and the poor tourist trade, with the locals taking the opportunity to vent their disappointment at the drop in visitors the past few years, some of the blame being heaped on the Turks’ apparent ambitions for the island. As the barbecued fish was served, Stratton asked why the island had so many homes and so few people, a question he expected would have a simple explanation. He was not prepared for the can of worms he opened.
‘We are the cowards,’ the mayor announced as if it were their group title. ‘All of us.’
No one verbally disagreed with him although there were some looks that suggested there was more to the comment.
‘We are the ones who ran away,’ he elaborated.
‘Forgive me, Captain, I did not mean to include you. The captain is an honoured guest from the army and not from the island.’
The captain smiled slightly, nodding forgiveness, then delicately brushed an imaginary piece of dust from his sleeve and cleared his throat.
Gabriel was staring at the mayor, which the Greek took for inquisitiveness.
‘Before the war . . .’ the mayor said, pausing to drain a glass of wine, ‘the last one, the Second World’s War. Before that war this island was seventeen thousand people.’
‘Less,’ the lawyer interrupted with the perfunctory certainty of someone who has the answer to everything. ‘The First World War there was seventeen thousand people perhaps, but there was less by the Second World War.’
‘Okay,’ the mayor shrugged, indifferent to the actual figures. ‘Fifteen thousand then.’
‘Maybe less,’ the lawyer interrupted again, much to the irritation of the mayor who tried not to let it show.
‘It doesn’t really matter,’ the mayor went on. ‘My point is there were thousands,’ he said, pausing to look at the lawyer in case he had another comment to make. ‘The Germans were coming and so the British sent some ships to take the people away. Everyone left the island. Every member of every family carrying what they could.’
‘And then there was the fire,’ the restaurant owner said.
‘I was getting to that,’ the mayor said. ‘A fire spread through the town destroying almost all of it.’
‘A fire started by the British,’ the lawyer added.
‘No one knows that for sure,’ the mayor corrected, smiling at Stratton, his defence of the British a little obvious.
‘They robbed the island first, don’t forget,’ the lawyer said.
‘Rumours,’ the mayor scoffed. ‘There is no proof . . . Anyway, the point I am trying to make is everyone left the island.’ The mayor refilled his glass.
‘The entire island was evacuated?’ Gabriel asked. ‘Even the farmers and shepherds?’
‘All of them,’ the mayor said. ‘It was completely deserted. Everyone vowed to return as soon as the Germans were defeated.’
‘But since no one at the time believed they would be defeated, no one in fact said that,’ the lawyer added.
‘So what happened?’ Stratton asked.
‘Nothing happened,’ the lawyer said.
‘Everyone was comfortable where they were,’ the mayor said. ‘In America, Australia, England, wherever they ran away to.’
‘This was an island with occasional electricity, occasional water shortages, occasional fresh food and half a mile from the Turks who say it is theirs and one day they will come and take it,’ the lawyer expanded. ‘And nothing has changed.’
‘The Turks will never take it,’ said the restaurant owner. ‘Not while the army is here,’ he said, indicating the captain, who nodded appreciatively.
‘They will come if the population drops below one hundred and fifty people,’ the lawyer said. ‘That’s the agreement.’
‘It’s already below that figure,’ the restaurant owner argued. ‘One hundred and five is all we have.’
‘Then the Turks will come,’ the lawyer said, unconvincingly.
‘Never,’ said the restaurant owner. ‘All we have to do is bring more people back to claim their homes.’
‘Huh,’ grunted the lawyer. ‘Big chance of that. It will be the same problem. How can they prove which home belongs to whom?’
‘The land registry was burned down in the fire,’ the mayor informed Gabriel. ‘Inside was all documentation of who owned what house on the island. People have come back to try to claim their house but have no proof.’
‘There are even cases of more than one family claiming they own the same house,’ said the lawyer.
‘No one knows whose house is whose,’ the mayor added.
‘Which suits you and our fine lawyer here,’ the restaurant owner mumbled.
‘Not in front of our guests, please,’ the mayor said.
‘Why not? It doesn’t matter if the whole world knows. No one can meddle in your affairs.You have it all tied up like a neat package.’
‘It doesn’t concern anyone,’