***
One night in early March Talya and I were eating in Psiloritis, a small restaurant specializing in powerful retsina, a group playing good Cretan music, and Cretan dancing performed by any customers who felt so inclined, when Blackbridge and Kubish came in and took a corner table nearby. When the musicians stopped briefly for a rest, and the dancers left the floor amid loud applause, Kubish walked over to us.
“One of my favorite places,” he said, nodding toward the dance floor just in front of the relaxing musicians, “but I settle for watching rather than participating when I come here. These guys are so good they make Anthony Quinn look like he was made out of stone. How are you? I won’t interrupt -- Jon and I just stopped in for a drink -- wanted to know if you two would like to go out on the Gachoucha tomorrow? Supposed to be a nice day -- maybe a little cool but they’re predicting sunshine -- Jon and I will be at the dock about noon and we could meet you there. Just bring sweaters and maybe a light jacket in case they’re wrong. How does it sound?”
“Sounds fine to me,” Talya said.
“Okay with me also,” I said, “but I can’t get there until about one o’clock.”
“No problem, we’ll say one o’clock. We’ll see you then. Enjoy your dinner -- and the dancing.” He went back to his table and as he sat down Jon looked our way and waved. By the time the music started up again they had paid their bill and left.
The next day was clear and cool and very sunny, a fine early spring day for sailing with a brisk wind and a very light chop on the bay. Once we’d cleared the marina Kubish let Talya take the wheel and he went below for a few minutes and returned with some sandwiches and a cold white wine for the four of us. I asked Blackbridge if Washington was worried about the recent disturbance outside the American airbase near Heraklion on Crete.
“Quite worried, as matter of fact. Our best estimate is that the opposition to Greece allowing us to stay on there once the present agreement runs out -- that will be on June 1 -- has more than doubled since last December, maybe even tripled. We think there is a great deal of outside agitation as well, mainly from the Soviets and even some of the Arabs, but there are enough Greeks opposing our presence there to make renewal a very sensitive issue. I don’t think our people in Athens are very happy about how things are developing. We know there are going to be demonstrations against our keeping the bases as the deadline gets closer, but right now we’re not sure where they’ll take place or who is actually behind them. I doubt that Karamanlis will actually kick us out, but if we don’t anticipate some of the more visible opposition and play it down it could be very embarrassing.”
“Do you think there’ll be any trouble up here in Thessaloniki?” Talya asked him.
“Well, the university is the logical focal point for any demonstrations, that and maybe the joint communications training center out in Karabounaki. Whatever happens up here, though, we can be sure it will be orchestrated from somewhere in the university; as I’m sure you’re aware, that place has a reputation for activism of all kinds and I doubt that this issue will be passed up. It’s too good a chance for some would-be young politicians to ignore.”
I thought of Ron Jackson asking me to keep my eyes open at work and wondered for a moment if Blackbridge was going to make the same request of me, but he didn’t and after a few minutes he went forward and stretched out in the sun, saying how much he enjoyed getting out of the office these days. Talya remained at the wheel and Kubish handed me some more wine, settling his large frame in the well opposite me. He turned to Talya and started talking about the history of his boat and the plans he had for enlarging the galley and for the rest of our brief outing he kept our three-way conversation away from any serious subjects.
At the university a few days later I decided to make another effort to get to know Pappas a little better. I was waiting for him as he came out of his large undergraduate linguistics lecture with Cassandra at his side, the two of them carrying stacks of blue examination booklets and apparently engaged in a heated discussion about something.
“Excuse me, Niko, sorry to interrupt,” I said, nodding and smiling at Cassandra as well, “but I was wondering if you had time for a cup of coffee?”
I was about to include Cassandra when I saw the look of anger she directed at him as they concluded whatever they had been saying to each other and I decided against it.
“A good idea,” Pappas said, “just allow me to deposit these in my office and I’ll meet you down in the cafeteria in five minutes.”
“Fine. I’ll get us a table.”
He and Cassandra moved off in the direction of his office. About ten minutes later he joined me in the students’ cafeteria, looking a little apologetic as he set his coffee cup down and took the chair I’d reserved for him by leaning it at an angle against the formica-topped table.
“Sorry it took so long. As I’m sure you could tell, Cassandra and I were having a small argument and she insisted we finish it before I join you. She is a very strong-willed woman.”
“Yes, I noticed. I also hear that she’s an excellent teaching assistant -- her students seem to have a great deal of respect for her.”
“Quite true. In my course she is invaluable, although at times we differ quite drastically about approach. She is young and enthusiastic and she believes in presenting the material aggressively, and in what she would call its full social context. I’m afraid my penchant for caution and what I would call intelligent compromise are a function of my age and that often frustrates her.”
“Do you ever have her give the lectures in the course or does she just do the grading?”
“She gives one of the lectures every month or so -- I think the assistants should be doing more teaching and less grading, if that is what you’re asking me. Most of them are quite good, you know.”
“Yes, I know, and I was curious about your views on how the department should be run. Not that it’s really any of my business, of course, but I can’t help feeling that a great deal of potential is going to waste in the department.”
“Well, I imagine the department will survive whether it is Christos or myself who gets the chair and thus heads the enterprise, but I believe you are correct about the waste. More important, perhaps, is the intellectual tone of the whole endeavor. I think it would be to everyone’s advantage -- the students, the staff, the university as well as the nation as a whole -- if our standards were made substantially more rigorous, and I mean for both faculty and students. Only a small percentage of those who apply can be given a space in the universities in our country -- I think it’s about fifteen percent -- but once admitted it is almost impossible now to be dismissed for academic failure. That’s why we have students who are in their thirties and forties, still without a degree, using their student status as a base from which to launch political careers of various persuasions. We have a long history here of such a condition; I think it would be worth trying to change it.”
“Isn’t it true, though, that some of the most liberalizing reforms in modern Greek history -- particularly in very recent times -- have first found their voice here in Thessaloniki? It would be a shame to do away with such a forum, wouldn’t it?”
“Not do away with it; just make access to it a function of merit and real talent, political or otherwise, rather than unearned influence or patronage. I think reform in our country is once again in the air, but I would like it to be well thought out and lasting -- for a change.”
As he talked he became more animated, using his hands freely in the tradition of most Mediterranean people, and I noticed for the first time the slight graying at the edges of his back curly hair. His face was remarkably unlined, almost peaceful. I could see why some people might want him to be their guru.
“Are students as politically active in your country as they are at this university?” he asked, lowering his voice only slightly as the table next to us filled with students who obviously recognized us both.
“Sometimes they are, for relatively brief periods, but in general they don’t use the universities as political springboards the way the students do here. The sixties and very early seventies were probably the exception -- since Vietnam wound down for us the campus activism of those years has dwindled drastically. And even then it wasn’t the same as here -- it isn’t a way of life for most of our undergraduates as it is for so many here in Thessaloniki.
“Do you think there’ll be demonstrations among our students here to pressure Athens to get rid of the U.S. bases this year?” I asked.
He slowly finished his coffee before replying.
“There is considerable talk about such a possibility. I’m sure Theo can tell you as much about it as I can -- he has many friends among the most outspoken of our students. Many people, especially among the young, see the bases as an insult to us. They know it is a volatile issue and with the renewal deadline only about three months away it is an issue that can be used by ambitious people to make themselves highly visible.
“What do you think about the bases? I imagine any demonstrations against them would be an embarrassment for your government as well as for some of our own people down in Athens.”
He seemed genuinely interested so I told him what I thought.
“I doubt that I would be overjoyed to have Greek airbases in the United States, even if they were ostensibly in support of an important NATO commitment.”
“Not overjoyed, perhaps, but you might come to the conclusion that they were a necessary evil, given the international state of affairs these days?”
“Perhaps, but not with much pleasure.”
“A commodity not taken into account too often of late. I’m afraid pragmatism rules the world scene today -- if it works, use it. A very American notion, is it not?”
“Hardly, Niko. It was around long before America came into being. We may be answerable for many things, but I don’t think that is one of them.”
I would have liked to continue our conversation but he said he had to get back to all those blue books. We walked upstairs together as I turned off to go to my office. I realized that I still didn’t know a great deal about him; my instinct told me he’d be better for the department than Vanidis, but that’s about all I was sure of when it came to the enigmatic Mr. Pappas.
The Shadow Knows Page 12