The Snake Stone

14

Malakian was standing uncertainly in front of his shop, a padlock in his hands.

“Goulandris? Incredible. Who would want to kill him? He was a very old man.”

“He knew very little about books.”

“Very little? You say so, efendi. But yes, stubborn. A stubborn old Greek. It is terrible.”

Yashim shook his head. He was reminded of another stubborn old Greek, his friend George, beaten and left for dead in the street. Like Goulandris he, too, was a trader. “What do you know about the Hetira, Malakian?”

Malakian rubbed the edge of one of his enormous flat ears between his forefinger and thumb. “Ask a Greek, efendi. This is something Greek. I would not know.”

“But the word means something to you.”

Malakian frowned. “This is my shop, Yashim efendi, in the bazaar, like always. It is cheap here, yes. In Pera you will find many new shops-but Pera is expensive.”

Yashim shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“I am stubborn man, like Goulandris. But I am not Greek. So.”

“Why would the Hetira want to drive out Greeks?”

Malakian said nothing, but he shrugged slowly.