The Wine-Dark Sea Read Free

Grigg. ‘I’ve got one already.’
    The young man put the leaflet away, more obviously disappointed than an Englishman would have permitted of himself.
    ‘Then you’ve been to the island yourself?’ asked Grigg.
    ‘No,’ said the young man. ‘As I told you, there is nothing to see.’
    ‘Last night I saw a ship sail from the island. Either someone must live there or there must be some reason for going there.’
    ‘I do not know about that,’ said the young man, slightly sulky but still trying. ‘I cannot imagine that anyone lives there or wants to go there.’ Grigg could not suppose that this was to be interpreted quite literally.
    ‘Why shouldn’t they?’
    ‘The Turks. The Turks made the island unlucky.’
    Long before, Grigg had realised that throughout Hellas everything bad that cannot be attributed to the evil eye or other supernatural influence is blamed upon the Turks; even though the stranger is apt on occasion to suspect, however unworthily, that the Turks provided the last settled and secure government the region has known. And he had furthermore realised that it is a subject upon which argument is not merely useless but impossible. The Turks and their special graces have been expunged from Hellenic history; their mosques demolished or converted into cinemas.
    ‘I see,’ said Grigg. ‘Thank you for your advice. But I must make it clear that I do not undertake to follow it.’
    The young man smiled him out, confident that the local brick wall would fully withstand the pounding of Grigg’s unbalanced and middle-aged head.
    *
    And so it seemed. Contrary to legend, Grigg, as the day wore on, discovered that few of the fishermen seemed interested in his money: to be more precise, none of them, or none that he approached, and he had approached many. It did not seem to be that they objected to going to the island, because in most cases he had not reached the point of even mentioning the island: they simply did not want to take him anywhere, even for what Grigg regarded as a considerable sum. They appeared to be very much preoccupied with their ordinary work. They would spend one entire day stretching their saffron -coloured nets to dry on the stones of the quay. Naturally the language barrier did not help, but Grigg got the impression that, in the view of the fishermen, as of various others he had met, tourists should adhere to their proper groove and not demand to wander among the real toilers, the genuine and living ancestors. Tourists were not to be comprehended among those strangers for whom, notoriously, the word is the same as for guests.
    None of the separate, discouraging negotiations had taken long, and by the evening of that same day Grigg had combed the port and now found time on his hands. Thinking about it all, over an early drink, he wondered if word could have gone round as to the real destination of his proposed excursion. He also wondered if the island could be an enclave of the military, who were often to be found embattled in the most renowned and unexpected corners of the land. It seemed unlikely: the young man would have been proud to tell him so at once, as a young cowherd had told him at the ancient castro above Thessalonika. Besides, the ship he had seen could hardly have served for war since the Pericleans. It struck him to wonder whether the ship had returned during the night. He felt sure that it belonged to the island and not elsewhere. He even thought of buying a pair of field-glasses, but desisted because they would have to be carried all the way home.
    Over his next ouzo, Grigg went on to consider why it mattered to him about reaching the island, especially when so much difficulty seemed to be involved. He decided that, in the first place, it had been the beautiful ship. In the second place, it had been the hostility to her of the people in the café. Grigg was one whose feelings were usually contrary to any that might be expressed in mass emotion; and he was confirmed in