Hearts of Stone

by Scarrow, Simon

  After he stowed the handle, Peter walked past the driver’s door.

  ‘Not sitting in here where there’s more shade? Gentler on the arse too.’

  Peter hesitated, wanting to travel with his friends.

  ‘Go on,’ said Eleni. ‘We can talk through the cab window.’

  ‘Yes,’ Andreas added. ‘Sit, in there.’

  Peter did as he was bid and walked round the front of the truck to take his place beside Heinrich in the tiny vibrating cab that smelt of petrol fumes and grease. As soon as the door was closed, Heinrich released the handbrake and thrust the stick into first gear. With a lurch the truck ground forward over the gravel track. Peter stuck his head out of the window to take one last look at the small valley where he had spent so much time over the last eighteen months, and then pine trees closed in on the track and cut off the view of the archaeological dig. Behind him he heard Andreas make a comment and Eleni laughed and the rest of the exchange was lost as Heinrich changed gear and accelerated up the slope. The still air of the valley was replaced with the warm rush through the open windows of the cab. Peter breathed in the familiar tang of pine and felt a brief moment of sorrow that he would not see the valley again for a long time. At least until the powers of Europe came to an understanding that allowed normal life to resume. It frustrated him that ordinary people like himself could get on well enough with those of other nations without rancour but those who held the reins of power found it so difficult to do the same.

  ‘What will you do when you get back to Berlin?’ Heinrich asked, breaking into his thoughts.

  Peter pushed the frames of his glasses up the bridge of his nose to fix them in place as the truck jolted along the track. He cleared his throat and spoke loudly.

  ‘Father has arranged a place for me at a gymnasium to finish my schooling.’

  ‘And afterwards?’

  ‘University. To study archaeology.’

  Heinrich laughed. ‘Follow in the old man’s footsteps, eh?’

  Peter winced at the disrespectful description of his father. ‘I suppose so.’

  Heinrich kept his eyes on the difficult route ahead of them, trying to steer carefully over the worst holes and bumps in the uneven track. ‘Do you like the idea?’

  Peter glanced at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You don’t have to study archaeology if you don’t want to. You could choose any subject. Or not. There are plenty of other things a man can do in Germany. Now that there’s a new government, a new future.’

  ‘Maybe, but I know what I want to study.’ There was a brief pause before he continued, ‘What about you? What will you do while the dig is delayed?’

  Heinrich shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve got a thesis to finish. But I’m not sure if I’ll bother.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I’ve had my fun here. But I’ve had enough of sweating under a hot sun, surrounded by rocks, dirt and scraps of pottery. At least for a while. I fancy some cool fresh air. I’ll be going to my family’s home in the mountains for a while. Do some skiing when winter comes. You like skiing?’

  ‘Never tried it.’

  ‘A shame. There’s no experience like it. Give it a try some time.’

  ‘Maybe . . .’

  The conversation died as the truck made its way up the slope leading out of the valley. At length the gradient eased and the track joined a more established dirt road running along the side of a hill. To the left the trees gave way to stunted growths amid the parched rock. To the right the slope fell away towards the sea and the islands of the Ionian. Far off lay the mountains of the mainland, stretching along the horizon, stark in the absence of any haze. Peter’s spirits rose, as they did every time they reached this point in the drive back to Lefkada. And he made a sudden resolution that he would return to the island, to this very place, whatever his future held in store for him.

  ‘I shall miss this . . .’

  ‘Really?’ Heinrich shrugged. ‘It’s a all a bit too primitive for my taste. Take this road, for example. Typical of Greece. Probably hasn’t changed much since the days of Odysseus. You’ve seen what they’re doing back home. Fine new roads that cross the land from border to border. Quite a sight.’

  Peter smiled at the competing views of what constituted a spectacle. For him there was a timeless beauty to these islands rising from the sparkling Ionian Sea. A feeling that was given an added warmth by the proximity of his friends in the rear of the truck. By his closeness to Eleni. He turned and looked through the narrow window at the rear of the cab. He could see the worn wooden rail immediately behind and the dark curls of Andreas’s head. To the side were the longer tendrils of Eleni’s dark hair, flicking about in the hot air swirling round the vehicle.

  ‘All right back there?’

  Andreas shifted round and sat up, clutching the edge of the rail. A moment later Eleni joined him, grinning happily through the window. For a moment all three exchanged a glance and then Andreas laughed spontaneously.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Peter.

  ‘Nothing.’ Andreas reached forward and shook his shoulder. ‘Nothing at all! Just this. Just us being together now.’

  Chapter Six

  Peter had washed and changed by the time his father returned from the excavation site. He was sitting on the balcony of the hired villa, a single-storey structure next to the sea, on the edge of the small town of Lefkada. There were four private rooms as well as a large formal room, used as the expedition’s office, and a kitchen where a local woman prepared meals for the Germans. A handful of outbuildings stood a short distance from the villa. The largest and most secure was where the tools and finds were stored.

  The sound of singing came from within as Heinrich prepared himself for the dinner appointment with Andreas’s father. Karl Muller climbed the short staircase to the balcony and paused to take his hat off and mop his brow as he admired the view. The villa was in the shadow of the hill the local people called Vouno. The peaks on the mainland were bathed in the red glow of the setting sun and heat was just starting to fade from the air as insects buzzed and whined through the dusk. He glanced at his son and turned to stare out across the sea, both sharing the moment in contemplative silence. Then, with a sigh, he paced along the balcony and sat on the wicker chair beside Peter. His son poured him a glass of water from the jug and handed it to him.

  ‘Thank you.’ Dr Muller smiled gratefully and raised the glass and steadily drained it before setting it down on the small table between them. ‘I needed that.’

  He settled into the chair before he continued. ‘I went into town before I came back. I had to send a last report to the university. There was a telegram waiting for me. All the travel arrangements are confirmed. There’s a train from Rimini to Vienna, and another from there to Munich. We’ll be leaving on the ferry from here the day after tomorrow.’

  Peter’s stomach lurched. ‘So soon?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘There’s not much time then.’

  Karl stroked his jaw wearily. ‘There always is too little time, my boy. You will come to appreciate that later in life. For now, enjoy the pace that is granted to youth. Later the years will rush past. As they have for me ever since you were born.’

  He glanced at his son and smiled fondly to himself.

  Peter brushed the words aside. In two days he would have left the island where he had begun to feel at home. This villa with its extraordinary views, the islanders and most of all his two friends. He could already picture himself on the deck of the ferry, gazing forlornly over its creamy wake at the receding outline of Lefkas. It would all go too fast, leaving him only memories. It already felt like a bereavement.

  ‘Will we be coming back?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘When?’

  His father shook his head sadly. ‘That is out of my hands, Peter. It will be decided by wiser heads than mine. I’m sure Herr Hitler and his ministers will find a peaceful way out of the crisis. He’s pr
oved himself adept at handling these things before now.’

  Peter did not reply. He had only the vaguest grasp of politics and diplomacy. He was not really interested in such affairs. They did not yet impinge on him, and there were more pressing things to consider.

  His father fished his watch out of the fob of his linen waistcoat and arched an eyebrow before easing himself up on to his feet. ‘I’d better get ready. Katarides is expecting us by seven.’

  He stretched his back and then walked into the villa, leaving his son alone with his regrets.

  The poet’s house was on a steep hill overlooking the town and the sea beyond. During the winter a stream flowed close by, filling the cisterns beneath the house, thereby providing a ready supply of water when the stream dried out in the summer months. Dr Muller drove through the gate and down the small drive to the house with headlights on as the last of the light faded from the sky. Even though Spyridon Katarides had been ostracised by his family, the stipend they had deigned to pay him provided him with enough to live comfortably compared to the majority of the islanders. The house was a neat two-storey building, painted white and blue. It sat in a large garden that had once been carefully cultivated but had been left to grow wild in the main. A wizened old retainer struggled to keep nature at bay when he was not catering to the needs of his master and Andreas. His wife, equally antique, served as cook and maid to the Katarides household.

  At the sound of the car the front door opened and Katarides appeared, framed by the light from within. The poet was a slender man with dark features and a finely trimmed beard that lined his jaw. He came out to greet them with a warm smile as they climbed out.

  ‘Herr Doktor. Good to see you and your son, as always.’ He paused very briefly and nodded to Heinrich. ‘And you of course, Herr Steiner. Andreas says you are abandoning your dig on the island.’

  ‘For a while, yes.’ Muller sighed. ‘I hope to be able to return before too long.’

  ‘Good, good. Please come inside.’ Katarides waved them ahead of him. The door led into a hall with a tiled floor, furnished with a number of cabinets, one of which contained a selection of shotguns and a rifle. A door at the back gave out on to a large terrace that seemed to hang above the town below, now a sprawl of lights in the darkness. The loud voice of Eleni’s father, the island’s chief of police, came to their ears. Demetrius Thesskoudis was a short, corpulent man with thinning hair, oiled and carefully combed across his scalp. He was standing with his back to the stone balustrade, facing the table where his wife, daughter and Andreas were sitting. A single electric light provided the illumination. Already it was surrounded by a halo of insects. The policeman was regaling them with a tale about an incompetent pickpocket who had been arrested. He turned as his host and the last of the guests emerged from the house.

  ‘Ah, there’re our German friends!’ He strode clumsily across the terrace and grasped Dr Muller’s hand and shook it effusively, before doing the same to Heinrich. He gave Peter a cheery pat on the cheek.

  ‘I hear you’ll be leaving us in a few days.’

  Peter exchanged a glance with his father as he replied. ‘The day after tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s too soon. We shall miss you, eh?’

  Dr Muller smiled and then he reached inside his jacket and took out a small envelope and handed it Eleni. ‘You wanted this.’

  She opened the envelope and took out the photograph. Eleni stared at it for a moment before showing it to her parents and then replacing it in the envelope. ‘Thank you, Herr Doktor. I shall treasure it. It will be good to be reminded of my friend.’ She flashed a smile at Peter. ‘He has taught me so much.’

  Katarides gently steered his guests towards the table that had been set on the terrace. The three Germans sat opposite those already seated while Katarides took his place at the head of the table and Thesskoudis sat at the other end. As they settled, the cicadas began to shrill in the surrounding garden.

  ‘It seems that this has turned out to be a farewell feast.’ Katarides smiled ruefully. ‘A pity. Especially as I have arranged a treat for you all. But more of that later. I shall miss you, Herr Doktor. There are too few learned people on this island, and this table holds those that are,’ he added smoothly for the benefit of Thesskoudis. The policeman’s wife, sitting between Eleni and Andreas, smiled discreetly for an instant.

  ‘We’ll be sorry to leave. Peter and I have become very fond of the island. And young Heinrich too, I expect.’

  His assistant made a show of seeming to agree with the sentiment. ‘Of course. Although I am looking forward to returning to Germany.’

  Their host folded his hands together. ‘May we expect to see you again, Herr Steiner? Once Europe’s statesmen have returned to their senses.’

  ‘Hard to say, sir. I have learned much from my time here. Perhaps I need new experiences. New horizons. Germany offers many opportunities to young men with ambitions.’

  ‘That is what we have been led to believe. I am sure you are right to pursue a future in your homeland. There is little that Lefkas can offer a man like yourself, once you have exhausted your curiosity in the fragments of past ages. Young men should revel in more spiritual delights. They are creatures of flesh and blood after all.’

  ‘Aren’t we all?’ Thesskoudis intervened with a wink. ‘It’s just that we lose the urge to act on it as we grow old, fat and content.’

  ‘I’ve often wondered about that . . .’ his wife said quietly.

  Peter had met her on several occasions and found her to be a dour, firmly built woman of few words. He was surprised at her flash of humour.

  Beside her Andreas met Peter’s gaze and both struggled to hide their smiles. The policeman could not help picking up on his wife’s comment and he frowned at her for a moment before his irrepressible good humour caused the severe expression to crumble and he laughed. Husband and wife exchanged a brief smile before Thesskoudis turned his attention to Heinrich.

  ‘A word of advice, young man. Never marry for love. That is the swiftest road to living under a tyranny. That was my mistake, and now I am enslaved.’

  His wife glared at him. ‘Enslaved! Hah!’

  This time everyone around the table chuckled and the atmosphere lightened. The poet’s servant appeared, dressed in plain black trousers and a white shirt, and placed two decanters of wine on the table before pouring glasses for the adults. Then he looked questioningly at his master. Katarides gave a nod and the servant half filled the glasses of the younger guests before disappearing back into the house. The host raised his glass and proposed the toast.

  ‘To friendship. To happy marriage. To knowledge. To beauty and art. I think that defines us all.’

  The others raised their glasses and then drank.

  It was late in the evening before the last of the dessert dishes had been cleared away by the servant and his wife. A bottle of raki had been left on the table and Thesskoudis reached for it and turned the label towards the light as he read.

  ‘Ah, the good stuff. From Crete. Where the best raki comes from.’

  The poet smiled at the compliment. ‘You have family there, I believe.’

  ‘Indeed. My father was born there, before he was sent to school in Athens.’ Thesskoudis arched his eyebrows briefly. ‘As a result of a village feud, you understand.’

  There were nods around the table. Peter had lived among the Greeks long enough to know that feuds were common, and that no one discussed them in polite company, unless invited to.

  ‘And in Athens he joined the police and was posted to Lefkada, where I was born, grew up, and married the most beautiful woman on the island, until the birth of our daughter of course.’ He gazed at Eleni with unabashed pride and affection. ‘So I am Greek, but in my heart I am Cretan. And, as such, I know that the best raki in the whole country comes from Crete. May I?’ He nodded at the bottle.

  ‘Be my guest,’ said Katarides.

  The policeman went round the table and filled the small glasses a
nd then everyone drank. Peter had tried the fiery drink on a few occasions and did his best not to wince as it seared his throat.

  ‘Ah!’ Heinrich exclaimed. ‘This, I shall miss. How about you, Herr Doktor?’

  Peter’s father coughed lightly. ‘Yes. Quite unlike schnapps . . . Yet another reminder that the world is richer for the variety that different nations bring to it.’

  ‘There is variety, and there is quality. It is not the same thing. Some nations are destined to greatness.’

  ‘Like Germany?’ asked Andreas.

  Heinrich looked at him briefly and nodded. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘And other nations are destined to decline, no doubt.’

  ‘Of course. It is the way of things. And some nations, some races, have passed beyond decline into utter decadence.’

  Andreas’s eyes narrowed. ‘Like Greece?’

  Heinrich shook his head. ‘Not Greece. I was referring to the Jews, of course. They are so decadent that they no longer even have a country of their own, and have chosen to invest themselves in the nations of others, like parasites . . .’

  ‘Parasites, you say?’ mused Katarides. ‘Surely your Jews are merely one detail in a long history of migration? The peoples of the world are in a perpetual state of moving and mingling. Who is to say that my Greek blood does not descend from that of Persians, Phoenecians, Romans, and yes, even Jews? Who is to say that the same is not true of your German blood, my young friend?’

  ‘I am an Aryan, sir. I concede that my race is the consequence of mixed breeding in the past. But we have reached a state of primacy, if not perfection, amongst the peoples of the world. Having attained that, we dare not contaminate our bloodline with that of inferior races, least of all the Jews. And that is a view shared by every nation in Europe, and any other where the Jews have left their stain. We would be better off without them. Is it not so?’