Part 21 (1/2)

According to all reports, people in the flooded areas of the Northern Mediterranean were doing better by far than their counterparts in Egypt over the water and further East in Bangladesh, and his journey confirmed this. He was however concerned at the numbers of Asiatic people he saw on the road. He felt that things were only just holding and there was more going on under the surface than he was seeing, or being allowed to see. The coming wave of Southern refugees would swamp even the most organised efforts.

The man at Cyclades Ferries, a run-down operation contacted in desperation, had two small fis.h.i.+ng-boats to his fleet. One was out of commission and the other was booked until the end of the week by a group from the UN Environment Programme in a hurry to get to Crete. He silently wished them luck, relieved he was not on board. He had tried all the other available carriers and despite offering fistfuls of Euro's, all was to no avail. There was no regular ferry, the last great storm had sunk most of the Mediterranean fleet, and damaged the few ferries left afloat. The immediate collapse of the tourist trade in the Eastern Mediterranean did not warrant their repair. The few who voyaged were locals in desperate need to maintain life on the islands by fetching and carrying for themselves from the mainland.

Meanwhile Athens, and the other cities and towns on the Northern sh.o.r.e of the Mediterranean were preparing for the flotilla of small boats from the South, which even now arrived in ever increasing numbers, seeking shelter on mainland Europe. Tension was mounting with the sea-levels and was set to finished off what the latest freak hurricane had started. There was not a beach worthy of the name left on the whole Mediterranean coastline. Had the Cyclades been less mountainous, they too would have disappeared along with a number of their more lowly sisters.

He walked over to his hotel balcony and gazed out over the remnants of the harbour and remembered from his youth the bustling port. The streets of rickety hotels of ill repute and the coming and going of colourful local caiques, larger cargo vessels, ferries to the islands and sailors of various navies on sh.o.r.e leave. He remembered sleeping rough for a few drachmas on the flat roof of a hotel on a balmy September night in '63, not far from the one he now occupied.

The Piraeus of the triremes, Phoenicians and the Argonauts was a sorry sight. Foul, slick and grey-foaming seawater, filtered into shattered streets, lapped greedily at makes.h.i.+ft landing-areas of broken buildings, washed in and out the cavities and broken teeth of fallen masonry. From time to time a weak summer-sun gamely tried to penetrate the grey skies suited to more northerly lands.

His thoughts were interrupted by the unexpected shrill of the telephone by his bed. Maybe one of the carriers had found transport for him. The voice was curt, husky with a tinge of irony and a quaintly old fas.h.i.+oned manner of speech.

'Yo man, you the dude goin' to Ios?' Colwyn confirmed the query. 'Like I gotta boat can go there man. You got the spondoolicks? Hey - Like, straight away? Huh?' came the voice.

'What kind of boat and how much? When can we go? and ...,'

'Hey man, cool it baby! You wanna go to Ios?'

'Sure I want to go there. How do you know that's what I want?'

'You like-er-payin' a visit to that Dodonna chick?'

'I'm not prepared to talk over the 'phone, where can we meet?'

'Hey man, cut the cloak and dagger stuff, I'm strictly legit, well almost.' Colwyn heard the sn.i.g.g.e.r in the voice.

'Five hundred Euros man, and you're the only pa.s.senger. Okay? You into this s.h.i.+t man? I gotta know like now, you ain't the only dude wantin' a ride. I can get more from them UN guys but like I don't wanna be loooked over too close by them. Incognito's my bag man.'

'How do you know about me?' asked Colwyn. He wondered if he was being spied on by UNPEX for some reason. In the absence of a better opportunity he said. 'I might take up the offer, What's your name? I'll meet you first.'

'There's a joint called Kafenion Thala.s.sa on the block where your hotel is, meet me in the back room there in five minutes - you'll know me when you see me - dig?' The caller hung up.

Colwyn packed his suitcase, checked out of the hotel and made his way to the Thala.s.sa, it was not hard to find, its name written in Greek and Roman script on a faded green board over greasy windows, streaked with the clammy fall-out from numerous sweaty bodies. He had to push hard at the door which had swollen in the damp atmosphere and was stuck in the jamb requiring significant effort to get it open. His attempt at a discrete entrance was confounded utterly as he fell, rather than pa.s.sed unnoticed, into a long, high room, lit dimly by unwashed strip-lights, one of which flickered unceasingly. Regaining his dignity he noted the barman lounging on the grubby bar, looking him up and down with obvious curiosity. A group, probably seamen by their dress, sat at the table nearest the window, drinking retsina from an aluminium container. The back of the room was in almost total obscurity. He felt all eyes on him.

Until this point of his journey his obvious status as an international business-man had been useful with the military and civil authorities who had control over the travelling public. His McMa.n.u.s ident.i.ty card had been a laisser-pa.s.ser smoothing rights of way in what otherwise in all likeliness, would have been impossible situations. Here, in the depths of Piraeus, he felt highly exposed. To find his quarry, and trying to be inconspicuous, he made his way as nonchalantly as possible to the far depths of the room.

'Hey man, you gotta be Colwyn!' The low voice came from the very darkest corner. As his eyes became accustomed to the atmosphere he made out the form of a small, bent individual. Such light as there was, caught on whitely grinning teeth. The figure motioned him to a chair and leaning forward brought a hairy face too close to his own. Colwyn winced at the mixture of aniseed and garlic which a.s.sailed his nostrils. At this point he felt like a bit part in a 'B' movie. All his instincts told him the whole setting was ridiculous. Only the need to get to Ios and his total inability to find any available alternative transport prevented him from leaving. However, there was something intriguing about the bent creature with the silly voice. He gave off an earthiness which held the interest, a kind of authenticity and integrity which made him hard to ignore, in case he did or said something important, not to be missed.

Colwyn's travels overland had brought him into direct contact with the ma.s.s of humanity who were experiencing a different reality from his own. Part of the privileged minority, he lived in a world where life ran to a pace dictated largely by himself. The contents of his daily life, and those of the people with which he rubbed shoulders, existed on a plane where material needs were taken care of as a matter of course. His was a world of thoughts and ideas free from difficult questions about having enough money to go anywhere he wanted, eat anything he fancied, be warm or cool enough. He knew of course this was not everyone's situation. Especially since the storms, the melting ice caps and great sea rises of recent times, he was acutely aware of the displaced third of humanity and he was proud of the work done by the McMa.n.u.s Press to bring home their difficulties to the fortunate and was in no doubt that its coverage had added to the efforts made by the relevant Authorities.

Until his present journey he knew privation and displacement were unpleasant and thanked his lucky stars he was not directly part of it. He was glad the UN, NATO and NGO's used his taxes to a.s.sist the inundated and did not begrudge paying as some did. It was hard-luck that most of the inundated were the world's poor. The rich had found refuge on high ground as soon as it was clear what was in store. Despite his newsman's cynicism he had developed a grudging faith in the UN and the governments of the industrialised world to be of positive a.s.sistance, especially when pushed hard by the press. It was partly his efforts which ensured the gradual loss of important coastal agricultural lands was now a problem the whole world was taking seriously and he believed the resources existed to make sure things could be well managed. His travels confirmed this belief and although he worried about the longer term effects of the current displacement, he had faith that companies like New-Agric would ultimately be able to cope.

Land travel, as the Dodona's had wanted him to experience, was indeed an eye opener. Few business-men ventured beyond their hotels, company premises or tourist attractions. Casual travel had been banned by the UN Police Executive (UNPEX) and news from the Coastal Rehabilitation Programme was strictly controlled. He was still trying to decide from his travels so far what was truth and what official fiction and in an odd way this little man in the dark corner of a seedy taverna seemed to hold clues and his newsman's instinct was aroused.

'I keeps one foot ahead of them UNPEX guys,' the man breathed over him. 'Them dudes man wanna register all the boats and they keep track of all travellers. They know all about you man, you shouldn't've spent so much time on the 'phone man, they got all the lines bugged.'

'I'm on legitimate newspaper business and if they'd have wanted to stop me travelling, nothing could have been easier, I've got nothing to hide,' said Colwyn. 'It's just that there's no available boats to Ios and that's my destination. It's written clearly on my travel doc.u.ments and UNPEX are fully aware of it since they are the ones who made them out.'

'Hey, man, take it easy, It's not my bag where you wanna go. But don't you think it's a bit weird you can't get no transport to Ios.'

'Why should it be weird? I guess travel's hard these days.'

'You had any problems before?'

'Come to think of it, no, the firm made all the arrangements as far as London, England.'

'So why not now man?'

'I've come overland, I've had to find my own transport all the way from London. I expect like all those UNPEX people you want to know why I didn't fly.'

'Nope - not my business man, but I bet you didn't have any real ha.s.sles like.'

'Since you ask, it wasn't straight forward all the way but I suppose I didn't have any real problems until I got here.'

'You don't find that kinda strange then?'

'Why should I?'

'Because, man you're going to Ios to see the Dodona chick. And UNPEX, they don't want you to get there. 'Cept they don't want you to know that 'cos you're an important newspaper man.'

'If they didn't want me to get there they wouldn't have given me leave to travel.' The fascination of the peculiar little man kept him trading conversation. He needed his boat, not his chit-chat and Colwyn was irritated with himself at the things he was saying.

Since the call from Matsuko Morii to tell him his trip to Ios was arranged he felt an unusual loss of control over events. He had not forgotten the conversation in the Guggenheim, but as the invitation never came, he put it down to the Dodona's reticence, and forgot about it and put it to the back of his mind. Matsuko had been very clear about its reality this time and had given exact details about his itinerary. His protests about the difficulties of overland travel were politely ignored by her, if he wanted to go that was how it was to be done. There was no way he would arrive by any other route. After London, he was continually surprised at the ease by which he got through the itinerary provided by Matsuko, like the foul breathed sailor he was speaking to, he had expected official difficulties at least and some personal danger. He was not so naive as to expect an easy pa.s.sage. He of all people knew the official stories would be full of holes filled by events and circ.u.mstances the rich world was considered better off not hearing. Like the little man opposite he had also from time to time thought he was maybe in some kind of set-up. It had been too easy, until Athens. After all he only had the word of the man at Cyclades Ferries that his other boat was out of commission. But if it was a set-up to prevent him reaching Lucina Dodona it was too elaborate, there were easier, more direct ways of preventing the meeting.

'Who are you?' he asked.

'Ljeschi's the handle, Cap'n Pannayotis Ljeschi, at your service. You can call me Cap'n or Pannie.' Colwyn caught the ironic eye of the barman who had appeared with a dusty bottle. He got the distinct impression the barman was amused at the posturing of Cap'n Ljeschi, and was offering in silent observation a clear indication he was an impostor or worse. Colwyn however could not get rid of Ljeschi's fascination which kept him trapped in this 'B' movie sequence. He reasoned none of this was important if Ljeschi could get him to Ios in the absence of any other form of transport.

'Five hundred Euros you said on the 'phone?' he asked.

'You a drinking man? Have a slug, s'good stuff, French brandy, '68 Reserve man, real cool.' He sipped it, it was good stuff, too good to be found in the Kafenion Thala.s.sa.

'Five hundred man, and no other pa.s.sengers.'

'I don't care if you bring a whole scout troop, just as long as I get there! Good brandy, where did you get it?'

'Gotta supply man, and no scout troop's goin' where we're goin dig? Just you, in case you got some woman or good ole buddy keeps you warm at nights.'

'Just me and this suitcase.'

'Great! Finish your brandy an' we'll split.' Two of the men drinking retsina by the door rose, forced open the door to let in the rank air of the newly defined harbour limits and fell into step with them. Colwyn swung his eye at Ljeschi.

'Crew!' he said with a broad grin. Colwyn nodded, in the gloom their faces were unreadable. His misgivings about the whole adventure increased by whole factors as they walked between broken buildings, down opened cellars, along murky banks of loathsome waters. Travelling overland grounded him in the reality of the Mediterranean inundation.

He was pretty sure there was an UNPEX gloss which veiled the actual face of suffering to fit the perception of a communicating world unused to bare truth. He recognised his own sense of cynicism had been softened by his own media. Recent days had brought home the reality of the world as a double-headed coin, one clearly etched warts and all, the other cleaned and sanitised, its resemblance to the other correct but smoothed and rendered harmless. One threatened - the other seduced. The effort of sifting the truth was too great most of the time. This Ljeschi character seemed to make him more aware of the need for a more healthy distrust.