Chapters (56)
- Cover
- THE BLACK EARTH
- Dedication
- Contents
- BOOK I
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- BOOK II
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- BOOK III
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
- CHAPTER THIRTY
- CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
- CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
- BOOK IV
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FORTY
- CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
- CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
- CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
- CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
- About the Author
- By Philip Kazan
- Copyright
‘No thanks.’ The neighbourhood women are always complaining about hashish smokers. She can just picture Mrs Moumdji and Mrs Kodjagas, the old ravens, clacking their beaks at her. To hell with you, she thinks suddenly. Worming your way into our house to drink your Soup of Consolation. ‘Micho,’ she calls. ‘Come back. I’ve changed my mind. What do I do?’
He grins, and offers the pipe. ‘Take a sip, as if it were the finest champagne in France,’ he says.
But she has never drunk champagne. The smoke grabs her throat like molten lead. She coughs explosively and the whole teké cheers. ‘Damn,’ she croaks, pinching the bridge of her nose. ‘This is shit, Pavlo! What’s the point?’
‘There is no point. That is the point.’
‘God, I hate you. What do you want me to sing?’
‘What about “Ta Hanoumakia”? We sang it to Mama last week.’
‘“The Harem Girls” … Yes, right.’
They had sung it leaning on the end of Mama’s bed, Mama laughing and coughing, waving them on even as she had been wiping blood from her mouth. Pavlo had whistled the introduction, and tapped out the measure on the sheet, on Mama’s foot. Zoë closes her eyes. The song comes.
On the beach near Pasalimani you had your hashish den
And I’d come there every day to drive away my pain.
One morning I found them there, sitting on the sand …
On the sand … Is there a beach at Pasalimani? And the pain. It is ebbing away into warm, soft sand.
BOOK II
CHAPTER EIGHT
Vevi, Northern Greece, 11th April 1941
From where he crouches behind a narrow railway embankment, Tom looks out across a landscape of low, rolling hills dappled with scrub pine. The full moon, which is shining down from somewhere over his right shoulder, has not brought any magic to the scene. Instead it seems to have made it more dull, less sinister. To complete the illusion of humdrum familiarity, the Great Bear hangs over the ridge at a jaunty angle. He could be in Richmond Park. Tom stretches his legs and turns to look at the troop of four anti-tank guns mounted on the flat beds of Ford trucks, spaced out and dug in along the line of the wall. His troop, which he has been in charge of for less than twenty-four hours. Two days ago, he landed in Piraeus and was carried north in a series of convoys, jammed in with New Zealanders and Australians and a few Greeks. Then he hitched a ride with a regimental supply truck and found his unit here, strung out across this wide, low valley. The 121st Regiment, RHA (East Devon Hussars), in which he was, effective immediately, Gun Position Officer, Second Troop, C Battery.