The Fire-Dancers

18 Apr

Detective Zeno Rion first learned of the crime when his chief telephoned him early that summer evening. The head of the investigative bureau of the Saloniki Metropolitan Police in 1935 was Nikos Tellasas. He had come to trust his eccentric subordinate in cases of special difficulty, such as this strange strangulation of a university student. It had taken the medical examiner most of the day to determine the unnatural cause of this death. A strangulation had occurred that was unlike others, due to the unlikely method that was applied. This was clearly an unprecedented case where the unique talents of Zeno Rion were most suited.

“Hello, is that you, Zeno? I have an investigation beginning that I want you in on. A young male student of anthropology and folklore at Salonika University has been killed. It was a death by strangulation, but not accidental. You won’t believe it when you see it. That’s why I think you should come down at once and take over the investigation.”

Rion had just returned to his apartment from a nearby restaurant and had been prepared to spend the evening reading the English mystery novels he adored. Since he had no family or other responsibilities, he could afford to be on call at all hours, whether day or night. Plainclothes detective work fit his private life patterns quite well. A loner with no intimates, few friends, and no elevated goals or ambitions, he thought that he might as well be doing this as anything else. There were few other fields allowing such hermit-like independence, anonymity, and self-oblivion. For he did not enjoy reminiscing about his past or charting out future plans. A police investigator could become absorbed in crime puzzles.

Since he did not have an auto, he took a cab to downtown headquarters. Entering the coroner’s morgue in the basement, he caught sight of Captain Tallasas.

“How are you, Zeno? Come with me down this aisle, I want to take you right to the young man’s body.”

The two walked a bit till they came to an examination table. A thin, white body lay on it, the eyes closed. Rion gave the corpse a quick but close perusal. He saw no signs of fowl play, except that the tongue extended out of the mouth.

“You say that this is a student who was burked?” said Rion, looking at his superior.

“What do you mean by that word?”

“Burke is an English term which means to murder by suffocation at the throat, with no marks of forced strangulation or violence on the outside neck. It came from the famed William Burke of Edinburgh in Scotland. He murdered and then sold the bodies for dissection by medical students. He was caught and executed in the early nineteenth century. It was very difficult to prove murder, for he did such a good job in stopping breathing with his powerful, dexterous hands.”

“Well, no there is no hand print on this poor young soul. His name was Paleologos. He was the only son of a retired produce merchant. A sad end to a promising life.”

Rion kept his eyes on the suffocated throat of the victim. “Why are you so certain that this was a murder?” he asked after a while.

Tellaras hand him the preliminary report of the medical examiner.

“Read this and you will learn about the small traces of a wax-like substance found in the throat. They still do not know what it might be, or where it came from. This case is very unique and I am going to assign you primary responsibility for it. You will have the assistance of all sections and the coroner’s laboratory.”

The two took leave of each other and departed, each his own way. Rion eyed the long throat a last time before he went out into the Saloniki night.

Waking long before dawn, as usual, Rion went over in his mind the few details he had read and heard. He felt excited and knew he would enjoy little sleep until this case was solved.

Rion boiled an egg on his hot-plate and ate it for his breakfast. First on his agenda was an interview with the parents of the victim. He left wearing his gray suit and straw hat. The summer morning was already warming. To catch his street tram, he crossed through the district open farmers’ market. Villagers had already set up their wares and were calling out the prices of their produce. It resembled a mad auction of fruits and vegetables. Rion thought of a farmyard with cackling, arguing chickens.

Rion boarded the next tram car and rode as far as the midtown harbor area.

The Paleologos apartment was on the top floor of an old stucco building only two streets from the sandy shore of the bay. It had a perfect view of Thermaikos Gulf from its small balcony. Rion took the elevator up to the floor. The weeping mother opened the door. After he identified himself, she ushered the detective into the comfortable-looking living room that seemed to be from the past century. The father, nearly blind, sat in a huge armchair with his head downcast.

Rion began to talk at once.

“You have my fullest sympathy. No one can imagine the sorrow that you must both feel today.”

The parents managed to thank him through their continuing distress. Rion went on speaking.

“The police department fears that criminal harm was done to your son. I myself saw him last night and I agree with the coroner. It was not an accident. By no means could it have been an act of God.”

The white-haired father then spoke. “But who hated our precious Dimitrios? He had no enemies. Our son was the most peaceable young man anyone could imagine. Now his life is over, and he is taken from us before he could accomplish all his dreams.” Both parents held back tears.

“Your son was interested in Greek popular folklore, wasn’t he?” asked Rion.

The father seemed to forget his sorrow for a moment.

“Yes. For years now, in fact since grade-school, he has collected ancient stories. He was an assistant in anthropology at the university. Dimitrios hoped to write a book connecting ancient mythology and popular traditions alive even in our day.”

Rion decided it was best to get to the point with a direct question.

“Did your son belong to any clubs or organizations, or have any close friends?”

Neither parent answered, meaning that they knew nothing about that side of their son.

“This is a difficult request, but it must be made. May I have a look at his personal affects?”

The father nodded his assent. The mother rose and led Rion to her son’s bedroom. The detective gave the place a once-over to decide where to begin. He spent several minutes rummaging about. Two items drew his attention: a female name with a telephone number on an address pad and an album of student photos taken in the suburb of Langadas that May at the popular festival of St. Constantine and St. Helen. The pictures were mainly of the traditional Firewalkers, who from ancient times danced barefoot on glowing embers of charcoal while holding holy icons.

Rion left the room, thanked the grieving parents, and left for his next interview.

Professor Syros could not be located by phone at the University, but Rion succeeded in tracking him down at his research office near the White Tower which served as the symbol of Saloniki.

The anthropologist, short and white-haired, rose from his desk and led Zeno into his tiny, cluttered office.

The detective began to ask questions at once.

“Professor, did your assistant, Dimitrios Paleologos, show any signs of emotional agitation of late?”

“No, none at all. He was always a level-headed fellow with cool nerves.”

“Did he have enemies or rivals? Did he suffer romantic complications of any kind?”

“I did not know anything of his personal life or affairs. But there was one girl. She is one of my assistants and went with him to carry out some field research at the
Langadas folk festival this past spring. He was taking photographs there for me.”

“He was interested in the fire-walking Anastenarides?”

“Dimitrios planned to write a treatise on their practice and meaning through the ages here in our region.”

They were interrupted by a knocking at the door. A tall, very thin young man quickly entered on his own initiative.

“Excuse me, Professor. I did not know you had a guest.”

“Come in, come in, Petro. I want you to meet someone. This is Detective Rion, investigator of the sudden death of poor Dimitrios. Mr. Rion, this is my other assistant, Petro Petrakos.”

The student took a folding chair and sat down beside the visitor.

“What do you want to find out, sir?” asked Petro. “You do not see this as an accidental death, I take it.”

“The medical examiner has determined that there was an attempt to disguise the fact of a murder. But that did not work. I am therefore searching about for any conceivable motive for the strangling of the victim.”

“Everyone got along with good-natured Dimitrios. What possible reason was there for this crime?”

“That is precisely what I want to find out. Were you at Langadas with him for the festival this May?”

“Yes, we were working on a joint research project there. He was doing a lot of photographing. I myself was interviewing the fire-dancers and local enthusiasts with a friend.”

“Was Miss Eleni Vouros at the festival?” asked Rion. Petrakos gave a slight start, then answered him.

“Of course she was. Eleni helped us with the interviews and the folk costumes. The latter is her special hobby.”

At this point the Professor intervened with an offer.

“Why don’t you take Mitri’s personal notes? Petro can find you the entire file.”

Zeno and Petrakos rose and took leave of Syros. The student assistant led the way to a small research library. He took out a key and opened a desk drawer.

“Mitre and I shared this desk, like we did with all our research results.”

Petro lifted a large folder out and handed it to Rion. The detective caught the strange image on the cover. The figure had the head of a rooster and legs that consisted of a number of intertwined snakes.

“What does that represent?” he asked with immediate curiosity.

“That’s the symbol of the ancient cult of the mysterious god called Abraxas,” said Petrakis with a laugh. “My friend Dimitrios was especially drawn and interested by its unusual beliefs and practices.”

Eleni Vouros lived near Saloniki University, on Queen Sofia street. Rion telephoned and arranged to meet her in the small apartment she occupied there.

It was early afternoon, the beginning of the city’s summertime siesta period. Trade and working came to a halt in obedience to the sun’s intense heat and light. The streets of Saloniki were mostly deserted. Many stores had closed for the hours of intense heat, their shutters rolled down to the pavement.

Zeno had long ago noticed how the cats of the city liked to creep about in the empty silence immediately after the noon hour. Did the blinding light and stifling warmth remind them of ancient days? the detective wondered.

Eleni heard him knock and opened her door. Once Rion identified himself, she let him in and offered him a chair.

“How can I help you?” she asked once she was seated opposite him.

“Just a few questions, Miss. You are the one who found the dead body of Dimitrios Paleologos?”

“Yes. We had an appointment to meet in Langadas. He had called me and said that I should come to the park there, at the center.” She seemed to tremble a little. “That is where I discovered Mitri, slumped over the bench where I was supposed to find him. I had no idea why he had summoned me there in that way.”

“Had he displayed any sort of agitation or unusual emotion before this happened?”

She hesitated a moment. “I don’t know for sure what it was, but there was concern in his eyes during the final week of his life.”

“Concern about what?”

“He never told me that. But it began when we were at Langadas during the May festival. Yes, it started then.”

“You were there with him and Petro Petrakos?”

“Yes. We three stayed at the Petrakos family mansion near the Langadas spa.”

An idea all of a sudden struck the mind of Zeno Rion.

“I did not know that. I was not told the fact earlier, and I could not have guessed it. Then Petro is son of the oil and gasoline millionaire, the head and owner of Petrakos Fuel.”

“That is correct. Petro is the only son of Kosta Petrakos, the wealthy man of business.”

“And Petro lives in the Langadas residence?”

“That is their country home, but the family also has a luxurious place here in the city.”

“Thank you, Miss Vouros. I will be in touch with you again soon. I now plan to go to Langadas and look at the park where you found the corpse of Dimitrios.”

Summer evening in Salonika is the time of the promenade, of strolling along the beach and the downtown streets after sundown. Men in their light suits and straw hats, women in bright-colored dresses. There were no signs of World Depression in this traditional scene.

But Zeno Rion did not go outdoors that particular evening. He remained in his steaming apartment, digging into the folder of hard-to-read, hand-written notes of the murder victim.

The truth that Dimitrios and Eleni had been lovers was evident from the letter the detective had picked up in the Paleologos apartment. Now he delved into the field work the two students had been doing. Rion plowed through pages of description of the tradition of fire-walking by the villagers. By surprise, he came upon a pencil sketch of the figure with a rooster head and feet of snakes.

It must be the handiwork of Dimitrios. What was its meaning for him? What did it symbolize?

Zeno looked up at the ceiling awhile, thinking without clue or direction. Then he rose, put on his coat, and went out into the night air after switching off his light and locking his door. He joined in the movement of the promenaders for the next several hours. Rion stopped nowhere. He was satisfied strolling along the walkway near the gulf waters. A feeling of growing coolness spread among the happy crowd of Salonikans.

Suddenly he thought of something. He found a public telephone booth and dialed a number he had written on a small card he kept in his coat pocket.

“Hello, is that you, Miss Vouros? I am going to Langadas early tomorrow morning. Would you be able to come along and show me the places where Dimitrios stayed and worked last May? Yes, I plan to see the Petrakos family. Good, you can accompany me. It will not cause you inconvenience? Oh, I am glad that you are so eager to go back there and help me. I now believe that much about this case lies at that site. Yes, I will spend all day there. I am going to ask my chief for a car and driver so that we will lose no time. We will pick you up at your apartment. What time? Whenever it is convenient for you. All right, we shall be at your place at nine. Good evening. I will see you tomorrow morning.”

Rion went back into the walking crowds, looking forward to the next day’s short trip. He noticed how the coming of night had brought out the true human face of Salonika.

This was the most human of hours, he told himself. For a short while he forgot his professional cares as he took a long, final stroll along the shore walkway.

When Rion asked for a car and driver next morning at headquarters, his chief promptly agreed. The uniformed officer drove him to the apartment of Eleni Vouros on Queen Sofia Avenue. To the detective’s surprise, there was someone waiting there with her. It was Petro Petrakos.

“Would it be alright if Petro came to Langadas with us? He worked with Mitro and knew him well. I talked to him after you called me yesterday.”

Rion looked at Petro, then turned to her. “Of course.” He then addressed a question to the young man. “You were there with him at the festival in May, weren’t you?”

“Yes. He and I were part of a common project. I want to get to the bottom of this, like everybody else.”

Zeno led the pair to the police car in front of the building and sat down in front with the driver. As the car started for the suburb, he noticed in the driver’s mirror that the two in the back seat were sitting quite close to each other.

Rion remembered that she must have invited him to join them at some late hour, since it had been nighttime when he had telephoned her.

“Did you meet Dimitrios at the University?” said the detective, not addressing either of them specifically.

It was Petro who replied. “Yes. We had the same advisor, Professor Syros. I believe that you knew him first, Eleni. All three of us were fascinated with local folklore in the Saloniki region. The old people in Langadas aided us greatly in our field work there.”

“You both spent a lot of time there then, before and after the spring festival?”

Eleni answered his question. “We came for interviews and stayed at the Petrakis residence. Petro’s father graciously let us use the archives of the foundation.”

“The foundation?” Rion sensed that he was about to learn something vital.

Petro explained. “The Petrakos Foundation was set up by my grandfather. My father is today its president. The office used to be in Langadas, but the library and archives are now on the Petrakos estate. The foundation supports research into the folklore traditions of this region of Macedonia.”

Rion thought for a moment, digesting what he had just heard. Then he proceeded on.

“Have any of the local people resented or resisted the research going on? Are there suspicious individuals who don’t like outsiders and see them as meddlers?”

Eleni answered, denying there had been any ill will by anyone in Langadas. But Rion sensed that Petro might have given a somewhat different answer. The detective noticed that his brow was furrowed.

“Has the Petrakis Foundation faced any opposition to its work?” he asked Petro.

“When my grandfather moved out there from Saloniki the local villagers had a lot of hatred for our family. We were seen as rich upstarts who bought acres of choice land for our estate. The Foundation was meant to be a way of winning favor and respect, helping the villagers maintain traditions and bringing city people to the May Festival. I believe that my father succeeded in becoming the protector of the folklore traditionalists of Langadas.”

Rion had become profoundly enchanted by this, but his questions were cut short by their arrival in the village.

The local police sergeant took Rion and the two young folklorists to the village park. The bench where Eleni had discovered the body of Dimitrios was in an out-of-the-way corner where it had lain for hours before she arrived.

“Was the corpse brought here from somewhere else?” asked Rion.

The sergeant thought for a moment, then answered. “It appears that way. His clothes were rumpled.”

“No one saw him being carried into the park?”

“That’s right. It was afternoon, the siesta hours in Langadas.”

Rion thought through the pattern that day: Dimitrios telephones Eleni, makes a date, then is killed and brought to the bench where the meeting was to take place. Who knew where Eleni was to join Dimitrios?

The party drove next to the festival grounds adjoining the park. Eleni pointed out where she and Dimitrios had stood while filming the Fire-Dancers. Petro invited the detective to see the Foundation’s office at the Petrakos mansion. Rion consented, foreseeing opportunity to learn more.

The police car from Salonika entered the walled grounds through an imposing gate. They passed a rarity in Greece: a well-tended and watered lawn of grass. The mansion, a three-story building, was intended to make an impression of ease with its steep mansard roof and Doric half-columns. The profits of fuel refining and distribution had paid for all of this.

Rion was too preoccupied to be overwhelmed by the magnificent sight of the residence.

A servant opened the door for Petro, Eleni and the detective. The three were ushered through a high hallway into a large office-library. They sat down on a large black leather sofa and waited. Soon a tall, well-dressed man in his sixties entered and greeted them.

“Hello Eleni, hello Petro. Hello sir. I take it you are the inspector from Saloniki.”

Rion introduced himself as he rose and shook hands with Kosta Petrakos.

The father turned to his son as Zeno sat down.

“Did you visit the spot where Paleologos was found?”

“Yes, father. We have just come from the park and the festival ground.”

The father then addressed Rion. “Do you have any ideas about this horrible crime?”

“There are many curious aspects to the case. For instance, the efforts made to conceal the cause of death. The way the body was placed so that Eleni would be the one to find it. And, of course, the absence of any visible or reasonable motive.”

“Do you have any suspicions as to who might be behind it?” inquired Kosta Petrakos.

Rion did not like such a direct question. The wealthy man was too imperious. It was best to ignore his statements and turn the table on him.

“I am still only gathering facts, sir. Tell me, did Dimitrios often visit to use the facilities of the Foundation?”

“He had full access to the library and the archives. You have not seen it, but Petro will show it to you. It is on the other side of this building. Yes, he came here often. I myself rarely saw him because I am at company headquarters in Saloniki on workdays. Petro, did he not sometimes come to do research on his own?”

The son nodded affirmatively and then Rion continued with a question. “Was he here the day his body was discovered?”

The father responded with haste, it seemed to Rion.

“No. I have checked with my servants. He was not seen to have entered that day.”

“That was Wednesday. Had he been here at any time earlier in the week?” continued the detective.

“I have not asked the staff that, but I will,” said Kosta.

A servant entered the room with a tray of coffee cups. The talk went on as each of them were attended upon in turn.

Petro spoke with a blank look on his face. “I did not see Mitri last weekend and expected him back in Langadas either Monday or Tuesday.

“It is possible that he was in the village and did not come to the residence. He may have had work to do there,” added the father.

After coffee and snacks, the group of four rose and walked to the opposite wing of the mansion, to the Foundation library and archives. An enormous reception room had been converted into a repository of folklore materials. Rion took note of the optical viewers and projection equipment available. Books, periodicals, boxes, and containers ranged on all sides.

Kosta apologized and left Zeno with the two young people.

Petro demonstrated how folk dance scenes were optically recorded. The three watched a Fire-Dancer ritual on black-and-white film. “That is a ritual of the pre-Christian, even the pre-Hellenic ages,” said Petro when it was ended.
“The ancient Macedonians believed that it had magic that protected them from the Glogoi.”

Before Rion could ask him for what he was referring to, he was interrupted by the entrance into the room of a short, bald man with a pale, ugly face. He had not been heard coming in from the outside flower garden.

Petro quickly made introductions. “This is Mr. Rakidzis, curator of the library and secretary of the Foundation. Spiro, this is Detective Zeno Rion of the Saloniki police.”

“I am sorry if I startled all of you,” said the little man. “I was out for a long walk on the grounds. You were discussing the research of that poor fellow, Paleologos, when I walked in, weren’t you?”

Suddenly Eleni spoke. “Mitri traced fire-walking back to the hunt for evil demons in the time of Alexander the Great. It arose out of deep fear of such Glogoi creatures.”

Rakidzis looked directly at Rion. “Are you interested in such ancient stories, sir?”

“Right now my curiosity centers on the murder of Dimitrios. I need to find out what he thought and felt. That is where all three of you can aid me.” Rion realized that he also wished to find out the thoughts of all those present with him in this room. “Mr. Rakidzis, do you know whether Dimitrios was here at the residence, or even in Lagadas, earlier this week?”

“I do not know where he was, since I myself was gone until this morning myself. There was a lot of Foundation business for me to take care of in Salonika and other places that I traveled to.”

“It would be a joy to me to spend some time in your library and collection,” sighed Rion. “Right now I have pressing immediate duties.” He glanced at his watch. “I have promised to return our car and the driver before evening. So we shall have to leave at once in order to get back to the city. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rakidzis.”

The group was soon on its return drive to Saloniki.

The first item on Zeno’s agenda the next morning was a meeting with Professor Syros at the University. He arrived by an early trolley-bus, finding the scholar in his office.

“Good morning, Professor. You appear to be alone here. Your assistants have not reported yet?”

“Eleni and Petro come here later, at ten. We older scholars do not need as much sleep as they do, it appears.”

“They seem to know each other quite well. You will forgive my boldness, sir, but I must learn about them in order to explore the situation of unfortunate Dimitrios. Can you somehow describe for me the mutual relations of the three?”

Looking down at his hands, Syros paused a few seconds before replying. All of a sudden, a flood of words flowed out of the mouth of the elderly bachelor.

“I was perplexed by the threesome from the beginning, when they started work here four years ago, in 1931. A man and a woman at that age can work together without becoming lovers or sweethearts, of course. I wondered how Eleni could act the way she did toward both Mitri and Petro. Which of the two males was the primary one? I wondered to myself. There was no tension or jealousy visible between Dimitrios and Petro. The three of them were a united team.

“If I imagined Mitri and Eleni, then I had to include Petro with them. The same way, Mitri was always in my thoughts along with the other two. Even now, with one of them dead, I inevitably think of the trio of assistants.”

The two men, Syros sitting and Rion standing, stared at each other in silence.

“Was Dimitrios correct in thinking that the Fire-Walkers began in early times as the hunters for demonic Glogoi?” asked the detective.

“That was a brilliant idea with much merit to it. Eleni and Petro will continue to work on the subject.”

“I am curious: how did ancient Fire-Walkers get rid of the Glogoi monsters?”

“It was horrible and gruesome. They poured red-hot embers down their throats until the breathing of the Glogos stopped. Burning flames brought sudden death to the demon.”

Zeno excused himself, leaving with a bitter taste in his mouth.

The detective made another search through the notebooks of the strangled victim at police headquarters. He was uncertain what he was looking for or might happen to discover of importance in what Dimitrios had written there.

He now read with a fuller knowledge of the ancient culture that the student of folklore had been studying.

Zeno with difficulty made out the handwriting of the would-be anthropologist. He took more time with each sentence and paragraph. His attention focused on a short, swiftly jotted note that concerned the ancient Macedonian god named Abraxas.

“An unbegotten god”, “the great invisible spirit”, “the greatest and the highest of beings”, “the oldest of the family of archons and aeons”, “both shining light and greatest darkness”, “both moral perfection and demonic”, “master of the glogoi hunters.”

Rion stopped and looked away, as if falling into a spell.

His mind was making connections it could not construct earlier. He had acquired a sharper comprehension of the concerns of Dimitrios Paleologos.

I must return to Lagadas, he decided. Specifically, I must search through the Foundation library and talk with Mr. Rakidzis.

He hurried to the office of Captain Talassas to ask for a car and driver to take him back to the Petrakis mansion.

Spiro Rakidzis appeared surprised and unprepared for the visit from the Salonikan inspector.

“I will help you find whatever can aid you, sir,” said the curator as the two of them entered the large hall of books and folklore collections.

Rion went directly to his main point of interest.

“I would like to see anything that connects the Fire-Dancers that are located here in Langadas and the ancient cult of the demonic Macedonian god who went by the name of Abraxas.”

Rakidzis seemed thunderstruck and shaken on hearing this.

“I don’t understand you,” he muttered, his face becoming red and his hands trembling. “How can that subject have any significance in the police investigation that you are engaged in. Does Abraxas have anything to do with the tragic fate of poor Dimitrios? How can that particular god have any significance in what you are trying to do?”

Rion, realizing that he had touched a sensitive nerve, gave out the suspicion in the back of his mind.

“I have a suspicion that there is a modern cult of Abaxis among the Fire-Walkers of Langadas, and that the late Dimitrios Paleologos was somehow on to it. My mind has come to focus on the question of whether the young man was defined and labeled a dangerous glogos by the secret, concealed adherents of the ancient Macedonian demon-god.”

The inspector gazed into the eyes of the shaken curator with all the mental power he could muster and focus.

At that dramatic moment, a voice came from behind Zeno Rion. An unseen person had entered the library and approached him from behind.

The detective turned around and saw that it was Kosta Petrakos who had spoken.

“Yes, we have an unseen cult of Abraxas here. I know that because I happen to be its head priest.”

Rion now saw with a new sight. “The Fire-Walkers are your followers, then?” he asked with growing enlightenment. “And poor Dimitrios came to be seen as a meddling glog?”

“That was how I explained the need for action. The young scholar came to know too much. He visited me that morning and threatened to expose us to the police and the newspapers. I could not allow that, so I took it on myself to end his short life.

“It was done in order to preserve the secrets of our order of Abraxis. Spiro here was not aware of our existence. But now you have uncovered the truth and our continuation has to come to an end.”

“You can return to Saloniki with me in a police car, sir,” offered Zeno. “I take it that you are ready to confess all that you have just said to me.”

Petrakis nodded that he was and accompanied Rion out to the auto that had brought the detective out to Langadas.

Detective Rion felt the satisfaction of having solved a riddle with its roots going back untold centuries in time.

The hunting down of imaginary glogoi by Abraxioti was about to end forever, he predicted with all his mind and heart.

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