Chapter 44
Poseidon's Good Graces
Indiana Jones and Vadoma Maniskelko sat in their commandeered motor launch and rolled with the gentle Mediterranean swells. Behind them a brilliant, blood colored sunset shot liquid rays that diffracted in abstract patterns through scattered gray clouds. The boat's fuel supply had finally run out, but not before the pair had made a full get away from the sadistic tormentors on the hellish freighter.
Jones had initially steered southward until he felt confident that they were out of sight of their pursuers. He had then turned abruptly eastward and set a course for a slow moving squall line in the distance. Moving into the squalls served two purposes. Firstly it served as cover just in case the freighter was persistent and still followed. Secondly it delivered much needed water to the two weary travelers who had had nothing to eat or drink for over twenty four hours.
The squall had been mild, with only a minor stirring of the seas. Jones and Vadoma rigged a tarpaulin that they had found onboard, and used it to catch the rain water. Their thirst quenched, the pair had continued on eastward and eventually passed through the small storm and back into smoother waters.
Now they sat dead in the water and at the mercy of the winds and currents. Both were famished, and Jones had only the vaguest idea of their position. But they were alive; and Indiana Jones had a hunch that their luck, which had thus far been nearly all bad, was about to change.
Vadoma had repaired her tattered dress the best she could, but the first order of business once they reached land would be some new clothing. She was exhausted from the ordeal, and as her stomach growled she couldn't help thinking over and over again of the delicious cornetti pastries that she and Indy had eaten in Rome.....seemingly an eternity ago. But like Jones, though they were floating aimlessly about in a small wooden boat in the vast expanse of the Mediterranean, she was thankful just to be alive.
She gazed back over the stern at the blood red sunset.
"Isn't it beautiful," she said wistfully.
Jones looked up from the ancient Roman scroll of Grachius Calvertus that he continued to study carefully in the day's waning light.
"Sure," he said, "the sunset is beautiful, but it just means that darkness isn't too far off, and ......wait...look!"
"Huh?" Vadoma watched as Jones stood up and pointed off in the distance to the east. "Do you see it?" He said, "It looks like a boat, and it's coming our way."
Indeed after drifting around aimlessly for several hours and seeing no other craft, they had finally sighted another vessel.
"We've got to signal them," Jones said and searched around vainly for something that could be used to get the attention of the approaching craft.
"Indy, are you sure it is safe?" Vadoma asked cautiously, "How do we know who they are?"
"We don't," Jones said as he gave up trying to find anything to signal with and simply started to wave his arms, "but I don't look forward to starving to death out here. There's no land in sight, we're out of fuel, and like I said, it's going to be dark soon," he gazed over at her with a determined look, "we've got to take our chances......again."
Vadoma joined him in trying to signal the approaching craft. A few moments later the other boat blew its horn in recognition.
"They see us!" Jones shouted happily.
"Yes, so they have," Vadoma's voice was tinged with a bit more uncertainty.
It took several minutes for the boat to make its final approach to Jones and Vadoma's drifting motor launch. Both watched with apprehension as the dark craft came closer. Eventually they could make out details. It was a fishing trawler.
At last the trawler came within earshot and Jones called out to the stern faced, mustached man who stood stoically on the forecastle clutching a long boathook. Indeed, Jones thought, only the lack of a peg leg would dissuade anyone that it wasn't Captain Ahab himself clutching a harpoon and searching the deep waters for his white, leviathan nemesis.
The man cupped one hand to his mouth and returned Jones' shouts.
Indy turned to Vadoma "Greek.....he's speaking Greek!" He said.
"Do you understand Indy?"
"Yes," Indy answered, "I began learning Greek even before I went to elementary school. It was the first foreign language my Dad forced.....er, encouraged me to learn."
Jones then cupped both hands to his mouth and shouted over to the fishing boat once again, this time in Greek.
A few moments later they were aboard the fishing trawler with the motor launch in tow. All apprehension and fears were quickly dispelled as Indiana Jones and Vadoma Maniskelko made the acquaintance of the two, and only two, crewmembers of the small vessel.
Mr. Nicholas Christopolous and his wife Silvia were a kind old couple who had spent their thirty years together fishing the waters of the Mediterranean; partners in both life and business. They listened sympathetically as Indiana Jones related the harrowing ordeal aboard the tramp freighter. Silvia especially took pity on Vadoma and quickly escorted her down below where she outfitted her with clean clothing; a plain but pretty Greek peasant dress and some leather sandals. Then the couple served them a tasty dinner of fried fish and stuffed squash blossoms. It was the first food they'd eaten in more than a day.
After dinner Jones and the old Greek fisherman talked over glasses of ouzo as the sun sank into the sea astern. Silvia went below to fix up some sleeping mats for the unexpected guests and Vadoma went to help her. It would be an all night voyage for the little trawler to reach home; home being a small fishing village on the outskirts of the town of Palaiokhora, on the southern coast of the Island of Crete.
"So your final destination is Egypt?" The old fisherman said as he lit another of several cigarettes that he'd smoked since he and Jones had begun drinking the strong, sweet tasting, Greek liqueur.
"Yes," Jones answered, "can you take us?"
Nick smiled as he blew smoke and took another sip of ouzo, "No....no Mr. Indiana Jones, I'm sorry but I don't think that my 'Dina' could make such a long voyage," he smiled, "she is a little too old," he said in reference to his boat, the 'Dina'.
Jones glanced over at him, "It's only about four hundred miles from Crete to Alexandria, and I'm willing to pay handsomely."
Nick chuckled, "You talk of such distances as if they are nothing Mr. Jones, and perhaps they are, to a man such as you, who travels around the world. But for me and for my 'Dina'... he shook his head, smiled apologetically, and shrugged.
Jones looked down at the deck, disappointed, but understanding.
"But why would you want to travel on my slow, old boat, when you can fly?" Nick asked cryptically.
Indiana Jones looked up, "Huh?"
Nick took a deep drag on his cigarette and poured another glass of ouzo for both himself and Jones, "I have a friend. He lives in Palaiokhora near to me. He is not a Greek, he is a Jew."
Indiana Jones listened with curiosity as Nick took a sip of ouzo and continued on.
"He has a...a...," Nick seemed to be searching for a word that eluded him, "an airplane that lands in the water," he said finally.
"A flying boat?" Indiana Jones perked up; maybe his luck was indeed about to change for the better, he thought, "Your friend has a flying boat?"
"Yes, a flying boat," the fisherman answered, "He is a merchant, a trader, he flies often to Palestine," then the old man narrowed his eyes conspiratorially for a moment, "but his cargo is not always as he says it is."
Indiana Jones mentally digested what the man was saying for a few moments then he looked over at Nick with a knowing look, and took an educated guess, "He's a gun runner?" Jones said, "...for the Zionists in Palestine?"
Nick's silence was enough of an answer.
"Do you think I could convince him to make a side trip to Egypt?" Jones asked hopefully, knowing that in a flying boat it would be a mere four or five hour trip from Crete to Alexandria Egypt.
"I'm sure for the right price Simon could fly you to Alexandria," the old fisherman said, and then gazed around at the scattering of stars that were beginning to emerge in the young night sky, "tomorrow we should arrive a little after dawn. In the morning I will take you to see Simon. Until then you should get some rest Mr. Indiana Jones."
The weary archaeologist could find no argument against that, and retired below for the evening, with hopes for an expeditious conclusion to the final leg of his long and tortuous journey to reach the ancient kingdom of the Pharaohs.
Vadoma was already fast asleep.
The sun was just beginning to break over the craggy cliffs of the south coast of Crete as the 'Dina' entered a rather secluded, little inlet and eventually tied up to a short, wooden pier; one of many in the small, sleepy fishing village on the outskirts of Palaiokhora. The scent of the sea mixed pleasantly with that of the land here and wafted a sweet aroma throughout the air. Jones and Vadoma awoke, refreshed after a good night's sleep; a sleep that was all the more satiating as it had been complimented by the gentle rolling of the Mediterranean. Whether or not any of the other gods had forsaken them, Jones knew at least that Poseidon had not.
They ate breakfast in the home of Nick and Silvia; a small cottage that sat high up in the cliffs overlooking the bay, and that was reached by an ancient, well worn, stone lined path. Nick was delighted when Indiana Jones told him that he could keep the commandeered motor launch. Jones had no further use for it, and he said it was the least he could do.
After breakfast Nick led Jones and Vadoma further up into the hills. They crested the summit and then began to descend the steep hill that led to the next bay over.
Even before they began to descend Jones saw it. There, far below them and in the distance Indiana Jones could make out the smooth lines of a Sikorsky S-43 flying boat moored next to a long wharf that reached out into the center of the bay.
"There," Nick said pointing off in the distance at the moored aircraft, "there it is. There is my friend Simon's ....flying boat as you call it."
"And there's our ride to Egypt", Jones mumbled quietly as he felt the inside pocket of his leather jacket. The feel of the wad of cash that he'd carried all the way from Malboury's safe back in the British Museum was reassuring. It was smaller than when they'd started out, but still plenty.
"Where's his house?" Jones asked.
"I take you now," Nick answered and continued to descend down the side of the steep hill towards a village that was like a mirror image to the one they'd just left.
Ten minutes later they sat outside on the stone veranda of the house of Mr. Simon Harrow and sipped strong, hot, Greek coffee. Jones explained his situation and his desire to obtain transport to Egypt.
It turned out that Simon Harrow was born in New York City, and was an American citizen. But he had left years earlier and now devoted his life to the cause of the Zionists in Palestine who hoped to establish a free and independent Jewish homeland; a subject of which he spoke passionately. He and Jones took an immediate liking to each other.
"So many people don't know the whole terrible story of what is going on now in Nazi Germany," Harrow said.
Jones looked over at Vadoma for a brief moment, "Yeah, well, we do; from personal experience," he understated. "It's going to get much worse before it gets better," Harrow continued on, "the Jewish people need a homeland; a land where Jews will not be persecuted," he looked over at Indiana Jones, "and that is why I do what I do Mr. Jones."
"Mr. Harrow, I believe that your cause is a just one, but right now all I'm concerned with is getting to Egypt as fast as possible." Jones pulled out his envelope of money, withdrew several large denomination English pound notes and laid them on the table, "and I'm willing to pay handsomely."
Harrow stared at the money for a moment and then looked back up at Indiana Jones, "Keep your money Jones," he said and then paused for a moment, "Your cause is a just one too."
A few hours later they were high above the Mediterranean, flying southeast on a course for the Egyptian port city of Alexandria. As Jones gazed through the plane's windshield and down through openings in the clouds he caught occasional glimpses of ships traversing the blue water so far below; looking like tiny smudges upon the vast expanse. He couldn't help wondering if one of them wasn't the smugglers' freighter from which he and Vadoma had barely escaped with their lives.
When the aircraft finally set down Harrow chose a secluded little beach fringed with date palms near to Abu Qir on the outskirts of Alexandria. They made a smooth landing as the Sikorsky touched down into the clear, warm waters and taxied in towards the shore. Harrow came in as close as possible before Indy and Vadoma had to step out and into waist deep water.
As they waded in to shore Jones turned, thanked Harrow one last time and tipped his fedora to his new found friend before stepping out of the water and on to the sandy beach.
Egypt at last!
Poseidon's Good Graces
Indiana Jones and Vadoma Maniskelko sat in their commandeered motor launch and rolled with the gentle Mediterranean swells. Behind them a brilliant, blood colored sunset shot liquid rays that diffracted in abstract patterns through scattered gray clouds. The boat's fuel supply had finally run out, but not before the pair had made a full get away from the sadistic tormentors on the hellish freighter.
Jones had initially steered southward until he felt confident that they were out of sight of their pursuers. He had then turned abruptly eastward and set a course for a slow moving squall line in the distance. Moving into the squalls served two purposes. Firstly it served as cover just in case the freighter was persistent and still followed. Secondly it delivered much needed water to the two weary travelers who had had nothing to eat or drink for over twenty four hours.
The squall had been mild, with only a minor stirring of the seas. Jones and Vadoma rigged a tarpaulin that they had found onboard, and used it to catch the rain water. Their thirst quenched, the pair had continued on eastward and eventually passed through the small storm and back into smoother waters.
Now they sat dead in the water and at the mercy of the winds and currents. Both were famished, and Jones had only the vaguest idea of their position. But they were alive; and Indiana Jones had a hunch that their luck, which had thus far been nearly all bad, was about to change.
Vadoma had repaired her tattered dress the best she could, but the first order of business once they reached land would be some new clothing. She was exhausted from the ordeal, and as her stomach growled she couldn't help thinking over and over again of the delicious cornetti pastries that she and Indy had eaten in Rome.....seemingly an eternity ago. But like Jones, though they were floating aimlessly about in a small wooden boat in the vast expanse of the Mediterranean, she was thankful just to be alive.
She gazed back over the stern at the blood red sunset.
"Isn't it beautiful," she said wistfully.
Jones looked up from the ancient Roman scroll of Grachius Calvertus that he continued to study carefully in the day's waning light.
"Sure," he said, "the sunset is beautiful, but it just means that darkness isn't too far off, and ......wait...look!"
"Huh?" Vadoma watched as Jones stood up and pointed off in the distance to the east. "Do you see it?" He said, "It looks like a boat, and it's coming our way."
Indeed after drifting around aimlessly for several hours and seeing no other craft, they had finally sighted another vessel.
"We've got to signal them," Jones said and searched around vainly for something that could be used to get the attention of the approaching craft.
"Indy, are you sure it is safe?" Vadoma asked cautiously, "How do we know who they are?"
"We don't," Jones said as he gave up trying to find anything to signal with and simply started to wave his arms, "but I don't look forward to starving to death out here. There's no land in sight, we're out of fuel, and like I said, it's going to be dark soon," he gazed over at her with a determined look, "we've got to take our chances......again."
Vadoma joined him in trying to signal the approaching craft. A few moments later the other boat blew its horn in recognition.
"They see us!" Jones shouted happily.
"Yes, so they have," Vadoma's voice was tinged with a bit more uncertainty.
It took several minutes for the boat to make its final approach to Jones and Vadoma's drifting motor launch. Both watched with apprehension as the dark craft came closer. Eventually they could make out details. It was a fishing trawler.
At last the trawler came within earshot and Jones called out to the stern faced, mustached man who stood stoically on the forecastle clutching a long boathook. Indeed, Jones thought, only the lack of a peg leg would dissuade anyone that it wasn't Captain Ahab himself clutching a harpoon and searching the deep waters for his white, leviathan nemesis.
The man cupped one hand to his mouth and returned Jones' shouts.
Indy turned to Vadoma "Greek.....he's speaking Greek!" He said.
"Do you understand Indy?"
"Yes," Indy answered, "I began learning Greek even before I went to elementary school. It was the first foreign language my Dad forced.....er, encouraged me to learn."
Jones then cupped both hands to his mouth and shouted over to the fishing boat once again, this time in Greek.
A few moments later they were aboard the fishing trawler with the motor launch in tow. All apprehension and fears were quickly dispelled as Indiana Jones and Vadoma Maniskelko made the acquaintance of the two, and only two, crewmembers of the small vessel.
Mr. Nicholas Christopolous and his wife Silvia were a kind old couple who had spent their thirty years together fishing the waters of the Mediterranean; partners in both life and business. They listened sympathetically as Indiana Jones related the harrowing ordeal aboard the tramp freighter. Silvia especially took pity on Vadoma and quickly escorted her down below where she outfitted her with clean clothing; a plain but pretty Greek peasant dress and some leather sandals. Then the couple served them a tasty dinner of fried fish and stuffed squash blossoms. It was the first food they'd eaten in more than a day.
After dinner Jones and the old Greek fisherman talked over glasses of ouzo as the sun sank into the sea astern. Silvia went below to fix up some sleeping mats for the unexpected guests and Vadoma went to help her. It would be an all night voyage for the little trawler to reach home; home being a small fishing village on the outskirts of the town of Palaiokhora, on the southern coast of the Island of Crete.
"So your final destination is Egypt?" The old fisherman said as he lit another of several cigarettes that he'd smoked since he and Jones had begun drinking the strong, sweet tasting, Greek liqueur.
"Yes," Jones answered, "can you take us?"
Nick smiled as he blew smoke and took another sip of ouzo, "No....no Mr. Indiana Jones, I'm sorry but I don't think that my 'Dina' could make such a long voyage," he smiled, "she is a little too old," he said in reference to his boat, the 'Dina'.
Jones glanced over at him, "It's only about four hundred miles from Crete to Alexandria, and I'm willing to pay handsomely."
Nick chuckled, "You talk of such distances as if they are nothing Mr. Jones, and perhaps they are, to a man such as you, who travels around the world. But for me and for my 'Dina'... he shook his head, smiled apologetically, and shrugged.
Jones looked down at the deck, disappointed, but understanding.
"But why would you want to travel on my slow, old boat, when you can fly?" Nick asked cryptically.
Indiana Jones looked up, "Huh?"
Nick took a deep drag on his cigarette and poured another glass of ouzo for both himself and Jones, "I have a friend. He lives in Palaiokhora near to me. He is not a Greek, he is a Jew."
Indiana Jones listened with curiosity as Nick took a sip of ouzo and continued on.
"He has a...a...," Nick seemed to be searching for a word that eluded him, "an airplane that lands in the water," he said finally.
"A flying boat?" Indiana Jones perked up; maybe his luck was indeed about to change for the better, he thought, "Your friend has a flying boat?"
"Yes, a flying boat," the fisherman answered, "He is a merchant, a trader, he flies often to Palestine," then the old man narrowed his eyes conspiratorially for a moment, "but his cargo is not always as he says it is."
Indiana Jones mentally digested what the man was saying for a few moments then he looked over at Nick with a knowing look, and took an educated guess, "He's a gun runner?" Jones said, "...for the Zionists in Palestine?"
Nick's silence was enough of an answer.
"Do you think I could convince him to make a side trip to Egypt?" Jones asked hopefully, knowing that in a flying boat it would be a mere four or five hour trip from Crete to Alexandria Egypt.
"I'm sure for the right price Simon could fly you to Alexandria," the old fisherman said, and then gazed around at the scattering of stars that were beginning to emerge in the young night sky, "tomorrow we should arrive a little after dawn. In the morning I will take you to see Simon. Until then you should get some rest Mr. Indiana Jones."
The weary archaeologist could find no argument against that, and retired below for the evening, with hopes for an expeditious conclusion to the final leg of his long and tortuous journey to reach the ancient kingdom of the Pharaohs.
Vadoma was already fast asleep.
The sun was just beginning to break over the craggy cliffs of the south coast of Crete as the 'Dina' entered a rather secluded, little inlet and eventually tied up to a short, wooden pier; one of many in the small, sleepy fishing village on the outskirts of Palaiokhora. The scent of the sea mixed pleasantly with that of the land here and wafted a sweet aroma throughout the air. Jones and Vadoma awoke, refreshed after a good night's sleep; a sleep that was all the more satiating as it had been complimented by the gentle rolling of the Mediterranean. Whether or not any of the other gods had forsaken them, Jones knew at least that Poseidon had not.
They ate breakfast in the home of Nick and Silvia; a small cottage that sat high up in the cliffs overlooking the bay, and that was reached by an ancient, well worn, stone lined path. Nick was delighted when Indiana Jones told him that he could keep the commandeered motor launch. Jones had no further use for it, and he said it was the least he could do.
After breakfast Nick led Jones and Vadoma further up into the hills. They crested the summit and then began to descend the steep hill that led to the next bay over.
Even before they began to descend Jones saw it. There, far below them and in the distance Indiana Jones could make out the smooth lines of a Sikorsky S-43 flying boat moored next to a long wharf that reached out into the center of the bay.
"There," Nick said pointing off in the distance at the moored aircraft, "there it is. There is my friend Simon's ....flying boat as you call it."
"And there's our ride to Egypt", Jones mumbled quietly as he felt the inside pocket of his leather jacket. The feel of the wad of cash that he'd carried all the way from Malboury's safe back in the British Museum was reassuring. It was smaller than when they'd started out, but still plenty.
"Where's his house?" Jones asked.
"I take you now," Nick answered and continued to descend down the side of the steep hill towards a village that was like a mirror image to the one they'd just left.
Ten minutes later they sat outside on the stone veranda of the house of Mr. Simon Harrow and sipped strong, hot, Greek coffee. Jones explained his situation and his desire to obtain transport to Egypt.
It turned out that Simon Harrow was born in New York City, and was an American citizen. But he had left years earlier and now devoted his life to the cause of the Zionists in Palestine who hoped to establish a free and independent Jewish homeland; a subject of which he spoke passionately. He and Jones took an immediate liking to each other.
"So many people don't know the whole terrible story of what is going on now in Nazi Germany," Harrow said.
Jones looked over at Vadoma for a brief moment, "Yeah, well, we do; from personal experience," he understated. "It's going to get much worse before it gets better," Harrow continued on, "the Jewish people need a homeland; a land where Jews will not be persecuted," he looked over at Indiana Jones, "and that is why I do what I do Mr. Jones."
"Mr. Harrow, I believe that your cause is a just one, but right now all I'm concerned with is getting to Egypt as fast as possible." Jones pulled out his envelope of money, withdrew several large denomination English pound notes and laid them on the table, "and I'm willing to pay handsomely."
Harrow stared at the money for a moment and then looked back up at Indiana Jones, "Keep your money Jones," he said and then paused for a moment, "Your cause is a just one too."
A few hours later they were high above the Mediterranean, flying southeast on a course for the Egyptian port city of Alexandria. As Jones gazed through the plane's windshield and down through openings in the clouds he caught occasional glimpses of ships traversing the blue water so far below; looking like tiny smudges upon the vast expanse. He couldn't help wondering if one of them wasn't the smugglers' freighter from which he and Vadoma had barely escaped with their lives.
When the aircraft finally set down Harrow chose a secluded little beach fringed with date palms near to Abu Qir on the outskirts of Alexandria. They made a smooth landing as the Sikorsky touched down into the clear, warm waters and taxied in towards the shore. Harrow came in as close as possible before Indy and Vadoma had to step out and into waist deep water.
As they waded in to shore Jones turned, thanked Harrow one last time and tipped his fedora to his new found friend before stepping out of the water and on to the sandy beach.
Egypt at last!