Jeffrey Siger - Sons of Sparta

“Don’t worry about me, Uncle. I can chew and listen at the same time,” said Kouros.

“No. You’ll finish, then we’ll talk.” Uncle’s voice was hard.

Kouros finished as quickly as he could without offending his uncle.

“Would you like more?”

“No, thank you.”

Uncle nodded, paused for a few seconds, and smacked his hands firmly on the table.

Seven bulls jerked to attention.

“It is time.”

***

“Our ancestors have lived on this land for hundreds of years. We are Mani. No one can ever change that. No government, no foreigner, no neighbor. And while some of our neighbors may choose to sell their birthrights, we shall never sell.”

Some cousins nodded.

“But I also appreciate the times in which we live, and the struggles many of you face. And will continue to face. We are a family and no one of us should benefit at the expense of another.”

Where is he headed with this? thought Kouros. He caught a puzzled look on the face of his slain uncle’s son. I guess I’m not the only one wondering .

“I’ve decided to accept a proposal for our property.”

“ What ?” said Uncle’s youngest son, Giorgos. “You can’t. You just said you’d never sell.”

“Giorgos is right,” said his brother, Theo. “This is our home. We can’t leave it except through death.”

Uncle raised his hands to calm his sons. “Spoken as true sons of Mani, for which I’m proud. But hear me out.”

Giorgos’ face was blood red, but he said not a word. In the Mani you dared not disrespect your elders.

“I’ve not sold the property. I’ve agreed to lease all of our land on the plateau for ninety-nine years except for this house, the tower, and the surrounding ten acres, which will remain ours. The rest will return to our family in your children’s children’s lifetimes.”

Giorgos exploded. “What are you talking about? This is our land. No one else can ever live on it.”

“What’s the rent?” asked Theo.

Uncle smiled. “A sensible question. One I would expect from my son the accountant.” He paused. “Until the property is developed, the rent will be equal to twice what we could earn if used as farm land. Once it’s developed, we’ll receive a net rent equal to three percent of the project’s gross annual proceeds.”

“But who would make such a deal?” said Theo.

“One desperate for the land who realized that was the only deal I would make.”

Giorgos still fumed, but less so. “Who are you leasing it to?”

“Someone who wants to build a luxury resort hotel, complete with a golf course.”

“They must be crazy,” said Giorgos. “A golf course here? In this waterless oven?”

“And an airstrip.” Uncle shrugged. “I don’t know about such things. I just know the terms will bring us far more money than we could ever hope to see from the land, and the land will still be ours.”

Kouros cleared his throat. “May I speak, Uncle?”

“Of course.”

“I’m very happy for you and hope it’s as good a deal for you and your family as you say, but I don’t think you asked me or Yianni-” he pointed at his slain uncle’s son-“here for our advice. You and our aunt inherited the property from Grandfather when he died. It is yours for the two of you to do with as you wish.”

Uncle waved his finger. “You’re wrong. It is not just a good deal for me and my sister and our children. It’s a good deal for all of our family.”

Now puzzled looks came from all around the table.

“When I die, Calliope will continue to live in this house. But all of the cousins, including your sisters, will share equally in the rents. I do not need the money, and I will take care of my sister. She has agreed. And when you pass on, your children will inherit your shares.”

“I don’t understand,” said the surviving aunt’s son, Pericles. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because your mother and I think it’s fair. Two of our brothers and a sister died on this land defending our honor, and if my mother had not forced my sister and Athens Yianni’s father to flee, they too, would likely have died here. We all suffered, we all endured. We shall now all share in the family’s good fortune.”

Uncle looked at each face sitting around the table and fixed his eyes on Kouros.

“I don’t know what to say, Uncle,” said Kouros. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” said the slain brother’s son.

Uncle nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Kouros glanced around the table for any sign of disappointment on the faces of those who now shared their inheritance, but they’d all had time to regain whatever composure they might have lost.

“I think this calls for some serious drinking,” said Pericles.

“Yes,” said Uncle. “Calliope, bring in the whiskey. Please.”

Kouros had come prepared for a clash with his family over what he feared would be an effort to compromise his position as a cop, not to learn that he’d now have an income for life. How much didn’t matter. He just felt relieved that his worries were unfounded.

Kouros was on his third celebratory shot of whiskey with his cousins when Uncle touched his arm.

“Yiannis, may I speak with you for a moment?”

“Sure, Uncle. What is it?”

“It’s private. Come with me out to the tower.”

So much for unfounded , thought Kouros.

***

The sun wouldn’t set for another few hours, but Uncle still carried a flashlight. The five-story, effectively windowless tower had been built for war, not comfortable dwelling, and its narrow vertical slits were designed for taking aim at an enemy, not for admitting light.

As they walked to the tower, Kouros looked west across a rock-strewn patchwork of fields sloping down toward the Ionian Sea and a cove with a tiny beach from which pirate ships once sailed. He wondered what Uncle had on his mind. Family intrigues played as much a part in life here as struggles to survive on land as fertile as chalk. Gray chalk. Even the sea yielded little food here. Nature’s bounty had forgotten this place, blessing it in consolation with magnificent sunsets and quiet solitude.

Perhaps Uncle was right to lease the property. Tourism just might be God’s plan for this long-suffering land.

“You never knew my father’s father,” said Uncle, scratching his ear. “He was good at his trade and provided well for his family.”

“As I recall, he was a pirate,” said Kouros.

“Yes, but not an ordinary one. He preferred guile to battle. Did you ever hear about his ‘priest routine’?”

Kouros gave a quick upward nod of his head, the Greek gesture for “no.” “And I’m not sure I want to know.”

Uncle grinned. “I think you’re old enough to handle this family secret. Your great-grandfather liked to pose as a priest for rich visitors and officers who’d come ashore from ships anchored off the coast. He’d gain their confidence, find out what they desired and, on the pretext of taking them somewhere to satisfy their itch, lure them to where his crew waited to kidnap them all. His men treated him as if he were one of their captives, and he’d convince the real captives to appoint him their intermediary in ransom negotiations between the captors and the victims’ ship. That was his way of pirating a ship without risking the life of his men.”

Uncle stopped at the door to the tower and looked at Kouros. “Some of the victims even gave him a reward for saving them from ‘cutthroat Mani brigands.’ Yes, your great-grandfather was creative in his business. Successful, too.”

“Sounds like someone else I’ve heard tell of.”