Reader, I Buried Them and Other Stories

Oracle of the Dead

‘The Oracle of the Dead is not to be missed,’ Anton, the tour representative, gushed. ‘It doesn’t sound like a bunch of laughs, I know, but it makes a fascinating outing with a glorious sea trip as a bonus. I see the honeymooners shaking their heads. Other things on your minds, eh? Speaking for myself, if I’d come all this way, I’d want to visit at least one historical site and that’s the one I strongly recommend.’

He picked up a notepad and asked for names.

There were no takers.

‘It’s fully described in the leaflet with some fabulous photography,’ Anton said. ‘Maybe you need more time to decide. I’ll remind you tomorrow after breakfast.’

Outside the hotel, the warmth and colour of Corfu waited to be experienced. Helen felt David’s hand tighten around hers. ‘Let’s slip away,’ he murmured.

She was only too happy to go. She had already put up with as many cheap laughs about newlyweds as she could take. She and David weren’t beginners. They were both past thirty-five and each had been married before.

‘If I wanted to visit an oracle, which I don’t,’ David said as they were driven into Corfu town in a carriage drawn by a horse wearing a straw hat, ‘I wouldn’t want it to be an oracle of the dead. It sounds morbid.’

The scents of jasmine and orange blossom were on the air. Helen leaned back and felt the sun on her forehead and sighed happily.

‘Incredible!’ David said, a moment later.

Helen was enjoying the blueness of the sky. ‘What?’

‘A cricket ground.’

‘Cricket?’ She sat forward and saw that he was right. To their left was a well-watered field with a freshly mown square in the middle. ‘Give me strength! Not here!’

‘Is true,’ Georgios, their driver, turned and informed them. ‘Crickets much play in Corfu. Spianada Square is World Heritage Site. More than hundred years since British rule.’

‘I wonder which days they play,’ David said.

‘Today after lunch,’ Georgios said.

‘That’s this afternoon taken care of,’ David said.

‘You’d better be joking,’ Helen said without total confidence that he was. He’d spoken of cricket before, the team he played for and the county he supported in the summer. The cricket season had been over when they had first met last October. She’d assumed marriage would wean him away from the silly game. He would have better things to do now he was married to her.

‘Got to give it a try,’ he said, as if it was the bounden duty of a true Brit. ‘See what the standard is like out here.’

‘It’s our honeymoon.’

‘I know, love. If it’s poor stuff, we can find something better to do.’

Like what — enjoying the first day of their honeymoon? And only if the cricket was poor? Stung by his selfishness, Helen turned the other way and found herself looking at the bronze statue of a former high commissioner who had probably introduced the game to Corfu. She felt like spitting at it.

‘You play crickets, sir?’ she heard Georgios ask David. ‘Maybe they need extra man. You want me to find out?’

Helen found herself that afternoon seated in a deckchair behind the boundary line, hurt and humiliated. It made no difference that David waved to her from the middle between overs. It made no difference that other women had been persuaded to watch. This was supposed to be one of the most romantic days of their lives, for pity’s sake.

Flannelled fools, they called cricketers. The fools were the women who tagged along in support.

The hurt turned steadily to anger. She’d been through a deeply wounding divorce from her previous husband, whose unrelenting sarcasm had been as cruel as physical abuse. She’d made a terrible mistake marrying Patrick and she didn’t want another divorce. The process had been so damaging, so drawn-out, that she had hoped more than once that the scumbag would catch some fatal illness or have a heart attack.

Here she was in her second marriage — but only just — and she seemed to have made another huge mistake. What was it about men, that they changed so much after getting hitched, as they called it, joking about the ball and chain and actually meaning it? Patrick had turned selfish within a few months. David, within a day.

Another divorce would be more than she could face. She would rather murder David and take her chance on getting away with it. Oh, come on, she chided herself, that’s way over the top after one hurtful incident. I can’t seriously want him dead. I must be a damaged personality to think of such a thing. Well, I am damaged from years of mental abuse.

She wasn’t certain how long she was tormented by these dark thoughts. She took no interest in the cricket, even when there was clapping. She kept her eyes closed.

‘You no see your husband bat?’

She woke from what she supposed had been a nap. She was looking into the grinning, bearded face of Georgios, the carriage driver.

‘You want to do something else?’

She shook her head.

‘Come, lady,’ he coaxed her. ‘I take you nice ride.’

She was about to say no, imagining David looking across the turf and spotting the empty chair — and the idea of escape suddenly had some attraction. He’d assumed she would sit dutifully watching all afternoon. She hadn’t made him any kind of promise to sit here until the match ended. A shock to his complacency might not come amiss.

She got up.

Georgios helped her into the carriage and drove her up one of the main streets. Feeling conflicted by guilt and vengeance — with vengeance in the ascendancy — she tried to relax and enjoy what she was seeing: glimpses of flag-stoned lanes, tall houses linked by bridges, ornate balconies festooned with washing. Presently, there was the blue-green strip of sea again.

‘We come to harbour,’ Georgios told her. ‘Now you meet my cousin Spyros.’

‘I don’t want to meet anybody, thank you.’

‘Spyros has beautiful speedboat.’

So she had been brought here for a sea trip. To protest was futile. Cousin Spyros, dark-skinned and athletic in build, wearing black jeans and a crisp black polo shirt, was waiting on the quay beside a sleek white boat. He was better-looking than his cousin but didn’t smile as much.

‘I must get back to the cricket,’ Helen said.

‘Plenty time,’ Georgios said. ‘Crickets go on many hours.’

Don’t I know it, she thought. For the length of a marriage if you allow it. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I don’t have enough money with me.’

Spyros shrugged. Georgios said in a shocked tone, ‘Is gift. No need for moneys.’

Helen had been told about the tradition of hospitality in Corfu. You gave serious offence if you tried to pay for something that was freely given.

Spyros clearly spoke no English. He helped her into the boat and started the engine. Georgios shouted that he would wait for her and then the boat careered towards the open sea. Helen’s long black hair lifted from her back. The boat bucked and bounced at incredible speed and she felt the spray cooling her skin. She would have adored sharing this experience with a man who truly loved her. She felt the tears dampen her eyes again.

They headed towards a purple land mass that steadily turned green and brown as they approached. For a few minutes they followed the shoreline, then Spyros steered into what appeared to be a river estuary and cut the engine. They glided to a landing stage under a willow.

Spyros gestured to her to climb out. Helen shook her head. He was insistent. He said something forceful in Greek and flapped his hand at her. She obeyed, realising she relied on his goodwill to get back to Corfu.

Some people were walking up a barren, rocky hill towards what looked like a church. Helen glanced back at Spyros. He nodded and pointed, so she joined the others and started to climb. At the top was a man selling admission tickets, but he waved her past as if she had prepaid. She could only assume she was expected here.

Weird.

The church wasn’t the attraction. A set of steps led down into a massive pillared structure built into a natural cave.

Ahead of her, a voice said in English, ‘So this is where Odysseus came to visit the underworld, the kingdom of Hades. Only the brave came here to consult the oracle, because this is where the dead began their descent into hell.’

The Oracle of the Dead. Helen shivered. She hadn’t wanted to visit this place. A hand pressed against her back, pushing her forward, down stone steps worn smooth by millions of feet.

The voice of the guide was behind her saying something about rituals and sacrifices. Helen found herself ushered through an arched entrance into a dimly lit vault. Chill air prickled her flesh.

There was an eerie echo to the commentary. ‘So we come to the inner chamber, once guarded by the temple priests. Here, if you got so far, you might put a question to the oracle and you might see the shades of the dead rise up. You were sworn to keep secret whatever you saw and heard. The punishment for breaking this oath was death. Some say the power of the oracle remains. You are welcome to ask your question if you wish.’

Whoever had written the script had a macabre sense of humour. Maybe nothing was meant to be taken seriously.

But it felt serious. Now she was here, Helen had a strong impulse to ask the oracle a question, as if everything about this venture was written in the stars. The words would be mute, in her own head. No one else would be any the wiser. No different really from making a wish when you blew out the candles on a birthday cake.

She squeezed her hands together and asked the oracle, ‘How can I get my husband back?’

Surely the dumbest question anyone had ever asked, but it was the thing most on her mind.

Immediately a horrible image flashed into her head. A corpse wrapped in a shroud and lying in an open coffin. There was blood at the top end, where the head was, defining some of the features. She had a strong sense that this was someone she knew.

With a sob, she turned and pushed her way in panic towards the exit.

Spyros was waiting at the jetty. Helen ran down the steep slope, weeping. ‘Take me back. Something dreadful has happened. I’m certain it has.’

Although he didn’t understand her words, he appreciated that she was in a state of shock. He produced a blanket for her. Then he cast off and started the speedboat racing towards Corfu. All the way, Helen couldn’t shift that terrible image from her brain.

Georgios met them at the harbour, grim-faced. Something was said in Greek. He reached out to help Helen ashore. She started to slip the blanket from her shoulders. ‘No,’ Georgios said. ‘You keep.’

‘What’s happened? Take me to the cricket field.’

‘Crickets is finished now,’ he said in a voice that was showing strain. He whipped up the horse. They moved off in another direction, skirting the hill that overlooks the town. Some way up a main road, they came to a large entrance with a board outside. The notice was in English as well as Greek.

Corfu Main Hospital.

‘No,’ Helen moaned. ‘Please no.’

But Georgios cracked the whip and drove past on to a more familiar road. A left turn took them to the hotel where she was staying. Some of the tour party were standing outside the gate and when they spotted Helen there were whoops of joy. Anton, their rep, stepped forward to help her down from the carriage. ‘Are you okay? It’s been panic stations here. Where did you get to?’

She didn’t answer. ‘Where’s my husband? Is he all right?’

‘He’s in a rare old state, worrying about you. He’s gone back to the cricket ground to make another search.’

‘He’s alive?’

‘When I last saw him, he was. You look like you’ve been crying. What’s been going on?’

‘I must find David.’ She tried to climb back into the carriage.

Anton grabbed her arm and pulled her away. ‘Not with this guy, you won’t. There are taxis at the front.’ He said something angry in Greek to Georgios, who shouted back. The hand gestures from both men left no doubt about their anger.

Helen ran off to find a taxi.

In a small taverna away from the hotel that night, a supper of slow-cooked lamb kleftiko with a bottle of retsina went a long way towards restoring the close relationship Helen had thought was gone forever. David had been quick to apologise for his thoughtlessness over the cricket and now he promised to give up the game completely. ‘This was the shock I needed and deserved,’ he told her.

‘You don’t need to do anything as drastic as that,’ she said. ‘I might not have minded, but it was the timing, our first day together.’

‘I mean it. The game has lost all its charm. I wasn’t much good at it anyway.’

‘I pictured you being hit in the face by the ball. I was terrified something dreadful had happened.’

‘From your visit to the oracle? I’m furious with that Greek guy for taking you there.’

‘Don’t ask me any more about it. I want to forget if I can.’

‘You know what?’ David said. ‘I’m deeply suspicious there’s some kind of arrangement between the two cousins and our rep.’

‘Anton?’

‘Remember this morning, how hard he pushed the oracle visit? I believe he gets a rake-off for each fare. Georgios and his cousin are bribing him to persuade us tourists to make the trip.’

‘They didn’t ask me for money.’

‘No, that was desperation. There had been no take-up at all, so they had the idea of giving you a free visit so you’d tell the rest of us what a fabulous trip it is.’

‘Well, it isn’t. The speedboat was wonderful, but I hated being inside the grotto.’

‘They must have spent serious money buying the speedboat, thinking they had something going with Anton, and now they’re in danger of getting nothing back.’

‘You could be right. There were strong words spoken between Anton and Georgios when I was brought back to the hotel. I’m sure they already knew each other.’

‘It was a stupid scam anyway. Who wants to come on holiday and be taken to the gates of hell?’

David’s theory was persuasive, and made sense of what had happened, but it wasn’t much comfort to Helen. She was traumatised by her experience. Each time she closed her eyes she saw the coffin and the bloodstained shroud. For the rest of the week, she was going to make sure David didn’t leave her side. ‘I don’t think you should say anything to Anton about what we suspect. I get the impression he could turn really nasty if anyone cornered him.’

They missed breakfast next morning. Only late in the day did they meet anyone else in their group. ‘Did Anton give you the hard sell again — the Oracle of the Dead?’ David asked, wanting to confirm his theory.

‘Actually, no,’ the woman said. ‘He wasn’t around this morning.’

David and Helen spent the afternoon pottering around the shops and markets arm in arm, the upset of their first day forgiven and almost forgotten. David bought her a gorgeous dress and she found him a leather belt.

Only when they got back to the hotel did their thoughts return to yesterday. A police car was in front of the entrance.

‘Someone in trouble, I expect,’ David said and jokingly added, ‘Hope it isn’t one of our party.’

A uniformed sergeant from the Hellenic police stopped them as they tried to enter and asked to see their passports. He checked with a list he was holding and allowed them in, then told them to remain in the lounge with the other members of their group.

‘What’s it about?’ Helen asked the woman they had spoken to earlier.

‘It’s awful. There’s been a murder in one of the rooms upstairs. They’re not saying, but we think it must be Anton.’

‘Anton?’

‘One of the hotel staff said his throat was cut from ear to ear.’

While they were sitting there, two men in forensic suits stepped out of the lift and wheeled out a trolley bearing a corpse in a body bag. It was taken towards a van waiting outside the entrance.

‘It’s got to be true,’ David said.

‘But who would have wanted to murder him?’

An interpreter arrived and the police questioned everyone from the tour group about their movements in the past twenty-four hours. They were strongly interested in Helen’s adventure the previous afternoon.

‘Georgios — is he the carriage driver who picks up customers outside the hotel?’

‘I think so,’ Helen answered. ‘He has a beard and his horse wears a straw hat.’

‘Did he say who the other guy is — the one with the speedboat?’

‘Spyros, his cousin.’

‘Describe him, please.’

She did her best.

‘Did Spyros tell you he borrowed money from a loan shark to buy the boat?’

‘He didn’t speak English. I heard nothing about that.’

‘He’s a dangerous man. Did he demand money from you?’

‘I told you already. Georgios said the trip was a gift.’ As she spoke, she remembered the old saying about being wary of Greeks bearing gifts.

The interpreter and the policeman exchanged a glance.

Everyone was asked to remain in the hotel that evening for their own safety.

‘If we truly want to be safe, we’d be better off booking rooms in another hotel up the road,’ David said.

The police didn’t agree. They said they had two suspects who had already left Corfu and a nationwide hunt was being conducted.

Next morning a new rep appeared at breakfast, a senior man in a suit. He was full of apologies. ‘The two men wanted by the police were arrested on the mainland overnight. They claim they had some sort of arrangement with Anton about a trip they were advertising and invested beyond their limits and stood to lose everything. The company denies this, of course. It has never been our policy to favour one local enterprise over another, as I’m sure you will have discovered. And as a gesture of goodwill, we are offering to underwrite trips of your choice from this new brochure.’

Helen glanced at David. There was one trip she wouldn’t be signing up for.