Moments later they were alone on the quay; the people who had come off the ferry had disappeared into the town, and the crew had gone inside the boat where they were no doubt settling down for the night before their departure in the morning.
The two men set off along the quay, Stratton looking for any sign of a restaurant and Gabriel walking alongside him like a pet with little interest in anything.
Up ahead, where the quay began to bend away to the right, there was what appeared to be a restaurant. A candlelit table was set out in the open, taking up practically the entire width of the narrow quay, and several people sat around it. Two barbecues were on the go with fish and chunks of lamb sizzling on the grills, and the table was adorned with various dishes as well as bottles of wine. Several men and a woman were drinking while conversing but as Stratton and Gabriel approached, they all stopped to look at them.
As Stratton and Gabriel tried to identify the appropriate person to ask about dinner, one of the men, a portly, gypsy-like character with every year of his long life etched into his craggy face, said something to them in Greek.
‘Anyone speak English?’ Stratton asked.
‘English,’ the same man said, appearing surprised but oozing confidence. ‘You just come off the ferry?’
‘Yes,’ Stratton said.‘We were wondering if we could get a meal here.’
The man looked at one of the others across the table as if to refer the question to him, then looked back at Stratton and produced a smile. ‘There are no restaurants open tonight, but you can join us if you like.’
‘That’s very kind,’ Stratton said. ‘But we wouldn’t want to intrude.’
‘No intrusion,’ the man said, looking around at the other men for their opinions, neither of whom appeared to have any. ‘You will be our guests. I am the Mayor of Kastellorizo,’ he continued, not getting up or offering a hand. He then said something to one of the staff tending the barbecue who immediately went into the building and returned with two chairs.
‘This is my wife,’ the mayor said, introducing the short, ample woman at his side. ‘She does not speak English, although she understands it.’
As Stratton and Gabriel nodded hello, the next person was introduced as the island’s lawyer who lived most of the time in Athens and happened to be on one of his frequent business trips to the island. Beside him was a Greek Orthodox priest who did not speak English and looked quite trashed unless he had some kind of debilitating illness that caused slow blinking and a lack of co-ordination when bringing his glass to his mouth. The man across the table, who the mayor had first sought approval from for inviting the surprise visitors, introduced himself as the restaurant owner, which was becoming obvious since he was directing the staff in a familiar and harsh manner.
The remaining two men were in uniform, one the island’s immigrations and customs officer who did not speak very much English, the other a Greek army captain who commanded the island’s small garrison, which turned out to be no more than a dozen men. He appeared feminine in his deportment whereas the others were brusque and rural, except the lawyer who had a modicum of refinement. His uniform was immaculate as was his hair and moustache and he sat cross-legged most of the time, smoking a cigarette from a silver cigarette holder.
Gabriel was seated beside the mayor’s wife with the customs officer on his other side who was stuck in conversation with the drunken priest. Stratton’s chair was placed between the army captain and the lawyer and, when asked, introduced himself as Gabriel’s assistant who in turn explained briefly that he was a geology lecturer from Stanford University. None of the others appeared to be interested in geology, certainly not enough to question them further although the lawyer said something in Greek that Stratton had the feeling was about him.
The early small talk covered the weather, fishing and the poor tourist trade, with the locals taking the opportunity to vent their disappointment at the drop in visitors the past few years, some of the blame being heaped on the Turks’ apparent ambitions for the island. As the barbecued fish was served, Stratton asked why the island had so many homes and so few people, a question he expected would have a simple explanation. He was not prepared for the can of worms he opened.
‘We are the cowards,’ the mayor announced as if it were their group title. ‘All of us.’
No one verbally disagreed with him although there were some looks that suggested there was more to the comment.
‘We are the ones who ran away,’ he elaborated.
‘Forgive me, Captain, I did not mean to include you. The captain is an honoured guest from the army and not from the island.’
The captain smiled slightly, nodding forgiveness, then delicately brushed an imaginary piece of dust from his sleeve and cleared his throat.
Gabriel was staring at the mayor, which the Greek took for inquisitiveness.
‘Before the war . . .’ the mayor said, pausing to drain a glass of wine, ‘the last one, the Second World’s War. Before that war this island was seventeen thousand people.’
‘Less,’ the lawyer interrupted with the perfunctory certainty of someone who has the answer to everything. ‘The First World War there was seventeen thousand people perhaps, but there was less by the Second World War.’
‘Okay,’ the mayor shrugged, indifferent to the actual figures. ‘Fifteen thousand then.’
‘Maybe less,’ the lawyer interrupted again, much to the irritation of the mayor who tried not to let it show.
‘It doesn’t really matter,’ the mayor went on. ‘My point is there were thousands,’ he said, pausing to look at the lawyer in case he had another comment to make. ‘The Germans were coming and so the British sent some ships to take the people away. Everyone left the island. Every member of every family carrying what they could.’
‘And then there was the fire,’ the restaurant owner said.
‘I was getting to that,’ the mayor said. ‘A fire spread through the town destroying almost all of it.’
‘A fire started by the British,’ the lawyer added.
‘No one knows that for sure,’ the mayor corrected, smiling at Stratton, his defence of the British a little obvious.
‘They robbed the island first, don’t forget,’ the lawyer said.
‘Rumours,’ the mayor scoffed. ‘There is no proof . . . Anyway, the point I am trying to make is everyone left the island.’ The mayor refilled his glass.
‘The entire island was evacuated?’ Gabriel asked. ‘Even the farmers and shepherds?’
‘All of them,’ the mayor said. ‘It was completely deserted. Everyone vowed to return as soon as the Germans were defeated.’
‘But since no one at the time believed they would be defeated, no one in fact said that,’ the lawyer added.
‘So what happened?’ Stratton asked.
‘Nothing happened,’ the lawyer said.
‘Everyone was comfortable where they were,’ the mayor said. ‘In America, Australia, England, wherever they ran away to.’
‘This was an island with occasional electricity, occasional water shortages, occasional fresh food and half a mile from the Turks who say it is theirs and one day they will come and take it,’ the lawyer expanded. ‘And nothing has changed.’
‘The Turks will never take it,’ said the restaurant owner. ‘Not while the army is here,’ he said, indicating the captain, who nodded appreciatively.
‘They will come if the population drops below one hundred and fifty people,’ the lawyer said. ‘That’s the agreement.’
‘It’s already below that figure,’ the restaurant owner argued. ‘One hundred and five is all we have.’
‘Then the Turks will come,’ the lawyer said, unconvincingly.
‘Never,’ said the restaurant owner. ‘All we have to do is bring more people back to claim their homes.’
‘Huh,’ grunted the lawyer. ‘Big chance of that. It will be the same problem. How can they prove which home belongs to whom?’
‘The land registry was burned down in the fire,’ the mayor informed Gabriel. ‘Inside was all documentation of who owned what house on the island. People have come back to try to claim their house but have no proof.’
‘There are even cases of more than one family claiming they own the same house,’ said the lawyer.
‘No one knows whose house is whose,’ the mayor added.
‘Which suits you and our fine lawyer here,’ the restaurant owner mumbled.
‘Not in front of our guests, please,’ the mayor said.
‘Why not? It doesn’t matter if the whole world knows. No one can meddle in your affairs.You have it all tied up like a neat package.’
‘It doesn’t concern anyone,’ the lawyer said.
‘What are you afraid of?’ the restaurant owner continued defiantly. ‘No one can touch you or the mayor. You have the support of Athens, as long as you don’t get too greedy.You already own a quarter of the island and you will own the rest before long.’
‘And you have done okay by it, I might add,’ the lawyer snapped, getting heated. ‘I wonder who really owned your restaurant and your vineyard before you claimed them.’
The restaurant owner felt the sting of that attack; however, he was not to be silenced yet. ‘Everyone at this table has done okay, and they might not all say it in the open but behind your back they all agree you have been too greedy.’
‘We’ve all done okay,’ the mayor said, trying to calm things. ‘Don’t ruin it for yourself.’
‘Is that some kind of threat?’ the restaurant owner asked.
‘You’re getting paranoid,’ the lawyer said.
‘Me? Paranoid! You are joking, of course. Everyone who sets foot on the island he quizzes in case they are here to claim a house,’ the restaurant owner said to Gabriel. ‘I can guarantee he is suspicious of you.You think he believes you are a university lecturer? And then they complain about the lack of tourists. What precious few we have are investigated by this man. And heaven forbid if they should hint they once had family on the island. Suddenly their water runs out or their electricity, or something happens to their baggage, like that Australian family who lost their wallets, passports and other valuables which strangely turned up on Rhodes, and you and the mayor ever so kindly bought them ferry tickets - one way tickets - to go to Rhodes to get their stuff.’
‘That’s absurd,’ the lawyer said, suddenly starting to laugh. The mayor also fought a snigger as he remembered the incident.
‘You laugh at us as if we are stupid. But not all of them are so frightened of you,’ the restaurant owner said, grinning as he nudged the customs officer and then whispered to him. They both sniggered and the restaurant owner translated what he had said for Stratton and Gabriel’s entertainment. ‘What about that crazy Russian you tried to interrogate because he was being so secretive?’ he directed at the lawyer.
The customs officer chuckled as the lawyer looked suddenly embarrassed.
‘You kept on asking him what he was doing here and he didn’t want to say,’ the restaurant owner continued, then began to mimic strangling someone. ‘Finally you asked him again what his name was and he grabbed you by the neck and threatened to break it if you didn’t leave him alone.’The restaurant owner and customs officer burst out laughing, the mayor joining them.
‘He would have crushed you like a snail if the army had not come to save you,’ the restaurant owner added, guffawing loudly.
‘And so he call army,’ the customs officer said in broken English, almost in tears.
‘Rubbish,’ the lawyer said in a red-faced huff that only caused more laughter.
‘Isn’t that right, Captain?’ the restaurant owner asked the army officer. ‘He would have stamped our great lawyer into the ground and hit him with his big piece of wood.’The laughter got even louder and the mayor’s wife joined in. It was so infectious Gabriel began to grin.
‘You should have seen this Russian,’ the mayor said to Stratton. ‘He was huge. Hands like plates. And he carried a large piece of wood everywhere.You would have to shoot him several times to stop him if he attacked you.’
‘The lawyer was right to call me,’ the captain said, quite seriously. ‘The man was a soldier and very dangerous.’
‘How do you know he was a soldier?’ the mayor said. ‘He told no one anything about himself. That’s why our lawyer thought he wanted to claim a house.’
‘Soldiers know these things,’ the captain said in a superior fashion.‘You wouldn’t understand,’ he added, glancing at Stratton in a way that suggested it was a mystery to everyone at the table but himself. ‘This man had seen war. That was why I got him to calm down. I talked to him as only a soldier can to another.’
‘Yes, and our brave lawyer ran away from the island yet again,’ the restaurant owner added.
‘But this time only for a week,’ the mayor said, raising his glass. ‘Good to see you back.’
‘But remember, don’t stay too long, the Russian is back in a few days,’ the restaurant owner added, setting everyone off laughing again.
Thoughts began to stir in Stratton’s head.The words Russian and soldier jingled some bells. He looked over at Gabriel who was grinning at the customs officer mimicking the lawyer being strangled.
‘Oh, look out,’ the mayor said as he stood up, pointing along the quay.
Everyone looked. The restaurant owner uttered some Greek expletive as he threw down his napkin.
At the far end of the quay, near the customs office where the ferry was tied alongside, a small four-wheeled dumper truck was put-putting towards them.
‘Why does Dimitri always have to drive home along the quay when we are having dinner?’ the restaurant owner said. ‘I think he does it deliberately. Come on. Grab the table,’ he ordered.
Everyone, including the cook and waiters, except Stratton, Gabriel and the mayor’s wife, grabbed an edge of the table on the restaurant side - no one on the water side.
‘Up,’ the restaurant owner said and they all lifted at once. ‘Go,’ he then commanded, and they shuffled to the edge of the quay and held the table out over the water, carefully balancing the candles and bottles of wine.