Levkas Man by Hammond; Innes Page A

serenity of the scene was almost unreal in contrast to the story of hatred, violence and sudden death revealed by Kotiadis in staccato English.
    The tide of liberation had swept him across to Athens and the picture he drew of a young man flung into a political maelstrom made my own background seem humdrum by comparison. In Athens he had been involved in yet more killing, this time his own people. ‘The Communist organization ELAS,’ he said. ‘I hate Communists.’ We had been drinking coffee and ouzo and the tone of his voice was suddenly quite violent. ‘You are lucky. You do not experience civil war. To kill Germans because they invade your country—that is good, that is natural. But war between men of the same race, that is terrible.’ He sighed and tossed back the remains of his ouzo. ‘We are a very political peoples—very excitable. It is the climate, the chaleur. In summer we play with our beads, we try to soothe our nerves, and then we explode like the storm cloud. That is why politics are so dangerous in Greece.’ He leaned towards me. ‘Have you seen a father kill his own son, deliberately and in cold blood?’ He nodded, his eyes staring, bloodshot with cigarette smoke. ‘I have. The boy was a Communist. And when it was done the father threw himself down on the boy’s body, kissing his cheek and weeping. That is la guerre civile. I don’t like. That is why you are here with me now. For us a man like Dr Van der Voort can be dangerous. He is a Communist and if we do not find him—’
    â€˜That’s not true,’ I protested. ‘He hasn’t been a Communist—’
    â€˜Ah, so you admit he was a Communist?’
    â€˜Yes. As a student. But not after 1940.’
    â€˜Ã“hi, óhi.’ He made a negative movement with his fingers. ‘Après la guerre—long after, he is travelling in Russia, accepting money from the Soviet government, writing books for publication in Moscow and information for their scientific journals. Why does he do that if he is not a Communist?’
    â€˜That was years ago,’ I said. ‘Since about 1959 he’s been working entirely on his own.’
    â€˜How do you know? You tell Kondylakes you do not see him for eight years.’
    I repeated what Gilmore had said, but it made no difference. ‘Once a man is a Communist, he does not change because of a little brutality in Hungary. Communism is the creed of the proletariat, and the proletariat represents man at his most brutal.’
    â€˜He wouldn’t have seen it that way,’ I said. ‘For him Hungary would have come as a terrible shock. Anyway,’ I added, ‘I’m certain he isn’t a Communist now.’
    â€˜That is not my information.’ He summoned the boy from the kaféneion across the road and ordered more ouzo, ‘Not only have the Russians financed his expeditions in the Soviet Union, but also in Turkey. You know we have been invaded by Turkey since six centuries. We do not like the Turks, and he was in Cyprus when the troubles begin.’ And after that he sat, silent and morose, until the boy came running with a tray loaded with bottles and glasses. He drank half a tumbler of water and then said, ‘Now, tell me about yourself. Particularly about your relations with Dr Van der Voort. I wish to understand please.’
    The interrogation seemed to last endlessly, with him probing and probing as though I were trying to conceal from him some obvious truth. But in the end he gave it up, or else he just became bored. It was already past eleven, and shortly afterwards we left the square and walked back to the hotel. It had been an exhausting two hours, and even when I was in bed, his belligerent, staccato English continued drumming in my head.
    Next morning I was called at six-thirty and we left early, driving back the way we had come to rejoin the main road, which ran west to the swamps