Regrettably, his children did not share their father’s immunity from revenge, and the savagery that had plagued the Deep Mani for so much of its history claimed three of his children-retribution for acts by their father considered insults to the honor of another family.
Kouros’ father and one aunt survived because they were sent away to live in Athens. His uncle had been spared, according to him, because the village’s council of elders-charged with ruling on feuds among warring clan families-placed Uncle outside the bounds of vendetta, fearing that his father would abandon the village and leave it without a doctor should Uncle, his last surviving child there, be killed.
Kouros’ father, however, had a different explanation for his brother’s longevity. He attributed Uncle’s survival to his uncanny skill at modernizing traditional Mani techniques for augmenting their barely subsistence standard of living: piracy and banditry.
Throughout its history the Mani welcomed pirates on its seas and bandits to its hills. With the introduction in the 1960s of paved roads across mountains that once isolated much of the Mani from the rest of Greece, Uncle had seen his opportunity to spread proven Mani methods to the rest of Greece.
Soon, Uncle had not only feuding families but also rival clans working together as their Maniot ancestors had once united solely to battle foreign invaders. But now their rallying cry was a call to rack up profits in a united criminal enterprise. Up until a decade before, when Kouros’ uncle “retired,” as he called it, Uncle had been the most significant criminal leader in the region. A position in obvious counterpoint to his nephew’s current role as right hand to Andreas Kaldis, feared chief of the Greek police’s national anticrime and political corruption division.
Kouros’ and his uncle’s different approaches to life had never been an issue between the two men. Kouros’ father had passed away and his uncle retired before Kouros became a cop, and on the occasions they’d been together since, Kouros had sensed an unstated bit of pride in Uncle that his older brother’s son had made it to the “other” side.
Then again, nothing before had ever put their differences in conflict. As Kouros knocked on the front door, he hoped that wasn’t about to change.
Chapter Two
A dark-haired, barely teenage girl in jeans and a pink hoodie opened the door. “It’s Yianni,” she said to seven men in jeans and work shirts sitting at a white linen-covered table in a room just beyond the entryway.
“She means Athens Yianni,” said one of the men.
“Of course she does,” said a white-haired man at the far end of the table, his face lit up in a broad smile, eyes sparkling. “The rest of you malaka Yiannis are already here.” Uncle had just affectionately lumped nearly half of Kouros’ cousins into the category of wankers.
Uncle stood up and spread his arms wide, like a bear waiting to embrace a bull.
“You look terrific, Uncle. I see you let your hair grow longer.”
The two men hugged and exchanged kisses on both cheeks. “Stop bullshitting a bullshitter. I’m a fat old man and you know it. Everyone knows it.”
Kouros’ reply was lost in barrage of comments and catcalls from the men at the table as they shuffled back chairs and stood to embrace and exchange kisses with their cousin.
Uncle stood by his chair, watching and smiling.
“Where shall I sit?” asked Kouros.
“Next to your uncle,” said a man about Kouros’ age, but a head taller and far broader. “We have to put up with him all the time. You haven’t had the pleasure since our cousin’s wedding.”
“And that was three years ago. It’s way past your turn to suffer through his stories,” said a younger and shorter man.
The group laughed as Uncle shook his head and looked at Kouros. “They’re very lucky your aunt is no longer with us to hear them speak like that about her husband.”
“Theos singhorese tin,” nodded the big man. “If mother were still alive, no one would dare speak like that. She’d whip us all.”
More laughter, and more wishes that “God forgive her soul.”
Uncle raised a bottle of beer. “A toast. To all of us. Together again. Yia sas.”
Kouros picked up a beer and clinked the bottle against his uncle’s, “Yia sas.” He went around the table doing the same with each cousin, every one a bull. Some small, some large. Kouros fell into the middle of the herd.
Though it was still early afternoon, Kouros figured from the number of soiled plates, empty beer bottles, and overflowing ashtrays on the table that they’d been carrying on like this for hours. But no one seemed drunk, as if everyone realized there was a serious purpose for this get-together.
A woman in her thirties walked in from the kitchen, carrying plates filled with food, followed by the girl in the pink sweatshirt carrying more food.
“Here, Yianni, you must be starved. Eat,” said the woman.
“Cousin Calliope! I can’t believe it’s you.”
“Why, do I look so bad?”
Kouros nodded toward the girl. “No, you look like your niece’s sister, not her aunt.”
The teenage girl rolled her eyes.
Calliope smiled. “Father,” she said to Uncle, “if this is how men from Athens talk, I understand why you and Mother never let me leave home.” She bent over and gave Kouros a big kiss on each cheek, then a smack to the back of his head.
Kouros smiled, “Glad to see you picked up where your mother left off.”
Calliope waved a hand at the men at the table. “Someone has to keep this family in line.”
The men laughed. But not too hard, for they knew there was truth in her words. Historically, Mani fathers were rarely home, leaving Mani mothers to decide family matters, such as selecting which of her sons would face death to avenge a slight to the honor of the family.
“Come,” she said to her niece. “Back to the kitchen. Time to leave the men alone to tell more lies to each another.”
Uncle leaned over to Kouros. “I’ve been blessed with two daughters and three sons. Luckily, only Calliope lives with me. For she’s the less strong-willed of the sisters. I think your aunt trained them to haunt me.” He smiled. “Eat. We’ll talk later.”
Kouros ate as Uncle’s oldest son, the biggest of the cousins, talked about a tourism explosion in their part of the Mani. “The land’s yielding more euros per acre from visitors than any crop ever did.”
“Later, Mangas,” said Uncle. “Let your cousin finish his meal in peace.”
He’d used his eldest son’s nickname, not his given name, Yianni. Greek tradition had the firstborn son named after his paternal grandfather and the second son after his maternal grandfather. That’s why four of the seven cousins sitting around Uncle’s table were Yiannis: Mangas, Kouros, Uncle’s slain brother’s son, and his surviving sister’s second son. The non-Yianni cousins were Uncle’s two younger sons, Theo and Giorgos, and the surviving sister’s older son, Pericles. To the extent the interests of the female members of the family were affected by this meeting, it would be up to their brothers and sons to protect them.
“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.