“Electric windows. Isn’t it wonderful? You look at a car like this and you think of America and the future. When Americans talk about the American dream it’s not a dream about the past. That’s the difference between the American dream and a British one, or a French one, or a Greek one. Ours is a dream that’s always about the past; and theirs is a dream that’s always about the future. A better tomorrow. Not only that but I sincerely believe they’re prepared to guarantee that future for us all, by force of arms. Without NATO we’d all be playing balalaikas.”
“Yes, that’s probably true.”
“I can assure you there are lots of American cars in Athens, sir. They’re not quite as noticeable as you think.”
“All the same I’d still like you to change it.”
“Certainly, sir.”
Garlopis was silent for a moment while he played with the electric windows some more. But after a while he changed the subject.
“Since you mentioned food,” he said, over the noise of the Rocket engine, “the best restaurant in all of Athens is Floca’s, on Venizelos Street, where they will give you a very good price if you say you are a friend of mine. You should expect to pay a maximum of twenty-five drachmas for a good lunch.”
“Another cousin of yours?”
“My brother, sir. A most talented man in the kitchen, if unlucky in life. He has a gorgon of a wife who would terrify the Colossus of Rhodes. But do not mistake Floca’s for Adam’s restaurant, which is next door. That is not a good restaurant. It pains me to say so because I have a cousin who works there also and the stories he tells me would make your hair curl with horror.”
Smiling, I pushed my elbow out the open window and tried to relax a little after the flight, although this was difficult, given the Greek’s erratic driving. I hoped we wouldn’t have need of the icon’s protection.
“You speak excellent German, Herr Garlopis.”
“My father was German, sir. From Berlin. Garlopis is my mother’s maiden name. My father came to Greece as the foreign correspondent for a German newspaper, married my mother, and stayed, at least for a while. His name was Göring, which we changed during the war for obvious reasons. My mother had eight aunts and uncles and all of those cousins of mine are on her side. You are from Germany, yes?”
“Yes. From Berlin, originally.”
“And do you travel very much, Herr Ganz?”
I thought of my recent trips to Italy, Argentina, Cuba, and the South of France, to say nothing of the eighteen months I’d spent in a Soviet POW camp, and then shook my head. “Hardly ever.”
“I’m not a well-traveled man, myself. I’ve been to head office a couple of times. And once I went to Salzburg. But there was something about Salzburg I didn’t like.”
“Oh? What was that?”
“Austrians, mainly. A cold, disagreeable people, I thought. Hitler was an Austrian, was he not?”
“We keep mentioning that in Germany, in the hope people will remember. Austrians most all, of course. But they don’t seem to.”
“I wonder why,” said Garlopis in the voice of one who didn’t wonder at all. “If I may make a polite inquiry, sir? What other languages do you speak besides German?”
I told him. “Why?”
“You’ll forgive me for saying so, sir, but finding yourself alone and in need of help it would be best in all circumstances if you were to speak English, sir. Or even French. It’s not that Germans are disliked, sir. Or that the English are popular. Far from it. It’s just that so soon after the war there are some who are jealous of West Germany’s economic miracle, sir. Who feel that our own economy has performed, shall we say, less than miraculously, sir. Indeed, that it has stagnated. Myself, I believe that Germany’s success is good for all of Europe, including Greece, no matter how unjust it might seem to those of us who suffered so horribly under the thoughtless brutality of the Nazis. Only a strong Germany can help to guarantee that Europe doesn’t become communist, as Greece almost did after the war. But please speak English whenever possible, sir. And exercise a degree of caution before admitting your true origins. To say you are Swiss would always be better than to say you are just German. After the terrible civil war we fought, Athens is not without hazards, sir, even for a Greek.”
“So I see.” I touched the large blue eye that was hanging on the end of the chain attached to the car key. “That’s for the evil eye, isn’t it?”
“It is indeed, sir. I don’t think one can be too careful in the insurance business, do you? I’m a great believer in minimizing all manner of risk.”
“And the owl?”
He looked sheepish. “The goddess Athena is often accompanied by an owl, which traditionally symbolizes knowledge and wisdom. You can’t have too much of that, can you? I have a silver coin in my pocket, a tetradrachm, that also depicts an owl, for good luck.”
“How about the icon?”
“Saint George, sir. Been looking after me and for that matter, this country, since I was born.”
I flicked my cigarette away. “So tell me about this ship that was lost. The Doris. I guess they weren’t so well prepared for disaster as you seem to be, Mr. Garlopis.”
“To business. I like that. If I may say so, this is commendably German of you. Forgive me for talking so much. That is very Greek of me. From my mother’s side.”
“Don’t apologize. I like to talk myself. That’s from my human side. But right now I just want to talk about the ship. After all, it’s the only reason I’m here.”
“As I think you know, the ship is German and so is the owner. The insured value was thirty-five thousand deutschmarks, which is two hundred and fifty thousand drachmas. Siegfried Witzel is a German diving expert who makes underwater films. One of these, The Philosopher’s Seal, was
