Where Gods Once Walked by Christina A. Dudley

Author:Christina A. Dudley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Literary, Romance
Publisher: Martin Smith
Published: 2023-02-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

I tell Dimitri that Maria has shown me a wad of cash hidden beneath her clothes in the drawer in her bedroom and that she wanted to give me some. ‘She thinks we might need it because she’s heard there’s no more money in the banks. Did you know she had all that money hidden in the house?’

‘Well, not really,’ he says, ‘but I’m not surprised. Everyone has cash stashed away. No one trusts the Government, nor the banks, nor anybody in power for that matter, unless they’re family or an old friend. They’ve experienced too much hardship and suffered too much hunger and cold through wars, riots and military crackdowns. There’s little trust left in this country. Everyone’s looking out for themselves and their families as best they can. The politicians certainly aren’t going to make sure they’re OK.’ Dimitri gives the gear stick a fierce jerk. ‘See, the peasants are right, again. Maria’s not going to let this bit of rioting get to her. Good on her. She probably hasn’t paid a penny of tax on those savings in the drawer. Why should she? Those guys in Athens have emptied the banks and carted all their booty off to Malta or the Channel Islands.’

Is it bitterness or just resignation I hear in his voice?

We turn up the drive to the house. The stars hover close in the moonless sky, and we get out of the car and stumble in the darkness up to the veranda.

It feels as if a hundred days have passed since we woke in the Hotel Gold. Time has taken on its nature of expanding and contracting at will, and that morning in the bar in Kalamata seems a distant memory.

Exhausted, we fall into bed. Dimitri, depleted of energy after a warm shower, rests in the comforting haven of cool sheets. I bend over, kiss him and say, ‘Tired?’

‘What are you doing tomorrow?’

‘Let’s talk about it in the morning.’

***

Next morning the road to Patras is frighteningly quiet with few cars and no trucks.

‘Do you think the port’s closed?’ I say.

‘Probably,’ Dimitri says. ‘Doesn’t bode well, does it?’

We cross over a railway line, and as we drive along the road adjacent to the beach, a roadblock appears ahead and a police officer hails us to stop. Dimitri shows him his medical credentials and says he is on his way to the hospital. ‘This lady is a nurse,’ he says. The officer looks doubtful, and a moment of anxiety fills me as he walks away to confer with his captain.

The officer returns and says, ‘It’s dangerous along there. You’d better take the back roads.’

He waves us on, and we drive until we reach a crossroad where a car burns and hordes of youths eye each other off as the police stand and wait in riot gear.

‘This doesn’t look good,’ Dimitri says. ‘We’d better get out of here.’ He turns right, away from the sea. ‘We should be able to reach the migrant camp behind the stadium this way.

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