One day last week I bumped into my old friend So-and-So, who will have to remain nameless for reasons that will become obvious as you read on.
He is as well-known and as respected as any other member of the Greek Parliament. On second thought, perhaps this isn’t saying very much for him; but basically he’s a decent chap even though he gets crazy ideas from time to time.
He was elected to Parliament solely on the strength of his resistance activity during the dictatorship. Nobody was quite sure of what he did exactly, but it was generally understood that he had been an important cog in the underground machine that placed plastic bombs under cars parked outside the American Embassy.
The day I bumped into him he looked extremely worried and kept looking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being followed.
‘What’s the matter, old pal,’ I said. ‘You don’t look very happy.’
He looked at me fearfully at first, then conspiratorially as he dragged me into a nearby cafe and ordered two metrios.
‘You heard about Savvouras?’ he whispered hoarsely into my ear.
I said I had indeed heard about his fellow-deputy who had been expelled from the party after an arms cache had been found in an apartment he had rented on the western side of Mount Lykavittos.
‘Well, I’m in the same boat,’ he said, ‘but they haven’t found out about me yet. I must get rid of the incriminating evidence before they do. I want you to help me. Will you do this for me? I’ll fix all your parking tickets for you and perhaps I could even wangle an appointment for you on some committee in the Ministry of Culture. What do you say?’
‘You mean you’ve got guns and dynamite hidden away somewhere?’ I cried.
‘Not guns, a gun. And no dynamite.’
‘Oh, well, that shouldn’t be too difficult then. But why don’t you just put it in your pocket and go and dump it somewhere?’
Ά 75 mm howitzer will not fit into my pocket,’ he said testily, ‘it has too many angles.’
‘Good grief,’ I gasped, ‘you have a piece of heavy artillery stashed away somewhere?’
‘Not heavy. Light. Light mountain artillery. But it still needs two or three mules to carry it after it has been dismantled.’
‘Oh, and are you proposing to use me as a mule?’
‘Heaven forbid! No, I was wondering if you could help find some mules. We would then take it up to Mount Pendeli or somewhere and dump it down a ravine. Nobody would be any the wiser.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there. I don’t know anyone who has any mules. Why don’t you ask Mr. Savvouras? He’s a vet isn’t he?’
My friend shook his head. ‘Only for small animals,’ he said.
The coffees arrived and we interrupted our conversation for a moment. Then I asked him:
‘By the way, what were you intending to do with that howitzer? Bombard the city of Athens?’
He smiled wryly. Ί had a beautiful plan’ he said, ‘really beautiful. Every detail worked out, every contingency provided for. A masterful conception from A to Z!
‘Well, what was it?’
Ί was going to carry the gun on mule back in the dead of night on the eve of March 25th, 1973 up to a spot on Lykavittos from which you can look directly at Constitution Square in one direction and at the Military Police Headquarters behind the American Embassy in another. By dawn, the gun would have been assembled and hidden behind camouflage netting. My fellow-conspirators and I would have pretended we were couples necking in the pine forest in the vicinity, to divert the attention of the military detachment of Lykavittos that fires the gun salutes. As soon as the Independence Day military parade had started, we would have rushed to the gun, fired six quick rounds into Constitution Square, killing Papadopoulos, Makarezos and Pattakos, then swiveled it round to the Military Police Headquarters and blown Ioannides to bits, too!’
‘But, good heavens, man,’ I exclaimed, ‘you would have killed hundreds of innocent people at the same time!’
My friend shrugged. ‘You can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs,’ he said.
‘And what went wrong?’ I asked.
‘The one, small, unpredictable and unexpected detail that has aborted many a grand plan like mine in the past and will do so again and again in the future. The man who was bringing the mules got cold feet and didn’t turn up.’
‘He lost his nerve?’
‘No, his blankets slipped off as he slept and when his alarm clock went off his feet were frozen stiff. By the time he warmed them up it was broad daylight and too late to do anything.’
‘Why didn’t you try again, at some other time?’
My friend shrugged. Ί got involved in other exciting projects like putting plastic bombs under cars. Anyway, two of the mules got run over when they didn’t move fast enough at the pedestrian crossing in Ambelokipi and I couldn’t get any others. That’s my problem. I can’t find any mules.’
‘And where is the howitzer now?’
‘Under my bed.’
‘Under your bed?’
Ί have a double bed. It’s all dismantled anyway and the barrel is standing in a corner disguised as a tall vase with an aspidistra growing out of it and I’ve hung the gun-shield from the ceiling with two wires and it looks like a mobile sculpture if you don’t examine it too closely. But the gun-carriage and the shells are a dead giveaway if someone starts snooping under my bed. Then I shall be expelled from the party, too, my parliamentary immunity suspended and I shall be charged with concealing dangerous weapons, etcetera, etcetera.’
We sipped some more coffee as we pondered his problem. Then I had a brilliant idea.
‘Look,’ I suggested, ‘The army needs weapons. Why don’t you put it together again and present it to Mr. Averof as your personal gift to the Greek Army. You’ll even get thanked for it!’
‘You must be kidding,’ my friend replied.
‘Where do you think I stole the gun from in the first place?’
At the time of writing, the problem remains unsolved. Anyone who can give us any information on where we can find three strong mules or four fairly stalwart donkeys will earn our eternal gratitude and get all his parking tickets fixed at the same time.
