of petrol. His sons stood behind him, watching and doubtful. Where the knots slowed him down, Paliakis cursed.

  ‘Here.’ He thrust one of the heavy containers at Pandelis, who clutched it to his chest, looking down on it with distaste. ‘Remember what I’ve said. Spread it as far as it’ll go, but work fast. Start with the house, then do the trees. If there’s enough, do the orchard behind. Take two each. Come back for the rest.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake,’ said Kylis. ‘Four’s enough. Everything’s dry as bone.’

  ‘And what will you be doing?’ asked Pandelis.

  ‘Keeping an eye out. If you hear me shout, you come running. With the containers, of course. If we have to leave fast, leave nothing behind. Now go. No. Wait. Kylis, fetch that barrow.’

  The wheelbarrow Gabrilis used for harvesting watermelons stood by the fence. Ambling over to fetch it, Kylis rubbed at his temples; the fumes from the petrol had made his headache worse. His father waited, hands on hips and sighing with impatience.

  Paliakis loaded up the barrow with six gallons of petrol.

  ‘Save you the walk back down,’ he said. ‘Now go.’

  Kylis picked up the barrow handles.

  ‘Let’s go, brother,’ he said. ‘I want to get back to bed.’

  He led the way up the path towards Gabrilis’s house, between the hives where the painted eyes watched the sky and the bees were hard at work. The load was heavy, and the muscles in Kylis’s sun-browned arms swelled with effort, his calves the same; following behind, Pandelis glanced at his own pale arms, at the flabbiness of his legs and belly, and tried to push away his resentment.

  At the house, by the verandah where the fat man had enjoyed so many hours with Gabrilis and Maria, Kylis lowered the barrow to the ground. The verandah was swept, the shutters on the windows had been closed, the plate of fish bones and the grapes Pandelis had cut were gone.

  Kylis turned the door-handle. The door was locked.

  ‘We should check inside,’ he said, ‘make sure there’s nothing of value in there.’

  Pandelis’s face soured with disapproval.

  ‘Are you thinking of committing an act of theft?’ he asked.

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes. There was something that took my eye. I meant to bring it away last time, but I left in a hurry in the end. What the hell does it matter anyway, steal it or burn it?’

  ‘It matters, fool, because stolen property can be traced.’

  Kylis laughed.

  ‘You missed your vocation, brother,’ he said. ‘You should have been a policeman.’

  ‘I might perhaps have been a policeman. If it had been allowed.’

  Kylis raised his foot, brought his leg back, and kicked at the door just below the lock. The door resisted, but at the second kick burst open.

  With reluctance, Pandelis followed Kylis inside.

  ‘Breaking and entering,’ he said. ‘Criminal damage.’

  ‘You’re mad,’ said his brother. ‘There’ll be nothing left of this place in a few minutes.’

  The room had been cleaned and tidied; the stink of stale urine had dissipated, but the unmoving air was cloying with m
ustiness, with the stagnation of disuse. The broken glass and china had been removed, the damaged icons were gone. Maria’s remaining knick-knacks and Gabrilis’s collection of curios were dusted and arranged on the mantelpiece; the fireplace was free of ash and soot, and the chamber pot no longer sat beneath the bed, whose old mattress, stripped of its sheets, lay stained and faded on the springs. On the mattress lay Gabrilis’s shotgun, and a box of cartridges, half full.

  ‘See,’ said Pandelis. ‘Nothing for your trouble.’

  But the shotgun was already in Kylis’s hands.

  ‘Just look at this,’ he said. ‘This is a good gun. A beauty.’

  ‘You can’t sell that. It’ll be traced.’

  ‘How can they trace what they don’t know exists? Anyway, I might start shooting again myself. I used to be a pretty good shot.’

  He led the way outside, and, leaning the shotgun against the barrow, dropping the cartridges by its wheel, handed a container of petrol to Pandelis.

  ‘Here’s what we’ll do,’ he said. ‘I’ll do round the house. We’ll start it here, so it’ll look more natural.’

  ‘There’s nothing natural about fires started by accelerants. The fire department aren’t as stupid as you think.’

  ‘They’re stupid enough for our purposes. It’s a long step from finding accelerants, as you call them, to pinning their use on us. You make a trail from here to the trees. If we can get those trees going, the rest will take care of itself.’

  ‘You sound like an expert in arson.’

  ‘Common sense, brother mine. Wood burns.’

  ‘Not green wood.’

  ‘Anything will burn, if it’s hot enough. For Christ’s sake. Just do it.’