Green Neon

24 German tourism ministers

Although the two boys were dead tired, they were so excited that they put their bags in the corner and immediately made their way to the town center, i.e. back to the port. Tom knew fewer people lived on the whole island than in his home town, just under five thousand, most of them in the main town. It was clear that nobody could remain anonymous here, and who steals from someone they meet every day?

With increasingly sunburnt heads and arms, they trotted through the alleys that represented a world of its own, a miniature cosmos that had so little to do with modern city life that you noticed things that were completely lost in the city's sensory overload. Many of the front doors were decorated with clusters of flowerpots with tendrils with brightly colored, fragrant blossoms. The chirping of birds hung in the air, mixed with the occasional snippets of words and soft music coming from some of the houses.

As they reached the harbor square, the sun was setting behind the spur of a low hill. People strolled along the promenade, some of whom were out and about in their best Sunday attire. Nikos generously treated Tom to an ouzo in front of one of the taverns. Tom didn't know this drink and only hoped that it didn't have a similarly idiosyncratic aftertaste as Greek wine.

A little boy brought them a tray with two shot glasses containing the colorless drink, which gave off a strong scent. It reminded Tom vaguely of liquorice. There was also a carafe with ice water, two large water glasses and a small plate each with olives and sunflower seeds.

Nikos poured water into the large glasses and poured in the ouzo, causing the liquid to suddenly become cloudy. The boys toasted each other and Tom sipped his drink. He'd expected a disgusting taste similar to that of corn or brandy, which he'd tried but not liked. He liked the aniseed taste, though, and didn't feel like he was drinking hard liquor. In fact, it even quenched thirst, and with the treats that came with it, it made a perfect snack.

After a while, the innkeeper, a not-so-slim man in his mid-forties, greeted them and asked them where they came from and where they were going. When he heard that Tom was from Germany, he sat down with them without being asked and clapped his hands, whereupon the little boy appeared, to whom he gave an order.

Then he talked to Tom in the universal language that nobody had learned, but everyone understood. It was invented especially for tourists and consisted of ingredients from many European languages.

"I'm happy that more and more tourists from all countries are visiting our small island," their host said. Then he winked at Tom. "I am particularly pleased that the Germans have also changed their travel habits."

Tom didn't understand the allusion. The innkeeper felt compelled to explain:

"30 years ago you had a tourism minister in Germany, he didn't call himself that, but he organized a lot of trips to foreign countries. For example, he would tell people, "Get some tanks and then go on a trip to Poland or to Paris, or grab some parachutes and jump over Crete." I'm so glad you have a tourism minister now, who says, "Go wherever you like, take the car, the ship, the bus, but no tanks and no parachutes. Lie in the sun, see the museums, swim in the sea, but leave the guns at home." That's how I like the Germans much better."

To be polite, Tom didn't tell him that there was no Ministry of Tourism in Germany. In fact, he felt a bit ashamed. On several occasions Greeks had made comments about the war in his presence, but not once had he been held responsible for the occupation of the country by his parents' generation.

The little boy came in with three more glasses of ouzo and a fresh carafe of ice water, and the innkeeper toasted them. He started rambling about Aunt Kyra, whom he obviously liked, and at the same time talked to his other guests.Tom heard the word "Yermanikos" several times. Their host was about to introduce him to a large portion of the island's population in a very short time. After the third or fourth, maybe even the fifth ouzo, he said goodbye to Tom and Nikos, not without asking them to say hello for him to "his dear Kyra".

Nikos tsked to summon the boy who had served them. When he asked for the bill he was told everything had already been paid. Nikos gave him a tip and they stood up.

Tom had taken the delicious drink for a kind of slightly alcoholic lemonade, which was a mistake, as he now realized. Just a few glasses of ouzo could obviously make certain body motions significantly more difficult. The world moved, slightly and unthreateningly, but things didn't stay where they should. He held on to the armrest of his chair for a moment and noticed that Nikos couldn't stand up straight by himself either.

The way to the dining room, where they wanted to say thank you to their benefactor, was quite long and led through a labyrinth of tables and chairs with far too little space between them. Grinning, the innkeeper invited them to come back the next day.

They trudged to Little Venice, and the way was also significantly longer than two hours ago. Now Tom understood why Greek men often walked hand in hand. In this state it was much easier to find the straight path if you had someone to hold on to. He shared his thoughts with Nikos, who replied that Tom was making progress in his understanding of Greek behavior.

They entered the house by the sea, happily, but with great effort. The smell of fried fish lured them into the kitchen, where Aunt Kyra was working, her face flushed, which turned even redder as they passed the innkeeper's greetings.

"You like ouzo, don't you?" she asked, eyes twinkling mockingly. The boys reluctantly admitted they did like the Greek national drink. Tom resolved to be careful with this drink in the future when its effects were so obvious.

The small table was set for four, and Aunt Kyra explained to them that the guest from the room next door to theirs would be eating with them.

"He's a writer, he works all day and half the night," she said. "He never really goes outside."

With that she had aroused Tom's curiosity, who had never met a writer and imagined this type of person to be exciting. Aunt Kyra places on the table a platter of small fried fish and bowls of vegetables, and finally brought water, to which she again remarked with that mocking smile:

"Water is important because fish want to swim. And ouzo, too."

Tom didn't know what to make of the last part of her comment until later, when he woke up in the middle of the night with the ouzo in his stomach screaming for water. But maybe it was the fish after all.

***

"Give me a step-by-step description of that," the secret policeman asked his two agents.

"They both came out of the house. Tom carried an empty bag, the other boy carried two bags, which must have been heavy. Then Tom went into a laundry, the other one kept a lookout in front of it. When Tom came out, his bag was heavy too, and they ran straight down to the port. At the ferry port, a truck with a trailer came and they disappeared behind it."

"All right then. You keep watching the apartment. Next time Tom goes off with a bag or picks something up somewhere, you arrest him and bring him here. If he's not transporting anything, you shadow him. And look around the laundry."

He dismissed the agents, made a few notes and got angry. It was not so much the fact that the German had gotten away from them once again that annoyed him, but rather the fact that the ferries still didn't keep passenger lists. What was Tom carrying in his bag? And where did the resistance group send him? Did he actually take a ferry, or was his excursion to the busy port just another trick to shake off his men?