‘Aristotle,’ said Erik, and smiled bleakly.
He went down the steps to the deck, and Aristotle took his hands and pressed them warmly.
‘It’s good to see you, Erik, truly it is.’
In the stern, the sailor began to pick his teeth with a broken matchstick. I could feel his eyes on me, lazily curious. He seemed to take no interest in the sentimental reunion. Aristotle turned to him.
‘Fang, we won’t be disturbed.’
Fang, that fearful sailor, spat out a sliver of matchwood. His wedge-shaped face formed the faintest grin.
‘Aye aye,’ he said softly.
Erik caught sight of me where I hovered on the steps.
‘Aristotle, this is my friend Mr White,’ he said. ‘Colonel Aristotle Sesosteris, of the Royal Greek Army.’
The Colonel gave Erik a look, of reproach, it seemed, and turned to me with his cold smile.
‘I am always delighted, Mr …’
‘White.’
‘… Mr White, to meet any friend of Erik’s. Erik and I have known each other for a long time. But come now and have a drink, both of you.’
We went down into the cabin, a rich little room washed by the soft sea light. Erik sat on a low couch, and I shuffled my feet near the hatchway, while Aristotle unfolded a card table and placed upon it three glasses and a bottle. A miniature refrigerator on the wall supplied him with a tray of crackling ice. He asked over his shoulder,
‘How did you know I was here?’
Erik was looking dreamily at his hands.
‘Oh, there were signs,’ he murmured.
‘I meant to come a week ago, but that storm took most of my rigging, and I had to return to Piraeus for repairs. It has been quite a journey.’
‘And all to find me.’
Aristotle lowered his eyelids modestly and smiled. His hands were shaking. He gave a glass to both of us. Neither of us drank. I thought that very soon now I would scream. Erik seemed to notice nothing. Aristotle moved to sit on the couch beside his friend, but abruptly changed his mind, and went back to lean against the table. I saw his hand, behind him, flutter in panic. His fingers found the reassuring edge of the wood, and he relaxed a little, and tried to smile. I cleared my throat, a compromise for that scream, and he glanced at me quickly. Erik cradled the glass in his large hands and looked through a porthole at the village and the burnt hills behind it. Aristotle watched him avidly, devouring each tiny movement, and asked,
‘Are you enjoying your holiday?’
His voice was too loud. Fingers flew to his lips. Erik started, as though he had forgotten that he was not alone.
‘What?’
‘Your, your holiday, are you enjoying it?’
‘Holi— yes yes, of course.’
Aristotle’s eyes swivelled round and fixed appealingly on me.
‘And you, Mr Black?’
‘White.’
‘Eh?’
‘My name is White.’
‘I know that. Are you on holiday here?’
‘Yes, I’m on holiday too.’
‘Ah. English, are you?’
‘Yes, no, Irish.’
‘Irish? Ah.’
Some gay exchanges there. Erik broke harshly in upon our little duet.
‘There are some very curious people here, Colonel.’
Aristotle’s eyes dragged themselves away from mine, slithered across the floor, clambered up the couch and came finally to rest on Erik’s breastbone. Erik laid his head back on the cushion, and went on,
‘Yes, very curious, very … inquisitive, I should say. They come to your room and smash your possessions. They are … uncouth.’
He smiled, delighted with the word, and whispered it once again under his breath. Aristotle turned to the table and refilled his glass, drank it off, and filled it yet again. A wisp of sour breath laced with whiskey wafted past me. He asked,
‘Why did you leave the city, Erik? Are you in trouble again? You realize that I cannot —’
Erik interrupted him by throwing back his head and giving a squawk of laughter which startled all of us, Erik included. Then he frowned, and carefully took off his spectacles.
‘You’re a fat old man, Colonel, and full of shit,’ he said, with some sadness.
A sprung nerve uncoiled at the corner of Aristotle’s mouth, twisting his smile into a grimace. Through the silence came the kiss of water on the hull, kiss, and the distant yapping of a dog. Sea shadows stirred on the cabin walls. A breeze sang gaily in the traces. Erik rubbed a few flakes of dry skin from his chin. The ice clattered in the old man’s glass. We looked, all three, at his trembling hand.
‘Useless,’ Erik muttered, with muted fury. ‘Useless.’
He put his glass untouched down on the floor beside him, took the briefcase in both hands and held it aloft. Aristotle peered at it, trying to muster his attention.
‘Everything I have is here,’ Erik said between clenched teeth. ‘All my papers, my files. I have nothing to fear.’
He loosened his fingers, and the case dropped. A corner of it hit the polished planks of the cabin floor, and it sprang up, turned, and flopped down on its side. Aristotle looked at the case, at Erik, at the case, at Erik again, his eyebrows raised and head inclined in a silent question.
‘If you want to search, then search,’ Erik shouted. His voice cracked on the first search, and the squeal so produced knocked an exquisite little note of music from the glass upon the table. That little song gave us all pause, and we turned and looked in wonder at the singer standing in transparent modesty on the green baize stage. Then Aristotle made a little sound of distress and stepped forward to pick up the case, while Erik at the same time began to rise. There was a scuffle, and Erik sat down again, upon the unprepared and protesting couch. The Colonel, stooping, looked at him beseechingly.
‘Erik —’ he began, and then, whether of his own volition or by an action of Erik’s I cannot say, he suddenly pitched forward and dropped his head (plop) into the German’s lap. Erik shrieked, and flung him away. The old man fell on his back and wallowed on the floor like a great stranded fish. I took a step forward, and halted, my hand outstretched. Erik picked up the briefcase and slapped him with it across the face, caught him by the throat and shook him violently, ramming a knee into his chest.
‘You fat pig, I’ll kill you, ‘he shouted. ‘What did you expect to find?’
Aristotle’s face flooded with blood beneath the ashen flesh. His eyes bulged, and he croaked,
‘I wanted only —’
‘Shut your mouth.’
Erik released him, and he lay and gurgled with his hands to his bruised throat. There came a banging on the cabin door, and the sailor’s scrawny face appeared at the glass. He goggled at the scene, grinned gleefully, and disappeared. Erik stood up and hitched up his trousers. Two large tears slipped down the old man’s cheeks. His mouth began to tremble. He clawed at the couch and screamed,
‘I wanted only to know why you are here. I sent Fang. Whatever he did it was not my fault. It was nothing to do with … it was only for myself.’
Erik put a frantic hand to his forehead.
‘Please stop,’ he begged.
Aristotle grew calm. He sat with his back against the couch, his hands hanging limp in his lap. He breathed with difficulty, blowing a bubble or two. He shook his head.
‘Erik,’ I said, and was startled to hear my own voice after all this time. Erik gave a small shake of his head, as though he had felt the passage of a fly’s wing. Aristotle stared at my knees. I was invisible.
‘I loved you, Erik,’ Aristotle said. ‘A sick old man, who could blame me for wanting something to … something to love.’
Erik turned his face away. Aristotle glanced at him with one of the slyest and most calculating looks I have ever seen. He went on.
‘But it’s finished now. I can take no more risks.’