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Both
had
the
peaked
hats
of
officers
.
Eagle
badges
.
The
soldiers
he
passed
stood
hurriedly
,
but
he
made
a
brisk
movement
of
his
hand
to
put
them
at
ease
.
He
came
straight
to
me
.
He
was
obviously
an
actor
who
had
specialized
in
German
colonel
roles
;
a
hard
face
,
a
thin
mouth
;
all
he
lacked
were
spectacles
with
oblong
lenses
and
steel
frames
.
"
Hello
.
"
He
did
not
answer
,
but
looked
at
me
rather
as
the
sergeant
,
who
was
now
standing
stiffly
some
way
behind
him
,
had
.
The
other
officer
was
apparently
a
lieutenant
,
an
aide
.
I
noticed
he
had
a
slight
limp
;
an
Italian
-
looking
face
,
very
dark
eyebrows
,
round
tanned
cheeks
;
handsome
.
"
Where
’
s
the
producer
?
"
The
colonel
took
a
cigarette
case
out
of
his
inside
pocket
and
selected
a
cigarette
.
The
lieutenant
reached
forward
with
a
light
.
Beyond
them
I
saw
one
of
the
soldiers
cross
the
path
with
something
in
loose
paper
—
food
of
some
sort
.
They
were
eating
.
"
I
must
say
you
look
the
part
.
"
He
said
one
word
,
carefully
pursed
in
his
mouth
,
spat
out
like
a
grape
pip
.
"
Gut
.
"
He
turned
away
;
said
something
in
German
.
The
sergeant
went
up
the
path
and
came
back
with
a
hurricane
lamp
,
which
he
lit
,
then
set
behind
me
.
The
colonel
moved
up
the
path
to
where
the
sergeant
was
standing
,
and
I
was
left
staring
at
the
lieutenant
.
There
was
something
strange
in
his
look
,
as
if
he
would
have
liked
to
tell
me
something
,
but
couldn
’
t
;
searching
my
face
for
some
answer
.
His
eyes
fficked
away
,
and
he
turned
abruptly
,
though
awkwardly
,
on
his
heel
and
rejoined
the
colonel
.
I
heard
low
German
voices
,
then
the
sergeant
’
s
laconic
command
.
The
men
stood
to
,
and
for
some
reason
I
couldn
’
t
understand
lined
up
on
both
sides
of
the
path
,
facing
inwards
,
irregularly
,
not
standing
to
attention
,
as
if
waiting
for
someone
to
pass
.
I
thought
they
were
going
to
take
me
somewhere
,
I
had
to
pass
through
them
.
But
I
was
pulled
back
by
my
two
guards
in
line
with
the
others
.
Only
the
sergeant
and
the
two
officers
stood
in
the
center
of
the
path
.
The
lamp
threw
a
circle
of
light
round
me
.
I
realized
it
had
a
dramatic
function
.
There
was
a
tense
silence
.
I
was
cast
as
a
spectator
in
some
way
,
not
as
the
protagonist
.
At
last
I
heard
more
people
coming
.
A
different
,
unmilitary
figure
came
into
sight
.
For
a
second
I
thought
he
was
drunk
.
But
then
I
realized
he
had
his
hands
tied
behind
his
back
;
like
me
,
a
prisoner
.
He
wore
dark
trousers
,
but
was
bare
above
the
waist
.
Behind
him
came
two
more
soldiers
.
One
of
them
seemed
to
prod
him
,
and
he
groaned
.
As
he
came
closer
to
me
I
saw
,
with
a
sharp
sense
that
the
masque
was
running
out
of
control
,
that
he
was
barefoot
.
His
stumbling
,
ginger
walk
was
real
,
not
acted
.
He
came
abreast
of
me
.
A
young
man
,
evidently
Greek
,
rather
short
.
His
face
was
atrociously
bruised
,
puffed
,
the
whole
of
one
side
covered
in
blood
from
a
gash
near
the
right
eye
.
He
appeared
stunned
,
hardly
able
to
walk
.
He
didn
’
t
notice
me
until
the
last
moment
,
when
he
stopped
,
looked
at
me
wildly
.
I
had
a
swift
acrid
stab
of
terror
,
that
this
really
was
some
village
boy
they
had
got
hold
of
and
beaten
up
—
not
someone
to
look
the
part
,
but
be
the
part
.
Without
warning
the
soldier
behind
him
jabbed
him
in
the
small
of
the
back
—
something
that
could
not
be
faked
.
I
saw
it
,
I
saw
his
spasmic
jerk
forward
,
and
the
—
or
so
it
sounded
—
absolutely
authentic
gasp
of
pain
the
jab
caused
.
He
stumbled
on
another
five
or
six
yards
.
Then
the
colonel
spat
one
word
.
The
guards
reached
roughly
out
and
brought
him
to
a
halt
.
The
three
men
stood
there
in
the
path
,
facing
downhill
.
The
colonel
moved
down
to
just
in
front
of
me
,
his
lieutenant
limping
beside
him
;
both
backs
to
me
.
Another
silence
;
the
panting
of
the
man
.
Then
almost
at
once
came
another
figure
,
exactly
the
same
,
hands
tied
behind
his
back
,
two
soldiers
behind
him
.
I
knew
by
then
where
I
was
.
I
was
back
in
1943
,
ten
years
before
;
I
was
looking
at
captured
Resistance
fighters
.
The
second
man
was
obviously
the
kapetan
,
the
leader
—
heavily
built
,
about
forty
,
some
six
feet
tall
.
He
had
one
naked
arm
in
a
rope
sling
,
a
rough
bandage
covered
in
blood
round
his
upper
arm
.
It
seemed
to
have
been
made
from
the
sleeve
torn
off
his
shirt
;
was
too
thin
to
staunch
the
blood
.
He
came
down
the
path
towards
me
;
a
magnificent
Klepht
face
with
a
heavy
black
moustache
,
an
accipitral
nose
.
I
had
seen
such
faces
once
or
twice
in
the
Peloponnesus
,
but
I
knew
where
this
man
came
from
,
because
over
his
forehead
he
still
wore
the
fringed
black
headband
of
the
Cretan
mountaineer
.
I
could
see
him
standing
in
some
early
nineteenth
-
century
print
,
in
folk
costume
,
silver
-
handled
yataghan
and
pistols
in
his
belt
,
the
noble
brigand
of
the
Byronic
myth
.
He
was
actually
wearing
what
looked
like
British
Army
battle
-
dress
trousers
,
a
khaki
shirt
.
And
he
too
was
barefoot
.
But
he
seemed
to
refuse
to
stumble
.
He
was
less
battered
than
the
other
man
,
perhaps
because
of
the
wound
.
As
he
came
up
level
with
me
,
he
stopped
and
then
looked
past
the
colonel
and
the
lieutenant
straight
at
me
.
I
understood
that
he
was
meant
to
know
me
,
that
I
had
once
known
him
.
It
was
a
look
of
the
most
violent
loathing
.
Contempt
.
At
the
same
time
of
a
raging
despair
.
He
said
nothing
for
a
moment
.
Then
he
hissed
in
Greek
one
word
.
"
Prodotis
.
"
His
lips
snarled
on
the
v
-
sounding
demotic
Greek
delta
.
Traitor
.
He
had
great
power
,
he
was
completely
in
his
role
;
and
in
a
barely
conscious
way
,
as
if
I
sensed
that
I
must
be
an
actor
too
,
I
did
not
come
out
with
another
flip
remark
but
took
his
look
and
his
hatred
in
silence
.
For
a
moment
I
was
the
traitor
.
He
was
kicked
on
,
but
he
turned
and
gave
me
one
last
burning
look
back
across
the
ten
feet
of
lamplight
.
Then
again
that
word
,
as
if
I
might
not
have
heard
it
the
first
time
.
"
Prodotis
.
"
As
he
did
so
there
was
a
cry
,
an
exclamation
.
The
colonel
’
s
rapped
command
:
Nicht
schiessen
!
My
guards
gripped
me
vice
tight
.
The
first
man
had
bolted
,
diving
headlong
sideways
into
the
tamarisks
.
His
two
guards
plunged
after
him
,
then
three
or
four
of
the
soldiers
lining
the
path
.
He
can
’
t
have
got
more
than
ten
yards
.
There
was
a
cry
,
German
words
,
then
a
sickening
scream
of
pain
and
another
.
The
sound
of
a
body
being
kicked
,
butt
-
ended
.
At
the
second
cry
the
lieutenant
,
who
had
been
standing
watching
just
in
front
of
me
,
turned
and
looked
past
me
into
the
night
.
I
was
meant
to
understand
he
was
revolted
by
this
,
by
brutality
;
his
other
first
look
at
me
was
explained
.
The
colonel
was
aware
that
he
had
turned
away
.
He
gave
the
lieutenant
a
quick
stare
round
,
flicked
a
look
at
the
guards
holding
me
,
then
spoke
—
in
French
;
so
that
the
guards
could
not
understand
.
"
Mon
lieutenant
,
voild
pour
moi
la
plus
belle
musique
dans
le
monde
.
"
His
French
was
heavily
German
;
and
he
gave
a
sort
of
mincing
lip
-
grimacing
sarcasm
to
the
word
musique
that
explained
the
situation
.
He
was
a
stock
German
sadist
;
the
lieutenant
,
a
stock
good
German
.
The
lieutenant
seemed
about
to
say
something
,
but
suddenly
the
night
was
torn
open
by
a
tremendous
cry
.
It
came
from
the
other
man
,
the
noble
brigand
,
from
the
very
depth
of
his
lungs
and
it
must
have
been
heard
,
if
anyone
had
been
awake
to
hear
it
,
from
one
side
of
the
island
to
the
other
.
It
was
just
one
word
,
but
the
most
Greek
of
all
words
.
I
knew
it
was
acting
,
but
it
was
magnificent
acting
.
It
came
out
harsh
as
fire
,
more
a
diabolical
howl
than
anything
else
,
but
electrifying
,
right
from
the
very
inmost
core
.
It
jagged
into
the
colonel
like
a
rowel
of
a
spur
.
He
must
have
understood
Greek
.
He
spun
round
like
a
steel
spring
.
In
three
strides
he
was
in
front
of
the
Cretan
and
had
delivered
a
savage
smashing
slap
across
his
face
.
It
knocked
the
man
’
s
head
sideways
,
but
he
straightened
up
at
once
.
Again
it
shocked
me
almost
as
if
I
was
the
one
hit
.
The
beating
-
up
,
the
bloody
arm
could
be
faked
,
but
not
that
blow
.
Lower
down
the
path
they
came
dragging
the
other
man
out
of
the
bushes
.
He
could
not
stand
and
they
were
pulling
him
by
the
arms
.
They
dropped
him
in
midpath
and
he
lay
on
his
side
,
groaning
.
The
sergeant
went
down
,
took
a
water
bottle
from
one
of
the
soldiers
and
poured
it
over
his
face
.
The
man
made
an
attempt
to
stand
.
The
sergeant
said
something
and
the
original
guards
hauled
him
to
his
feet
.
The
colonel
spoke
.
The
soldiers
split
into
two
sections
,
the
prisoners
in
the
middle
,
and
began
to
move
off
.
In
under
a
minute
the
last
back
disappeared
.
I
was
alone
with
my
two
guards
,
the
colonel
and
the
lieutenant
.
The
colonel
came
up
to
me
.
His
face
had
a
basilisk
coldness
.
He
spoke
in
a
punctiliously
overdistinct
English
.
"
It
.
Is
.
Not
.
Ended
.
"
There
was
just
the
trace
of
a
humorless
smile
on
his
face
;
and
more
than
a
trace
of
menace
.
As
if
he
meant
something
more
than
that
there
was
a
sequel
to
this
scene
;
but
that
the
whole
Nazi
Weltanschauung
would
one
day
be
resurrected
and
realized
.
He
was
an
impressively
iron
man
.
As
soon
as
he
spoke
he
turned
and
began
to
follow
the
soldiers
down
the
path
.
The
lieutenant
followed
him
.
I
called
out
.
"
What
isn
’
t
ended
?
"
But
there
was
no
reply
.
The
two
dark
figures
,
the
taller
limping
,
disappeared
between
the
pale
,
soft
walls
of
the
tamarisk
.
I
turned
to
my
guards
.
"
What
now
?
"
For
answer
I
found
myself
jerked
forward
and
then
back
,
and
so
forced
to
sit
.
There
were
a
ridiculous
few
moments
of
struggle
,
which
they
easily
won
.
A
minute
later
they
had
roped
my
ankles
together
tightly
,
then
hoisted
me
back
against
a
boulder
,
so
that
I
had
support
for
my
back
.
The
younger
soldier
felt
in
his
tunic
top
pocket
and
tossed
me
down
three
cigarettes
.
In
the
flare
of
the
match
I
lit
I
looked
at
them
.
They
were
rather
cheap
looking
.
Along
each
one
was
printed
in
red
,
between
little
black
swastikas
,
the
words
Leipzig
dankt
euch
.
The
one
I
smoked
tasted
very
stale
,
at
least
ten
years
old
,
as
if
they
had
been
overthorough
and
actually
used
cigarettes
from
some
war
-
issue
tin
.
In
1943
it
would
have
tasted
fresh
.
I
made
attempt
after
attempt
to
speak
with
them
.
In
English
,
then
in
my
exiguous
German
;
French
,
Greek
.
But
they
sat
stolidly
opposite
me
,
on
the
other
side
of
the
path
.
They
hardly
spoke
ten
words
to
each
other
;
and
were
obviously
under
orders
not
to
speak
to
me
.
I
had
looked
at
my
watch
when
they
first
tied
me
.
It
had
said
twelve
thirty
-
five
.
Now
it
was
one
thirty
.
Somewhere
on
the
north
coast
of
the
island
,
a
mile
or
two
west
of
the
school
,
I
heard
the
first
faint
pump
of
an
engine
.
It
sounded
like
the
diesel
of
a
large
coastal
caïque
.
The
cast
had
re
-
embarked
.
As
soon
as
they
heard
it
,
the
two
men
stood
up
.
The
elder
one
held
something
up
,
a
table
knife
.
He
put
it
down
where
he
had
been
sitting
.
Then
without
a
word
they
started
to
walk
away
,
away
from
the
north
coast
,
up
the
path
.
As
soon
as
I
was
sure
they
had
gone
I
crawled
over
the
stones
to
where
they
had
left
the
knife
.
It
was
blunt
,
the
rope
was
new
,
and
I
wasn
’
t
free
for
another
exasperating
twenty
minutes
I
climbed
back
to
the
ridge
,
to
where
I
could
look
down
over
the
south
side
of
the
island
.
Of
course
it
was
quiet
,
serene
,
a
landscape
tilted
to
the
stars
,
an
Aegean
island
lying
in
its
classical
nocturnal
peace
.
But
as
I
went
back
down
to
the
school
,
I
could
still
hear
,
miles
from
the
island
by
then
,
the
sound
of
a
caïque
on
its
way
back
to
Athens
.
Morning
school
began
at
seven
,
so
I
had
had
less
than
five
hours
’
sleep
when
I
appeared
in
class
.
It
was
ugly
weather
,
too
,
without
wind
,
remorselessly
hot
and
stagnant
.
All
the
color
was
burnt
out
of
the
land
,
what
few
remaining
greens
there
were
looked
tired
,
defeated
.
Processional
caterpillars
had
massacred
the
pines
;
the
oleander
flowers
were
brown
at
the
edges
.
Only
the
sea
lived
,
and
I
did
not
begin
to
think
coherently
until
school
was
over
at
noon
and
I
could
plunge
into
the
water
and
lie
in
its
blue
relief
.
One
thing
had
occurred
to
me
during
the
morning
.
Except
for
the
main
actors
,
almost
all
the
German
"
soldiers
"
had
looked
very
young
—
between
’
eighteen
and
twenty
.
It
was
the
beginning
of
July
;
the
German
and
the
Greek
university
terms
would
probably
be
over
.
If
Conchis
really
had
some
connection
with
film
producing
he
could
probably
have
got
German
students
to
come
easily
enough
—
to
work
for
a
few
days
for
him
and
then
holiday
in
Greece
.
What
I
could
not
believe
was
that
having
got
them
to
Greece
he
would
use
them
only
once
.
More
sadism
was
,
as
the
colonel
warned
,
to
come
.
But
I
had
cooled
down
enough
to
know
that
I
wasn
’
t
going
to
write
the
angry
and
sarcastic
letter
I
had
been
phrasing
on
the
way
down
from
the
ridge
.
Conchis
had
the
enormous
advantage
of
giving
the
entertainment
—
and
such
entertainment
;
it
seemed
ridiculous
to
get
angry
about
the
way
the
thing
was
done
when
the
staggering
fact
was
that
the
thing
had
been
done
.
I
floated
on
my
back
with
my
arms
out
and
my
eyes
shut
,
crucified
in
the
water
.
A
course
of
action
:
the
paramount
thing
was
that
I
should
go
on
seeing
Julie
.
I
would
make
that
absolutely
clear
to
her
over
the
weekend
;
if
it
meant
ruining
the
masque
,
so
much
the
worse
for
the
masque
;
and
if
it
meant
going
on
with
the
masque
,
and
finding
myself
in
the
middle
of
such
unpleasant
entertainments
as
the
one
on
the
ridge
,
so
much
the
worse
for
me
.
The
post
came
on
the
noon
boat
and
was
distributed
during
lunch
.
I
had
three
letters
;
one
of
the
rare
ones
from
my
uncle
in
Rhodesia
,
another
with
one
of
the
information
bulletins
sent
out
by
the
British
Council
in
Athens
;
and
the
third
…
I
knew
the
handwriting
,
round
,
a
bit
loose
,
big
letters
.
I
slit
it
.
My
letter
to
Alison
fell
out
,
unopened
.
There
was
nothing
else
.
A
few
minutes
later
,
back
in
my
room
,
I
put
it
on
an
ashtray
,
still
unopened
,
and
burnt
it
.
The
next
day
was
Friday
.
I
had
another
letter
at
lunch
.
It
was
postmarked
Geneva
and
I
had
a
premonition
about
its
contents
,
so
that
I
didn
’
t
open
it
until
I
had
escaped
from
the
dining
room
.
Geneva
,
MondayDEAR
NICHOLAS
,
I
am
afraid
my
presence
here
will
be
essential
for
at
least
another
week
.
However
,
I
think
it
almost
certain
that
I
shall
be
back
at
Bourani
by
the
following
weekend
.
I
hope
you
are
enjoying
the
good
weather
.
Yours
most
sincerely
,
MAURICE
CONCHISI
felt
a
bitter
plunge
of
disappointment
,
of
new
and
different
anger
with
Conchis
.
The
last
sentence
—
when
was
the
weather
ever
not
good
in
the
Aegean
in
summer
?
—
stung
especially
.
It
was
a
deliberate
taunt
,
a
way
of
saying
,
I
know
you
can
enjoy
nothing
till
I
pretend
to
return
.
