...And Dreams Are Dreams

Ambassador Wise returned the 150,000 drachmas that the Greek government had given as a guarantee, and the settlement for the Portuguese letters of credit was assigned to Louis Beclar, the French charge d’affaires in Lisbon. The settlement was completed, and instead of the 665,540 drachmas he was claiming, that is to say approximately 26,000, he received as compensation 3,750 drachmas, approximately 150, in other words practically nothing. And in order to whitewash the English, Lyons wrote from Geneva to our compatriot Dragoumis: ‘ I cannot easily forgive him (Lord Palmerston) his decision. For four months Europe was in an upheaval because of Pacifico and a small state was oppressed, a state created, no less, by the oppressor. I too was obliged to protect Pacifico, but I would be ashamed to incite such protection.’ As for Palmerston, he gave a speech at the Council of Communities that went on forever, invoking Cicero, who said that Rome protected any Roman who was able to say, ‘Civis Romanus Sum’ (I am a citizen of Rome). And that, Palmerston affirmed, went for all citizens of the British Empire. He received a standing ovation.”

The captain feels stifled by that longing people have for a happy day in their lives, a decent, carefree day, as the yacht approaches the port of Piraeus and he sees, outside the port, all those ships anchored in bundles of immobilized iron, reduced to inertia, while maintaining them in the water is costing a fortune. He sees the other ships tied at the jetties: Russian, English, French, from Liverpool, from Odessa, from Marseilles, the three great powers. And while his own vessel moves slowly along, with an official air, through the still waters that take on the color of honey from the rising sun, he thinks to himself that things have indeed changed from the days of his distant ancestor. Now he has radar and a telex on board, now he keeps informed, he communicates, he signals immediately and everywhere. And yet the people are still left out of the game of power. They will only find out much later what was said during the meeting between the Soviet ambassador and the prime minister or between the United States ambassador and the president of the Republic. When the burning interest of the same day has died down, when there is no longer an immediate demand, like the one he has to respond to now: he must decide where to moor the boat, and at the same time he is watching out for the Flying Dolphin hovercraft, which usually makes a tight turn at the breakwater without worrying about other vessels coming into the port.

Years from now, when today’s events are history, when the boats will be moored on dry land, much later, people will find out the why and the how: what happened with the Cyprus issue, what was said about the United States bases, what was the truth behind the smoke screen the media put up to confuse people. And of course nowadays, he thinks to himself, “there is no

‘Moussouros affair.’” But still, as they were at the time of Moussouros, our relations with Turkey are severed.

Even though people no longer believe that the capital of Greece will move to Constantinople, the Greek islanders who live across Asia Minor still feel threatened. There are three great powers again, and we don’t fit in with any of them. Still we wonder: which is the best road to follow in the long run, so that the people are not betrayed once again?

He moors the boat next to the other yachts. At last, he has found an empty space! He throws the ropes ashore. The guests begin to disembark. It is Monday morning. Their businesses will be opening soon.

Plasterboard will go back to his factory and the doctor to his white mice; Persephone, Thalia, Irini to the slimming institute; Aristotle the sociologist to his research center. The architect will return to her tracing paper, the American and Madam “tag-along” to no one, Niko the importer of cold cuts back to his knockwurst and salami. They thank their host Elias and the crew for a lovely three-day weekend. One by one they walk along the gangplank, carrying their gear.

The last to leave the vessel is the grandfather-captain with his grandson-captain. But even after them, like a ghost, last of the last, the narrator slips out of the story.

Stories of Taxi Drivers

Everything’s fine. Everything’s wonderful. Monday morning and the world is open, a meeting of sunshine and strength. The city is bursting with health and life.

And I am bursting inside like the city.