The Angry Hills - Leon Uris [42]
“No,” Mike said. “I must get to Athens.”
“The village is so remote that the Germans do not even know it exists. Then I will help you get to Athens. Come, we can reach it by sundown of tomorrow if we keep going.”
SEVEN
NIGHT FELL ON A pair of weary travelers who felt as though they had reached the end of the world.
They stood five hundred meters above sea level and looked down upon fifty whitewashed cottages which lay in the midst of rocky, barren, eroded hills—Kaloghriani. Below them they could see fragments of the plain near Dadi airdrome and the peak of Mount Kallidromon. The village of Kaloghriani and the land around it were as poor as they were remote.
Eleftheria knocked at the door of a cottage. It swung open and a giant of a man loomed over them. A massive black beard gave him a likeness to the famous portrait of the angry John Brown.
“Kalosorisate!” he roared in welcome when he recognized Eleftheria and ushered them through the narrow doorway into a humble room. “Despo!” he called to his wife. “It is Eleftheria.... Bring krasi... Hurry, woman!”
A flat homely old woman hurried in from the kitchen and welcomed Eleftheria. Mike, shirtless, stood about self-consciously, as the three exchanged greetings. At last Eleftheria turned to him.
“This is Jay Linden. He is a soldier of New Zealand and he needs a place to stay.”
“Englezos?” the giant inquired.
“Yes.”
The giant was introduced to Mike as Barba-Leonidas and shook his hand with such violence that Mike thought he would tear his arm from its socket. Barba-Leonidas found a shirt for Mike many sizes too large and then inquired if they were hungry.
In a moment they were seated on backless stools and, without ceremony, Barba-Leonidas dunked his bread into a bowl of lentils and motioned his two starving guests to follow suit.
After the meal, Barba-Leonidas listened intently as Eleftheria unfolded the story of Paleachora. He sat in silent anger broken by an occasional gruff exclamation. Despo, the wife, sat removed from the table at a homemade spindle and did not enter into the conversation.
When Eleftheria had finished, Barba-Leonidas announced, “My only son, Yani, was killed fighting the Italians in Albania. You may have his bed for as long as you wish.”
There was something about the direct simplicity of the man that appealed to Mike. He was “real people”—like the longshoremen, the teamsters, the bartenders and the hookers who filled the pages of Mike’s books. A quick bond was established between the two.
Dispensing with the social amenities, Barba-Leonidas said, “You are very tired. Go to sleep and we will leave talk for a later time.” Then he ordered Despo to find Eleftheria a place to sleep in another cottage. There were but two beds and, as a matter of custom and fact, Mike took priority over a mere woman.
“The one bed will be fine for us,” Eleftheria said.
A stunned silence fell on the room. Barba-Leonidas threw an inquiring glance at Mike who had a stupid expression on his face. Barba-Leonidas grunted a few times and looked back and forth from Mike to Eleftheria. Mike just shrugged. The giant continued to mumble to himself, weighing a decision.
“It would not be in proper taste,” he declared, and Mike sighed with relief. He did not look forward to another tussle with his conscience.
Mike noticed throughout the evening that Barba-Leonidas became annoyed by the most trifling attention he gave the girl, whether he touched her hand or gave her so much as a small smile. The breed of hill men was obviously more strict about the social status of the female than the men in the village of Paleachora.
Mike walked her to the door where Despo waited. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, early. We’ve got a lot to work out,” he said.
The night’s restful sleep in the soft down bed worked wonders on Mike’s tired bones. He sat down hungrily to the dawn meal with Barba-Leonidas and awaited the arrival of Eleftheria. His mind was filled with plans to get to Athens. The giant remained