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"
Somewhere
beyond
Wimmel
I
saw
Anton
moving
,
walking
quickly
towards
him
.
But
it
was
too
late
.
The
colonel
spoke
,
the
submachine
guns
flashed
and
I
closed
my
eyes
at
exactly
the
moment
the
first
bullets
hit
me
.
"
He
leant
forward
,
after
a
long
silence
,
and
turned
up
the
lamp
;
then
stared
at
me
.
"
The
disadvantage
of
our
new
drama
is
that
in
your
role
you
do
not
know
what
you
can
believe
and
what
you
cannot
.
There
is
no
one
on
the
island
who
was
in
the
square
.
But
many
can
confirm
for
you
every
other
incident
I
have
told
you
.
"
I
thought
of
the
scene
on
the
central
ridge
;
by
not
being
insertible
in
the
real
story
,
it
finally
verified
.
Not
that
I
doubted
Conchis
;
I
knew
I
had
been
listening
to
the
history
of
events
that
happened
;
that
in
the
story
of
his
life
he
had
saved
the
certain
truth
to
the
end
.
"
After
you
were
shot
?
"
"
I
was
hit
and
I
fell
and
I
knew
no
more
because
I
fainted
.
I
believe
I
heard
the
uproar
from
the
hostages
before
darkness
came
.
And
possibly
that
saved
me
.
I
imagine
the
men
firing
were
distracted
.
Other
orders
were
being
given
to
fire
at
the
hostages
.
I
am
told
that
half
an
hour
later
,
when
the
villagers
were
allowed
to
wail
over
their
dead
,
I
was
found
lying
in
a
pooi
of
blood
at
the
feet
of
the
guerrillas
.
I
was
found
by
my
housekeeper
Soula
—
before
the
days
of
Maria
—
and
Hermes
.
When
they
moved
me
I
showed
faint
signs
of
life
.
They
bandaged
me
and
carried
me
home
and
hid
me
in
Soula
’
s
room
.
Patarescu
came
and
looked
after
me
.
"
"
Patarescu
?
"
"
Patarescu
.
"
I
tried
to
read
his
look
;
understood
,
by
something
in
it
,
that
he
fully
admitted
that
guilt
,
and
did
not
consider
it
a
guilt
;
and
that
he
was
prepared
to
justify
it
if
I
should
press
for
the
truth
.
"
The
colonel
?
"
"
By
the
end
of
the
war
he
was
wanted
for
countless
atrocities
.
Several
of
them
showed
the
same
feature
.
An
apparent
reprieve
at
the
last
moment
—
which
turned
out
to
be
a
mere
prolongation
of
the
agony
for
the
hostages
.
The
War
Crimes
Commission
have
done
their
best
.
But
he
is
in
South
America
.
Or
Cairo
,
perhaps
.
"
"
And
Anton
?
"
"
Anton
believed
that
I
had
been
killed
.
My
servants
let
no
one
but
Patarescu
into
the
secret
.
I
was
buried
.
Or
rather
an
empty
coffin
was
buried
.
Wimmel
left
the
island
that
same
afternoon
,
leaving
Anton
in
the
middle
of
all
the
carnage
of
flesh
,
to
say
nothing
of
that
of
the
good
relations
he
had
established
.
He
must
have
spent
all
evening
,
perhaps
night
,
writing
a
detailed
report
of
the
whole
incident
.
He
typed
it
himself
—
seven
copies
.
He
stated
that
fact
in
the
report
.
I
presume
they
were
all
he
could
get
on
the
typewriter
at
one
time
.
He
hid
nothing
and
excused
no
one
,
least
of
all
himself
.
I
will
show
you
,
in
a
moment
.
"
The
Negro
came
across
the
gravel
and
began
to
dismantle
the
screen
.
Upstairs
I
could
hear
movements
.
"
What
happened
to
him
?
"
"
Two
days
later
his
body
was
found
under
the
wall
of
the
village
school
,
where
the
ground
was
already
dark
with
blood
.
He
had
shot
himself
.
It
was
an
act
of
contrition
,
of
course
,
and
he
wanted
the
villagers
to
know
.
The
Germans
hushed
the
matter
up
.
Not
long
afterwards
the
garrison
was
changed
.
The
report
explains
that
.
"
"
What
happened
to
all
the
copies
?
"
"
One
was
given
to
Hermes
by
Anton
himself
the
next
day
,
and
he
was
asked
to
give
it
to
the
first
of
my
foreign
friends
to
inquire
for
me
after
the
war
.
Another
was
given
to
one
of
the
village
priests
with
the
same
instructions
.
Another
was
left
on
his
desk
when
he
shot
himself
.
It
was
open
—
no
doubt
for
all
his
men
and
the
German
High
Command
to
read
.
Three
copies
completely
disappeared
.
Probably
they
were
sent
to
friends
in
Germany
.
They
may
have
been
intercepted
.
We
shall
never
know
now
.
And
the
last
copy
turned
up
after
the
war
.
It
was
sent
to
Athens
,
to
one
of
the
newspapers
,
with
a
small
sum
of
money
.
For
charity
.
A
Viennese
postmark
.
Plainly
he
gave
a
copy
to
one
of
his
men
.
"
"
It
was
published
?
"
"
Yes
.
Certain
parts
of
it
.
"
"
Was
he
buried
here
?
"
"
No
.
His
family
cemetery
—
near
Leipzig
.
"
Those
cigarettes
.
"
And
the
villagers
know
that
you
had
the
choice
?
"
"
The
report
came
out
.
Some
believe
it
,
some
do
not
.
Of
course
I
have
seen
that
no
helpless
dependents
of
the
hostages
suffered
financially
.
"
"
And
the
guerrillas
—
did
you
ever
find
out
about
them
?
"
"
The
cousin
and
the
other
man
—
yes
,
we
know
their
names
.
There
is
a
monument
to
them
in
the
village
cemetery
.
But
their
leader
…
I
had
his
life
investigated
.
Before
the
war
he
spent
six
years
in
prison
.
On
one
occasion
for
murder
—
a
crime
passionnel
.
On
two
or
three
others
for
violence
and
larceny
.
He
was
generally
believed
in
Crete
to
have
been
involved
in
at
least
four
other
murders
.
One
was
particularly
savage
.
He
was
on
the
run
when
the
Germans
invaded
.
Then
he
performed
a
number
of
wild
exploits
in
the
Southern
Peloponnesus
.
He
seems
to
have
belonged
to
no
organized
Resistance
group
,
but
to
have
roamed
about
killing
and
robbing
.
In
at
least
two
proven
cases
,
not
Germans
,
but
other
Greeks
.
We
traced
several
men
who
had
fought
beside
him
.
Some
of
them
said
they
had
been
frightened
of
him
,
others
evidently
admired
his
courage
,
but
not
much
else
.
I
found
an
old
farmer
in
the
Mani
who
had
sheltered
him
several
times
.
And
he
said
,
Kakourgos
,
ma
Ellenas
.
A
bad
man
,
but
a
Greek
.
I
keep
that
as
his
epitaph
.
"
A
silence
fell
between
us
.
"
Those
years
must
have
strained
your
philosophy
.
The
smile
.
"
"
On
the
contrary
.
That
experience
made
me
fully
realize
what
humor
is
.
It
is
a
manifestation
of
freedom
.
It
is
because
there
is
freedom
that
there
is
the
smile
.
Only
a
totally
predetermined
universe
could
be
without
it
.
In
the
end
it
is
only
by
becoming
the
victim
that
one
escapes
the
ultimate
joke
—
which
is
precisely
to
discover
that
by
constantly
slipping
away
one
has
slipped
away
.
One
exists
no
more
,
one
is
no
longer
free
.
That
is
what
the
great
majority
of
our
fellowmen
have
always
to
discover
.
And
will
have
always
to
discover
.
"
He
turned
to
the
file
.
"
But
let
me
finish
by
showing
you
the
report
that
Anton
wrote
.
"
I
saw
a
thin
stitched
sheaf
of
paper
.
A
title
page
.
Bericht
über
die
von
deutschen
Besetzungstruppen
unmenschliche
Grausamkeiten
…
"
There
is
an
English
translation
at
the
back
.
"
I
turned
to
it
,
and
read
:
Report
of
the
inhuman
atrocities
committed
by
German
Occupation
troops
under
the
command
of
Colonel
Wilhelm
Dietrich
Wimmel
on
the
island
of
Phraxos
between
September
30
and
October
2
,
1943
.
I
turned
a
page
.
On
the
morning
of
September
29
,
1943
,
four
soldiers
of
No
.
io
Observation
-
Post
,
Argolis
Command
,
situated
on
the
cape
known
as
Bourani
on
the
south
coast
of
the
island
of
Phraxos
,
being
off
duty
,
were
given
permission
to
swim
.
At
12
:
45
…
Conchis
spoke
.
"
Read
the
last
paragraph
.
"
I
swear
by
God
and
by
all
that
is
sacred
to
me
that
the
above
events
have
been
exactly
and
truthfully
described
.
I
observed
them
all
with
my
own
eyes
and
I
did
not
intervene
.
For
this
reason
I
condemn
myself
to
death
.
I
looked
up
.
"
A
good
German
,
"
"
No
.
Unless
you
think
suicide
is
good
.
It
is
not
.
Despair
is
a
disease
,
and
as
evil
as
Wimmel
’
s
disease
.
"
I
suddenly
remembered
Blake
—
what
was
it
,
Sooner
murder
an
infant
in
its
cradle
than
nurse
unacted
desires
.
A
text
I
had
once
often
used
to
seduce
—
myself
as
well
as
others
.
Conchis
went
on
.
"
You
must
make
up
your
mind
,
Nicholas
.
Either
you
enlist
under
the
kapetan
,
that
murderer
who
knew
only
one
word
,
but
the
only
word
,
or
you
enlist
under
Anton
.
You
watch
and
you
despair
.
Or
you
despair
and
you
watch
.
In
the
first
case
,
you
commit
physical
suicide
;
in
the
second
,
moral
.
"
"
I
can
still
feel
pity
for
him
.
"
"
You
can
.
But
ought
you
to
?
"
I
was
thinking
of
Alison
,
and
I
knew
I
had
no
choice
.
I
felt
pity
for
her
as
I
felt
pity
for
that
unknown
German
’
s
face
on
a
few
feet
of
flickering
film
.
And
perhaps
an
admiration
,
that
admiration
which
is
really
envy
of
those
who
have
gone
further
along
one
’
s
own
road
:
they
had
both
despaired
enough
to
watch
no
more
.
While
mine
was
the
moral
suicide
.
I
said
,
"
Yes
.
He
couldn
’
t
help
himself
.
"
"
Then
you
are
sick
,
my
young
friend
.
You
live
by
death
.
Not
by
life
.
"
"
That
’
s
a
matter
of
opinion
.
"
"
No
.
Of
conviction
.
Because
the
event
I
have
told
you
is
the
only
European
story
.
It
is
what
Europe
is
.
A
Colonel
Wimmel
.
A
rebel
without
a
name
.
An
Anton
torn
between
them
,
killing
himself
when
it
is
too
late
.
Like
a
child
.
"
"
Perhaps
I
have
no
choice
.
"
He
looked
at
me
,
but
said
nothing
.
I
felt
all
his
energy
then
,
his
fierceness
,
his
heartlessness
,
his
impatience
with
my
stupidity
,
my
melancholy
,
my
selfishness
.
His
hatred
not
only
of
me
,
but
of
all
he
had
decided
I
stood
for
;
something
passive
,
abdicating
,
English
,
in
life
.
He
was
like
a
man
who
wanted
to
change
all
;
and
could
not
;
so
burned
with
his
impotence
;
and
had
only
me
,
an
infinitely
small
microcosm
,
to
convert
or
detest
.
For
the
first
time
he
seemed
naked
,
without
any
masks
;
as
if
all
that
had
gone
before
had
been
to
bring
me
to
this
point
,
this
last
confrontation
with
the
black
summit
of
his
life
.
We
remained
staring
at
each
other
.
He
could
say
no
more
to
me
,
and
I
could
mean
no
more
to
him
.
He
stood
and
picked
up
the
file
.
"
To
bed
.
"
I
stood
as
well
.
"
I
’
ll
wait
a
little
.
"
"
Very
well
.
But
no
one
will
come
.
"
"
Good
night
,
Mr
.
Conchis
.
"
"
Good
night
,
Nicholas
.
"
He
gave
me
a
last
look
,
grave
and
penetrating
,
the
eyes
of
a
mathdor
after
the
estocado
,
then
disappeared
indoors
.
I
smoked
one
cigarette
,
another
.
There
was
a
great
stewing
stillness
,
an
oppressiveness
,
a
silence
.
The
gibbous
moon
hung
over
the
earth
,
a
dead
thing
over
a
dying
thing
.
I
got
up
and
walked
to
the
seat
where
we
had
sat
before
dinner
.
I
had
not
expected
such
a
finale
;
the
statue
of
stone
in
the
laughing
door
I
thought
again
,
in
the
gray
silences
of
the
night
,
not
of
Julie
,
but
of
Alison
.
Staring
out
to
sea
,
I
forced
myself
to
think
of
her
not
as
someone
doing
something
at
that
moment
,
sleeping
or
breathing
or
working
,
somewhere
,
but
as
a
shovelful
of
ashes
,
a
futility
,
a
descent
out
of
reality
,
a
dropping
object
that
dwindled
,
dwindled
,
left
nothing
behind
except
a
smudge
like
a
fallen
speck
of
soot
on
paper
.
As
something
too
small
to
mourn
;
the
very
word
"
mourn
"
was
archaic
and
superstitious
,
of
the
age
of
Browne
,
or
Hervey
;
yet
Donne
was
right
,
her
death
detracted
,
would
for
ever
detract
,
from
my
life
.
Each
death
laid
a
dreadful
charge
of
complicity
on
the
living
;
each
death
was
incongenerous
,
its
guilt
irreducible
,
its
sadness
immortal
;
a
bracelet
of
bright
hair
about
the
bone
.
I
did
not
pray
for
her
,
because
prayer
has
no
efficacy
;
I
did
not
cry
for
her
,
because
only
extroverts
cry
twice
;
I
sat
in
the
silence
of
that
night
,
that
infinite
hostility
to
man
,
to
permanence
,
to
love
,
remembering
her
,
remembering
her
.
Ten
o
’
clock
.
A
bright
wind
,
a
Dufy
day
.
I
woke
,
jumped
out
of
bed
,
shaved
with
extra
care
,
and
went
down
to
the
colonnade
.
I
caught
Maria
sitting
at
the
table
,
as
if
waiting
for
me
.
When
I
appeared
she
stood
up
and
bobbed
and
started
to
go
.
"
Mr
.
Conchis
?
"
"
Kanei
banjo
.
Tha
elthi
.
"
He
’
s
having
a
swim
.
He
’
s
coming
.
By
the
wall
I
saw
four
wooden
crates
;
it
was
obvious
that
three
of
them
had
paintings
inside
.
I
looked
into
the
music
room
.
The
Modigliani
had
gone
;
so
had
the
little
Rodin
and
the
Giacornetti
;
and
I
guessed
,
with
a
tinge
of
sadness
,
that
the
Bonnards
had
also
come
down
.
The
decor
was
being
dismantled
.
In
a
minute
or
two
Maria
reappeared
with
coffee
for
me
.
I
was
drinking
the
first
cup
when
Conchis
appeared
in
his
swimming
trunks
and
water
-
polo
cap
.
He
stood
by
me
,
hairs
on
the
dark
brown
skin
still
curlicued
wet
from
the
water
.
I
saw
his
scars
again
;
white
puckers
of
flesh
.
He
smiled
.
The
mask
was
back
in
place
.
"
You
have
slept
well
?
"
"
Thank
you
.
"
"
I
will
put
on
my
clothes
.
Then
I
will
join
you
for
coffee
.
"
He
did
not
return
for
some
twenty
minutes
.
And
when
he
did
,
it
was
in
clothes
that
were
somehow
as
incongruous
as
if
he
had
been
wearing
fancy
dress
.
He
looked
exactly
like
a
slightly
intellectual
businessman
;
a
black
leather
briefcase
;
a
dark
blue
summer
suit
,
a
cream
shirt
,
a
discreetly
polka
-
dotted
bow
tie
.
It
was
perfect
for
Athens
;
but
ridiculous
on
Phraxos
.
He
looked
at
a
wristwatch
—
I
had
never
seen
him
wear
one
before
—
and
sat
down
.
Smiled
at
me
;
and
delivered
the
line
like
a
grenade
.
"
We
have
one
last
hour
together
.
"
"
One
last
hour
?
"
"
At
this
time
tomorrow
I
shall
be
in
London
.
"
He
poured
himself
a
cup
of
coffee
from
the
new
pot
Maria
had
brought
.
"
And
wishing
I
was
still
here
.
"
I
began
to
smile
.
The
wind
rattled
the
shimmering
vegetal
glass
of
the
palm
fronds
.
The
last
act
was
to
be
played
presto
.
"
I
didn
’
t
expect
the
curtain
quite
so
soon
.
"
"
No
good
play
has
a
real
curtain
,
Nicholas
.
It
is
acted
,
and
then
it
continues
to
act
.
"
He
analyzed
my
expression
,
no
mercy
,
enjoying
the
moment
.
He
added
,
a
deliberate
broach
,
"
Lily
is
coming
in
a
few
moments
.
She
wishes
to
say
goodbye
.
"
"
Kind
of
her
.
"
"
She
is
coming
with
me
to
America
.
"
"
With
her
sister
?
"
"
No
.
Alone
.
As
my
secretary
.
"
His
eyes
watched
me
remorselessly
.
He
had
spoken
without
the
slightest
suggestiveness
,
but
in
that
situation
the
very
words
were
suggestive
.
There
was
a
pause
.
I
drew
deep
on
my
cigarette
.
"
I
shall
see
you
next
spring
then
.
"
"
Perhaps
.
"
"
I
have
a
two
-
year
contract
at
the
school
.
"
"
Ah
.
"
"
And
be
the
butt
again
.
"
"
No
more
than
that
?
"
"
When
one
’
s
emotions
get
involved
…
"
"
I
warned
you
.
"
"
And
also
ensured
that
the
temptation
remained
.
"
"
Death
is
the
only
state
without
temptation
.
"
Again
I
would
have
liked
to
pull
out
my
wallet
,
to
face
him
with
my
own
recent
encounter
with
death
.
But
I
was
not
in
the
mood
to
admit
to
him
that
I
had
lied
previously
about
meeting
Alison
.
I
stubbed
out
my
cigarette
.
"
Will
she
be
here
next
year
?
"
"
You
will
not
see
her
.
"
"
But
will
she
be
here
?
"
Our
eyes
were
locked
,
unconceding
,
like
battling
stags
’
horns
.
"
You
will
not
want
to
see
her
.
