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I
could
just
see
the
imperceptible
swell
of
her
breathing
…
or
could
I
?
For
a
few
moments
it
was
neither
Lily
nor
Rose
.
I
was
looking
at
a
magnificently
lifelike
wax
effigy
.
But
then
she
moved
.
Her
head
turned
in
profile
and
her
right
arm
reached
out
gracefully
and
invitingly
,
in
the
classical
gesture
of
Récamier
,
to
whoever
had
switched
on
the
light
and
drawn
open
the
curtain
.
A
new
figure
appeared
.
It
was
Joe
.
He
was
in
a
tunic
of
indeterminate
period
,
a
semi
-
toga
,
pure
white
,
lined
heavily
with
gold
.
He
went
and
stood
behind
the
couch
.
Rome
?
An
empress
and
her
slave
?
He
stared
at
me
,
or
towards
me
,
for
a
moment
,
and
I
knew
he
could
not
be
meant
to
be
a
slave
.
He
was
too
majestic
,
too
darkly
noble
.
He
possessed
the
room
,
the
stage
,
the
woman
.
He
looked
down
at
her
and
she
looked
up
,
a
grave
affection
;
the
swan
neck
.
He
took
her
outstretched
hand
.
Suddenly
I
understood
who
they
were
;
and
who
I
was
;
how
prepared
,
this
moment
.
I
too
had
a
new
role
.
I
tried
then
desperately
to
get
rid
of
the
gag
,
by
biting
,
by
yawning
,
by
rubbing
my
head
against
my
arms
.
But
it
was
too
tight
.
The
Negro
knelt
beside
her
,
kissed
her
shoulder
.
A
slim
white
arm
framed
and
imprisoned
his
dark
head
.
A
long
moment
.
Then
she
sank
back
.
He
surveyed
her
,
slowly
ran
a
hand
down
from
her
neck
to
her
waist
.
As
if
she
were
silk
.
As
slow
as
a
connoisseur
,
sure
of
the
white
surrender
.
Then
he
calmly
stood
up
and
unbrooched
his
toga
at
the
shoulder
.
I
shut
my
eyes
.
Nothing
is
true
;
everything
is
permitted
.
Conchis
:
His
part
is
not
ended
yet
.
I
opened
my
eyes
again
.
There
was
no
perversion
,
no
attempt
to
suggest
that
I
was
watching
anything
else
but
two
people
who
were
in
love
making
love
;
as
one
might
watch
two
boxers
in
a
gymnasium
or
two
acrobats
on
a
stage
.
Not
that
there
was
anything
acrobatic
or
violent
about
them
.
He
was
tender
with
her
,
she
was
tender
with
him
,
and
they
behaved
as
if
to
show
that
the
reality
was
the
very
antithesis
of
the
absurd
nastiness
in
the
film
.
For
long
moments
I
shut
my
eyes
,
refusing
to
watch
,
to
accept
this
corrosively
evil
role
.
But
then
always
I
seemed
forced
,
a
voyeur
in
hell
,
to
raise
my
head
and
look
again
.
My
arms
began
to
go
numb
,
an
additional
torture
.
The
two
figures
on
the
lion
-
colored
bed
,
the
luminously
pale
and
the
richly
dark
,
embraced
,
re
-
embraced
,
oblivious
of
me
,
of
all
except
their
enactment
.
What
they
did
was
in
itself
without
obscenity
,
merely
private
,
familiar
;
a
biological
ritual
that
takes
place
a
hundred
million
times
every
night
the
world
turns
.
But
I
tried
to
imagine
what
could
make
them
bring
themselves
to
do
it
in
front
of
me
;
what
incredible
argument
Conchis
used
;
what
they
used
to
themselves
.
Lily
now
seemed
to
me
as
far
ahead
of
me
in
time
as
she
had
at
first
started
behind
;
somehow
she
had
learnt
to
lie
with
her
body
as
other
people
could
lie
only
with
their
tongues
.
Perhaps
she
wanted
some
state
of
complete
sexual
emancipation
,
and
the
demonstration
of
it
was
more
necessary
to
her
as
self
-
proof
than
its
exhibition
was
to
me
as
my
already
supererogatory
"
disintoxication
.
"
Lily
.
Or
was
it
her
sister
?
Had
I
ever
known
which
was
which
?
What
they
were
,
their
identities
,
receded
,
interwove
,
flowed
into
mystery
,
into
distorting
shadows
and
currents
,
like
objects
sinking
away
,
away
,
down
through
shafted
depths
of
water
.
The
black
arch
of
his
long
back
,
his
loins
joined
to
hers
.
White
separated
knees
.
That
terrible
movement
,
total
possession
between
those
acquiescent
knees
.
Something
carried
me
back
to
that
night
incident
when
she
played
Artemis
;
to
the
strange
whiteness
of
Apollo
’
s
skin
.
The
dull
gold
crown
of
leaves
.
An
athletic
body
,
living
marble
.
And
I
knew
then
that
Apollo
and
Anubis
had
been
played
by
the
same
man
.
That
night
,
their
vanishing
into
the
black
pines
.
The
next
day
’
s
innocent
virgin
on
the
beach
.
The
black
doll
swung
in
my
mind
,
the
skull
grinned
malevolently
.
Artemis
,
Artemis
,
eternal
liar
.
He
silently
celebrated
his
orgasm
.
The
two
bodies
lay
absolutely
still
on
the
altar
of
the
bed
.
His
turned
-
away
head
was
hidden
by
hers
,
and
I
could
see
her
hands
caressing
his
shoulders
,
his
back
.
I
tried
to
wrench
my
aching
arms
free
of
the
frame
,
to
overturn
it
.
But
it
had
been
lashed
to
the
wall
,
to
special
staples
;
and
the
rings
were
bolted
through
the
wood
.
After
an
unendurable
pause
he
rose
from
the
bed
,
knelt
and
kissed
her
shoulder
,
almost
formally
,
and
then
went
swiftly
back
to
where
he
had
come
from
.
She
lay
for
a
moment
as
he
had
left
her
,
crushed
back
among
the
cushions
.
But
then
she
raised
herself
on
her
left
elbow
and
lay
posed
as
she
had
at
the
beginning
.
Her
stare
fixed
me
.
Without
rancor
and
without
regret
;
without
triumph
and
without
evil
;
as
Desdemona
once
looked
back
on
Venice
.
On
the
incomprehension
,
the
baffled
rage
of
Venice
.
I
had
taken
myself
to
be
in
some
way
the
traitor
lago
punished
,
in
an
unwritten
sixth
act
.
Chained
in
hell
.
But
I
was
also
Venice
;
the
state
left
behind
;
the
thing
journeyed
from
.
The
curtains
were
pulled
slowly
to
.
I
was
left
where
I
had
started
,
in
darkness
.
Even
the
light
behind
was
extinguished
.
I
had
a
vertiginous
moment
in
which
I
doubted
whether
it
had
happened
.
An
induced
hallucination
?
Had
the
trial
happened
?
Had
anything
ever
happened
?
But
the
savage
pain
in
my
arms
told
me
that
everything
had
happened
.
And
then
,
out
of
that
pain
,
the
sheer
physical
torture
,
I
began
to
understand
.
I
was
Iago
;
but
I
was
also
crucified
.
The
crucified
lago
.
Crucified
by
…
the
metamorphoses
of
Lily
ran
wildly
through
my
brain
,
like
maenads
,
hunting
some
blindness
,
some
demon
in
me
down
.
Not
a
sixth
act
,
but
an
act
before
the
first
.
The
seed
.
The
seed
of
all
betrayal
.
And
I
comprehended
.
I
suddenly
knew
her
real
name
,
behind
the
masks
of
Lily
,
of
Julie
,
of
Artemis
,
of
the
doctor
,
of
Desdemona
.
Why
they
had
chosen
the
Othello
situation
.
Why
Iago
.
Plunging
through
that
.
I
knew
her
real
name
.
I
did
not
forgive
,
if
anything
I
felt
more
rage
.
But
I
knew
her
real
name
.
A
figure
appeared
in
the
door
.
It
was
Conchis
.
He
came
to
where
I
hung
from
the
frame
,
and
stood
in
front
of
me
.
I
closed
my
eyes
.
The
pain
in
my
arms
drowned
everything
else
.
I
made
a
sort
of
groaning
-
growling
noise
through
the
gag
.
I
did
not
know
myself
what
it
really
meant
to
say
:
whether
that
I
was
in
pain
or
that
if
I
ever
saw
him
again
I
would
tear
him
limb
from
limb
.
"
I
come
to
tell
you
that
you
are
now
elect
.
"
I
shook
my
head
violently
from
side
to
side
.
"
You
have
no
choice
.
"
I
still
shook
my
head
,
but
more
wearily
.
He
stared
at
me
,
with
those
eyes
that
seemed
older
than
one
man
’
s
lifetime
,
and
a
little
gleam
of
sympathy
came
into
his
expression
,
as
if
after
all
he
had
put
too
much
pressure
on
a
very
thin
lever
.
"
Learn
to
smile
,
Nicholas
.
Learn
to
smile
.
"
It
came
to
me
that
he
meant
something
different
by
"
smile
"
than
I
did
;
that
the
irony
,
the
humorlessness
,
the
ruthlessness
I
had
always
noticed
in
his
smiling
was
a
quality
he
deliberately
inserted
;
that
for
him
the
smile
was
something
essentially
cruel
,
because
freedom
is
cruel
,
because
the
freedom
that
makes
us
at
least
partly
responsible
for
what
we
are
is
cruel
.
So
that
the
smile
was
not
so
much
an
attitude
to
be
taken
to
life
as
the
nature
of
the
cruelty
of
life
,
a
cruelty
we
cannot
even
choose
to
avoid
,
since
it
is
human
existence
.
He
meant
something
far
stranger
by
"
Learn
to
smile
"
than
a
Smilesian
"
Grin
and
bear
it
.
"
If
anything
,
it
meant
"
Learn
to
be
cruel
,
learn
to
be
dry
,
learn
to
survive
.
"
He
gave
the
smallest
of
bows
,
one
full
of
irony
,
of
the
contempt
implicit
in
incongruous
courtesy
,
then
went
.
As
soon
as
he
had
gone
,
Anton
came
in
with
Adam
and
the
other
blackshirts
.
They
undid
the
handcuffs
and
got
my
arms
down
.
A
long
black
pole
two
of
the
blackshirts
were
carrying
was
unrolled
and
I
saw
a
stretcher
They
forced
me
to
lie
down
on
it
and
once
again
my
wrists
were
handcuffed
to
the
sides
.
I
could
neither
fight
them
nor
beg
them
to
stop
.
So
I
lay
passively
,
with
my
eyes
shut
,
to
avoid
seeing
them
.
I
smelt
ether
,
felt
very
faintly
the
jab
of
a
needle
;
and
I
willed
the
oblivion
to
come
fast
.
I
was
staring
at
a
ruined
wall
.
There
were
a
few
jagged
last
patches
of
plaster
but
most
of
it
was
of
rough
stones
.
Many
had
fallen
and
lay
among
crumbling
mortar
against
the
foot
of
the
wall
.
Then
I
heard
,
very
faintly
,
the
sound
of
goat
bells
.
For
some
time
I
lay
there
,
still
too
drugged
to
make
the
effort
of
finding
where
the
light
I
could
see
the
wall
by
came
from
;
and
the
sound
of
the
bells
,
of
wind
,
and
of
swifts
screaming
.
I
was
conditioned
to
be
a
prisoner
.
Finally
I
moved
my
wrists
.
They
were
free
.
I
turned
and
looked
.
I
could
see
chinks
of
light
through
the
roof
.
There
was
a
broken
doorway
fifteen
feet
away
;
outside
,
blinding
sunlight
.
I
was
lying
on
an
air
mattress
with
a
rough
brown
blanket
over
me
.
I
looked
behind
.
There
stood
my
suitcase
,
with
a
number
of
things
on
it
:
a
Thermos
,
a
brown
-
paper
packet
,
cigarettes
and
matches
,
a
black
box
like
a
jewelry
case
,
an
envelope
.
I
sat
up
and
shook
my
head
.
Then
I
threw
the
blanket
aside
and
went
unevenly
over
the
uneven
floor
to
the
door
.
I
was
at
the
top
of
a
hill
.
Before
me
stretched
a
vast
downward
slope
of
ruins
.
Hundreds
of
stone
houses
,
all
ruined
,
most
of
them
no
more
than
gray
heaps
of
rubble
,
decayed
fragments
of
gray
wall
.
Here
and
there
were
slightly
less
dilapidated
dwellings
;
the
remnants
of
second
floors
,
windows
that
framed
sky
,
black
doorways
.
But
what
was
so
extraordinary
was
that
this
whole
tilted
city
of
the
dead
seemed
to
be
floating
in
midair
,
a
thousand
feet
above
the
sea
that
surrounded
it
.
I
looked
at
my
watch
.
It
was
still
going
;
just
before
five
.
I
clambered
on
top
of
a
wall
and
looked
round
.
In
the
direction
in
which
the
late
afternoon
sun
lay
I
could
see
a
mountainous
mainland
stretching
far
to
the
south
and
north
.
I
seemed
to
be
on
top
of
some
gigantic
promontory
,
absolutely
alone
,
the
last
man
on
earth
,
between
sea
and
sky
in
some
medieval
Hiroshima
.
And
for
a
moment
I
did
not
know
if
hours
had
passed
,
or
whole
civilizations
.
A
fierce
wind
blew
out
of
the
north
.
I
returned
inside
the
room
and
carried
the
suitcase
and
other
things
out
into
the
sunshine
.
First
of
all
I
looked
at
the
envelope
.
It
contained
my
passport
,
about
ten
pounds
in
Greek
money
,
and
a
typewritten
sheet
of
paper
.
Three
sentences
.
"
There
is
a
boat
to
Phraxos
at
11
:
30
tonight
.
You
are
in
the
Old
City
at
Monemvasia
.
The
way
down
is
to
the
southeast
.
"
No
date
,
no
signature
.
I
opened
the
Thermos
:
coffee
.
I
poured
myself
a
full
capful
and
swallowed
it
;
then
another
.
The
packet
contained
sandwiches
.
I
began
to
eat
,
with
the
same
feeling
I
had
had
that
morning
,
of
intense
pleasure
in
the
taste
of
coffee
,
the
taste
of
bread
,
of
cold
lamb
sprinkled
with
oregano
and
lemon
juice
.
But
added
to
this
now
was
a
feeling
,
to
which
the
great
airy
landscape
contributed
,
of
release
,
of
having
survived
;
a
euphoria
,
a
buoyancy
and
resilience
.
Above
all
there
was
the
extraordinariness
of
the
experience
;
its
uniqueness
conferred
a
uniqueness
on
me
,
and
I
had
it
like
a
great
secret
,
a
journey
to
Mars
,
a
prize
no
one
else
had
.
Then
too
I
seemed
to
see
my
own
behavior
,
I
had
woken
up
seeing
it
,
in
a
better
light
;
the
trial
and
the
disintoxication
were
evil
fantasies
sent
to
test
my
normality
,
and
my
normality
had
triumphed
.
They
were
the
ones
who
had
been
finally
humiliated
—
and
I
saw
that
perhaps
that
astounding
last
performance
had
been
intended
to
be
a
mutual
humiliation
.
While
it
happened
it
had
seemed
like
a
vicious
twisting
of
the
dagger
in
an
already
sufficient
wound
;
but
now
I
saw
it
might
also
be
a
kind
of
revenge
given
me
for
their
spying
,
their
voyeurism
,
on
Alison
and
myself
.
I
had
this
:
being
obscurely
victorious
.
Being
free
again
,
but
in
a
new
freedom
…
purged
in
some
way
.
As
if
they
had
miscalculated
.
It
grew
,
this
feeling
,
it
became
a
joy
to
touch
the
warm
rock
on
which
I
sat
,
to
have
the
meltemi
blowing
,
to
smell
the
Greek
air
again
,
to
be
alone
on
this
peculiar
upland
,
this
lost
Gibraltar
,
a
place
I
had
even
meant
to
visit
one
day
.
Analysis
,
revenge
,
recording
:
all
that
would
come
later
,
as
the
explanations
at
the
school
,
the
decision
to
remain
or
not
for
another
year
,
would
have
to
be
made
later
.
The
all
-
important
was
that
I
had
survived
,
I
had
come
through
.
Later
I
realized
that
there
was
something
artificial
,
unnatural
,
in
this
joy
,
this
glossing
over
all
the
indignities
,
the
exploited
death
of
Alison
,
the
monstrous
liberties
taken
with
my
liberty
;
and
I
suppose
that
it
had
all
been
induced
under
hypnosis
by
Conchis
again
.
It
would
have
been
part
of
the
comforts
;
like
the
coffee
and
the
sandwiches
.
I
opened
the
black
box
.
Inside
,
on
a
bed
of
green
baize
,
lay
a
brand
-
new
revolver
,
a
Smith
&
Wesson
.
I
picked
it
up
and
broke
it
.
I
looked
at
the
bases
of
six
bullets
,
little
rounds
of
brass
with
leadgray
eyes
.
The
invitation
was
clear
.
I
shook
one
out
.
They
were
not
blanks
.
I
pointed
the
gun
out
to
sea
,
to
the
north
,
and
pulled
the
trigger
.
The
crack
made
my
ears
ring
and
the
huge
brown
and
white
swifts
that
slit
their
way
across
the
blue
sky
above
my
head
jinked
wildly
.
Conchis
’
s
last
joke
.
I
climbed
a
hundred
yards
or
so
to
the
top
of
the
hill
.
Not
far
to
the
north
was
a
ruined
curtain
wall
,
the
last
of
some
Venetian
or
Ottoman
fortification
.
From
it
I
could
see
ten
or
fifteen
miles
of
coastline
to
the
north
.
A
long
white
beach
,
a
village
twelve
miles
away
,
one
or
two
white
scattered
houses
or
chapels
,
and
beyond
them
a
massively
rising
mountain
,
which
I
knew
must
be
Mount
Parnon
,
visible
on
clear
days
from
Bourani
.
Phraxos
lay
about
thirty
miles
away
over
the
sea
to
the
northeast
.
I
looked
down
.
The
plateau
fell
away
in
a
sheer
cliff
seven
or
eight
hundred
feet
down
to
a
narrow
strip
of
shingle
;
a
jade
-
green
ribbon
where
the
angry
sea
touched
land
,
and
then
white
horses
,
deep
blue
.
Standing
on
the
old
bastion
,
I
fired
the
remaining
five
bullets
out
to
sea
.
I
aimed
at
nothing
.
It
was
a
feu
de
joie
,
a
refusal
to
die
.
When
the
fifth
crack
had
sounded
,
I
took
the
gun
by
the
butt
and
sent
it
whirling
out
into
the
sky
.
It
paraboled
,
poised
,
then
fell
slowly
,
slowly
,
down
through
the
abyss
of
air
;
and
by
lying
flat
at
the
very
brink
I
even
saw
it
crash
among
the
rocks
at
the
sea
’
s
edge
.
