lot of pain.”
“I have thought that before now.”
Alex turned slightly to look at him.
“Does it trouble you? That you gave it to the Germans? Does that ever keep you awake at night?”
Andreas shook his head. He would be answering the question the rest of his life.
“I once watched Fotis cut the fingers off a German prisoner. A young man. He did not know the answers to Fotis’ questions, but it didn’t matter. Later, he cut the boy’s throat.” He moved some damp earth with his shoe. “Another time, I shot a communist guerrilla in the hills above Tsotili. I executed him. For spreading lies, and for being a communist. A good reason to kill a man, don’t you think? Have you heard these things already?”
“Not from you.”
“I saw an American reporter fished out of the harbor in Thessaloniki, hands tied, skull shot through, because he spoke to the wrong people. I watched dozens of men, young and old, beaten until they confessed to things they had not done. Once I even saw them take a woman-”
“Why are you telling me this now? I asked you questions for years and you never said a word, not a word.”
“Why do you imagine I’m telling you?”
“I don’t know. So I’ll say it’s all right, that I understand?”
“Your forgiveness,” the old man spat bitterly, and Alex looked away. “Do you imagine your forgiveness could matter? You who have lived his whole adult life in this soft, fat country? There are things for which I would have your forgiveness, Aleko, many things, but not these. No one can pardon me, and I seek no pardon. But can you think, in the face of what I’ve seen, that a damned painting could mean anything? Do you really believe that is what keeps me awake?”
“All right, then. But here it is, back with us again. And it has its talons in my son now.”
“I did not cause that.”
“And you did not prevent it, either.”
“What would you have me do?”
“Find it.”
“Find it. Then what?”
“Burn it, bury it, give it back to the church, I don’t care. Get it out of his life. It is a danger to him, missing or found.”
“Finding it will not be so easy.”
“Of course not. If it were easy, I would do it myself. It will take someone of your skills.”
“Which skills? Killing, lying, planting tomatoes?”
“Hunting.”
“I hunted men, not paintings.”
“Hunt the men who have it.”
“That is beyond what I can do. There are too many possibilities.”
“Use your friends.”
“You are as bad as Fotis, imagining I still have useful connections. My friends are few, and do not take instruction from an old man like me. The police investigation will be well ahead of us, and I have no influence there.”
“So you’ll do nothing.”
“I did not say that.”
Alex rocked on his heels impatiently, looking back toward the house.
“What then?”
“Matthew needs to stay clear of anyone who might believe he knows the icon’s location. He may be safer in Greece than he would be here. In any case, I have asked someone to look after him over there.”
“One of these friends you don’t have.”
“This is a retired fellow, like myself, and Matthew may make it hard on him. But it’s something.”
Alex turned back to the woods again, squeezing the worn fencepost with one hand while he clenched and unclenched the other. “Thank you. Thank you for doing that.”
“He’s my grandchild. When he returns here, I will try to take him in hand, but it won’t be easy. He is mistrustful and stubborn.”
“Like his mother,” Alex concurred.
“And his blood is up now. Hopefully, the matter will sort itself out swiftly.”
“You don’t care which way it goes? Whether Fotis is tied up in it, whether the icon ever appears again?”
“Stolen art is seldom recovered. I only want Matthew safe, and released from blame. I have business with Fotis, but I don’t know that we shall ever resolve it.”
“I’ll kill that old bastard if I ever see him again.”
“Yes, well, many have tried.”
“He’s like a disease. I’m surprised you didn’t kill him years ago.”
Andreas looked over at his son in some dismay, then nodded slowly.
“I was his creature. He looked after me long past the time he needed to. He was supposed to arrest me, you know, when the colonels were in power. Papadopoulis ordered it. Instead, he sent me out of the country.”
“Very loyal of him.”
“It was. And dangerous. There was no gain in it for him.”
“He was banking your goodwill against the day that he was out and you were in.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps that’s what he told himself.”
“You think he cares about you at all?”
“It’s possible. Against his own will and understanding. Anyway, he’s not a simple man, he keeps us all guessing.”
“That’s how he keeps control.” Alex cleared his throat, working up his courage, Andreas could tell. “Why did you tell me those things just now? All those terrible things. It wasn’t about the icon.”
“I don’t know. Maybe just to say them, to someone.”
“Have you never spoken about them?”
“To your mother, a little. Only a little. Why should I burden someone else?”
“To ease your own burden.”
“There is no ease in telling.”
“How would you know?”
“These things have no meaning outside of the times and places where they happen, whatever the judges and moralists say. Much of the work, even the bad work, was necessary. No one can understand but the others who went through it, and we are too troubled to help one another. And now, too few.”
“It’s not my fault if I don’t understand. You sent me here.”
