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- Джон Фоулз
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I
raised
the
gun
and
fired
it
blindly
into
the
sky
.
The
crash
shook
me
.
There
was
an
echo
,
some
falling
twigs
.
Then
the
heavy
well
of
silence
.
"
Did
you
shoot
anything
?
"
asked
the
old
man
at
the
gate
.
"
One
shot
,
"
I
said
.
"
I
missed
.
"
Years
later
I
saw
the
gabbia
at
Piacenza
;
a
harsh
black
canary
cage
strung
high
up
the
side
of
the
towering
campanile
,
in
which
prisoners
were
left
to
starve
to
death
and
rot
in
full
view
of
the
town
below
.
And
looking
up
at
it
I
remembered
that
winter
in
Greece
,
that
gabbia
I
had
constructed
for
myself
out
of
light
,
solitude
and
selfdelusions
.
To
write
poetry
and
to
commit
suicide
,
apparently
so
contradictory
,
had
really
been
the
same
,
attempts
at
escape
.
And
my
feelings
,
at
the
end
of
that
wretched
term
,
were
those
of
a
man
who
knows
he
is
in
a
cage
,
exposed
to
the
jeers
of
all
his
old
ambitions
until
he
dies
.
But
I
went
to
Athens
,
to
the
address
the
village
doctor
gave
me
.
I
was
given
a
Kahn
test
and
Dr
.
Patarescu
’
s
diagnosis
was
confirmed
.
The
ten
days
’
treatment
was
very
expensive
;
most
of
the
drugs
had
been
smuggled
into
Greece
,
or
stolen
,
and
I
was
at
the
receiving
end
of
a
Third
Man
network
.
The
smooth
young
American
-
trained
doctor
told
me
not
to
worry
;
the
prognosis
was
excellent
.
At
the
end
of
the
Easter
holidays
,
when
I
returned
to
the
island
,
I
found
a
card
from
Alison
.
It
was
a
garishly
colored
thing
with
a
kangaroo
on
it
balloonsaying
"
Thought
I
’
d
forgot
?
"
My
twenty
-
sixth
birthday
had
taken
place
while
I
was
in
Athens
.
The
postmark
was
Amsterdam
.
There
was
no
message
.
It
was
simply
signed
Alison
.
I
threw
it
into
the
wastepaper
basket
.
But
that
evening
,
I
took
it
out
again
.
To
get
through
the
anxious
wait
for
the
secondary
stage
not
to
develop
,
I
began
quietly
to
rape
the
island
.
I
swam
and
swam
,
I
walked
and
walked
,
I
went
out
every
day
The
weather
rapidly
became
hot
,
and
during
the
heat
of
the
afternoon
the
school
slept
.
Then
I
used
to
take
off
into
the
pine
forest
.
I
always
went
over
the
central
crest
to
the
south
side
of
the
island
if
I
could
,
away
from
the
village
and
the
school
.
There
,
was
absolute
solitude
:
three
hidden
cottages
at
one
small
bay
,
a
few
tiny
chapels
lost
among
the
green
downward
sea
of
pines
and
deserted
except
on
their
saint
’
s
days
,
and
one
almost
invisible
villa
,
which
was
in
any
case
empty
.
The
rest
was
sublimely
peaceful
,
as
potential
as
a
clean
canvas
,
a
site
for
myths
.
It
was
as
if
the
island
was
split
into
dark
and
light
;
so
that
the
teaching
timetable
,
which
made
it
difficult
to
go
far
except
at
weekends
or
by
getting
up
very
early
(
school
began
at
half
-
past
seven
)
became
as
irksome
as
a
short
tether
.
I
did
not
think
about
the
future
.
In
spite
of
what
the
doctor
at
the
clinic
had
said
I
felt
certain
that
the
cure
would
fail
.
The
pattern
of
destiny
seemed
pretty
clear
:
down
and
down
,
and
down
.
But
then
the
mysteries
began
.
This
was
the
first
event
.
It
was
a
Sunday
in
late
May
,
blue
as
a
bird
’
s
wing
,
fresh
,
hot
,
in
mint
condition
.
I
climbed
up
the
goatpaths
to
the
island
’
s
ridge
-
back
,
from
where
the
green
froth
of
the
pine
tops
rolled
southwards
two
miles
down
to
the
coast
.
The
sea
was
a
pure
veronica
blue
,
stretching
like
a
silk
carpet
across
to
the
shadowy
wall
of
mountains
on
the
mainland
to
the
west
.
These
mountains
reverberated
away
south
,
fifty
or
sixty
miles
right
down
to
the
horizon
,
under
the
totally
uncontaminated
sky
.
It
was
a
blue
world
,
vast
and
stupendously
manless
,
and
as
always
when
I
stood
on
the
central
ridge
of
the
island
and
saw
it
,
I
forgot
most
of
my
troubles
.
I
walked
along
the
central
ridge
,
westwards
,
between
the
two
great
views
north
and
south
.
Lizards
flashed
up
the
pine
trunks
like
living
emerald
necklaces
.
There
were
thyme
and
rosemary
and
other
herbs
,
and
bushes
with
flowers
like
dandelions
dipped
in
sky
,
a
wild
,
lambent
blue
.
After
a
while
I
came
to
a
place
where
the
ridge
fell
away
south
in
a
small
near
-
precipitous
bluff
.
I
always
used
to
sit
on
the
brink
there
to
smoke
a
cigarette
and
survey
the
immense
expanse
of
sea
and
mountains
.
Almost
as
soon
as
I
sat
down
,
that
Sunday
,
I
saw
that
something
in
the
view
had
changed
.
Below
me
,
halfway
along
the
south
coast
of
the
island
,
there
was
the
bay
with
the
three
small
cottages
.
From
this
bay
the
coast
ran
on
westwards
in
a
series
of
low
headlands
and
hidden
coves
.
