The Messenger of Athens: A Novel (12 page)

The fat man licked a fingertip, and rubbed with it at a blemish on the trim of his right shoe.

“The false Mr. Zafiridis is not bright, but he is cunning. He is adept at making himself scarce when danger threatens. But his life here has not been comfortable. He spends a great deal of time looking over his shoulder. Chance, and Fate, are always there, ready to take a hand; and Chance is one thing in life no one can make provision for. In the end, his sins will find him out. His time will come. Sooner or later.”

Nikos frowned.

“How do you know all this?”

The fat man smiled.

“It’s quite simple. I read his mind.”

Nikos smiled back.

“It’s a good story. A very good story, in fact.”

“You could dine out on it for months, no doubt.”

“But is it true?”

The fat man shrugged.

“It may be. It may not be. You choose. After all, does it really matter, to you?”

There was a brief silence, and Nikos had the uncomfortable sense of being chastised. But his curiosity pricked again.

“So, if it’s not Mr. Zafiridis you’re after, what
is
your concern here?” he asked. “If I am allowed to inquire.”

The fat man looked out across the sea. The tiny silhouette of a ship moved slowly on the distant horizon, passing them by.

“I am here,” he said, “to protect the interests of a young lady named Irini Asimakopoulos.”

“Ah.” All animation left Nikos’s face; it fell into sadness made poignant by welling tears he tried to wipe away like tiredness.

“You knew her.”

“Irinaki mou,”
sighed Nikos. He signed the triple cross, and laid his hand over his heart. “Yes, I knew her. The dear girl was my niece.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Can I offer you a nip of something?” asked Nikos, suddenly. “Metaxa, ouzo? Whisky?”

“A small whisky, then.”

Nikos limped into the house, and for some minutes the fat man was left alone. When Nikos reappeared, he carried two tumblers and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red, three-quarters full. He slammed the glasses down on the table, unscrewed the cap from the whisky and poured out two generous measures.

He sat down, and held up his glass to the fat man.

“To Irini, God rest her,” he said.

“To Irini,” agreed the fat man. They clinked their glasses together, and drank.

“Tell me about her,” said the fat man, quietly. “I want to know how she died.”

Nikos looked at him with troubled eyes.

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“But what do you think? What does your gut tell you?”

“My gut tells me many things, none of them pleasant. My gut tells me that, on the balance of probabilities, her death was not an accident. If only because, in all the years I’ve lived here, I’ve never known anyone fall off the mountain. Not by accident. Not on foot, anyway. That idiot Stefanos from the wine shop in the harbor, he fell off it in his truck, but he was drunk at the time. And even he walked away from it. Not a mark on him.”

The fat man took another sip of the whisky, and waited until he felt the warmth of the spirit hit his chest.

“Mr. Zafiridis told me it was suicide,” he said. “Did you know that’s what they were saying?”

Nikos nodded, slowly.

“Might they be right?”

“You’re the detective.”

“But you knew her.”

“I thought I did. I knew her as a little girl. I worked abroad, for many years; when I came back, she was all grown. We’re not from here, you know. We’re from the mainland. Not far away, but far enough…”

“Far enough for what?”

“Far enough for these small minds to think us foreign. Anywhere not here is foreign to them.”

“But does that matter, if you fit in? Did she fit in?”

Nikos hesitated.

“Let me tell you my view on life. Everyone wants to be happy. Happy Ever After. But life’s not like that. We all know that. Just some people accept it better than others. Happiness is something that comes along in little bits, not in ever-afters. The day your kids are born, you’re happy. Ecstatic. Two days later, when you haven’t slept and the brat won’t stop bawling and your wife’s in tears, you’re miserable. You’re so miserable you want to throw the kid at the wall, walk out the door and never come back. But it’s too late. You can’t put them back where they came from. So you soldier on. And sure enough, the kid brings you more bits of happiness. The first time my son called me ‘Papa,’ I cried, I was in tears. Then they throw up all over you. All in all, you wouldn’t be without them, but there are sacrifices to be made. Sometimes, those sacrifices are… significant. Do you see what I’m saying? What people should be looking for is… shall I call it ‘contentment’? Knowing that, on balance, highs and lows taken into account, they’re probably better off where they are than anywhere else. Not looking over the fence all the time to see what the other guy’s got that you haven’t. That way lies heartache. Settle for what you’ve got.”

“That’s one point of view, friend,” said the fat man. “But what would happen if everyone settled for their lot in life? What about Man’s great discoveries—medicine, literature, art? Without people who refused to settle, we’d
still be thinking the world was flat and the seas awash with dragons. We’d still be waiting for some other guy to invent the wheel.”

Nikos smiled.

“Touché,”
he said. “Anyway. Irini had done things the wrong way around—married, then decided she wasn’t ready to settle. She had the idea that she could persuade Andreas the money he’d been saving for years was best spent seeing the world. He didn’t see it that way. All he wanted was a quiet life—a house of his own, a couple of kids, dinner on the table. But she was stubborn. If there was something she wanted to do, she wouldn’t give up the idea, and if there was something she didn’t want to do, she didn’t do it. She wouldn’t go to church, said it bored her. But it bores everybody, doesn’t it? Bores the pants off me. No one goes to church because they
enjoy
it. The women here go to church, it’s what they do. Gives them an interest outside the home. It’s their social club. But she wouldn’t go.”

“She wasn’t happy, then?”

“In the beginning she was. Andreas was a good match, in many ways. I wouldn’t have had her tied to anyone who wasn’t right for her. He’s a simple man, uncomplicated. He makes enough to be comfortable. He’s no debts, and he pays his bills on time. So when my sister was looking for a match for Irini, I vouched for him. My sister and I arranged the marriage together.”

“And Irini was happy with your choice?”

“She showed up at the church. I took that to mean she was happy enough.”

“Our friend Zafiridis seems to have discovered almost
nothing useful in investigating Irini’s death, but I have inferred from him that your niece was late in marrying—that she was, in fact, for these parts, almost an old maid. Was there a reason for that?”

Nikos hesitated.

“There’d been someone else,” he said at last. “Someone she’d waited for. Someone she wasted a lot of time on.”

“A broken heart, then.”

“A broken promise. He’d had her heart and all her wits some years before. But by the time he left her on the shelf, it’s my belief she cared no more for him than he did her.”

“Is it possible, then—forgive me—that Andreas was a port of last resort for her?”

Nikos studied the back of his hand; behind his knuckles was a dark, oval bruise whose origin he couldn’t remember. He rubbed at the bruise with his thumb.

“You didn’t know Irini,” he said at last, “so it’s understandable you might think that. But Irini believed that life as a spinster—and you and I both know what stigma that role carries—was preferable to life with Johnny Anybody. My sister had a man in mind for her—from a good family, wealthy and well thought of—and Irini refused to look at him. She turned him down. My sister was mortified. It caused her great embarrassment, and created a rift between her and Irini that never properly healed.” He stopped, and looked into the fat man’s face. “This is private business,” he said. “I’m telling you this because I trust you to do the best you can for my Irini.”

“You have my word on it,” said the fat man. “And you may count absolutely on my discretion.”

Nikos took a sip from his glass.

“Things got difficult,” he said. “To save face, the intended man’s family put it about that it was they who’d turned Irini down, rather than the other way around. People made up their minds she’d been putting it about. My sister blamed Irini for destroying the whole family’s reputation. And, when the rumors started flying, needless to say no other candidates stepped forward for her hand.”

“Except Andreas.”

Nikos bowed his head.

“Except Andreas. He was prepared to take my word that there was no history a man wouldn’t want in a wife. They met; they liked each other. It was hard for her at home, I know; but no, Andreas wasn’t a port of last resort. They got along. He’s straightforward, he’s uncomplicated, and very skilled in his work, and she admired that. They could have been happy ever after.”

“So if she was happy at first, what changed?”

“I really couldn’t say,” said Nikos, wearily. “Maybe nothing. That’s common enough ground for growing unhappiness, isn’t it—nothing changing?”

“Could she have been unhappy enough to commit suicide?” asked the fat man.

Nikos considered.

“I don’t think so. But what do I know? What can anybody know about another’s state of mind if they choose to hide it? But a suicidal state of mind is a hard thing to conceal. Especially here.”

“Is it true she was having an affair?”

Nikos laughed. “Well, well,” he said. “The grass hasn’t been growing under your feet.”

He picked up the whisky bottle and poured another measure into each glass.

“So is it true, Nikos?” persisted the fat man.

“There’re only two people who could ever know the answer to that question. One of them’s dead. Better ask the other.
Yammas
.”

The fat man picked up his glass and echoed the toast.

“
Yammas
. But will the other tell me the truth?”

“In his place, I wouldn’t.”

The fat man smiled, and sipped his whisky.

“What’s he like, this Theo Hatzistratis?”

“You’ve got a name, then?”

“Yes.”

“Well done. Quiet fellow. Not a womanizer. But then, what do mothers say to their daughters? Never trust the quiet ones.”

“Do you think there was anything between them?”

“Maybe. She was bored, and the Devil finds work for idle hands. And other body parts. But if she was screwing him, she did wrong. She married Andreas in good faith, promised him fidelity. Then she sees something she likes the look of and she’s off, making a fool of him. Worst thing a woman can do to a man, cuckold him. If she’d been my wife, I’d have killed her.”

The fat man raised his eyebrows.

“Figure of speech,” said Nikos.

“What about the lover? Is he married?”

“Yes, lovely wife, a good girl. They’ve got a daughter. But men get bored, don’t they? You can’t blame him. It’s different, for men.”

“Are you married, Nikos?”

“Widowed.”

“Were you faithful to your wife?”

Nikos laughed. “Me? Never! I’d find it easier now. The mind is willing, but a man’s flesh won’t comply. And I suppose you’re going to tell me I’m an old hypocrite. So I am. Hypocrisy is part of human nature. Don’t do as I do, do as I say.”

“Perhaps she and Hatzistratis cared for each other.”

“Pah!”

“You’re not a sentimental man, are you, Nikos?”

“Sentimentality is for fools.”

They were quiet for a while. The fat man looked at his watch. No bus between two and four. He had a long walk ahead of him.

“Where can I find the husband?” he asked. “And the lover?”

Nikos told him, in detail, how to find the two men.

The fat man drank down the last of his whisky, then leaned forward to press for an answer to his last question.

“How did she die, Nikos?” he asked.

“I loved her,” he said. “She was like a daughter to me. I miss her. Have another drink before you go.”

“Thank you, no. I must be on my way. But we’ll talk again.” He stood, and pushed his chair beneath the table; taking money from his jacket pocket, he laid it beside his empty glass.

“Good day to you, Nikos,” he said, and turned to walk away.

But the old man grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and held him back.

“I’m going to tell you something,” he said, quietly, “but you didn’t get it from me.”

“You may rely absolutely on my discretion,” said the fat man.

Nikos regarded him with uncertainty; but the fat man held his eyes with his own.

“Trust me,” he said. “You must, for Irini’s sake.”

Nikos turned his head to left and right, scanning the seafront and the pathway to his house for unwelcome listeners, for witnesses to his given confidences. There was no one.