“We’re in a war, Cecilia. Do you know what a war is?”
She shut her eyes. Without opening them, she answered, “I know something of what a war is, yes.”
“You take sides and if you lose, you’re fucked. I decided early on, the first time I saw this valley, the owner’s land, that my old man was on the wrong side, he’d already lost. You know something? I didn’t even decide that. Some part of me’s always known it. That’s why he didn’t want me to come around here. None of the men in town should work for Philip Kastoria, he said. He said Kastoria’s family had taken away land that was ours, by fraud and by force, who knows how many decades or centuries back. He knew that if I came here I’d fall in love with this land, that I’d end up enlisting with Philip Kastoria.”
“And what did you say when that happened? Did you realize you had the right to choose?”
“I didn’t say anything. I never said anything. One day I just didn’t come back. I never saw him again. He must have stood there waiting for me by the door of the house with the strap ready and his eyes scanning the horizon. It was okay that he beat me. It was his duty. He already knew that I was the enemy, that I’d gone over to the other side. He could see it coming. And Mr. Kastoria knew it too. Men have a way of knowing these things. You can’t understand. He’d scarcely laid eyes on me, the minute he saw me he must have known that here was somebody useful. I scared off the birds from behind the fence, without ever going inside. One Sunday the gates opened and out he rode on horseback, accompanied by his foreman. He came straight to where I was. He didn’t even say hello. ‘You want work, don’t you, boy?’ he asked me, in the same tone as I’m telling you. ‘Yes, sir,’ I told him. I didn’t look down. I looked right at him. ‘You’re hired.’ That’s what he said to me, and before going on his way, I remember one more thing. You know what he said?”
“No.” Something trembled in her voice.
“He said, ‘You’ve got to shoot the birds that eat the fruit. That way they won’t come back.’ And that’s when I knew I wasn’t going home. I was fourteen. I haven’t seen my father or my sisters once since that Sunday.”
“Someone should have explained to your father that you were going to be important.”
Emmanuel started the engine again. “Important? Who says I’m important?”
“I say so.”
“Oh, all right. That’s different.”
“To the captain and others you’re important, and I suppose to Mr. Kastoria.”
“Important?” He gunned the jeep almost angrily onto the road.
“I would have known it right away. Even when you were little. That’s something women can tell but you men can’t.”
“You like little kids a lot, don’t you?”
“A lot. I’d like to have millions and millions of kids.”
He smiled. “Millions is a bit much.”
“Thousands, then. And they should all have your eyes.”
“In the city you can’t have as many kids as in the country. You know that, don’t you?”
“May I ask why not?”
But he didn’t answer.
“Here we are,” said Emmanuel, braking.
The orderly hoped his memory wouldn’t fail him. He’d try not to leave out a single significant detail. He’d begun by greeting Beatrice Kastoria and the two men. They, for their part, had seemed particularly pleased to see him after all this time. It had been several months, actually, since he’d been to visit them. Since the change of command in the region. Beatrice Kastoria had asked him to sit down, despite the dust he brought in from the road, offering him a drink, which he declined. She had jokingly reproved him. Perhaps he was an ingrate who’d now grown distant from his former employers. He had responded that they weren’t former, that he considered himself always at their service. They had been like parents to him when he—
“It’s true I asked for details,” complained the captain, “but you can skip the personal history.”
The orderly thought that perhaps that part of the conversation might have interested the captain, since that’s what made it possible to hear Philip Kastoria’s opinions, and those of his family, concerning the current situation, which was the main part of his report.
The captain looked at him awhile without responding. He set about rolling a cigarette, morosely, thoughtfully. He looked out the window and spied the clear light of a moon coming out from behind the hills, a soft glow that scarcely reached them, and was annoyed by the strong aggressive glare of the bulb hanging over his desk.
Then he said, “Emmanuel”—it was the first time he had pronounced his name, that he hadn’t addressed him formally—“tell me something. Were they really like parents to you?”
“Let’s stop here,” said Emmanuel.
“You said there wasn’t time.”
“I was wrong. We’ve got plenty of time. This place. I want you to know it.”
It was the river. The same one. This high up in the mountains it sounded different, though, hadn’t yet taken on the muddy tint that colored it miles below. But it was the same river, that water, he knew how it flowed, the way it ran over the rocks. Since he’d washed in it all his life, as far back as he could remember, since he’d come down here in search of the stray nanny goat, since he’d played his first games, since the first tales were spun, that river, that one, it was unmistakable.
He got out and waited for her to follow. But she stayed in the jeep, her eyes evasive, jittery, going over a limited but shifting space behind him, toward the shore.
Emmanuel came up to the window and put both arms on the door.
“Come on.” She didn’t move. “Come on, do you hear.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You don’t want to?”
“Not here, no.”
“Yes, here, right here,” he said. “Come with me, I’m going to explain to you why this spot.”
“Whatever you say.” But she didn’t move this time either.
Something mischievous flickered in Emmanuel’s cheeks, something between fun and tender pride danced over his face. “Look, Cecilia, I’m telling you, don’t worry about the river. It doesn’t see anything. And if it does, it doesn’t tell anyone. But the things it could tell.”
He opened the door and took her by the hand. She didn’t resist. She let him lead her, indifferent, secretive, enclosed in her own confused eyes. They walked over rocks, tripping, more or less at random, as if he’d collected all the will available, as if only he and the river really existed and she were nothing more than a pair of legs, a pair of arms, some bones that by chance happened to be here now, some burning ashen eyes that seemed the only thing alive in her woman’s body pulled along by a man.
Were they really like parents to him? Perhaps it was a bit bold, sir, to put it that way, perhaps that was going a little too far. In light of the fact that it had come up in the conversation, well, he’d felt the need to report it like that, as it was. Nevertheless, since he’d been asked directly, he’d offer an opinion. Yes, in fact, the master and his wife Beatrice—given of course the distance between them and him, without his ever overstepping his position, without attributing too much importance to himself—had always treated him with consideration, with respect, and even, if the word didn’t bother the captain, with affection. They had always encouraged him to overcome his ignorance, to perfect his knowledge of arithmetic. They’d suggested readings, they’d kept promoting him to positions of trust. Among the servants Mr. Kastoria had shown him off as evidence that all wasn’t lost, so they might see an example of what can be done if one has the will. Finally, what more could a boy born a peasant desire than to have come to serve the most powerful man in the region and one of the most influential in the life of the province and perhaps the nation?
“That’s fine,” said the captain. “Loyalty is one of the bulwarks of our country. It’s what holds everything else together. But I asked you for another reason. There’s something else I’m interested in
knowing.”
The captain had only to speak. He was at his service.
“Without a family, Emmanuel, we’re lost. We owe everything to our parents. Our birth, our education, our gratitude. But that’s where conflicts can arise. Suppose, let’s say, there were suddenly a conflict. Well, not necessarily a conflict, let’s call it a misunderstanding, between your master and the army, who knows, a difference of opinion. It’s a possibility, isn’t that so?”
In the midst of all the rocks was just one tree, majestic, radiant, surrounded by little bushes that blocked the view from the road. They went to sit in that perfect enveloping sensuous shade. Emmanuel was right. Nobody ever came down this road. They were alone. The two of them. And the tree. And the river. It was like being in a house, or almost like that. Outside the sun beat down hatefully, shattering the air.
“How come you’re so far away? Come over here.”
She drew her body nearer to his. She looked at his hand placed lightly on her skirt, moving down playfully toward her knee which he could feel under it, then climbing again. She arranged his jacket against the thick rugged trunk of the tree and stared at the river.
“Now I’m not far away,” she said.
He brought his lips to her hair, his fingers happily wandered over the tense cords of her throat, then reached inside her dress and played with her nipples. He repeated the operation, licking her ear, hoping for some reaction. He stopped next to her lips, touching her as if one of them were blind. Suddenly he said, “Something’s wrong. Nobody’s going to convince me that nothing’s wrong. Isn’t it time to tell me what it is?”
“I don’t like this place, that’s all. We’d better go. It’s getting late.”
He tried to catch her eye but she avoided his gaze, she kept looking at the river, fascinated by its swirling motion, its color, its sleepy rocky sound. There was nothing special about the river.
Then he decided to change positions, arranging his head in her lap where he could look up and study her face while they talked. He took one of her hands and ran it through his own hair.
She smiled timidly and mechanically began to work one lock that insisted on sticking up above the rest.
“You know why I like this place?”
She didn’t answer.
“Hey, girl, Cecilia, I’m talking to you.”
“Yes, my love.”
“You weren’t listening.”
“You asked whether I knew why you like this place.”
Above, beyond her body, her face, the tree’s leaves were ablaze, dense sunlight filtering through. A bumblebee marked off the boundaries of the surrounding air, steadily buzzing and buzzing.
“Before, you know, I came here all the time.”
“Before?”
“Before Kastoria asked me to go with Captain Gheorghakis. I used to come down here, alone. When I had a little free time. I walked along the bank of the river and you know what I did? I amused myself by throwing rocks. I could spend hours throwing rocks into the river. More and more, until there was nothing around me but a piece of bare ground. Then I’d move a few yards, and again more rocks, tossing them in. I could spend hours like that. When I was much younger I thought if I threw them in all day it was possible to fill up the riverbed, maybe even change its course.”
“A dam? We tried to build a dam too.”
“This was different. Because I wasn’t putting the rocks in a single spot, I was just tossing them in to hear the sound. But one day I stopped. I realized two things.” He waited, but she said nothing. “It was never going to happen. The river hadn’t changed a bit. And the second thing was that even if I succeeded, it was pointless. Because then the only thing that would be accomplished was that the course of the river would be different, here along the shore where we are now, and then I’d have to start all over again, carting rocks from the new bank till the bed was filled, and so on forever. I never threw another rock into this river.”
“Silly dear, the things my love thinks up,” she said, but in her eyes he could see the dirty current of the river running toward Longa, toward a place that wasn’t here.
“But I liked it for other reasons. I liked it because of you. Yes, you. I didn’t come here alone, I was dreaming of you. With my eyes wide open, under this very tree. I sat myself down the same as now, with my hands behind my head, of course, since your pretty little lap wasn’t here, and I set about calling you, sort of crying, calling to you. I could see your whole image outlined in the leaves, sketched from one point to another.”
At that moment she might have said that that was impossible, he didn’t even know her then, how could that be. He waited awhile for her to say something, noticing the rasping interruption of that bee buzzing nearby, then continued, “It wasn’t any other girl. It was you. Even before I met you. I was always waiting for you. I was getting ready here, love. Love, I was waiting for you on this very spot. Right here. That’s why I like this spot. Because here’s where I needed you. And you were looking at the same river, far away. I … You’re going to laugh, but I dared, that’s the word, I dared to suppose you existed, that some day soon I was going to meet you. It was enough to want you here under this tree. It was enough to. Are you listening now?”
Now yes, she answered, just as she should have, “My poor little treasure, how lonesome he was,” but the words didn’t carry enough conviction. He could feel her playing a role to please him, her mind, her emotions, even her body someplace else, controlled by forces he couldn’t know.
“It was like an empty space, here beside me, like a physical absence, a place you had to fill. I imagined your lap, and us here just like this, and you who would understand me. We talked. You know that? I talked to you and you answered and I wasn’t afraid. There wouldn’t be a single lie between us. We’d tell each other everything. We were going to go to the city, you’d go with me, it was already decided that as soon as you appeared, we’d go. That’s where we’d have our children, in the city.”
“Our children?” she asked in a distant, metallic sort of voice.
Playfully he caught the hand she kept untangling his hair with. He brought it to his mouth and whispered softly, feeling his breath enveloping, rebounding off that warm skin, “Yes,” he said to her hand. “Our children in the city. Not here. I had it all planned out. You can’t imagine how completely I was preparing every one of our acts. Even today’s.” He hoped her catlike curiosity would be kindled, that she’d repeat the words with mishievous innocence. Today’s? and what are you thinking of doing today, you rascal, you nasty man, you silly child? But her hand only pulled away from his lips, went back to work in his hair, that was all that indicated she was there. He shut his eyes and let the shreds of sunlight speckle them, both of them rocked by the nearby rhythm of the river he couldn’t control. “Even today’s. We’d come here just one time, and never again after that. And you can see it now, we’re here, in fact. This is no dream. And you’re no vision. Everything’s coming true, exactly. Exactly.”
He was going to go on, when he felt Cecilia’s body stiffen. Her thighs had lost that special, sheltering softness. They were tense, trembling, hard. Even her hand went rigid. He knew he needed to open his eyes. Everything in her transmitted an urgency alien to what he was saying, to the enchanted situation. But he didn’t want to. The drowsiness was so sweet. When he finally looked, something was definitely wrong. Something was happening to her and it wasn’t just in her face, it wasn’t just in her body. It was like one of those fun-house mirrors that twist and dismantle a person’s image. With a hard, dark glare her eyes were rejecting what they saw, what they saw in the river, what she was seeing in spite of herself in the river.
“There,” a voice stammered, it came from her throat but wasn’t hers. “Over there.”
With the captain’s permission, the orderly didn’t consider that a possibility at all, not even remotely. A conflict, large or small, between Philip Kastoria and the nation’s armed forces was impossible. Their interests
were completely identical. He saw himself obliged to inform the captain in advance that he didn’t see himself serving two masters. He reminded him that, on the contrary, it was Philip Kastoria himself who provided his services to Captain Gheorghakis at the beginning of the struggle against the bandits, that he hadn’t imposed conditions limiting those services, and that he had approved his continuing in that position, even when there’d been a change of command.
The captain got up and stretched his whole body, his tight muscles, then collapsed in his armchair. A couple of flies continued to circle senselessly around the light bulb. In the distance, in darkness, dogs barked.
“Look, Emmanuel. It’s natural for the army to want to know the mettle each of its soldiers is made of. I’m not saying that you have to choose between anything. You’ll probably never be faced with such a conflict. But out there, all of a sudden, who knows what turns life can take. For my part, I don’t know what plans Kastoria has for you once this war is over. Perhaps it would be a good idea to tell him you’re anxious to come with me to the city. Did you talk about that?”
They hadn’t touched on the subject. The orderly knew that his job was always open, always available, that Mr. Kastoria would always need the services of men like him who were totally loyal. Besides, if it didn’t offend the captain, sir, the orderly found the subject most unpleasant. He didn’t like having to conceive of such a situation. Was it possible for him to proceed with his report.
“There,” repeated the voice that wasn’t hers. “There, over there.”
He felt the panic beginning but shut it off by throwing a look in every direction, searching, searching the horizon. Crouching, staggering, he reached for his revolver.
“What?” he demanded, furious. “Where is it?”
But she was already running toward the river, falling between the rocks, slipping, insane, helping herself along with her hands, crawling on all fours, a crazy person, some crippled, terrified animal.
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