by Phil Swann
Ben slowed to make sure he wouldn’t lose the car. When he approached the service road, he switched on his signal and made the turn, giving the driver behind him every opportunity to see where he was going. Once on the service road, however, Ben floored it. It was just after dusk, and though there was plenty of light left in the sky on the main highway, the heavy foliage along the remote river road rendered the area almost completely dark. Ben turned on his high beams and drove hard for a good two minutes. After going around a sharp horseshoe turn, he slammed on the brakes, turned off the engine, and got out of the car. He popped the trunk and took out a tire iron. Then he waited. Was the car going to come careening around the turn and crash into his car? There was a part of Ben that prayed it would.
He didn’t have to wait long for the answer. In less than a minute Ben saw the headlights bouncing off the branches of the pine trees as the car steered into the horseshoe turn. Ben readied himself for the collision that was bound to happen. But the car came out of the turn not traveling nearly as fast as Ben had anticipated. It was close, but the driver was able to lock up his brakes before hitting Ben’s car. Still, Ben got the result he wanted. The car was stopped, and Ben was ready to do some damage.
He started with the headlights. Ben swung the tire iron like a wild animal, pulverizing each light before moving onto the next. Then he went at the hood of the car until there was not an inch of it that had not been pummeled. It wasn’t until he started going for the windshield that he looked in the car to see the driver. When he did, it stopped him cold. It wasn’t a straggly young photographer like he’d expected it to be but a distinguished older looking man. Actually, the man could be described as elderly.
Ben flung open the driver’s door. The petrified man held up his hands. “Please, I have no weapon, and I mean you no harm, Benjamin.”
“Who the hell are you? Why are you following me?” Ben shouted.
“I am a friend.”
“I don’t know you.”
“I mean to say, I was a friend of your father and mother…and your brother. Even you once, Benjamin, though you were very young at the time.”
Ben was still breathing hard. He didn’t know what to make of the strange old man and what he was saying. “You knew my family?”
“Yes! Very well.”
“What’s your name?”
“Baros. Timon Baros. And I’d very much like to speak with you.”
Chapter Nine
Timon Baros sat quietly at a cluttered breakfast table with his hands folded in his lap. If the old man was flustered by the events of the past hour, he didn’t show it.
Ben entered the kitchen holding a cell phone. “The rental company is picking up your car and towing it back to their lot,” Ben said, putting his cell on the table. “I told them it’d been vandalized in front of my house.”
“And they believed you?” Timon asked.
“After I told them who I was, they had no problem believing someone would vandalize a car parked in front of my house.”
“I see. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” Ben responded, sitting down across from Timon. Ben made no attempt to help his guest feel at ease as he stared at the old man. The silence would have been painfully uncomfortable for most, but Timon didn’t appear the least bit rattled.
“You have a lovely home,” Timon said, finally breaking the silence.
“Used to be,” Ben said, his voice flat and cold.
The old man looked as out of place in Ben’s unkempt kitchen as a headmaster at a rodeo. He wore a dark wool three-piece suit replete with bow tie. Ben noticed Baros’ skin was dark and heavily wrinkled, but his eyes were sharp and his teeth extra white.
Timon said, “Allow me to congratulate you, Benjamin, on all your success in music. Your family must have been quite proud.”
“Dad was dead before I had done anything, my brother couldn’t have given a crap, and Mom…sort of. At any rate, that’s all over now.”
There was another extended silence as Ben tried to place the old man’s accent. He spoke excellent English, but it sounded too excellent. It reminded him of the overly brilliant non-English speaking students he’d known at Oxford. They learned English phonetically, and it always came out sounding both perfect and wrong at the same time. This time, Ben broke the silent standoff. “I’d offer you a drink, but the well’s a bit dry. I was on my way to restock when I noticed someone following me.”
“No need, I brought my own,” Timon said, pulling a silver flask from his jacket. “May I offer you a nip?”
“Well, well, a man after my own heart. I might have misjudged you after all, Mr. Baros,” Ben said, taking the flask.
“Timon, please.”
Ben unscrewed the cap, took a swig, and made a face. “Jesus, what the hell is this stuff?”
“Ouzo. Is it not to your liking?”
“No, it’ll do the trick,” Ben answered. “Just took me by surprise, that’s all. Besides, never look a gift horse in the mouth.” Ben toasted the flask and took another drink.
Timon smiled slightly.
Ben pulled the flask from his lips, contorted his face, and swallowed hard. “So why the hell were you following me, Mr. Baros?”
“Timon, please.”
“Not yet. Why were you following me?”
“Nothing nefarious, I assure you. As I said, I simply needed to speak with you. Your house is quite the fortress, and there is no phone listing for you anywhere. I asked a young friend if he could find you through the email, but had no luck there either. Therefore, I was hoping to initiate an introduction when you went out and about. Obviously, my plan was flawed.”
“Yeah, I don’t get out and about much these days.”
“Indeed.”
Ben studied the old man a bit more. “Okay, we’ll go with that story for now. Perhaps I overreacted. I’ve been somewhat…under scrutiny these days. You might have read about it?”
“Yes, I am very sorry about the tragic loss of your brother. He was a great man.”
Ben turned away. Even after a year and a half, any mention of Tom’s murder tore at him, the guilt still ever present. But he wasn’t about to show that to this guy. He forced a laugh. “I thought you said you knew him, Baros? Watch it, I’m starting to doubt your story again.”
“He was a great man,” Baros shot back, his voice becoming hard, his posture stiffening. “A man of excellent character. You should not disrespect his memory.”
The sudden change in Baros’ demeanor took Ben aback. For the first time he saw something other than a kindly old gentleman. Mr. Baros had an edge. He decided to let the subject drop. “So you say you knew my family. Funny, I don't recall them ever mentioning you. Also, I have a pretty good memory for faces, yours isn’t the least bit familiar.”
“I’m not from your lovely city, as you might have guessed,” Timon said, returning to his easy and proper charm.
“Yeah, the rental car kind of gave that away. So where are you from?”
“Greece.”
“You’re saying you knew my parents in Greece?” Ben stated more than asked.
“Yes. Before you and your brother were even a sparkle in their eye.”
“I see. And what do you do in Greece?”
“I’m retired. Benjamin, why do I have the feeling I’m being, what’s the word…?”
“Interrogated?” Ben interrupted.
“Yes. I guess that is the word, interrogated.”
“Because you are. You see, I’m still deciding if I should talk to you or not. An old family friend who just wants to chat? Really? Pretty convenient, don’t you think?”
“But I am. And I do just want to…chat.”
“So you say.”
“You’re a suspicious man, Benjamin,” Timon said, taking the flask from Ben.
“You have no idea, Timon,” Ben replied, taking the flask back. “That’s why before we convo, you’re going to need to convince me you’re my long lost ol’ Uncle Timo
n. Otherwise, I’m going to toss you and your polite ass out of what’s left of my house.”
Timon Baros stifled a chuckle with a resigned smile.
Ben smiled back. He still wasn’t sure about the man named Timon Baros, but had to admit he did rather enjoy him. He considered this was probably more a commentary on his own extraordinarily isolated existence over the past several months than about the man himself.
“Okay, Benjamin, as you wish. You were born Benjamin Derrick Lambros, second son to Nikolai Milo Lambros and Antonia Katrina Gabris. Your parents were born and raised in Athens. Your father was a young officer in the Greek military, and your mother was a brilliant musician. They immigrated to America shortly after they were married. Your father became an agricultural engineer for the United States government. Antonia, bless her sainted heart, became a mother, giving birth to your brother two years after arriving on these shores. How am I doing thus far, Benjamin?”
Ben sat back in his chair. “Not bad. One problem: everything you just told me anyone could have gotten from a simple Internet search. No, Mr. Baros, I’m afraid it’s going to require more than a general biography of the Lambros brood to prove your bona fides.”
Again, Timon smiled. He reached in his pocket, removed a small photograph, and handed it to Ben. “Tell me, who do you see in this picture?”
Ben looked at the old photograph but showed no emotion. “I see my father, mother and my brother, who looks to be about five years old. Also, my mother is holding a baby who looks like it could be me.”
“Quite correct. And who else do you see?”
“I see a man standing with us who looks like a younger version of you, though this fellow is much better looking. You know, Baros, you might want to try a good moisturizer. You’re not aging well.”
This actually caused Timon to laugh out loud. “Thank you, Benjamin, I’ll take that under advisement.”
Ben grinned and took another swig from the flask.
“Then it’s settled? You now believe I am who I say I am?”
“Not quite yet,” Ben said, handing the picture back to Timon. “You could have gotten that picture from a dozen different places.”
“But I’m in it. You said so yourself.”
“Yes, you are. It’s called Photoshop. Now, I don’t expect a man of your years to know what the hell Photoshop is, but I do. Bottom line is that picture could be a fake, and you could still be a very crafty journalist. Sorry, still no sell. What else you got?”
Timon got quiet and dropped his head. When he spoke, it was more to the floor than directly to Ben. “When you were two years old, you were anemic and almost died. You required a full blood transfusion, but you were of such rare blood type, AB negative, there was a problem finding donors. As luck would have it, I am AB negative.”
Ben’s eyes widened. “You mean you—”
“There’s also this,” Timon continued. “You and your brother were not the only Lambros offspring. You had a sister. She died in your mother’s arms shortly after birth. Your mother named her—”
“Mia.” Ben whispered. “Okay, that’s enough.” Ben got up from his chair and walked to the sink, filled an empty cup with water, and drank. He looked out the window as he spoke. “I couldn’t have been more than five or six years old. I don’t remember much except for the longest time Mom was always sad. It was a rough period.”
“Yes, it was. It nearly killed your father.”
Ben grunted. “Really? I never saw that.”
“Perhaps you weren’t looking,” Timon replied.
Ben looked back at Timon but said nothing.
Timon continued. “Your father and I served together as young officers in the Greek army until the right-wing coup of sixty-seven. Many of my countrymen fled when Papadopoulos took over our country. By the time the junta collapsed and it was safe to return, most had already built successful lives elsewhere, like your father and mother.”
“But you stayed.”
“Yes. I stayed to fight the good fight. I was so very young back then.” The old man's eyes grew sad, and his voice weakened.
Ben’s voice softened too. “My parents never talked much about their life before coming to America. Over the years I've looked through pictures, journals, anything I could find that might shed some light on that time in their lives but…nothing.”
“Would you like to know more, Benjamin? I think I could fill in some blanks, as they say,” Timon asked, his eyes locking on Ben’s.
Everything inside Ben wanted to say yes. He had always wondered about his parents’ life before he and Tom came along. But everything inside him knew he needed to say no. His family was now a part of the past, along with his career, his life in Nashville, and, save for Paul, all of his so-called friends. If it was one thing Ben knew for sure, it was he needed to start letting go of the past and begin concentrating on building some kind of future. “No,” Ben answered. “I don’t think I do. That’s all ancient history. I’ve got problems in the present to deal with.”
Timon nodded. “I’ve very sorry to hear that, Benjamin.”
“It’s not that I’m not curious. It’s just I think at this point in my life I need to—”
“What if I were to tell you I know why your brother was killed? What if I were to say you being in the room when it happened was not a coincidence?”
The blood rushed from Ben’s head. “What did you say?”
“You heard me, Benjamin,” Timon responded, staring directly into Ben’s eyes. “I know why your brother was killed. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I need to speak to you. Now, are you interested in hearing some…ancient history?”
Chapter Ten
Ben felt as if he’d been flung into a black hole, forced back into a reality that both existed but at the same time didn’t. He’d gone to great pains to wipe away the nightmare of that entire day, meticulously programming his brain to change channels anytime he felt himself starting to relive even a single moment of it. Now, with just a few words by this odd old man in his kitchen, everything about that day flashed like lightning in his head: the people on the street, the smell of the hotel lobby, the size of the room, the blood, the look on Tom’s face, it all came back.
“What the hell do you know, Baros?”
Timon Baros stood. Ben assumed he too was going to the sink but instead walked to the opposite corner of the kitchen and stood silent for a moment with his back to Ben. When he turned to speak, his face was fallen and his eyes looked sad, but somehow strangely determined too. “I know the official explanation of your brother’s murder is wrong. I know it wasn’t a random act of violence by a madman. I know you being in that room was neither coincidence nor bad luck. I know your brother contacted me only days before his death.”
“Tom contacted you?” Ben replied, trying to remember to breathe.
“Your brother and I had been close for years, Benjamin. I considered him a friend.”
“What did he want? Did he think someone was going to kill him?”
“No, nothing like that.” Timon paused again. “We had been working on…a project. A project I began with your father many years ago.”
Ben slammed his fist on the table and stood. “Damn it, Baros, enough! Enough cryptic bullshit. What the hell’s going on? My brother’s dead, my life is in ruins, and you walk in here and say you have the answers to why it all happened. So stop the fucking tap dance and get to the point. What the hell are you talking about?”
Timon didn’t react to Ben’s sudden outburst. He simply nodded, walked over to Ben, and put his hand on his shoulder, encouraging Ben to sit down again. “I will explain everything. But I need you to be calm. So, please, sit down and do your best to take in what I’m about to tell you. It might be difficult for you to understand, but it’s imperative that you do.”
Ben took a deep breath and sat back down.
Timon said, “Benjamin, first let me ask you, how familiar are you with Greek history?”
Ben’s onl
y reply was a Seriously, is that what you’re asking me? look.
Timon responded, “It’s an important question and quite germane, I assure you.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “You mean like Plato and cradle of democracy stuff?”
“We don’t need to go back quite that far,” Timon answered with a small smile. “Actually, I was referring to more modern history, from say…World War II or so.”
“I watch the news. I know you guys have been having some money issues.”
“Very diplomatic of you,” Timon said. “I could make a case our financial issues can be traced back to antiquity, at very least to the Byzantines, I’ll reframe from– ”
Ben wasn’t smiling. All pleasant banter was over as far as he was concerned.
“My apologies,” Timon said, interrupting himself. He sat down across the table from Ben and took a heavy breath. “At the beginning of World War II, Greece attempted to remain neutral. My country had seen more than its share of death and destruction in the preceding years and was not eager to engage in any further military adventures. But Mussolini and Hitler made that quite impossible. The Germans overran my country in a matter of months. Afterward, a puppet regime was put into power. Its members were either ultra-conservative neophytes or ultranationalist politicos with extreme fascist leanings. Whatever they called themselves, they were pro-Hitler, pro-Mussolini, and very anti everything else. It was a very dark time. Hitler appropriated most of my country’s wealth and agriculture, and as a result there was widespread famine. Thousands perished. Benjamin, it’s important for you to understand that this is the Greece your father, mother, and I were born into. Do you understand?”
Ben nodded. “Dad would sometimes say things like, ‘people don’t know what it’s like to really be hungry.’ I never understood, but as I got older, I read stuff and eventually put two and two together. He never talked about it, though.”
“Few of us ever do.” Timon continued, “After the war, things only got worse. The country was split between pro-Stalin communist and the American-backed government that had been exiled to Egypt. To no one’s surprise the division led to civil war. That led to over one hundred thousand killed and my country an economic disaster. Over the next thirty years, Greece was trapped between the extreme leftists on one side and extreme nationalists on the other. Your father and I were among those who believed there was a sane and sensible middle.”