The Dead Travel Fast Read Online Free

brought him a regular supply of short-term partners and no obligation or responsibility. He still had nightmares and his hair remained white; but he felt he was beginning to rebuild his life and, more important, to feel safe.
    He liked Karlovasi, its faded prosperity, the disused and dilapidated warehouses and merchant’s houses that fringed the sea contrasting with the restless and lively student quarter. He liked the shabby little university and the cafes; but this time he was not going to get involved with any of his students. The consequences of that in a Greek community were too serious. So, he lived on the other side of the island in a small fishing village that doubled up with tourism to make ends meet. He had taken a long-term letting of an apartment overlooking the sea from a Dutch woman married to a Greek boat captain.
    He loved the murmur of the sea brushing the shingle below his window, the infinite view over the constantly changing water where on clear days he could see Patmos. Loved the brooding presence of Mount Kerkis, either baked by heat or obscured by cloud. The place calmed him, soothed his fears, his relationships in the village were casual with no obligation beyond a polite friendliness on either side which suited him just fine.
    Suited him so well that one night drinking ouzo with CaptainMichales under the stars, watching the green and red harbour lights flashing on and off, he mentioned that he wanted to stay permanently and become Greek. Michales made the facial gesture of incomprehension at the strangeness of foreigners that’s part of the Greek DNA, then, rearranging his craggy face into an even more intimidating expression, he leaned forwards and delivered the longest speech Steve had heard from him.
    “Listen, Dr Steve, you could live here amongst us for a hundred years, two hundred years even, and you would still not be accepted as one us, would never be treated as one of us.”
    He’d leaned back and favoured Steve with one of his surprisingly warm, if rare, smiles before continuing.
    “But for you, I think, that is not so bad. Have you seen how we treat each other? Especially in winter, after the tourists go home and we are tired of being polite and having to speak English or German all day and all night. When the seas are too rough to fish and everything is shut down and the only place to go is Lekatis bar to drink. See how we are then, look, see over there Ephialtes who you say you like so much. Well, last year he broke a chair over the head of Stefanes, his friend, just because he had thrown a scrap of meat to a dog and Antonis did not like that one dog. Since then they not speak and that is what is like. No, you could not become one of us.”
    He paused, deep in thought.
    “But maybe you just stay and be treated like now, like honoured guest, not part of family or one of us. Believe me, that is much better for you. No feuds, no lawyers, no hitting, we keep you out from all that: for you just laughter and drink. Now I have arranged your life, so you will buy me one ouzo, then we go home.”
    Afterwards they’d finished the ouzo and gazed at the headland across the bay to the east, where the sky was imperceptibly beginning to lighten and the pre-dawn breeze was ruffling the surface of the waters. Steve stumbled the few short yards home, banging into parked cars and scooters, then fumbled for what seemed ages to get his key into the lock before falling, fully clothed, onto the bed. He woke next day with a foul taste in his mouth and a splitting headache, but without the feeling of anxiety that was hisusual waking companion; he didn’t exactly feel good, but didn’t feel frightened either and since the horror of the Skendleby excavation that was as good as it got.
    Pulling out of the memory, Steve left some euros with the bill on the saucer and walked across to the periptero to buy some cigarettes. Like at most Greek street kiosks, there was an animated conversation taking place between