He came back expecting to find black-haired, white-faced Myrto, but she was gone.
“Inland.” We told him. The sailor groaned. After a long trip to Spain, with the Greeks and Ladinos – the Spanish Jews – he’d returned to Smyrna with another load of animals, spices and silks.
“Where?”
“Gone with her father’s caravan.”
These were mobile times. The Great War had ended. In Smyrna, we’d been nearly crushed by the Turks until the Greek state took over and established a protectorate. And population exchanges had happened, but Smyrna had remained cosmopolitan – the families who lived here were too prosperous and influential for it to change so easily. But you had two options here: you were either a small, mobile, independent, intelligent unit, able to move at a moment’s notice, or a dope fiend who spent all your time in underground bars, singing rebels’ songs, smoking and drinking. If you were fully Greek, life was harder here, but I made it work. And Thomas, half-Greek half-Turk, and his old flame, Myrto, a Jewish trader’s daughter (with a Greek name? I always wondered), were definitely the mobile sort.
“She’ll be back soon.” I said. Two options, indeed. East and West.
Thomas hadn’t left port since he’d landed: he’d been stuck regaling us with news from Spain and Athens. “Venizelos is still aiming for us.” He’d said. “They’re talking about invading.”
There was joy at his news, and the others dissected it until they were well and truly drunk. Thomas, however, didn’t drink a drop, and neither did I. The Greeks turned to singing songs, and we left them in the bar and came outside.
I knew Thomas had only one concern.
We were dots in the circular harbour, surrounded by shacks and tall stone buildings, and in the water, creaking, sleeping ships. The night here was reserved for revellers and clandestine pursuits. Figures in shabby suits walked quickly past, and none spoke.
Weary, rings under his eyes, Thomas leaned against the pier’s rope, silhouette melting into the skeletons of the Spanish galleys. The moon enstarred the water. Squalid lamps lit the port. Behind me I could hear the rebetes, singing raucous with their baglamas chirping in time:
“One future day it’ll be in all the books,
That he came along and swept off Athens’ crooks,
That he kicked out the king, and all of his guv’nors,
That he got rid of all the crims and all the muggers.
And for our great land’s defence, officers and all the rest,
With Venizelos came to fight…”
I stopped paying attention. “They should be more careful.” Thomas said. “Any louder than that and the police will come.”
I nodded. It wasn’t hard to get the law’s attention these days. Perhaps because they saw us as Western corruptors, the police were zealous to a fault, and often came by to lock a few sailors up, smash their instruments, and take their dope.
“And Myrto…” My shadow continued. And I…
Cap in hand, I, too, awaited her return.
verso folio 