Read Online Hashish: A Smuggler's Tale by Henry de Monfreid - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Henry de Monfreid
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resin, the dried plants are broken up by rubbing them between two sheets of canvas. This gives a dust made up of broken leaves and the resin which is the active part of hashish. This resin gives the powder the property of forming a sort of cake when pressed, and of softening when heated.
All the farms in this district prepared hashish; it was their chief industry. Each estate had its brand, quoted on the market, and there were good and bad years, exactly as for wines.
My eight cases were now soldered and nailed up ready for transport. They represented all my worldly wealth. After a sketchy dinner, for you may suppose no one was hungry after the midday feast, I retired to sleep the sleep of the just. Hardly was I in my room, however, when I developed an intense thirst. There was no drinking-water to be seen, so I went down to the dining-room in search of some. When I reached the glass door, I saw Petros sitting at his desk, with Papamanoli standing beside him. They were probably writing out a telegram, for several telegraph forms were scattered over the table. I entered without warning, and immediately Petros instinctively pushed a piece of blotting-paper over what he had written. So it was something he wanted to keep secret, at least from me. I pretended not to have noticed anything, took the water-bottle, said good night and retired.
What did all this mean? I marshalled the facts:
1. A telegram had been received by Papamanoli at the Piraeus two days before.
2. He had shown it to Petros.
3. Today they were sending a reply (for Petros’ unconscious gesture showed that what he was writing concerned me).
I stayed awake half the night, wondering what it was all about. I felt alternately optimistic and pessimistic, and had great difficulty in controlling my imagination.
Next morning I was up at dawn. The household was still asleep except for two bare-footed servant girls who were lighting a wood fire in theenormous kitchen chimney. I walked into the dining-room, and went straight up to the desk at which Petros had been writing. It was not locked, and amid the litter of papers I found the clean blotting-paper with which he had covered the freshly written telegram. Most of the letters were there, backwards of course, but as it was in Greek I could not understand the message. I tore off the sheet and slipped it into my pocket. Later I should see. I had some difficulty in believing that such kindly, hospitable people were playing a trick on me, and I did not feel very happy in acting in this underhand way, but I had to look out for myself. After all, I was in their power, and what did I really know about them? It was already something to have been put on my guard. With a little luck, everything would soon be made clear. Often victory or defeat depends on a straw. But when one is in the position in which I found myself, one is working in the darkness, guided only by impulses, instincts and feelings, and one has to be doubly vigilant, and not despise the smallest indication.
At seven o’clock we went off to the station, this time in the sumptuous victoria of the ugly niece. The whole family kissed me good-bye, the niece with a dark blush showing through her oily skin. I promised to come back with my wife and children to spend a whole summer, and so on, but I was thankful when the departure of the train put an end to these embarrassing demonstrations. I was once more alone with Papamanoli, but I now knew about thirty words of Greek, so we could carry on a rudimentary conversation, helped out by nods and becks and wreathed smiles. The van in which my cases had been put had been fastened to the tail of our little train, and each time we stopped in a big station Papamanoli mounted guard to see that in the manoeuvring it was not unhooked and left behind. At the station of Athens, we were told that it was against the regulations for a goods wagon to be attached like that to a passenger train. Papamanoli vanished into the railway
All the farms in this district prepared hashish; it was their chief industry. Each estate had its brand, quoted on the market, and there were good and bad years, exactly as for wines.
My eight cases were now soldered and nailed up ready for transport. They represented all my worldly wealth. After a sketchy dinner, for you may suppose no one was hungry after the midday feast, I retired to sleep the sleep of the just. Hardly was I in my room, however, when I developed an intense thirst. There was no drinking-water to be seen, so I went down to the dining-room in search of some. When I reached the glass door, I saw Petros sitting at his desk, with Papamanoli standing beside him. They were probably writing out a telegram, for several telegraph forms were scattered over the table. I entered without warning, and immediately Petros instinctively pushed a piece of blotting-paper over what he had written. So it was something he wanted to keep secret, at least from me. I pretended not to have noticed anything, took the water-bottle, said good night and retired.
What did all this mean? I marshalled the facts:
1. A telegram had been received by Papamanoli at the Piraeus two days before.
2. He had shown it to Petros.
3. Today they were sending a reply (for Petros’ unconscious gesture showed that what he was writing concerned me).
I stayed awake half the night, wondering what it was all about. I felt alternately optimistic and pessimistic, and had great difficulty in controlling my imagination.
Next morning I was up at dawn. The household was still asleep except for two bare-footed servant girls who were lighting a wood fire in theenormous kitchen chimney. I walked into the dining-room, and went straight up to the desk at which Petros had been writing. It was not locked, and amid the litter of papers I found the clean blotting-paper with which he had covered the freshly written telegram. Most of the letters were there, backwards of course, but as it was in Greek I could not understand the message. I tore off the sheet and slipped it into my pocket. Later I should see. I had some difficulty in believing that such kindly, hospitable people were playing a trick on me, and I did not feel very happy in acting in this underhand way, but I had to look out for myself. After all, I was in their power, and what did I really know about them? It was already something to have been put on my guard. With a little luck, everything would soon be made clear. Often victory or defeat depends on a straw. But when one is in the position in which I found myself, one is working in the darkness, guided only by impulses, instincts and feelings, and one has to be doubly vigilant, and not despise the smallest indication.
At seven o’clock we went off to the station, this time in the sumptuous victoria of the ugly niece. The whole family kissed me good-bye, the niece with a dark blush showing through her oily skin. I promised to come back with my wife and children to spend a whole summer, and so on, but I was thankful when the departure of the train put an end to these embarrassing demonstrations. I was once more alone with Papamanoli, but I now knew about thirty words of Greek, so we could carry on a rudimentary conversation, helped out by nods and becks and wreathed smiles. The van in which my cases had been put had been fastened to the tail of our little train, and each time we stopped in a big station Papamanoli mounted guard to see that in the manoeuvring it was not unhooked and left behind. At the station of Athens, we were told that it was against the regulations for a goods wagon to be attached like that to a passenger train. Papamanoli vanished into the railway
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