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those who have ears to hear, hear!
PHILIP OF MACEDON NATIONAL GREEK FRONT
     
    The newscaster looked up from the text. ‘That was the text of the announcement, Ladies and Gentlemen,’ she said. ‘The original has already been sent to Police Headquarters.’
    I stared at the screen, dumbfounded. Of all the possible explanations for Favieros’s suicide, this was the only one I hadn’t thought of. It crossed my mind to phone Sotiropoulos to find out whether he’d thought of it, but I immediately dismissed the idea.
    That night, it wasn’t Philip of Macedon I dreamt about but Bucephalus. He was pure white with a thick mane. He was standing in the middle of a meadow and had raised his head to the sky, like a cock that instead of crowing neighed.

6
     
     
    It seems that God loves reporters of all kinds. Otherwise there’s no explaining how, every time that a story is about to fizzle out, manna falls from heaven and it rises again from its ashes. This time the manna went by the name of the Philip of Macedon National Greek Front and came to completely turn things on their head, without actually changing anything. Because this new line that certain nationalists had supposedly forced Favieros to commit suicide for the simple reason that he was employing workers from the Balkans and Third World countries in his factories and that he committed suicide in public in order to indulge their whims didn’t stand up even as the kind of cock-and-bull story told by aunt Lena, who, in any case, only had truck with good nationalists. On the other hand, however, it opened up a whole new ballgame for conjectures, theories and opinions and for all kinds of claptrap so that the news reporters would have plenty to discuss with the usual TV experts for the next ten days or so. This amazing combination where everything seems different, though nothing changes, can only be achieved by God and only with the help of Greeks.
    The other thing that stuck in my mind was the name of the organisation. The Philip of Macedon National Greek Front. Where had I heard that name before? I racked my brains but I couldn’t for the life of me recall. And yet it kept echoing in my head.
    The answer came with a phone call from Katerina, who was dying to discuss the developments in the Favieros case.
    ‘But do you seriously believe that they forced him to commit suicide?’ she asked.
    ‘It seems unlikely to me too, and yet the one sure thing is that Favieros committed suicide publicly. What we need to find out is why. There’s something we’re missing.’
    ‘I agree. Everything they’ve been saying and writing about his bad financial situation, about incurable illnesses and the like doesn’t have any basis in fact from what I can see.’
    ‘That’s not what I meant.’
    ‘What then?’
    ‘Why would he commit suicide publicly? There’s no logical explanation for public suicide.’
    ‘So what are you saying then? That they told Favieros, who was on first-name terms with everyone in the government and even with the Prime Minister, to go to some TV channel and, in front of the camera, put a pistol in his mouth and blow his brains out?’
    ‘Don’t you find it strange that that’s exactly what he did?’
    ‘Of course, but I can’t believe he was made to do it by some puny little organisation like the Philip of Macedon National Greek Front.’
    ‘Have you heard of it?’ I asked surprised.
    ‘Come off it, Pops! They’re those cranks who every year celebrate the birth of Alexander the Great by blocking the traffic in the centre of Thessaloniki.’
    That’s it, I said to myself, that’s who they are. I remembered how my colleagues in Thessaloniki raged and cursed each time because a mere handful of people created chaos in the city centre.
    ‘Tell me, Katerina, are we talking here about accessory before the fact?’
    ‘More like incitement to commit suicide, but who could you pin it on?’
    ‘The heads of the organisation.’
    ‘Some