“Enough for someone to set a ship on fire, perhaps?”
“It’s certainly possible, yes,” admitted Garlopis. “But here your guess is as good as mine.”
“It might explain why Herr Witzel feels the need to carry a gun. It may be that he’s been threatened before.”
Garlopis nodded and stubbed out his cigarette in a Hellas pottery ashtray. “In this particular context it’s also worth mentioning that because of the civil war, the Doris was never insured against acts of terrorism. If it could be proved that the ship had been attacked for political reasons by Jewish activists, then this would certainly fall under the umbrella of war risk exclusions which, according to the terms of the policy, are considered fundamentally uninsurable.”
“And it would certainly be in Witzel’s interest to allege that the engine caught fire because of a shipyard’s negligence.”
“Exactly, sir.”
“What does the coast guard have to say about the incident? Is there any way of proving that the ship really did sink out at sea where he said it did?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
“It’s a pity we can’t speak to this Professor Buchholz, in order to corroborate Witzel’s story.”
“With that in mind, sir, after I’d been to the ministry, on Kolokotronis Street, I went just around the corner, to the Archaeological Museum and set up an appointment later on this week for us to go and see the assistant director, Dr. Lyacos. At three o’clock, to be precise.” Garlopis looked at his watch. “But while we’re in Piraeus we should certainly make time to go to Vassilenas.”
“What’s that?”
“The best restaurant in Piraeus, sir.”
“By the way, I don’t suppose you have a cousin in the Attica police; I made a note of the license plate on the car Witzel was driving.”
“No, sir. I’m afraid not.”
We went outside and walked to the Olds, where a beggar woman had taken up position, no doubt in the mistaken belief that the owner was a rich American. I knew quite a bit about being on the streets myself so I gave the woman twenty lepta and got into the car. But even the small change, which was made of aluminum, had holes in it.
“By the way,” I said, “I told you to get rid of this car, didn’t I? It’s hard to move around quietly in this thing. And it’s a magnet for beggars.”
“You’re so right, of course,” he said as we drove away. “And I will. Just as soon as my cousin is back in the office.”
“When will that be?”
“He took a couple of days off, sir. So perhaps the day after tomorrow. By the way, sir. If I could ask you not to give money to the beggars. It only encourages them. They’re Hungarians, mostly, sir. Refugees from last year’s terrible and abortive uprising. There’s plenty of work for them in Greece—picking cotton—but they won’t take it if people keep on giving them money, sir. It’s bad for them and it’s bad for us. In my opinion they’re too proud for their own good.”
“It’s only excessive pride that the gods punish, isn’t it? Hubris? Which leads to nemesis?”
“Yes, indeed, that’s quite true. And you do well to remind me of that, sir. But for my own hubris I might still be married—to Mrs. Nemesis.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what went wrong?”
“In a word, Telesilla. She’s what went wrong. She’s what always goes wrong for a man such as myself. My head was turned, sir. The wrong way, too. Nothing actually happened between her and me, you understand. But I imagined it might and, unfortunately, in a moment of sheer delusion, I led my poor wife to believe that I was enamored of Telesilla. Telesilla herself was entirely blameless and remains happily married. And she’s a very good secretary. Which is why I couldn’t bring myself to dismiss her. I mean, it would seem rather pointless now that Mrs. Garlopis is no longer au courant.” Garlopis smiled sadly. “And for you, sir? Is there a Frau Ganz?”
“No. That particular chapter of my life has now closed—forever, I think. Especially now that I’m working in insurance. You wouldn’t know it to look at me but I’ve had an interesting life. That’s one of the reasons I like this insurance business. It feels like a nice quiet pew at the back of an empty church.”
TWENTY
–
A few days later, after a very good lunch indeed, we went to the Archaeological Museum in Piraeus. Built by Themistocles at the beginning of the fifth century BC, the town was home to almost half a million people. It was the center of Greek coastal shipping and the industrial heartland of Greece, with spinning factories, flour mills, distilleries, breweries, soap factories, and chemical manure plants. It certainly smelled that way. About a twenty-minute drive from Athens, the town had no important ancient monument thanks to the Spartans, who’d destroyed the original fortifications, and the Romans, who’d destroyed much else besides. That’s the most comforting thing about history: you find out that it’s not always the Germans who are to blame. Next to the museum was a virtual builder’s yard of assorted archaic marble torsos that almost made me think I was back in the mortuary at the Schwabing Hospital. But inside the two-story building there were many fine
