The Other Side of Midnight

They passed field after field of primitive scarecrows, with a scrap of cloth tied to each fence.

"They certainly must have gullible crows around here," Catherine laughed.

They drove through a series of small villages with impossible names: Mesologian and Agelkastron and Etolikon and Amfilhoia.

Late in the afternoon they reached the village of Rion, sloping gently down to the Rio River, where they were to catch the ferryboat to Ioannina. Five minutes later they were sailing toward the island of Epirus where Ioannina lay.

Catherine and Larry sat on a bench outside on the ferry's upper deck where in the distance ahead of them they saw a large island begin to loom out of the afternoon mist. It seemed wild to Catherine and somehow a little ominous. It had a primitive look to it as though it had been created for the Greek gods, and mere mortals were unwelcome intruders. As the boat steamed closer, Catherine could see that the bottom of the island was ringed with sheer rock that dropped off to the sea below. The foreboding mountain had a scarred, gashed look where men had gouged a road out of it. Twenty-five minutes later the ferry was docking at the little harbor of Epirus, and a few moments later Catherine and Larry were driving up the mountain toward Ioannina.

Catherine was reading to Larry from the guidebook.

"Nestled high in the Pindus Mountains, in a steep bowl surrounded by towering Alps, from a distance Ioannina takes on the shape of a double-headed eagle, and at the claw of the eagle is the bottomless Lake Pamvotis, where excursion boats carry passengers across its dark green water to the island in the center of the lake and then on to the distant shores across the lake."

"It sounds perfect," Larry said.

They arrived in the late afternoon and drove directly to their hotel, an old beautifully kept one-story building on a hill high above the town, with a series of guest bungalows scattered about the grounds. An old man in a uniform came out to greet them. He looked at their happy faces.

"Honeymooners," he said.

Catherine glanced at Larry and smiled. "How did you know?"

"You can always tell," the old man declared. He led them into the lobby where they registered and then showed them to their bungalow. It consisted of a living room and bedroom, a bathroom and kitchen and a large terrazzo terrace. Over the tops of the cypresses they had a magnificent view of the village and the lake below, dark and brooding. It had the unreal beauty of a picture postcard.

"It's not much"--Larry smiled--"but it's all yours."

"I'll take it," Catherine exclaimed.

"Happy?"

She nodded. "I don't remember when I've been so happy." She walked over to him and held him tightly. "Don't ever let me go," she whispered.

His strong arms were around her, holding her close. "I won't," he promised.

While Catherine was unpacking, Larry strolled back to the lobby to talk to the room clerk.

"What do people do around here?" Larry asked.

"Everything," the clerk said proudly. "In the hotel we have a health spa. Around the village there is hiking, fishing, swimming, boating."

"How deep is the lake?" Larry inquired casually.

The clerk shrugged. "No one knows, sir. It is a volcanic lake. It is bottomless."

Larry nodded thoughtfully. "What about the caves near here?" he asked.

"Ah! The Caves of Perama. They are only a few miles from here."

"Have they been explored?"

"A few of them. Some are still closed."

"I see," said Larry.

The clerk continued. "If you like mountain climbing, I suggest Mount Tzoumerka. If Mrs. Douglas is not afraid of heights."

"No," smiled Larry. "She's quite an expert climber."

"Then she will enjoy it. You're lucky with the weather. We've been expecting the meltemi, but it hasn't come. Now it probably won't."