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- Джон Фоулз
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Is
it
?
You
are
not
even
sure
of
that
,
Poor
footsteps
in
an
empty
room
.
2
.
Love
is
the
course
of
the
experiment
.
Is
to
the
limit
of
imagination
.
Love
is
your
manhood
in
my
orchards
.
The
nigger
lurks
my
thin
green
leaves
;
The
white
bitch
wanders
all
your
jungle
.
Love
is
your
dark
face
reading
this
.
Your
dark
,
your
gentle
face
and
hands
.
Did
DesdemonaThis
was
evidently
unfinished
.
3
.
The
ChoiceSpare
him
till
he
dies
.
Torment
him
till
he
lives
.
4
.
ominus
dominusNicholashomullus
estridiculusigitur
meusparvus
pediculusmulto
vult
daresine
morariin
culus
illiusridiculusNicholascolossicus
ciculus5
.
Mr
.
von
Masoch
sat
on
a
pin
;
Then
sat
again
,
to
push
it
in
.
"
How
exquisite
,
"
cried
Plato
,
"
The
idea
of
a
baked
potato
.
"
But
exquisiter
to
someIs
potato
in
the
tum
.
"
My
dear
,
you
must
often
be
frightened
,
"
Said
a
friend
to
Madame
de
Sade
.
"
Oh
not
exactly
frightened
,
But
just
a
little
bit
scarred
.
"
Give
me
my
cardigan
,
Let
me
think
hardigan
.
This
was
evidently
a
game
between
the
sisters
;
alternate
different
handwritings
.
6
.
Mystery
enough
at
noon
.
The
blinding
unfrequented
pathsAbove
the
too
frequented
seaHold
labyrinth
and
mask
enough
.
No
need
to
twist
beneath
the
moonOr
multiply
the
midnight
rite
.
Here
on
the
rising
secret
cliffIn
this
white
fury
of
the
lightIs
mystery
enough
at
noon
.
The
last
three
sheets
had
a
fairy
story
on
them
.
THE
PRINCE
AND
THE
MAGICIANOnce
upon
a
time
there
was
a
young
prince
,
who
believed
in
all
things
but
three
.
He
did
not
believe
in
princesses
,
he
did
not
believe
in
islands
,
he
did
not
believe
in
God
.
His
father
,
the
king
,
told
him
that
such
things
did
not
exist
.
As
there
were
no
princesses
or
islands
in
his
father
’
s
domains
,
and
no
sign
of
God
,
the
young
prince
believed
his
father
.
But
then
,
one
day
,
the
prince
ran
away
from
his
palace
.
He
came
to
the
next
land
.
There
,
to
his
astonishment
,
from
every
coast
he
saw
islands
,
and
on
these
islands
,
strange
and
troubling
creatures
whom
he
dared
not
name
.
As
he
was
searching
for
a
boat
,
a
man
in
full
evening
dress
approached
him
along
the
shore
.
"
Are
those
real
islands
?
"
asked
the
young
prince
.
"
Of
course
they
are
real
islands
,
"
said
the
man
in
evening
dress
.
"
And
those
strange
and
troubling
creatures
?
"
"
They
are
all
genuine
and
authentic
princesses
.
"
"
Then
God
also
must
exist
!
"
cried
the
prince
.
"
I
am
God
,
"
replied
the
man
in
full
evening
dress
,
with
a
bow
.
The
young
prince
returned
home
as
quickly
as
he
could
.
"
So
you
are
back
,
"
said
his
father
,
the
king
.
"
I
have
seen
islands
,
I
have
seen
princesses
,
I
have
seen
God
,
"
said
the
prince
reproachfully
.
The
king
was
unmoved
.
"
Neither
real
islands
,
nor
neat
princesses
,
nor
a
real
God
,
exist
.
"
"
I
saw
them
!
"
"
Tell
me
how
God
was
dressed
.
"
"
God
was
in
full
evening
dress
.
"
"
Were
the
sleeves
of
his
coat
rolled
back
?
"
The
prince
remembered
that
they
had
been
.
The
king
smiled
.
"
That
is
the
uniform
of
a
magician
.
You
have
been
deceived
.
"
At
this
,
the
prince
returned
to
the
next
land
,
and
went
to
the
same
shore
,
where
once
again
he
came
upon
the
man
in
full
evening
dress
.
"
My
father
the
king
has
told
me
who
you
are
,
"
said
the
young
prince
indignantly
.
"
You
deceived
me
last
time
,
but
not
again
.
Now
I
know
that
those
are
not
real
islands
and
real
princesses
,
because
you
are
a
magician
.
"
The
man
on
the
shore
smiled
.
"
It
is
you
who
are
deceived
,
my
boy
.
In
your
father
’
s
kingdom
there
are
many
islands
and
many
princesses
.
But
you
are
under
your
father
’
s
spell
,
so
you
cannot
see
them
.
"
The
prince
returned
pensively
home
.
When
he
saw
his
father
,
he
looked
him
in
the
eyes
.
"
Father
,
is
it
true
that
you
are
not
a
real
king
,
but
only
a
magician
?
"
The
king
smiled
,
and
rolled
back
his
sleeves
.
"
Yes
,
my
son
,
I
am
only
a
magician
.
"
"
Then
the
man
on
the
shore
was
God
.
"
"
The
man
on
the
shore
was
another
magician
.
"
"
I
must
know
the
real
truth
,
the
truth
beyond
magic
.
"
"
There
is
no
truth
beyond
magic
,
"
said
the
king
.
The
prince
was
full
of
sadness
.
He
said
,
"
I
will
kill
myself
.
"
The
king
by
magic
caused
death
to
appear
.
Death
stood
in
the
door
and
beckoned
to
the
prince
.
The
prince
shuddered
.
He
remembered
the
beautiful
but
unreal
islands
and
the
unreal
but
beautiful
princesses
.
"
Very
well
,
"
he
said
.
"
I
can
bear
it
.
"
"
You
see
,
my
son
,
"
said
the
king
,
"
you
too
now
begin
to
be
a
magician
.
"
The
"
orders
"
looked
as
if
they
had
all
been
typed
out
at
the
same
time
,
just
as
the
poems
were
all
scribbled
in
the
same
pencil
with
the
same
pressure
,
as
if
they
had
been
written
ad
hoc
in
one
sitting
.
Nor
did
I
believe
such
"
orders
"
could
ever
have
been
sent
;
what
else
was
the
telephone
for
?
I
puzzled
over
Hirondelle
…
still
tender
;
must
not
be
mentioned
to
me
;
some
surprise
,
some
episode
I
was
never
shown
.
The
poems
and
the
little
epistemological
fable
were
easier
to
understand
;
had
clear
applications
.
Obviously
they
could
not
have
been
sure
that
I
would
break
into
the
Earth
.
Perhaps
there
were
such
clues
littered
all
over
the
place
,
it
being
accepted
on
their
side
that
I
would
find
only
a
very
small
proportion
of
them
.
But
what
I
did
find
would
come
to
me
in
a
different
way
from
the
blatantly
planted
clue
—
with
more
conviction
;
and
yet
might
be
as
misleading
as
all
the
other
clues
I
had
been
given
.
I
was
wasting
my
time
at
Bourani
;
all
I
might
appear
to
find
there
would
confuse
confusion
.
That
was
the
meaning
of
the
fable
.
By
searching
so
fanatically
I
was
making
a
detective
story
out
of
the
summer
’
s
events
,
and
to
view
life
as
a
detective
story
,
as
something
that
could
be
deduced
,
hunted
and
arrested
,
was
no
more
realistic
(
let
alone
poetic
)
than
to
view
the
detective
story
as
the
most
important
literary
genre
,
instead
of
what
it
really
was
,
one
of
the
least
.
On
Moutsa
,
at
that
first
sight
of
the
party
,
I
had
felt
,
in
spite
of
everything
,
a
shock
of
excitement
;
and
an
equally
revealing
disappointment
when
I
realized
they
were
nothing
:
mere
tourists
.
Perhaps
that
was
my
deepest
resentment
of
all
against
Conchis
.
Not
that
he
had
done
what
he
did
,
but
that
he
had
stopped
doing
it
.
I
had
intended
to
break
into
the
house
as
well
,
to
wreak
some
kind
of
revenge
there
.
But
suddenly
that
seemed
petty
and
mean
;
and
insufficient
;
because
it
was
not
that
I
still
did
not
intend
to
have
my
revenge
.
Only
now
I
saw
quite
clearly
how
I
would
have
it
.
The
school
could
dismiss
me
.
But
nothing
could
prevent
my
coming
to
the
island
the
following
summer
.
And
then
we
would
see
who
had
the
last
laugh
.
I
got
up
and
left
the
Earth
,
and
went
to
the
house
;
walked
one
last
time
under
the
colonnade
.
The
chairs
were
gone
,
even
the
bell
.
In
the
vegetable
garden
the
cucumber
plants
lay
yellowed
and
dying
;
the
Priapus
had
been
removed
.
I
was
full
of
a
multiple
sadness
,
for
the
past
,
for
the
present
,
for
the
future
.
Even
then
I
was
not
waiting
only
to
say
,
to
feel
,
goodbye
,
but
fractionally
in
the
hope
that
a
figure
might
appear
.
I
did
not
know
what
I
would
have
done
if
one
did
,
any
more
than
I
knew
what
I
was
going
to
do
when
I
got
to
Athens
.
If
I
wanted
to
live
in
England
;
what
I
wanted
to
do
.
I
was
in
the
same
state
as
when
I
came
down
from
Oxford
.
I
only
knew
what
I
didn
’
t
want
to
do
;
and
all
I
had
gained
,
in
the
matter
of
choosing
a
career
,
was
a
violent
determination
never
again
to
be
a
teacher
of
any
sort
.
I
’
d
empty
dustbiris
rather
than
that
.
An
emotional
desert
lay
in
front
of
me
,
an
inability
ever
to
fall
in
love
again
that
was
compounded
of
the
virtual
death
of
Lily
and
the
actual
death
of
Alison
.
I
was
disintoxicated
of
Lily
;
but
my
disappointment
at
failing
to
match
her
had
become
in
part
a
disappointment
at
my
own
character
;
an
unwanted
yet
inevitable
feeling
that
she
would
vitiate
or
haunt
any
relationship
I
might
form
with
another
woman
;
stand
as
a
ghost
behind
every
lack
of
taste
,
every
stupidity
.
Only
Alison
could
have
exorcized
her
I
remembered
those
moments
of
relief
at
Monemvasia
and
on
the
ship
coming
back
to
Phraxos
,
moments
when
the
most
ordinary
things
seemed
beautiful
and
lovable
—
possessors
of
a
magnificent
quotidaneity
.
I
could
have
found
that
in
Alison
.
Her
special
genius
,
or
uniqueness
,
was
her
normality
,
her
reality
,
her
predictability
;
her
crystal
core
of
nonbetrayal
;
her
attachment
to
all
that
Lily
was
not
.
I
was
marooned
;
wingless
and
leaden
,
as
if
I
had
been
momentarily
surrounded
,
then
abandoned
,
by
a
flock
of
strange
winged
creatures
;
emancipated
,
mysterious
,
departing
,
as
singing
birds
pass
on
overhead
;
leaving
a
silence
spent
with
voices
.
Only
too
ordinary
voices
,
screams
,
came
faintly
up
from
the
bay
.
More
horseplay
.
The
present
eroded
the
past
.
The
sun
slanted
through
the
pines
,
and
I
walked
one
last
time
to
the
statue
.
Poseidon
,
perfect
majesty
because
perfect
control
,
perfect
health
,
perfect
adjustment
,
stood
flexed
to
his
divine
sea
;
Greece
the
eternal
,
the
never
-
fathomed
,
the
bravest
because
the
clearest
,
the
mystery
-
atnoon
land
.
Perhaps
this
statue
was
the
center
of
Bourani
,
its
omphalos
—
not
the
house
or
the
Earth
or
Conchis
or
Lily
,
but
this
still
figure
,
benign
,
all
-
powerful
,
yet
unable
to
intervene
or
speak
;
able
simply
to
be
and
to
constitute
.
The
first
thing
I
did
when
I
arrived
at
the
Grande
Bretagne
in
Athens
was
to
telephone
the
airport
.
I
was
put
through
to
the
right
desk
.
A
man
answered
.
He
didn
’
t
seem
to
know
the
name
.
I
spelt
it
.
He
said
,
"
Please
wait
a
minute
.
"
Then
a
girl
’
s
voice
;
the
same
Greek
-
American
who
had
been
on
duty
that
evening
.
"
Who
is
that
speaking
please
?
"
"
A
friend
of
a
friend
.
"
A
moment
’
s
silence
.
I
knew
then
.
For
hours
I
had
nursed
the
feverish
tiny
hope
.
I
stared
down
at
the
tired
green
carpet
.
"
Didn
’
t
you
know
?
"
"
Know
what
?
"
"
She
’
s
dead
.
"
"
Dead
?
"
My
voice
must
have
sounded
strangely
unsurprised
.
"
A
month
ago
.
In
London
.
I
thought
everyone
knew
.
She
took
an
overd
—
"
I
put
the
receiver
down
.
I
lay
back
on
the
bed
and
stared
at
the
ceiling
.
It
was
a
long
time
before
I
found
the
will
to
go
down
and
start
drinking
.
The
next
morning
I
went
to
the
British
Council
.
I
told
the
man
who
looked
after
me
that
I
had
resigned
for
"
personal
reasons
,
"
but
I
managed
to
suggest
,
without
breaking
my
half
-
promise
to
Mavromichalis
,
that
the
Council
had
no
business
sending
people
to
such
isolated
posts
.
He
jumped
quickly
towards
the
wrong
conclusions
.
I
said
,
"
I
didn
’
t
chase
the
boys
.
That
’
s
not
it
.
"
"
My
dear
fellow
,
heaven
forbid
,
I
didn
’
t
meant
that
.
"
He
offered
me
a
cigarette
in
dismay
.
We
talked
vaguely
about
isolation
,
and
the
Aegean
,
and
the
absolute
hell
of
having
to
teach
the
Embassy
that
the
Council
was
not
just
another
chancellery
annex
.
I
asked
him
casually
at
the
end
if
he
had
heard
of
someone
called
Conchis
.
He
hadn
’
t
.
"
Who
is
he
?
"
"
Oh
just
a
man
I
met
on
the
island
.
Seemed
to
have
it
in
for
the
English
.
"
"
It
’
s
becoming
the
new
national
hobby
.
Playing
us
off
against
the
Yanks
.
"
He
closed
the
file
smartly
.
"
Well
thanks
awfully
,
Urfe
.
Most
useful
chat
.
Only
sorry
it
’
s
turned
out
like
this
.
But
don
’
t
worry
.
We
’
ll
bear
everything
you
’
ve
said
very
much
in
mind
.
"
On
the
way
to
the
door
he
must
have
felt
even
sorrier
for
me
,
because
he
invited
me
to
dinner
that
evening
.
But
I
was
no
sooner
crossing
the
Kolonaki
square
outside
the
Council
than
I
wondered
why
I
had
bothered
.
The
stiflingly
English
atmosphere
of
the
place
had
never
seemed
more
alien
;
and
yet
to
my
horror
I
had
detected
myself
trying
to
fit
in
acceptably
,
to
conform
,
to
get
their
approval
.
What
had
they
said
in
the
trial
?
He
seeks
situations
in
which
he
knows
he
will
be
forced
to
rebel
.
I
refused
to
be
the
victim
of
a
repetition
compulsion
;
but
if
I
refused
that
,
I
had
to
find
courage
to
refuse
all
my
social
past
,
all
my
background
.
I
had
not
only
to
be
ready
to
empty
dustbins
rather
than
teach
,
but
to
empty
them
rather
than
ever
have
to
live
and
work
with
the
middle
-
class
English
again
.
The
people
in
the
Council
were
the
total
foreigners
;
and
the
anonymous
Greeks
around
me
in
the
streets
the
familiar
compatriots
.
I
had
,
when
I
checked
in
at
the
Grande
Bretagne
,
asked
whether
there
had
been
two
English
twins
,
fair
-
haired
,
early
twenties
…
recently
staying
at
the
hotel
.
But
the
reception
clerk
was
sure
there
had
not
;
I
hadn
’
t
expected
there
to
be
,
and
I
didn
’
t
insist
.
When
I
left
the
British
Council
,
I
went
to
the
Ministry
of
the
Interior
.
On
the
pretext
that
I
was
writing
a
travel
book
,
I
got
to
the
department
where
the
war
crimes
records
were
filed
;
and
within
fifteen
minutes
I
had
in
my
hands
a
copy
of
the
report
the
real
Anton
had
written
.
I
sat
down
and
read
it
;
it
was
all
,
in
every
detail
,
as
Conchis
had
said
.
I
asked
the
official
who
had
helped
me
if
Conchis
was
still
alive
.
He
flicked
through
the
file
from
which
he
had
taken
the
report
.
There
was
nothing
there
except
the
address
on
Phraxos
.
He
did
not
know
.
He
had
never
heard
of
Conchis
,
he
was
new
in
this
department
.
I
went
back
in
the
sweltering
midday
heat
to
the
hotel
.
The
reception
clerk
turned
to
give
me
my
key
;
and
with
it
came
a
letter
.
It
had
my
name
only
,
and
was
marked
Urgent
.
I
tore
open
the
envelope
.
Inside
was
a
sheet
of
paper
with
a
number
and
a
name
.
184
Syngrou
.
"
Who
brought
this
?
"
"
A
boy
.
A
messenger
.
"
"
Where
from
?
"
He
opened
his
hands
.
He
did
not
know
.
I
knew
where
Syngrou
was
:
a
wide
boulevard
that
ran
from
Athens
down
to
the
Piraeus
.
I
went
straight
out
and
jumped
into
a
taxi
.
We
swung
past
the
three
columns
of
the
temple
of
Olympic
Zeus
and
down
towards
the
Piraeus
,
and
in
a
minute
the
taxi
drew
up
outside
a
house
standing
back
in
a
fair
-
sized
garden
.
A
chipped
enamel
number
announced
that
it
was
No
.
184
.
The
garden
was
thoroughly
disreputable
,
the
windows
boarded
up
.
A
lottery
-
ticket
seller
sitting
on
a
chair
under
a
pepper
tree
nearby
asked
what
I
wanted
,
but
I
took
no
notice
of
him
.
I
walked
to
the
front
door
,
then
round
the
back
.
The
house
was
a
shell
.
There
had
been
a
fire
,
evidently
some
years
before
,
and
the
flat
roof
had
fallen
in
.
I
looked
into
a
garden
at
the
rear
.
It
was
as
dry
and
unkempt
and
deserted
as
the
front
.
The
back
door
gaped
open
.
There
were
signs
,
among
the
fallen
rafters
and
charred
walls
,
that
tramps
or
Vlach
gypsies
had
lived
there
;
the
trace
of
a
more
recent
fire
on
an
old
hearth
.
I
waited
for
a
minute
,
but
I
somehow
sensed
that
there
was
nothing
to
find
.
It
was
a
false
trail
.
I
returned
to
the
waiting
yellow
taxi
.
The
dust
from
the
dry
earth
rose
in
little
swirls
in
the
day
breeze
and
powdered
the
already
drab
leaves
of
the
thin
oleanders
.
Traffic
ran
up
and
down
Syngrou
,
the
leaves
of
a
palm
tree
by
the
gate
rustled
.
The
ticket
seller
was
talking
to
my
taxi
driver
.
He
turned
as
I
came
out
.
"
Zitas
kanenan
?
"
Looking
for
someone
?
"
Whose
house
is
that
?
"
He
was
an
unshaven
man
in
a
worn
gray
suit
,
a
dirty
white
shirt
without
a
tie
;
his
rosary
of
amber
patience
beads
in
his
hand
.
He
raised
them
,
disclaiming
knowledge
.
"
Now
.
I
do
not
know
.
Nobody
’
s
.
"
I
looked
at
him
from
behind
my
dark
glasses
.
Then
said
one
word
.
"
Conchis
?
"
Immediately
his
face
cleared
,
as
if
he
understood
all
.
"
Ah
.
I
understand
.
You
are
looking
for
o
kyrios
Conchis
?
"
"
Yeah
.
"
He
flung
open
his
hands
.
"
He
is
dead
.
"
"
When
?
"
"
Four
,
five
years
.
"
He
held
up
four
fingers
;
then
cut
his
throat
and
said
"
Kaput
.
"
I
looked
past
him
to
where
his
long
stick
of
tickets
,
propped
up
against
the
chair
,
flapped
in
the
wind
.
I
smiled
acidly
at
him
,
speaking
in
English
.
