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I
found
peasants
who
sheltered
and
fed
me
that
next
day
.
The
next
night
I
marched
again
,
over
the
fields
,
always
westward
,
across
the
Artois
towards
Boulogne
.
"
A
week
later
,
traveling
always
like
this
,
like
the
émigrés
in
the
1790
’
s
,
I
arrived
there
.
It
was
full
of
soldiers
,
and
of
military
police
,
and
I
was
near
despair
.
Of
course
it
was
impossible
to
board
a
returning
troop
-
ship
without
papers
.
I
thought
of
presenting
myself
at
the
docks
and
saying
that
my
pocket
had
been
picked
…
but
I
lacked
the
impudence
to
carry
it
off
.
Then
one
day
fate
was
kind
to
me
.
She
gave
me
an
opportunity
to
pick
pockets
myself
.
I
met
a
soldier
from
the
Rifle
Brigade
who
was
very
drunk
,
and
I
made
him
drunker
.
I
caught
the
leave
ship
while
he
,
poor
man
,
was
still
snoring
in
a
room
above
an
estaminet
near
the
station
.
"
And
then
my
real
troubles
began
.
But
I
have
talked
enough
.
"
There
was
silence
.
The
crickets
chirped
.
Some
night
bird
,
high
overhead
,
croaked
primevally
in
the
stars
.
"
What
happened
when
you
got
home
?
"
"
It
is
late
.
"
"
But
—
"
"
Tomorrow
.
"
He
lit
the
lamp
.
As
he
straightened
up
from
adjusting
the
wick
,
he
stared
at
me
.
"
You
are
not
ashamed
to
be
the
guest
of
a
traitor
to
his
country
?
"
"
I
don
’
t
think
you
were
a
traitor
to
the
human
race
.
"
We
moved
towards
his
bedroom
windows
.
"
The
human
race
is
unimportant
.
It
is
the
self
that
must
not
be
betrayed
.
"
"
I
suppose
one
could
say
that
Hitler
didn
’
t
betray
his
self
.
"
He
turned
.
"
You
are
right
.
He
did
not
.
But
millions
of
Germans
did
betray
their
selves
.
That
was
the
tragedy
.
Not
that
one
man
had
the
courage
to
be
evil
.
But
that
millions
had
not
the
courage
to
be
good
.
"
He
led
the
way
through
to
my
room
,
and
lit
the
lamp
there
for
me
.
"
Good
night
,
Nicholas
.
"
"
Good
night
.
And
…
"
But
his
hand
was
up
,
silencing
me
and
what
he
must
have
guessed
were
to
be
my
thanks
.
Then
he
was
gone
.
When
I
came
back
from
the
bathroom
,
I
looked
at
my
watch
.
It
was
a
quarter
to
one
.
I
undressed
and
turned
out
the
lamp
,
then
stood
a
moment
by
the
open
window
.
There
was
a
vague
smell
of
drains
in
the
still
air
,
of
a
cesspool
somewhere
.
I
got
into
bed
,
and
lay
thinking
about
Conchis
.
He
seemed
a
more
human
person
,
a
much
more
human
person
,
than
he
had
before
;
yet
there
was
a
kind
of
professionalism
,
an
air
of
having
rehearsed
the
narrative
,
or
at
any
rate
,
of
having
told
it
before
—
to
Leverrier
and
Mitford
?
—
that
took
away
a
little
from
the
frankness
and
impact
of
the
confession
.
I
knew
that
I
must
be
getting
close
to
his
real
purpose
in
inviting
me
.
For
some
reason
he
wanted
me
to
hear
these
things
,
to
be
impressed
by
them
.
They
were
not
casual
reminiscings
.
That
was
why
the
good
night
had
followed
so
abruptly
on
the
end
of
the
story
-
telling
;
he
had
wanted
to
create
a
feeling
of
to
-
be
-
continued
;
to
leave
me
in
doubt
about
him
,
speculating
.
And
then
there
were
the
footsteps
,
a
whole
tangle
of
unrelated
ikons
and
incidents
,
the
photo
on
the
curiosa
cabinet
,
oblique
looks
,
Alison
,
the
little
girl
called
Lily
with
her
head
in
sunlightI
was
about
to
go
to
sleep
.
At
first
hallucinatorily
faint
,
impossible
to
pinpoint
,
it
began
.
I
thought
it
must
be
coming
through
the
walls
from
a
gramophone
in
Conchs
’
s
bedroom
.
I
sat
up
,
put
my
ear
to
the
wall
,
listened
.
And
then
I
leapt
out
of
bed
and
went
to
the
window
.
It
was
coming
from
outside
,
from
somewhere
far
to
the
north
,
well
up
in
the
hills
a
mile
or
more
away
.
There
was
no
light
,
no
sound
except
the
crickets
nearby
.
Only
,
beyond
,
this
faintest
sound
of
men
,
a
lot
of
men
,
singing
.
I
thought
—
fishermen
.
But
why
should
they
be
in
the
hills
?
Then
shepherds
—
but
shepherds
are
solitaries
.
It
grew
imperceptibly
clearer
,
as
if
on
a
gust
of
wind
—
but
there
was
no
wind
—
swelling
,
then
fading
away
.
I
thought
for
an
incredible
moment
that
I
caught
something
familiar
in
the
sound
—
but
it
couldn
’
t
be
.
And
it
sank
away
,
almost
to
complete
silence
.
And
then
—
unimaginable
the
strangeness
of
it
,
the
shock
of
it
—
the
sound
swelled
again
and
I
knew
beyond
doubt
what
was
being
sung
up
there
.
It
was
"
Tipperary
.
"
Whether
it
was
the
distance
,
whether
the
record
,
because
it
must
have
been
a
record
,
had
been
deliberately
slowed
—
there
seemed
to
be
some
tonal
distortion
as
well
—
I
couldn
’
t
tell
,
but
the
song
came
with
a
dreamlike
slowness
,
almost
as
if
it
was
being
sung
out
of
the
stars
and
had
had
to
cross
all
that
night
and
space
to
reach
me
.
I
went
to
the
door
of
my
room
and
opened
it
.
I
had
some
idea
that
the
record
player
must
be
in
Conchis
’
s
room
.
Somehow
he
had
had
the
sound
relayed
to
a
speaker
,
or
speakers
,
in
the
hills
—
perhaps
that
was
what
was
in
the
little
room
,
relaying
equipment
,
a
generator
.
But
there
was
absolute
silence
in
the
house
.
I
closed
the
door
and
leant
back
against
it
.
The
voices
and
the
song
washed
dimly
down
out
of
the
night
,
through
the
pine
forest
,
over
the
house
and
out
to
sea
.
Suddenly
the
humor
,
the
absurd
,
tender
,
touching
incongruity
of
the
whole
thing
,
made
me
smile
.
I
realized
that
it
must
be
some
elaborate
joke
of
Conchis
’
s
,
mounted
for
my
exclusive
benefit
.
There
was
no
need
to
rush
about
trying
to
discover
how
it
was
done
.
I
should
find
that
out
in
the
morning
.
Meanwhile
,
I
was
to
enjoy
it
.
I
went
back
to
the
window
.
The
voices
had
become
very
dim
,
barely
audible
;
but
something
else
had
grown
penetratingly
strong
.
It
was
the
cesspool
smell
I
had
noticed
earlier
.
Now
it
was
an
atrocious
stench
that
infested
the
windless
air
,
a
nauseating
compound
of
decomposing
flesh
and
excrement
,
so
revolting
that
I
had
to
hold
my
nose
and
breathe
through
my
mouth
.
Below
my
room
there
was
a
narrow
passage
between
the
cottage
and
the
house
I
craned
down
,
trying
to
see
what
it
was
,
because
the
source
of
the
smell
seemed
so
close
.
It
was
clear
to
me
that
the
smell
was
connected
with
the
singing
.
I
remembered
that
corpse
in
the
shell
hole
.
The
sound
faded
,
went
completely
.
After
a
few
minutes
,
the
smell
too
was
fainter
.
I
stood
another
ten
or
fifteen
minutes
,
straining
eyes
and
ears
for
the
faintest
sound
or
movement
.
But
there
was
none
.
And
there
was
no
sound
inside
the
house
.
No
creeping
up
the
stairs
,
no
doors
gently
closed
,
nothing
.
The
crickets
chirped
,
the
stars
pulsed
,
the
experience
was
wiped
clean
.
I
sniffed
at
the
window
.
The
foul
odor
still
lingered
,
but
under
the
normal
antiseptic
smell
of
the
pines
and
the
sea
,
not
over
it
.
Soon
it
was
as
if
I
had
imagined
everything
.
I
lay
awake
for
at
least
another
hour
.
Nothing
more
happened
;
and
no
hypothesis
made
sense
.
I
had
entered
the
domaine
.
Someone
was
knocking
at
the
door
.
Through
the
shadowy
air
of
the
open
window
,
the
burning
sky
.
A
fly
crawled
across
the
wall
above
the
bed
.
I
looked
at
my
watch
.
It
was
half
-
past
ten
.
I
went
to
the
door
,
and
heard
the
slap
of
Maria
’
s
slippers
going
downstairs
.
In
the
glaring
light
,
the
racket
of
cicadas
,
the
events
of
the
night
seemed
in
some
way
fictional
;
as
if
I
must
have
been
slightly
drugged
.
But
my
mind
didn
’
t
seem
fuzzled
;
I
felt
fit
and
clearheaded
.
I
dressed
and
shaved
and
went
down
to
breakfast
under
the
colonnade
.
The
taciturn
Maria
appeared
with
coffee
.
"
O
kyrios
?
"
I
asked
.
"
Ephage
.
Eine
epano
.
"
Has
eaten
;
is
upstairs
.
Like
the
villagers
,
with
foreigners
she
made
no
attempt
to
speak
more
comprehensibly
,
but
uttered
her
usual
fast
slur
of
vowel
sounds
.
I
had
my
breakfast
and
carried
the
tray
back
along
the
side
colonnade
and
down
the
steps
to
the
open
door
of
her
cottage
.
The
front
room
was
fitted
out
as
a
kitchen
.
With
its
old
calendars
,
its
lurid
cardboard
ikons
,
its
bunches
of
herbs
and
shallots
and
its
bluepainted
meatsafe
hanging
from
the
ceiling
,
it
was
like
any
other
cottage
living
-
kitchen
of
Phraxos
.
Only
the
utensils
were
rather
more
ambitious
,
and
the
stove
larger
.
I
went
in
and
put
the
tray
on
the
table
.
Maria
appeared
out
of
the
back
room
;
I
glimpsed
a
large
brass
bed
,
more
ikons
,
photographs
.
A
shadow
of
a
smile
creased
her
mouth
;
but
it
was
circumstantial
,
not
genuine
.
It
would
have
been
difficult
enough
in
English
to
ask
questions
without
appearing
to
be
prying
;
in
my
Greek
it
was
impossible
.
I
hesitated
a
moment
,
then
saw
her
face
,
as
blank
as
the
door
behind
her
,
and
gave
up
.
I
went
through
the
passage
between
house
and
cottage
to
the
vegetable
garden
.
On
the
western
side
of
the
house
a
shuttered
window
corresponded
to
the
door
at
the
end
of
Conchis
’
s
bedroom
.
It
appeared
as
if
there
was
something
more
than
a
cupboard
there
.
Then
I
looked
up
at
the
north
-
facing
back
of
the
house
,
at
my
own
room
.
It
was
easy
to
hide
behind
the
rear
wall
of
the
cottage
,
but
the
ground
was
hard
and
bare
;
showed
nothing
.
I
strolled
on
into
the
arbor
.
The
little
Priapus
threw
up
his
arms
at
me
,
jeering
his
pagan
smile
at
my
English
face
.
No
entry
.
Ten
minutes
later
I
was
down
on
the
private
beach
.
The
water
,
blue
and
green
glass
,
was
for
a
moment
cold
,
then
deliciously
cool
;
I
swam
out
between
the
steep
rocks
to
the
open
sea
.
After
a
hundred
yards
or
so
I
could
see
behind
me
the
whole
cliffed
extent
of
the
headland
,
and
the
house
.
I
could
even
see
Conchis
,
who
was
sitting
where
we
had
sat
on
the
terrace
the
night
before
,
apparently
reading
.
After
a
while
he
stood
up
,
and
I
waved
.
He
raised
both
his
arms
in
his
peculiar
hieratic
way
,
a
way
in
which
I
knew
now
that
there
was
something
deliberately
,
not
fortuitously
,
symbolic
.
The
dark
figure
on
the
raised
white
terrace
;
legate
of
the
sun
facing
the
sun
;
the
most
ancient
royal
power
.
He
appeared
,
wished
to
appear
,
to
survey
,
to
bless
,
to
command
;
dominus
and
domaine
.
And
once
again
I
thought
of
Prospero
;
even
if
he
had
not
said
it
first
,
I
should
have
thought
of
it
then
.
I
dived
,
but
the
salt
stung
my
eyes
and
I
surfaced
.
Conchis
had
turned
away
—
to
talk
with
Ariel
,
who
put
records
on
;
or
with
Caliban
,
who
carried
a
bucket
of
rotting
entrails
;
or
perhaps
with
…
but
I
turned
on
my
back
.
It
was
ridiculous
to
build
so
much
on
the
sound
of
quick
footsteps
,
the
merest
glimpse
of
a
white
shape
.
When
I
got
back
to
the
beach
ten
minutes
later
he
was
sitting
on
the
balk
.
As
I
came
out
of
the
water
he
stood
and
said
,
"
We
will
take
the
boat
and
go
to
Petrocaravi
.
"
Petrocaravi
,
the
"
ship
of
stone
,
"
was
a
deserted
islet
half
a
mile
off
the
tip
of
Phraxos
.
He
was
dressed
in
swimming
shorts
and
a
garish
red
-
and
-
white
water
-
polo
player
’
s
cap
,
and
in
his
hand
he
had
the
blue
rubber
flippers
and
a
pair
of
underwater
masks
and
snorkels
.
I
followed
his
brown
old
back
over
the
hot
stones
.
"
Petrocaravi
is
very
interesting
underwater
.
You
will
see
.
"
"
I
find
Bourani
very
interesting
above
water
.
"
I
had
come
up
beside
him
.
"
I
heard
voices
in
the
night
.
"
"
Voices
?
"
But
he
showed
no
surprise
.
"
The
ipcord
.
I
’
ve
never
had
an
experience
quite
like
it
.
An
extraordinary
idea
.
"
He
didn
’
t
answer
,
but
stepped
down
into
the
boat
and
opened
the
engine
housing
.
I
untied
the
painter
from
its
iron
ring
in
the
concrete
,
then
squatted
on
the
jetty
and
watched
him
fiddle
inside
the
hatch
.
"
I
suppose
you
have
speakers
in
the
trees
.
"
"
I
heard
nothing
.
"
I
teased
the
painter
through
my
hand
,
and
smiled
.
"
But
you
know
I
heard
something
.
"
He
looked
up
at
me
.
"
Because
you
tell
me
so
.
"
"
You
’
re
not
saying
,
how
extraordinary
,
voices
,
what
voices
.
That
would
be
the
normal
reaction
,
wouldn
’
t
it
?
"
He
gestured
rather
curtly
to
me
to
get
aboard
.
I
stepped
down
and
sat
on
the
thwart
opposite
to
him
.
"
I
only
wanted
to
thank
you
for
organizing
a
unique
experience
for
me
.
"
"
I
organized
nothing
.
"
"
I
find
it
hard
to
believe
that
.
"
We
remained
staring
at
each
other
.
The
red
-
and
-
white
skullcap
above
the
monkey
eyes
gave
him
the
air
of
a
performing
chimpanzee
.
And
there
stood
the
sun
,
the
sea
,
the
boat
,
so
many
unambiguous
things
,
around
us
.
I
still
smiled
;
but
he
wouldn
’
t
smile
back
.
It
was
as
if
I
had
committed
a
faux
pas
by
referring
to
the
singing
.
He
stooped
to
fit
the
starting
handle
.
"
Here
,
let
me
do
that
.
"
I
took
the
handle
.
"
The
last
thing
I
want
to
do
is
to
offend
you
.
I
won
’
t
mention
it
again
.
"
I
bent
to
turn
the
handle
.
Suddenly
his
hand
was
on
my
shoulder
.
"
I
am
not
offended
,
Nicholas
.
I
do
not
ask
you
to
believe
.
All
I
ask
you
is
to
pretend
to
believe
.
Just
pretend
to
believe
.
It
will
be
easier
.
"
It
was
strange
.
By
that
one
gesture
and
a
small
shift
in
expression
and
tone
of
voice
,
he
resolved
the
tension
between
us
.
I
knew
on
the
one
hand
that
he
was
playing
some
kind
of
trick
on
me
;
a
trick
like
the
one
with
the
loaded
die
.
On
the
other
,
I
felt
that
he
had
after
all
taken
a
sort
of
liking
for
me
.
I
thought
,
as
I
heaved
at
the
engine
,
if
he
wants
me
to
seem
his
dupe
,
I
’
ll
seem
his
dupe
;
but
not
be
his
dupe
.
We
headed
out
of
the
cove
.
It
was
difficult
to
talk
with
the
engine
going
,
and
I
stared
down
through
fifty
or
sixty
feet
of
water
to
patches
of
pale
rock
starred
black
with
sea
urchins
.
On
Conchis
’
s
left
side
were
two
puckered
scars
.
They
were
both
back
and
front
,
obviously
bullet
wounds
;
and
there
was
another
old
wound
high
on
his
right
arm
.
I
guessed
that
they
came
from
the
execution
during
the
second
War
.
Sitting
there
steering
he
looked
ascetic
,
Ghandi
-
like
;
but
as
we
approached
Petrocaravi
,
he
stood
up
and
steered
the
tiller
expertly
against
his
dark
thigh
.
Years
of
sunlight
had
tanned
him
to
the
same
mahogany
brown
as
the
island
fishermen
.
The
rocks
were
gigantic
boulders
of
conglomerate
,
monstrous
in
their
barren
strangeness
,
much
larger
now
we
were
close
to
them
than
I
had
ever
realized
from
the
island
.
We
anchored
about
fifty
yards
away
.
He
handed
me
a
mask
and
snorkel
.
At
that
time
they
were
unobtainable
in
Greece
,
and
I
had
never
used
them
before
.
I
followed
the
slow
,
pausing
thresh
of
his
feet
over
a
petrified
landscape
of
immense
blocks
of
stone
,
among
which
drifted
and
hovered
shoals
of
fish
.
There
were
flat
fish
,
silvered
,
aldermanic
;
slim
,
darting
fish
;
Bosch
-
like
fish
that
peered
foully
out
of
crevices
;
minute
poised
fish
of
electric
blue
,
fluttering
red
-
and
-
black
fish
,
slinking
azure
-
and
-
green
fish
.
He
showed
me
an
underwater
grotto
,
a
light
-
shafted
nave
of
pale
blue
shadows
,
where
the
large
wrasse
floated
as
if
in
a
trance
.
On
the
far
side
of
the
islet
the
rocks
plunged
precipitously
away
into
a
mesmeric
blind
dark
blue
.
Conchis
raised
his
head
above
the
surface
.
"
I
am
going
back
to
fetch
the
boat
.
Stay
here
.
"
I
swam
on
.
A
shoal
of
several
hundred
golden
-
gray
fish
followed
me
.
I
turned
,
they
turned
.
