The Angry Hills - Leon Uris [54]
The day was a long and silent one, both of them withdrawn in their own thoughts.
At nightfall the donkey cart pulled into the town of Dadi.
Mike and Lisa were shaken from their reveries.
For Mike, it was as though he was coming into another age. He was intrigued by the red-tile roofs, by the sight of an automobile and a sidewalk, to say nothing of the women in modern dress.
The donkey driver was dismissed and they set off for the main square. Lisa led Mike to a bakery run by a hefty character identified as Baziadis.
A room in the rear of the bakery turned out to be an arsenal. It had a cache of everything from pistols to homemade bombs and machine guns. A second man, Rigas, a photographer, locked himself in with them and went to work.
First, Mike was given a suit of second-hand city clothes. Rigas photographed him and then presented him with forged travel papers and a card which bore the name: Vassilios Papadopoulos. Then Rigas produced train tickets and money and went over instructions with Lisa.
Baziadis, the bakery owner, came in after his night’s baking chores were over, and the four of them joined in a silent meal.
It was two in the morning when everything was declared in order and Rigas and Baziadis left.
Lisa and Mike stretched out on cots at opposite ends of the room. A small bare light bulb burned all night.
It was impossible for Mike to sleep. His head was riddled with questions about the trip.
The woman he knew as Helena was wide-eyed too.
She was indeed a beautiful thing, Mike thought. But there was something terribly strange about her, something he could not put his finger on, but something he did not like.
“Do you have a cigarette? I don’t want to break the package open for pipe tobacco.”
She sat up and opened her purse. As Mike lit up their eyes met. They stared at each other for a long time.
Then Lisa turned her head away and lay back on the cot.
“We’d better get some sleep,” she said.
FOUR
MORNING.
Both Lisa and Mike showed signs of sleeplessness. They arose, washed in cold water and ate a hasty meal of cheese and milk.
Mike had spent the entire night with his hand on his pistol and his head filled with fears and distrust. The morning found him edgy and taut. He jumped at every strange sound.
About seven o’clock, Baziadis came and opened the bakery and they departed through a rear door. The silence between them continued on the short walk through the square to the railroad depot.
When Mike saw the train pulling in, all his apprehensions took possession of him. As the train neared, it began to take on the shape of a coffin. He again felt for the pistol in his belt, but this time it gave him little comfort.
Lisa held his arm. They walked through the depot shed onto the platform. The wheels ground to a halt. The train hissed. Travelers scurried off and on to calls by the station master.
The pair edged toward a car. Mike halted abruptly.
He saw a conductor standing beside a car exchange glances with Lisa and nod. Lisa nodded back in recognition.
Mike froze, but at her prod he moved on. They stepped into the train.
He looked down the aisle quickly. It was a car of wooden benches, half-filled with city people. All of them were wailing a unanimous chorus of troubles. He scanned the car for a sign of a hostile or alien face. No one gave them a second glance as they found a double seat.
Mike sat beside a window and tried it out. It worked smoothly.
His heart jumped as the train started and moved out of the Dadi depot.
Lisa avoided conversation and even looking at Mike. But she could feel his tension. His hands had been wringing wet when she led him onto the train. She hoped everything would go off on schedule.