“A good thing she didn’t throw stones at us,” he said. “We had a lucky escape. That’s old Kostandinia, the pilgrim’s widow, as she’s called. When the poor thing sees a man, she loses her wits. She picks up stones and throws them at him. She takes every man for a Turk.”
He gathered some acorns off the ground, shelled them and ate them. As Kosmas looked at him with surprise, he said:
“Those aren’t acorns, they’re chestnuts. At least we call them chestnuts when evening comes and we’ve had nothing to eat and can’t make things out clearly.”
At last they left the plain. A pass appeared in the mountain before them.
“There’s the village,” said Kostandes, pointing. Kosmas could discern only heaps of ruins on the slope of the mountain.
“Where?” he asked. “I can’t see anything.”
“In front of you, those stones,” said Kostandes. “Soon the people too will come into sight. There, the dogs have got wind of us.”
The dogs barking out of the ruins. Their ribs gleamed hungrily.
“I don’t see a light anywhere,” said Kosmas.
“Where would they get oil, master? At sundown they huddle into the ruins, like owls.”
“Welcome,” cried voices, and five or six heads peered from behind the naked stones. “Where are you going?”
“To old Kubelina,” Kostandes answered. “She’ll make up a bed for us in her lordly mansion.”
Laughter came in answer.
“Have you a bite of something with you?” one of them asked.
“Yes, we’ve got something.”
“Then old Kubelina will have something to eat. Have you got some bits of stuff to keep warm in?”
“We’ve got that too.”
“Then old Kubelina will be able to keep warm,” said the voices, and fresh laughter rang out behind the stones.
“They can still laugh!” said Kosmas, overcome.
Kostandes began counting the heaps of ruins. “Four, five, sixah, here’s my aunt’s house!” he said. “We needn’t knock, it hasn’t got a door. Hey, Kubelina, come out on the balcony!”
A frail old woman in rags, leaning on a bent stick, came out between the stones.
“Is that Kostandes?” she asked. “When will you learn reason? And who’s with you?”
“Throw open the doors, I tell you!” answered Kostandes. “Kill two hens. Give ‘em to the girl to prepare. We’ll have one boiled, the other roasted with potatoes. Open the hests too, get out the silken sheets and make up beds for us. We’re glad we’ve arrived. Be happy in your kingdom!”
“All shall be done, you whirlwind,” replied the old woman. She groped her way forward.
“Welcome, sir,” she said to Kosmas, who had dismounted and was stumbling over the debris. “Welcome, my child! Don’t listen to that silly Kostandes. I’ve roofed a corner with rushesthat’s the best room in the house. Come in.”
They squatted on the stones. Kostandes collected brushwood and made a fire. Kosmas opened the sack and took out the plentiful provisions his mother had packed for him. The old woman sat down beside them, and they began to eat. The old woman crossed herself and fell upon the food.
“Come every evening, my children, every evening, and then I too, poor thing, will have something to eat. Have you got some wine with you as well?”
Kostandes pulled out a bottle, which passed from mouth to mouth. The old woman drank, and her eyes grew bright. In her youth she had certainly been beautiful; now all she had left were those huge, gleaming, dark-brown eyes.
“Hey, Aunt,” said Kostandes, whom the drink had made gay, “may I be allowed to sing something?”
“You have my permission,” she replied. “You’re still alive, so sing, you idiot!”
The lusty fellow sang, with long-drawn-out notes, while his aunt, her toothless mouth open, listened and giggled.
I took my Aunt Thodora down one summer evening to the town.
Your beauty’s set me in a whirl. Ah, if you were some other girl!
Child, be a man, and have your way. I’ll be your aunt again, some day. New life came into the spellbound woman. She clapped her hands and blushed. Kosmas gazed at her thoughtfully. “What strength these souls have in them!” he thought. “That is Crete.”
“Poverty must have its pleasures my child,” said the old woman, laughing. “Suffering needs singing and drinking, otherwise it feeds on us. He’s a rough customer, but he isn’t going to make a meal of us. We’ll eat him up.”
In the morning, as they were taking leave of her, the old woman picked up a stone covered with red stains and gave it to Kosmas.
“It’s the only present I can give you,” she said. “Keep this stone in remembrance of Crete.” She pointed to the dark red spots. “My son’s blood.”
In the street Kostandes strode along and sang. Kosmas felt that he was now experiencing the lost meaning of his native country for the first time. Hard of approach, rebellious, harsh was this land. She allowed not a moment of comfort, of gentleness, of repose. One could not tell whether she loved her children or hated them. One thing was certain: she scourged them till the blood flowed.
He turned and looked back at the stone heaps which were the village. A few women and children were visible among the stones. He heard voices and laughter. What strength there is! he thought. What souls! For thousands of years they have struggled in this wilderness of rocks, with hunger, thirst, discord and death. And they don’t bow down. They don’t even complain. In the deepest hopelessness the Cretan finds redemption.
As they came in sight of the grandfather’s village, the sun was at its noon height. A hot south wind was blowing from Arabia, and the sea began to rise beyond the mountain.
Old Sefakas’ big house stood out at the highest point of the village. It had a stately air, with its wine presses, oil presses, stables and storehouses, where casks and jars lay in rows. It had wide verandas, where in summer the rugs and pillows were stacked in heaps up to the roof. The igh bedrooms were on the first floor. The doors were now open; a stream of people went in and out to see how things were with the captain in his struggle against Charos. The old man’s daughters-in-law and grandchildren ran busily about, counting the jars, estimating the value of the store of flour and oil, verifying the casks in the wine cellar. How many fleeces hung from the rafters? How many cheeses were there in the cheese larder? They reckoned out loud what inheritance would fall to each one.
It seemed to the grandfather that they were carving him up alive. He called out angrily:
“Put me in the yard, so that I can’t hear you!”
The daughters-in-law and grandchildren prepared a bed for him in the yard.
“Put me on the ground under the lemon tree. Here’s where I want to draw my last breathwhere the earth touches my flesh and I can touch the earth. Prop me a bit higher, so that I can see about me!”
They placed a cushion against his back to support him. Near him they set his stick and a cup of water to drink from.
“Now leave me alone. Away with you!” he ordered. “Only Thrasaki’s to come and sit by me.”
“tie now took a good look around him at the stables, the presses, the fountain, the troughs, the two cypresses that flanked the door, and he sniffed the air, which smelled of lemon leaves and dung. The smell delighted him and he stroked his beard in contentment. He heard a sigh and, turning, became aware of a sturdy, curly-haired youth who stood waiting.
“Well, who are you?”
“Konstantes.”
“Whose son?”
“Your son Nikolas’.”
“And why are you standing here, so close to me?”
“You’re a long time dying, Granddad, and I’m in a hurry to be back at my sheep-pen. I want to be off.”
“Off with you then, don’t wait about uselessly. I shall be some time. And look after the beasts well.”
The curly-headed young palikar bent down, grasped his grandfather’s hand and kissed it.
“I shan’t go,” he said, “if you don’t give me your blessing. That’s what I’ve been waiting for since early this morning.”
“Take my blessing, then, and go. And listengo indoors and tell them they’re to lay the tables in the yard in front of me, so that the three captains can eat here and I can see them. Are they still eating?”
“Yes, still. Since yesterday evening, when they arrived, by my faith, Granddad, their jaws haven’t had a rest. From time to time they dropped off to sleep on each other’s shoulders, and then they woke up again and the chewing went on. And the schoolmaster’s brought his lyre with him to play an accompaniment. And they keep bothering the women.”
“What’s come over you, you clucking hen? Shut up! Do as I tell you. The tables are to be laid here, so that I can see. And if they can’t move, help them, Kostantes! And don’t laugh. They’re captains. They deserve respect! Go!”
Charidimos appeared, panting. He had been sent by the grandfather to Captain Michales to bring him the news that his father was dying, and to ask him to come down for the leave-taking.
“What answer have you brought me? Will he come?” the old man asked.
” ‘I can’t leave my post, Father,’ he told me to say to you. ‘Forgive me, but I can’t leave my post. Give me your blessing from afar. Farewell! And may we meet again soon!’”
“He’s right. He made one mistake, but now he’s learned prudence. Let him have my blessing from afar,” said the old man, raising his hand and blessing the air.
He turned to Thrasaki. “My little Thrasaki, do you understand what’s going on?” “I understand, Granddad.” “Keep your eyes open, Thrasaki, and see clearly. Keep your ears open, and hear clearly. Let nothing escape you. Now three mountains will be coining into viewthe three captains.”
While he was still speaking, Stavrulios, the village carpenter, appeared at the street door. The grandsons had sent for him, to take the measurements for the coffin. Stealthily and fearfully he entered the yard. The grandfather half shut his eyes, and pretended not to see him. The man bent down and began to make furtive motions with his arms. He asked, to distract the old man, “How are you feeling, Captain Sefakas? You’re all right today, God be thanked. You’ll have Charos beaten yet!”
The old man saw that the carpenter was unobtrusively trying to measure him and he smiled under his lusty, flowing beard. At length he took pity on him and said:
“Don’t be afraid, Stavrulios, you idiot, just bring your rule out and measure me!”
The carpenter started. “What did you say, Captain?”
“Blockhead, get on with your work and measure me!”
The carpenter thought that the old man was feeling for his stick and was alarmed. He pulled the tape measure out of his belt and placed it against the massive body.
“How long?” asked the old man.
“Six foot exactly, Captain.”
“I’ve shrunk,” he said with a sigh. “Measure my breadth too.”
Stavrulios measured his breadth as well and then stood by uncertainly.
“Run along with you, poor fellow! I want it made of good timber! Have you got walnut?”
“Of course, Captain.”
The old man turned to Thrasaki. “Can you tell walnut, Thrasaki?”
“That I can, Granddad!”
“Good! Well, make sure that Stavrulios doesn’t swindle us. I want it made of walnut. Go!”
Meanwhile the women were setting the tables in the yard. They brought roast meat and dainties, jugs of wine nd copper drinking cups. The graybeard, propped up on his pillow, watched. Two bees hummed about his huge head of thick hair, and a few ants were crawling over his naked, furry calves. Their scurrying amused him.
“Where are the captains?” he asked.
“There they come, Granddad.”
With their faces askew, their mustaches drooping, and their broad red belts loose, the three. hobbled slowly out, supporting one another. They wore baggy breeches of thick wool. Their boots were trodden down. Each dangled a camomile flower behind his ear.“Let’s walk straight, brothers! If not, we shall disgrace ourselves,” they whispered to each other.
“Hold me up or I’ll fall,” croaked the lame schoolmaster, who was in the middle. The lean, proud little man was half seas over. His lyre was.slung from his shoulder, like a cartridge belt.
Captain Mandakas towered above him on his right. The captain’s hair and beard were short; he had a strong neck, solid bones and gigantic ears. At his waist flashed the silver pistols. On the schoolmaster’s left was Captain Katsirmas the corsair, weathered by the salt air, his face savage, his eyes squinting.
When they saw the old man, they stopped.
“Are you still living, brother Sefakas?” cried Mandakas, roaring with laughter. “And we’ve been eating and drinking and saying, ‘God be merciful to him.’ “
“Won’t you eat and drink some more, captains?” the old man invited. “Since yesterday, I hear, your jaws haven’t rested. I wanted you to have your fill, so that you can forget your miserable bellies, and we can talk together like men!”
The schoolmaster started to answer.
“Be quiet!” said Katsirmas, and he covered the schoolmaster’s whole face with the palm of his hand. “Or they’ll see how it is with us.” Then he addressed old Sefakas in a dignified voice, placing his hand on his breast.
“Many years to you, Captain Sefakas! We’re happy to be visiting you in your mansion. We’ve eaten and drunk.
We’ll eat and drink some more to your health. And then, as you say, we’ll talk together like men. Don’t be in a hurry.”
“I’m not hi a hurry,” the old man replied. “Someone here is hi a hurry.”
“Who?”
“Charos.”
“We’re three leaders,” said Captain Mandakas, twirling his mustache. “With you, that makes four. He must wait!”
The three swayed in unison like a three-headed, six-footed monster. His two companions held the schoolmaster fast by the neck to keep him from falling. The grandsons and daughters-in-law had come out and were laughing out loud at the spectacle of the drunken heroes. But old Sefakas called out angrily, “What are you laughing at, there? They’re captains, strong men! Hold them up, so they don’t fall!”
“If anyone comes near me, I’ll split his skull!” bellowed Captain Katsirmas. “I can walk without help.”
He shook loose from his companions and with great strides reached the tables.
At last all three reached their thrones and filled the caps. The schoolmaster took the lyre from his shoulder and placed it upright on his lap. He grabbed for a piece of meat and wolfed it, to fortify himself.
Just as he took up the bow, Kosmas arrived on the threshold. The grandfather drew his brows together hi an effort to see who it was.
“Who’s that leanbottom, standing there on the threshold of my door?”
“Your grandson, Granddad,” answered Kosmas, going over to the old man.
“Which one?”
“The son of Captain Kostaros, your first.”
“Welcome,” cried the grandfather, stretching out his hand. “Come, let me give you my blessing. Where have you been knocking about, all these years? What were you after in the Franks’ country? What have you learned?
Yes, if I’d only time to ask you questions, and hear your answers. But the oil in my lamp’s coming to an end. The world’s growing dark.”
Kosmas bent down, to receive the blessing. The old man kept his hand on his head and would not let him rise.
“You write, they say. What do you write, by the God you worship? You’ll come down to being like Kriaras the rhymesmith, who wanders through the villages and passes a plate around for money!”
With his small, piercing eyes the grandfather searched and weighed him. What sort of a grandson is that? Is he worth anything or not? How could his seed have produced a quill-driver?
“Married?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“They say you’ve chosen a Jewess.”
“Yes,” said Kosmas, looking hesitantly at the old man.
“Nothing wrong with that, you fool. They too have souls. One God made us all. You did right. You liked her, you took her like a palikar! Provided she’s honorable and a good housewife, that she’s good-looking and bears sonsask nothing else of a woman.”
“She’s had herself baptized, Granddad. She’s a great soul. You’ll like her.”
“Has she some flesh on her bones? Tell me that! What should a woman do with a soul? Flesh is what the seed requires to grow. How long have you been married?”
“Two years, Granddad.”
“And children?” “None yet…”
“You’re taking your time! What do you do every night, you pair of idiots? I want strong great-grandsons, made of steel. She’s to bear Cretans, I tell you, not Jews. And listen to me: beware of book learning!” “She’s got a son on the way, Granddad!” “My blessing! Call him Sefakas, d’you hear? That’s how the dead rise again! And now go, move aside!”
He beckoned to his daughter-in-law Katerina who was standing behind him with her arms folded.
“Stick another cushion behind my back,” he said to her. “I want to sit upright, so I can speak. Pick me some lemon blossoms. I want to smell it. And while we captains are talking, not a sound from any of you! Make room! I want to speak to the old ones!”
The old ones had meanwhile fallen to eating and drinking again. The schoolmaster had propped his head against the trunk of one of the cypresses and, with tears in his eyes, kept singing the same mantinade over and over, to the accompaniment of his lyre.
At larks all day I’ve blazed away, used every cartridge.
At last a sightand my heart’s alight!
Of you, my partridge!
The grandfather clapped his hands, and cried: “Hey, captains, are your miserable stomachs still not full? That’s enough! Wipe your beards, wash your hands, tighten your belts and come over here. I’ve a word to say to you. That’s why I invited you. And you, schoolmaster, sling that lyre over your shoulder and leave the larks powder and shot and all. We’ve had enough of them! Hey! children!“he turned to the women and his grandsons”bring them some water to wash in. Bring them some scent, to stop them from stinking so. Wash them and tidy them up, children, before they come over to me!”
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