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I
set
off
down
.
After
a
while
I
struck
a
better
path
,
which
twice
passed
doorways
that
led
into
large
rubble
-
choked
cisterns
.
At
the
south
side
of
the
huge
rock
I
saw
,
far
below
,
an
old
walled
town
on
a
skirt
of
land
that
ran
steeply
from
the
cliff
bottom
down
to
the
sea
.
Many
ruined
houses
,
but
also
a
few
with
roofs
and
eight
,
nine
,
ten
,
a
covey
of
churches
.
The
path
wound
through
the
ruins
and
then
to
a
doorway
.
A
long
downward
tunnel
led
to
another
doorway
with
a
hurdle
across
it
,
which
explained
the
absence
of
a
goatherd
.
There
was
evidently
only
one
way
up
or
down
,
even
for
goats
.
I
climbed
over
the
hurdle
and
emerged
into
the
sunlight
.
A
path
with
a
centuries
-
old
paving
of
slabs
of
gray
-
black
basalt
graphed
down
the
cliff
,
finally
curving
towards
the
red
-
ochre
roofs
of
the
walled
town
.
I
picked
my
way
down
through
alleys
between
whitewashed
houses
.
An
old
peasant
woman
stood
in
her
doorway
with
a
bowl
of
vegetable
parings
she
had
been
emptying
for
her
chickens
.
I
must
have
looked
very
strange
,
carrying
a
suitcase
,
unshaven
,
foreign
.
"
Kal
’
espera
.
"
"
Pios
eisai
?
"
she
wanted
to
know
.
"
Pou
pas
?
"
The
old
Homeric
questions
of
the
Greek
peasant
:
Who
art
thou
?
Where
goest
thou
?
I
said
I
was
English
,
a
member
of
the
company
who
had
been
making
the
film
,
epano
.
"
What
film
up
there
?
"
I
waved
,
said
it
didn
’
t
matter
,
and
ignoring
her
indignant
queries
,
I
came
at
last
to
a
forlorn
little
main
street
,
not
six
feet
wide
,
the
houses
crammed
along
it
,
mostly
shuttered
,
or
empty
;
but
over
one
I
saw
a
sign
and
went
in
.
An
elderly
man
with
a
moustache
,
the
keeper
of
the
wineshop
,
came
out
of
a
dim
corner
.
Over
the
blue
iron
mug
of
retsina
and
the
olives
we
shared
I
discovered
all
there
was
to
discover
.
First
of
all
,
I
had
missed
a
day
.
The
trial
had
not
been
that
morning
,
but
the
day
before
;
it
was
Monday
,
not
Sunday
.
I
had
been
drugged
again
for
over
twentyfour
hours
;
and
I
wondered
what
else
.
What
probing
into
the
deepest
recesses
of
my
mind
.
No
film
company
had
been
in
Monemvasia
;
no
large
group
of
tourists
;
no
foreigners
since
ten
days
ago
…
a
French
professor
and
his
wife
.
What
did
the
professor
look
like
?
A
very
fat
man
,
he
spoke
no
Greek
…
No
,
he
had
heard
of
no
one
going
up
there
yesterday
or
today
.
Alas
,
no
one
came
to
see
Monemvasia
.
Were
there
large
cisterns
with
paintings
on
the
walls
up
there
?
No
,
nothing
like
that
.
It
was
all
ruins
.
Later
,
when
I
walked
out
of
the
old
town
gate
and
under
the
cliffs
I
saw
two
or
three
crumbling
jetties
where
a
boat
could
have
slipped
in
and
unloaded
three
or
four
men
with
a
stretcher
.
They
need
not
have
passed
the
handful
of
houses
that
were
still
inhabited
in
the
village
;
and
they
would
have
come
by
night
.
There
were
old
castles
all
over
the
Peloponnesus
:
Korone
,
Methone
,
Pylos
,
Koryphasion
,
Passáva
.
They
all
had
huge
cisterns
;
could
all
be
reached
in
a
day
from
Monemvasia
.
I
went
over
the
causeway
through
the
gusty
wind
to
the
little
mainland
hamlet
,
which
was
where
the
steamer
called
.
I
had
a
bad
meal
in
a
taverna
there
,
and
a
shave
in
the
kitchen
—
yes
,
I
was
a
tourist
—
and
questioned
the
cook
-
waiter
.
He
knew
no
more
than
the
other
man
.
Pitching
and
rolling
,
the
little
steamer
,
made
late
by
the
meltemi
,
came
at
midnight
;
like
a
deep
-
sea
monster
,
festooned
with
glaucous
strings
of
pearly
light
.
I
and
two
other
passengers
were
rowed
out
to
her
.
I
sat
for
a
couple
of
hours
in
the
deserted
saloon
,
fighting
off
seasickness
and
the
persistent
attempts
to
start
a
conversation
made
by
an
Athenian
greengrocer
who
had
been
to
Monemvasia
to
buy
tomatoes
.
He
grumbled
on
and
on
about
prices
.
Always
in
Greece
conversation
turns
to
money
;
not
politics
,
or
politics
only
because
it
is
connected
with
money
.
In
the
end
the
seasickness
wore
off
and
I
came
to
like
the
greengrocer
.
He
and
his
mound
of
newspaperwrapped
parcels
were
referable
and
locateable
;
totally
of
the
world
into
which
I
had
returned
;
though
for
days
I
was
to
stare
suspiciously
at
every
stranger
who
crossed
my
path
.
When
we
came
near
the
island
I
went
out
on
deck
.
The
black
whale
loomed
out
of
the
windy
darkness
.
I
could
make
out
the
cape
of
Bourani
,
though
the
house
was
invisible
,
and
of
course
there
were
no
lights
.
On
the
foredeck
,
where
I
was
standing
,
there
were
a
dozen
or
so
slumped
figures
,
poor
peasants
traveling
steerage
.
The
mystery
of
other
human
lives
:
I
wondered
how
much
Conchis
’
s
masque
had
cost
;
fifty
times
more
,
probably
,
than
one
of
these
men
earned
in
a
year
’
s
hard
work
.
So
had
cost
their
lifetime
.
De
Deukans
.
Millet
.
Hoeing
turnips
.
Beside
me
was
a
family
,
a
husband
with
his
back
turned
,
his
head
on
a
sack
,
two
small
boys
sandwiched
for
warmth
between
him
and
his
wife
.
A
thin
blanket
lay
over
them
.
The
wife
had
a
white
scarf
tied
in
a
medieval
way
,
tight
round
her
chin
.
Joseph
and
Mary
;
one
of
her
hands
rested
on
the
shoulder
of
the
child
in
front
.
I
fumbled
in
my
pockets
;
there
was
still
seven
or
eight
pounds
left
of
the
money
that
had
been
given
me
.
I
looked
round
,
then
swiftly
stooped
and
put
the
little
wad
of
notes
in
a
fold
of
the
blanket
behind
the
woman
’
s
head
;
then
furtively
left
,
as
if
I
had
done
something
shameful
.
At
a
quarter
to
three
I
was
silently
climbing
the
dark
stairs
in
the
masters
’
wing
.
My
room
was
tidy
,
all
in
order
.
The
only
thing
that
had
changed
was
that
the
pile
of
examination
papers
were
no
longer
there
.
In
their
place
were
several
letters
.
The
first
one
I
opened
I
did
because
I
couldn
’
t
think
who
would
be
writing
to
me
from
Italy
.
Monastery
of
Sacro
Speco
,
Near
SubiacoJuly
14thDEAR
MR
.
URFE
,
Your
letter
has
been
forwarded
to
me
.
I
at
first
decided
not
to
reply
to
it
,
but
on
reflection
I
think
it
is
fairer
to
you
if
I
write
to
say
that
I
am
not
prepared
to
discuss
the
matter
that
you
wish
me
to
discuss
.
My
decision
on
this
is
final
.
I
should
greatly
appreciate
it
if
you
would
not
renew
your
request
in
any
way
.
Yours
sincerely
,
JOHN
LEVERRIERThe
writing
was
impeccably
neat
and
legible
,
though
rather
crabbed
into
the
center
of
the
page
;
I
saw
a
neat
,
crabbed
man
behind
it
.
Presumably
on
some
sort
of
retreat
,
one
of
those
desiccated
young
Catholics
that
used
to
mince
about
Oxford
when
I
was
an
undergraduate
,
twittering
about
Monsignor
Knox
and
Farm
Street
.
I
damned
him
for
being
so
useless
.
The
next
letter
was
from
London
,
from
someone
who
purported
to
be
a
headmistress
,
on
nicely
authentic
headed
notepaper
.
Miss
Julie
HolmesMiss
Holmes
was
with
us
only
for
one
year
,
in
which
she
taught
the
classics
and
also
some
English
and
Scripture
to
our
lower
forms
.
She
promised
to
develop
into
a
good
teacher
,
was
most
reliable
and
conscientious
and
also
popular
with
her
pupils
.
I
understood
that
she
was
embarking
upon
a
stage
career
,
but
I
am
very
pleased
to
hear
that
she
is
returning
to
teaching
.
I
should
add
that
she
was
a
very
successful
producer
of
our
annual
play
,
and
also
took
a
leading
part
in
our
Young
Christians
school
society
.
I
recommend
Miss
Holmes
warmly
.
Very
funny
.
Next
I
opened
another
envelope
from
London
.
Inside
was
my
own
letter
to
the
Tavistock
Repertory
Company
.
Someone
had
done
impatiently
but
exactly
as
I
requested
,
and
scrawled
the
name
of
June
and
Julie
Holmes
’
s
agent
across
the
bottom
of
the
page
in
blue
pencil
.
Then
there
was
a
letter
from
Australia
.
In
it
was
a
printed
blackedged
card
with
a
blank
space
for
the
sender
’
s
name
to
be
written
in
;
a
rather
pathetically
childlike
hand
had
done
so
.
—
—
—
—
—
—
—
—
—
R
.
I
.
P
.
Mrs
.
Mary
Kellythanks
you
for
your
kind
letterof
condolence
in
her
recent
tragicbereavement
.
—
—
—
—
—
—
—
—
—
-
The
last
letter
was
from
Ann
Taylor
:
inside
,
a
postcard
and
photographs
.
We
found
these
.
We
thought
you
might
like
copies
.
I
’
ve
sent
the
negatives
to
Mrs
.
Kelly
.
I
understand
what
you
say
in
your
letter
,
we
must
all
feel
to
blame
in
different
ways
.
The
one
thing
I
don
’
t
think
Allie
would
want
is
that
we
take
it
hard
,
now
that
it
won
’
t
do
any
good
.
I
’
m
going
home
next
week
.
I
still
can
’
t
believe
it
.
I
had
to
pack
all
her
things
and
you
can
imagine
.
It
seemed
so
unnecessary
then
,
it
made
me
cry
again
.
Well
,
I
suppose
we
must
all
get
over
it
.
I
am
going
home
next
week
,
shall
see
Mrs
.
K
.
at
the
earliest
possible
time
.
Yours
,
AnnEight
bad
snaps
.
Five
of
them
were
of
me
or
of
views
;
only
three
showed
Alison
.
One
of
her
kneeling
over
the
little
girl
with
the
boil
,
one
of
her
standing
at
the
Oedipus
crossroads
,
one
of
her
with
the
muleteer
on
Parnassus
.
She
was
closest
to
the
camera
in
the
one
at
the
crossroads
,
and
she
had
that
direct
,
half
-
boyish
grin
that
somehow
always
best
revealed
her
honesty
…
what
had
she
called
herself
?
Coarse
salt
;
the
candor
of
salt
.
I
remembered
how
we
had
got
in
the
car
,
how
I
had
talked
about
my
father
,
had
even
then
only
been
able
to
talk
to
her
like
that
because
of
her
honesty
;
because
I
knew
she
was
a
mirror
that
did
not
lie
;
whose
interest
in
me
was
real
;
whose
love
was
real
.
That
had
been
her
supreme
virtue
:
a
constant
reality
.
I
sat
at
my
desk
and
stared
at
that
face
,
at
the
strand
of
hair
that
blew
across
the
side
of
the
forehead
,
that
one
moment
,
the
hair
so
,
the
wind
so
,
still
present
and
forever
gone
.
Sadness
swept
back
through
me
.
I
could
not
sleep
.
I
put
the
letters
and
photographs
in
a
drawer
and
went
out
again
,
along
the
coast
.
Far
to
the
north
,
across
the
water
,
there
was
a
scrub
fire
A
broken
ruby
-
red
line
ate
its
way
across
a
mountain
;
as
a
line
of
fire
ate
its
way
through
me
.
What
was
I
?
Exactly
what
Conchis
had
had
me
told
:
nothing
but
the
net
sum
of
countless
wrong
turnings
.
Why
?
I
dismissed
most
of
the
Freudian
jargon
of
the
trial
;
but
all
my
life
I
had
tried
to
turn
life
into
fiction
,
to
hold
reality
away
;
always
I
had
acted
as
if
a
third
person
was
watching
and
listening
and
giving
me
marks
for
good
or
bad
behavior
—
a
god
like
a
novelist
,
to
whom
I
turned
,
like
a
character
with
the
power
to
please
,
the
sensitivity
to
feel
slighted
,
the
ability
to
adapt
himself
to
whatever
he
believed
the
novelistgod
wanted
.
This
leechlike
variation
of
the
supergo
I
had
created
myself
,
fostered
myself
,
and
because
of
it
I
had
always
been
incapable
of
acting
freely
.
It
was
not
my
defense
;
but
my
despot
.
And
now
I
saw
it
,
I
saw
it
a
death
too
late
.
I
sat
by
the
shore
and
waited
for
the
dawn
to
rise
on
the
gray
sea
.
Intolerably
alone
.
Whether
it
was
in
the
nature
of
my
nature
,
or
in
that
of
whatever
Cone
-
method
optimism
Conchis
had
pumped
into
me
during
my
last
long
sleep
,
I
got
progressively
moroser
as
the
day
dawned
.
I
was
well
aware
that
I
had
no
evidence
and
no
witnesses
to
present
in
support
of
the
truth
;
and
such
a
firm
believer
in
logistics
as
Conchis
would
not
have
left
his
line
of
retreat
unorganized
.
He
must
know
that
his
immediate
risk
was
that
I
should
go
to
the
police
;
in
which
case
his
move
was
obvious
.
I
guessed
that
by
now
he
and
all
the
"
cast
"
had
left
Greece
.
There
would
be
no
one
to
question
,
except
people
like
Hermes
,
who
was
probably
even
more
innocent
than
I
suspected
;
the
hotel
clerk
,
who
would
be
bribed
;
and
Patarescu
,
who
would
admit
nothing
.
The
only
real
witness
was
Demetriades
;
I
could
never
force
a
confession
out
of
him
,
But
I
remembered
his
sweet
innocence
,
his
indifference
at
the
beginning
;
Hermes
’
s
appearing
so
opportunely
.
And
I
wanted
some
sort
of
physical
revenge
on
someone
;
I
also
wanted
the
whole
school
to
know
I
was
angry
.
I
didn
’
t
go
to
the
first
lesson
,
reserving
my
spectacular
re
-
entry
into
school
life
till
breakfast
.
When
I
appeared
there
was
the
sudden
silence
you
get
when
you
throw
a
stone
into
a
pool
of
croaking
frogs
;
an
abrupt
hush
,
then
the
gradual
resumption
of
noise
.
Some
of
the
boys
were
grinning
.
The
other
masters
stared
at
me
as
if
I
had
committed
the
final
crime
.
I
could
see
Demetriades
on
the
far
side
of
the
room
.
I
walked
straight
towards
him
,
too
quickly
for
him
to
act
.
He
half
rose
,
then
evidently
saw
what
was
coming
and
,
like
a
frightened
Peter
Lorre
,
promptly
sat
down
again
.
I
stood
over
him
.
"
Get
up
,
damn
you
.
"
He
made
a
feeble
attempt
at
a
smile
;
shrugged
at
the
boy
next
to
him
.
I
repeated
my
request
,
loudly
,
in
Greek
,
and
added
a
Greek
gibe
.
"
Get
up
—
brothel
louse
.
"
There
was
a
total
hush
again
.
Demetriades
went
red
and
stared
down
at
the
table
.
He
had
in
front
of
him
a
plate
of
pappy
bread
and
milk
sprinkled
with
honey
,
a
dish
he
always
treated
himself
to
at
breakfast
.
I
reached
forward
and
flipped
it
back
in
his
face
.
It
ran
down
his
shirt
and
his
expensive
suit
.
He
jumped
up
,
flicking
down
with
his
hands
.
As
he
looked
up
in
a
red
rage
,
like
a
child
,
I
hit
him
where
I
wanted
,
plug
in
his
right
eye
.
It
was
not
Lonsdale
,
but
it
landed
hard
.
Everyone
got
to
their
feet
.
The
prefects
shouted
for
order
.
The
gym
master
rushed
behind
me
and
seized
my
arm
,
but
I
snapped
at
him
that
it
was
all
right
,
it
was
all
over
.
Demetriades
stood
like
a
parody
of
Oedipus
with
his
hands
over
his
eyes
.
Then
without
warning
he
whirled
forwards
at
me
,
kicking
and
clawing
like
an
old
woman
.
The
gym
master
,
who
despised
him
,
stepped
past
me
and
easily
and
roughly
pinned
his
arms
.
I
turned
and
walked
out
.
Demetriades
started
to
shout
petulant
curses
I
didn
’
t
understand
.
A
steward
was
standing
in
the
door
and
I
told
him
to
bring
coffee
to
my
room
.
Then
I
sat
there
and
waited
.
Sure
enough
,
as
soon
as
second
school
began
,
I
was
summoned
to
the
headmaster
’
s
office
.
Besides
the
old
man
there
was
the
deputy
headmaster
,
the
senior
housemaster
,
and
the
gym
master
;
the
latter
,
I
presumed
,
in
case
I
should
cut
up
rough
again
.
The
senior
housemaster
,
Androutsos
,
spoke
French
fluently
and
he
was
evidently
there
to
be
the
translator
at
this
court
-
martial
.
As
soon
as
I
sat
down
I
was
handed
a
letter
.
I
saw
by
the
heading
that
it
was
from
the
School
Board
in
Athens
.
It
was
in
French
officialese
;
dated
two
days
before
.
The
Board
of
Governors
of
the
Lord
Byron
School
having
considered
the
report
submitted
by
the
headmaster
has
regretfully
decided
that
the
said
Board
must
terminate
the
contract
with
you
under
Clause
7
of
the
said
contract
:
Unsatisfactory
conduct
as
teacher
.
As
per
the
said
clause
your
salary
will
be
paid
until
the
end
of
September
and
your
fare
home
will
be
paid
.
There
was
to
be
no
trying
;
only
sentencing
.
I
looked
up
at
the
four
faces
.
If
they
showed
anything
it
was
embarrassment
,
and
I
could
even
detect
a
hint
of
regret
on
Androutsos
’
s
;
but
no
sign
of
complicity
.
I
said
,
"
I
didn
’
t
know
the
headmaster
was
in
Mr
.
Conchis
’
s
pay
.
"
Androutsos
was
obviously
puzzled
.
"
A
la
solde
de
qui
?
"
He
translated
what
I
angrily
repeated
;
but
the
headmaster
too
seemed
nonplussed
.
He
was
in
fact
far
too
dignified
a
figurehead
,
more
like
an
American
college
president
than
a
real
headmaster
,
to
make
it
likely
that
he
would
connive
in
an
unjust
dismissal
.
Demetriades
had
deserved
his
black
eye
even
more
than
I
suspected
.
Demetriades
,
Conchis
,
some
influential
third
person
on
the
Board
.
