“I’m listening,” the other repeated.
“I tried to tell you once before, but you went up in flames and wouldn’t let me speak. But now, it’s necessary. Listen to me patiently, brother.”
“I’m listening. I’ve said so already. Drop the prelim inaries!”
“Hey, Charitos, young man, get me some tobacco and some cigarette paper,” Captain Polyxigis exclaimed, to get rid of the boy, who had clambered onto a roll of ship’s cable and had pricked up his ears.
Charitos slid reluctantly down from the cable and made off.
“I’ve something to say to you, Captain Michales …” Polyxigis began, hesitating again.
“Well, get on.with it!”
“About Emine”___”
“Drop this shameless talk, Captain Polyxigis. You know I don’t like it. Love stories and women’s gossip are your business, not mine. You’ve come into my shop, so I can’t throw you out. But change the subject!”
“I’m not shameless in talking about this. Calm down, Captain Michales. Let me go on … Emine wants to become a Christian.”
Captain Michales picked up an almond from the table and reduced it to dust between his fingers. “If you were a Frank, she’d turn Frank. If you were a Jew, she’d turn Jewess. Are you making even christening an amuse ment?”
, “But it’s Christian she wants to become, and I am go ing to marry her,” Captain Polyxigis went on.
“Marry her?” Captain Michales gave a convulsive movement and tore the solid leather binding of the ac count book. “Congratulations!” he said at last, malev olently, and spat on the floor.
Captain Polyxigis took off his fez. Anger made his head feel as though it would burst. He crushed the fez together in his hands. He looked at Captain Michales, whose face had changed color. Storm away, you old boar, he thought. What I have to say you shall hear, whether you like it or not.
Captain Michales stood up, as though to signal his guest that it was time to go.
Captain Polyxigis did not move. “I am here, Captain Michales, to ask you to give the bride away.”
“Me?” He clutched at his beard. “You make me ashamed of my beard. Get Efendina Horsedung to give her away. He’s just right for you!”
That brought Captain Polyxigis to his feet. He could no longer contain his rage. He picked up the chair and dashed it to the floor.
“You’re going too far, Captain Michales,” he shouted. “You’re a man, that’s true; so am I a man. You fought in the war; so did I. You break into the agas’ coffeehouses on horseback; I into their houses. And if you never laugh, that doesn’t mean you’re a brute. And if I do laugh, that doesn’t mean I’m a buffoon. When I talk to you about the woman I intend to marry, I expect you to show me some respect.” Captain Polyxigis curbed himself. But his anger had not yet spent itself. Rancor still reigned within him. It was otherwise with Captain Michales. The longer he listened to Captain Polyxigis the more his scorn subsided. When Polyxigis had begun by making wretched requests, calling him brother and flaunting the mourning crape in his face to appease him, he had felt an impulse to seize him by the scruff of his neck and throw him out. But now that he spoke strongly, like a man, Michales’ old brotherly feeling for this foolhardly captain reawakened. The memory arose of how together they had charged the Turkish soldiers on horseback, without even looking around to see if they were being followed. The two cap-Mains had not resembled each other in those days, either, but they had become friends. “You want to free Crete with roaring, and I with song,” Captain Polyxigis had .said to him one day, laughingly.
But after the war had ended, they had parted. Afterward, when Captain Michales saw him he either avoided !him or, if they did meet, often abused him. But now that, .he saw Polyxigis with his head held high he felt the old friendship arising afresh. Michales put out his hand.
“Captain Polyxigis,” he said, “you’re a palikar. I know that. I don’t want to quarrel with you.”
“Welcome, my captain, my evening star,” Emine’ exclaimed, and unsheathed her perfumed shoulders. “Welcome, my husband. I’ve something amusing to tell you.” “I have news for you, too,” said Polyxigis, and lay down beside her. He embraced her ardently and breathed in the fragrance of her bared breast. For him, the world vanished. But the woman felt his weight, heavy and solid, and rebelled. Forcibly, though tenderly, she pushed his head up.
“First I want to hear your news,” she said. “When you came in you were depressed. Does he refuse?”
Polyxigis drew away from her. The world came back, and with it his cares. “Yes, he refuses.” “The damned wild boar! And why?” “That he wouldn’t say. He tore an account book he was holding in his hand, and tried to throw me out of his shop. But I told him what I thought! I didn’t spare him!” “That’s not enough!” Emine shouted. She got up and stamped with her rose-tinted heels on the floor. “No, Polyxigis, that’s not enough. You should have killed him!”
Captain Polyxigis shuddered. “Killed him?” “Of course, killed him! That’s what being a man means. Only a woman answers an insult with an insult. Men kiU.” “Kill Captain Michales?”
“Is he a God? He’s a wild beast, and you’re afraid of him. Aren’t you ashamed?”
She seized her nightdress and with a single movement tore it from top to bottom. Her firm, erect body gleamed in the lamplight, and a rill of sweat trickled between her breasts.
“That’s how I’d tear him, by God!” she whispered, and suddenly burst into tears.
Captain Polyxigis was dismayed. He tried to take her in his arms to calm her. But she stiffened against him and would not let him come near her. She crouched, like a wild beast, in a corner. She was not crying now. Hard, dry laughter shook her body.
“Polyxigis,” she said, beating against the wall obstinately with her little fist. “Nuri disgusted me from the time Captain Michales broke the raki glass apart with his two fingers, and Nuri could not. Take care you don’t make me loathe you too. The man who embraces me must be like no one in the world.” “I won’t kiU him.” “You can’t.”
“I won’t,” Captain Polyxigis repeated, and it was now he who stamped on the floor. His face became distorted, his eyes pierced Emine like a knife.
The woman saw his fury. It gave her pleasure. A heavy smell streamed from the man’s sweating, raging body, and EminŁ‘s nostrils quivered delightedly.
“My captain,” she said, “my treasure, stamp and be angrythat’s how I like you!” And she opened her arms. For Captain Polyxigis the whole world collapsed on Emine’s bosom. And when, with extinguished eyes and wet hair, the man rose once more, it was as though he had emerged, holding his breath, from the depths of some dark sea.
“My beloved, my husband, my hero,” Emine’ cooed, reconciled, stroking his hairy thighs.
Captain Polyxigis lay with his back against the wall and observed the woman out of half-closed eyes that were full of profound joy. At the same time he could hear the noises of the town, the barking of dogs, the far-off serenades of nocturnal revelers. “There’s nothing in this world above,” he thought, “to equal woman.”
And so he rejoiced that God had arranged for their bodies to be in such harmony. He laughed with satisfaction, stroking her firm, round arms.
“Emine,” he said, “don’t worry. We’ll find another, better man to give you away.”
“You haven’t asked me what the news was I had to tell you. Have you forgotten?”
“How should I remember when you’re lying there before me and it will soon be day?”
Emine” laughed. Then she whispered something into his ear.
“God!” exclaimed Captain Polyxigis. “Oh, the poor fellow!” He felt profound sympathy with the wretched man. Emine“‘s laughter made his heart contract.
She sat up and extinguished the lamp. But he sat upright where he was, and stared into the dark.
Mr. Idomeneas was on his way home from the memorial service. Today he was in black, with a black band on his hat and
an even wider one round his sleeve. He was in mourning.
It was almost midday when he came in. He sat down at his writing table and told his servant Doxania, “I’m not eating today, either now or this evening. I’m fasting.” Then he sent her out of the room.
He picked up his pen, took a large piece of paper, sighed, and began to write. Today every letter was a capital letter in red ink. The sovereigns in the great cities also wrote in red ink, and today it was as though Konstantinos Palaiologos, in whose memory the service in the church had been held, were himself turning to address Victoria, Queen of England.
“My DEAR COUSIN VICTORIA,
Four hundred and thirty-six years have now gone by since I was killed. I lie beneath the earth and await justice at the hands of the Christian Queen oj the upper world. Beloved Victoria, how long?”
Two fat tears dripped onto the paper and spotted it. He could not send it to the queen like that. He took another sheet and wrote with one hand, while with the other he held his handkerchief and wiped his eyes to prevent them from dripping. He wrote, and wiped his eyes, and fasted… .
When it was time to light the lamps, his friend Tityros came. Tityros had had a bad day. After Captain Michales had left him, he had found his wife and her brother sitting in the courtyard. They had laid the table and were drinking their morning coffee and milk, eating the last of the Easter biscuits, and laughing. He greeted them. They looked at him without answering. His wife did not get up, did not bring him a cup. Brother and sister winked at each other and laughed again.
Tityros shut himself up in his room. The thing had to end. His heroic oration in the church had given him courage. He would turn that parasite out. “This house is my Constantinople,” he muttered. “He’s the Turk, I’m Constantine.”
He ran noisily downstairs and out into the courtyard. “Why are you laughing?” he shouted, and his chin quivered. “Shut up!”
The woman turned and put her hand in front of her mouth, to stop her laughter. The brother yawned. He was still in his nightshirt, unshaven and barefoot.
“Is laughing then forbidden, teacher?” he asked mockingly.
“You have nothing to say,” replied the schoolmaster. “I’m master of the house here!” He stamped his foot. “And I demand the key of the house. The master of the house keeps the key.”
“What will you say next, teacher?” said Diamandes in a tone of amazement, putting his long leg up on the chair. He turned to his sister and pointed with his thumb at the schoolmaster, who was standing behind him, his face greenish yellow.
“Just look at him, the fly!”.
Vangelio applauded her brother with a peal of laughter.
“What are you laughing at, you shameless creature?” shouted Tityros, beside himself, and he rushed at his wife to stop her mouth.
But the brother, who had kicked the chair aside, jumped up to help his sister.
“Down with your claws, schoolmaster,” he bellowed, “or I’ll knock you down.”
He swung his fist over Tityros’ head, and Tityros started back.
“Get out!” bellowed Diamandes, shaking his fist menacingly. “Get out, or I’ll pound you to pulp, Tityros. What impertinence, trying to play the master and demand the key. Hey, you snake in spectacles, you leanbottom, take yourself off! If not, I’ll give you legs!”
He seized him by the coat, shook him and pushed him against the wall. Vangelio undid her long hair, took out her ivory bridal comb and began combing voluptuously. Smiling proudly, she looked at her brother, at his broad, hairy chest exposed by the open nightshirt, at his cypress-like form, and then, with disgust, at her sickly husband.
Tityros tore himself away from his brother-in-law and ran to the street door. But before opening it he called out to his wife, “This is no life at all! It’s got to end!”
“Yes, end,” shouted Diamandes, puffing out his chest, “I can’t stand any longer to have you stumbling over my feet, morning, noon and night. The house isn’t big enough. There isn’t room for both of us.”
He turned to his sister. “Vangelio, choose.”
Tityros held his breath. He stared at his wife and waited. Vangelio was holding a green silk ribbon between her teeth. She smoothed her hair with both hands, tied it wp and shook it, so that it fell over her neck and down to her knees.
“I’m not parting from my brother,” she said at last, “not if it means the end of the world.”
“That means I …” Tityros began, and stopped.
Vangelio shrugged her shouders. Diamandes laughed drily and again stretched himself out with his long legs up on the chair.
“She’s given you the go-by, you poor thing,” he said. “Don’t you understand that yet, teacher?”
It was the sight of the sea that calmed Tityros down. He sat on a rock near the wall and the hours passed as he sat motionless, gazing at the expanse of water.
The sun was already sinking when Tityros got up from the rock. He looked about him in surprise. His agitation ad subsided, his eyes were dry. During all the hours he had been gazing at the sea, he had been wholly without thought. But inside him something was stirring. At last he had come to a decisionin his blood if not in his understanding. He had not been able to make it in any way explicit, but he felt himself safe within his own certainty. “All will go well,” he whispered, “I am the master of the house.”
He turned into the crooked alleys near the harbor, passed through the Jewish quarter and was again in his own part of the town, in front of the grand house of Idomeneas. There was still a light in his friend’s window. He’s certainly writing to the queen again, he thought. What a waste of letters! I’ll go and chat with him for a bit. It will distract us both.
He knocked. Old Doxania’s face showed her pleasure as she saw him.
“Since early this morning the master has eaten nothing,” she said. “Get him to eat, and God bless your honor for it! God has sent you.”
Mr. Idomeneas too was delighted to have a guest. He had just finished his letter writing and had put his seal Athena armedon the envelope. Tomorrow the letter would go to London.
“Others fight with weapons,” he said, pointing proudly at the sealed letter. “We twoand Hadjisavasfight with our brains, and we shall set Crete free.”
The schoolmaster shook his head. He did not believe that Crete could be saved by writings and letters and marble fragments. Tired and hungry, he sank onto a high, sagging chair.
“And who will save us, Idomeneas?” he asked with a sigh.
“Who? Crete, as soon as we have freed her, schoolmaster! Our personal happiness is bound up with that. In the fight for the saving of Crete we are fighting also for the saving of our souls.”
But the schoolmaster shook his head. He wiped his glasses, which were spattered with spray from the sea.
Wandering about excitedly Idomeneas continued: “What other way to happiness can you see? To be sure what’s the good of my talking to you now? You’re newly married, drunk with bliss. But the first rapture will pass, and then you will follow my way. For men like us there is no personal happiness. We find it only in the fight for the happiness of the community.”
He paused. He wanted to roll himself a cigarette. But he remembered that he was mourning and fasting today, and he put his tobacco box aside. He thought with pleasure of the sacrifice he was making to the community.
“That’s the secret, schoolmaster!” He raised his kindly, prematurely shriveled face with pride. “In Megalokastro I am the only one who knows it. Perhaps Hadjisavas as well. Later you too will understand.”
He paused again. But his heart was overflowing. Today he must speak. The day demanded it. His friend must at last learn the secret which he had been meekly keeping to himself for years.
“Why do you suppose I write to the queen? Why do I tay here in the half-tumbled-down grand house of my ather like a living corpse, and cry out? No, not ICrete ries out! Because she has no voice she uses mine. You arp and say, ‘Your crying’s useless
, no one hears you.’
And I tell you, a cry is never wasted! Before the ear came oices. With their calling and crying the ear was first reated, Mr. Teacher! All the kings and the mighty of the arth, to whom I write, will one day hear. And if they do ot, then their ‘children and grandchildren. And if not hese, then God. Why is God there? Why, do you think?
To hear! Don’t laugh. Yes, yes, I know, everyone thinks I’m crazy. Behind my back I hear them whispering, ‘What a waste of letters!’ Let them say it. What do they nderstand about God and Crete and the duty of man?
From among these ruins I cry out to God, and one day he will hear. He will bend down from Heaven to Crete.
Ashamed of having left her in slavery for so long, He will ask me, Idomeneas, for forgiveness. Suddenly Saint Menas’ Easter bells will start ringing loudly, and the Christians will run madly into the streets strewed with myrtle and laurel. Men and women will stream to the harbor, to greet the Greek king’s son. As he steps from the ship, they will kiss one another and shout: ‘Crete is risen! Really risen again!’ “
He wiped his eyes. He had relieved his heart. But the schoolmaster’s mind was elsewhere; his friend’s flame did not warm him. “You and I, my dear Idomeneas, will by then be withered leaves. We shall die slaves, and not live to see that resurrection.”
Idomeneas laughed at his friend pityingly. “You’re still not capable of understanding me. I have no need to see and to test in order to be set free. I am free even in the confusion of servitude. I enjoy the freedom of the future, generations in advance. And when I die, I shall die a free man, for I have fought for freedom my whole life long.”
“That I really don’t understand,” said the schoolmaster, who was thinking of his wife and her shameless brother, and the key of the house which had been refused him.
“But you will certainly understand it one day,” continued his friend. “For the moment you are ensnared by small things, which feast on the souls of men. The soul is a lioness, worries are her lice. But you will shake them off!” he said, giggling at his own wit.
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