The Angry Hills - Leon Uris [55]
She looked past Mike out of the window. Scenery flitted by.
No sooner did the train get up speed when it slowed for another village. Then another—and another. The car became jammed. People sat on their baggage in the aisles. Stop and go—stop and go—stop and go.
Mike managed to relax a trifle. He took out some pipe tobacco and lit up. It smelled good to Lisa. Her father had smoked a pipe of the same sharp-smelling blend and its scent drifted her back into memories of happier days....
The clock pressed toward noon. By now Mike was more at ease but he remained alert. The chorus of misery about them did not lessen for an instant.
Early afternoon.
Lisa became restless. Her energy was drained. Mike reckoned she was not too strong a girl and was probably worn out from the trip up to Kaloghriani.
“You look tired,” he said. “Why don’t you stretch out over the seat and take a nap?”
She said, “No,” in what was an automatic rejection of any male proposal.
“Go on, it will do you good.”
Lisa smiled weakly. It was the first time Mike had seen that smile. It was warm and wonderful. She glanced at her watch, then curled up and put her head in his lap, her legs tucked under her. At first she was stiff and aware of him, then she eased and began to doze. In several moments the weariness lulled her to sleep.
Mike gazed down at her. Perhaps he had been wrong. Under the circumstances, it was only natural for him to be keyed up. She was certainly a beautiful woman, although she looked almost childlike sleeping there. A sudden thrill passed through his body. He had an irresistible urge to touch her hair.... At that moment, he did not care if the train ever reached Athens.
Then he stretched his legs and tapped out his pipe. In a few moments his eyes shut and the rhythm of the wheels lulled him into an exhausted sleep. Lisa looked up from his lap, now much more at ease that he was asleep.
Three men stood over them.
Mike’s eyes opened. He stared at them in fright. He felt a nervous twitch start from the corner of his eye.
One of the men was the conductor, the same one who had exchanged signals with Lisa at the depot.
Next to him, in the crowded aisle, stood two armed men in the uniforms of Italian carabinieri. He felt Lisa stir and knew she was awake but feigning sleep.
“Identification!” one Italian snapped.
Mike began to fumble through his pockets with trembling hands. Lisa came awake quickly.
Her hand reached up to Mike’s inside pocket and took out his travel card. She sat up, stretched, yawned and touched her disheveled hair.
“Vassili, you are always misplacing things. I told you to let me hold it,” she said, patting Mike’s cheek and bussing him softly. She handed the card to the Italian. “Oh, to be married to a teacher at the university! His head is always in the clouds.”
Lisa smiled at them, the type of smile a woman uses to lure a man. The Italian was all business. He was not lured.
“Vassili,” she said, “give the gentlemen our tickets. Do not keep them waiting.”
The carabinieri in their funny Napoleonic hats scrutinized Mike’s card. They kept staring from the card to Mike. They began to whisper to each other. Lisa and the Greek conductor’s eyes met.
Mike’s hand felt for the pistol in his belt. He turned and looked outside. The train was slowing.
“You! Stand up! Open your bundle!”
Mike got to his feet slowly.
“Come on now,” the conductor moaned. “The train is full. It will take us all night. Let’s get on with it so we may return to our card game.”
The Italian read the back of the card, looked up at Mike again, then handed the pass back and moved to the next seat forward.
The train gathered speed.
It took Mike many moments to calm down. He felt foolish and disgusted with himself. Obviously the woman and the conductor knew what they were doing. He remained rigid until the inspectors left the car.
“Give me a cigarette,” he said.
She handed him a pack labeled Number 1.
“I want your pistol,” she whispered sharply.
“Nothing doing.”
“Stop speaking in English, you fool.