The Christians, collected in the forecourt of the church, gazed at their Metropolitan. They had not yet lighted their candles. The Metropolitan, in his Easter vestments, had gone up to the laurel-decorated platform under the blossoming lemon tree, and now opened the heavy silver Gospel. The faces showed light, and the night breeze played over them. And as the thundering cry rang out, “Christ is risen from the dead,” the holy light flared up and all the candles were lighted and all Christians arose with Christ. The leaders fired their silver pistols, and Murzuflos, his joy overflowing, set the three bellsSaint Menas, Freedom and Deathswinging, and they announced: “Crete is not dead. Crete lives!”
Barba Jannis girded on his long saber and his tin decoration and strutted up and down. This was his day of rest; today he sold no sherbet. Turks and Christians laughingly bowed before him, and he returned every greeting with the dignity of a pasha. He had hired a street boy and had daubed his face with soot; now he had a Moor, who followed him at every step.
The gnome Charilaos, with his mustache freshly waxed, went visiting in his carriage. He wore a straw hat brqught from Athens. He supported his chin on his stick, and” observed the people with spiteful looks. He could not forgive them for their shapely bodies.
Toward evening Christian men and women, dressed for Easter, milled around the Three Vaults. The silk ribbons in the girls’ hair fluttered in the wind. To the north the rose-colored sea lay at peace, to the south the fields were green, the mountains glittered and the silvery olive trees shimmered. A violet, silken, very soft sky was a shield over all. Slowly the evening shadows grew darker, the faces of the Kastrians, now richly fed, became peaceful as they strolled and suddenly Venus hung in triumphant laughter high above the heads of the people.
CHAPTER 5
RICH IN STRONG MANHOOD, Captain Michales’ family rose at dawn in the four villagesPetrokefalo, Ai-Janni, Kruson and Redtowerin which it had been rooted since the times of his ancestors, and set out for Megalokastro, to be present at the wedding ceremony of the youngest brother, Tityros. They all came together in the mother-place of the family, Petrokefalo, where the hundred-year-old grandfather and father of them all, old Captain Sefakas, lived. He was to lead the procession. Some came on mules, some on horses, on which red cloths had been laid and wedding presents loaded: cooked lambs and suckling pigs, hard and soft cheeses, leather bottles of wine and oil, pots of honey, raisins, figs and little bags of almonds.
With a great stride old Sefakas crossed the threshold. He wore his best suit of heavy wool, black boots, a black headband and carried his long, double-handled stick. His beard streamed over his chest, his deep-set eyes sparkled under thick eyebrows, and from the wide sleeves of his snow-white shirt his arms showed, lean and furrowed as the stems of ancient olive trees. He looked about him. The street was motley with sons, grandsons and great-grandsons. He was glad.
“A thousand times welcome, children!” he shouted to them, throwing his arms wide open. “A field full of flowers and grasses!”
A single shout of joy answered him out of the human swarm that had come from his loins.
“We’re happy to see you again! Rejoice in your kingdom, old man!”
Two grandchildren led an old mare up to him. One of them held the reins, the other a stirrup. They placed the beast near the rim of the fountain in the yard, to make it easier for the ancient to mount. But with a laugh he shoved his grandchildren aside. “Do you think I’ve got old, that you must hold the stirrups for me?” He seized the mare by the mane and with one heave was in the saddle.
“Health and joy to you, old man! May you live a thousand years!” they yelled at him.
“A thousand years are a long time, children!” replied the graybeard, pulling his headband tight. “Five hundred will do!”
He had begotten eleven sons and four daughters, wild beasts all! Only the straggler was no good. He was lean and lanky, a fart. How the devil had such a product sprung from his loins?
“What are we going to do with him?” he had debated with his wife. “He’ll be no good as a shepherd, he hasn’t the pluck for stealing. He’ll be no good as a farmer, he hasn’t the strength for plowing. He’ll be no good as a sailor, the sea makes him sick. He’s no good for anything!-”
“He’d make a good pope,” suggested the old woman, to whom her youngest son was especially dear.
“A pope or a schoolmaster. In the village we’ve got a pope, but not yet a schoolmaster. So let’s make him into a schoolmaster.”
He had sent him to Megalokastro, to studyand so a son of Captain Sefakas had become the schoolmaster Tityros.
Old Sefakas had been relieved at getting him out of the house, for he was ashamed to call him son. His ten wild beasts remained on the large farm. He was proud of them. “When my sons are eating,” he used to say, “the house trembles, so that strangers ask: ‘Is it an earthquake? Oh no, Sefakas’ sons are having a meal!’”
But Charos(*One of the many survivals of ancient religion among the Christian Greeks. But as Nilsson A History of Greek Religion (Oxford Press 1925), p. 303 points out, Charos or Charondas is greatly changed from the ferryman of the Styx. Charos is “the strong and cruel robber, who mercilessly snatches men away from their life in the light of day.”
() had come, posted himself on the threshold and looked over the wide yard. Here, it seemed to him, were far too many palikars growing up. He sought out his share. Some he took honestly and hi manly fashion, in war; others he stole cunningly from then: beds. Yet enough remained, thought Sefakas, and they had given him grandchildren and great-grandchildren. One leaves a hundred behind him, and then a thousand, and in the end Crete will be full of them. How many will Charos devour by means of the Turks? Yet enough yeast will remain to make the dough rise.
“In God’s name, children!” he said, raising his hand, “forward, let’s marry the last son.”
At the head of the procession rode the old man. A step behind him, came the two eldest sons, with years upon them already, but still strong: Manusakas, the passionate fanner from Ai-Janni, and Famurios, the guerilla leader and great herdsman. Famurios was a man of the grasslands with a fierce face and smelling of cheese and goats. All the Lasithi mountains were his province. When the mountain loneliness oppressed him, he would come down from the bald heights to the plains. He would seek out the bull belonging to Hadjinikole”s in Petrokefalo. If he found him tied up to an olive tree, he would untie him and fight with him to get rid of his depression.
He was afraid of only one wild beast hi the world: his wife Despainia. She was a yellowish bit of flesh with light blue eyes. If you blew on her she would fall over. But the wild Famurios trembled before her. Every time he came down to the village to stay at home a few days to beget a child on her, he behaved decorously before her and adopted human manners. He wanted to drink and did not drink, wanted to curse and did not curse, wanted to spit against the wall and did not spit. He would wait for the night, till his wife had gone to bed. Then he would stick his paw out of the door, grab by th6 neck anyone who came by and drag him in. He would sit down opposite his guest and they would set to work drinking, without making a sound. Sometimes he would drag in more than one. They would lay their fingers on the rims of their glasses so that they could touch glasses without a sound. They drank until Famurios decided that they had had enough. Then he took them again by the neck and bundled them out. Only then did he visit his wife in bed. In this way his many children had been begotten.
The dust on the road whirled high, the sun was scorching. From time to time old Sefakas turned his heated face back and cast a swift glance at his followers. Behind Manusakas and Famurios came the grandsonsstately men, all of them. After them the great-grandsons, with fair or raven-black down on their cheeks. And at the end of the procession the noisy, cackling womenfolk.
Then he looked ahead again, toward Megalokastro. He made no conversation with his sons, nor did he smile. His heart was satisfied and at peace. He no longer needed anything or anyb
ody. Lately the words had remained within him. If any secret anxiety still gnawed at him, he could-not speak of it with anyone elseonly with God.
And recently, in fact, strange meditations had been revolving in his brain. For the first time old Sefakas was thinking of death. The day was drawing near when he would stand before God, and the gray-haired man of authority shuddered at the thought. He pictured death as a dark mountain, with rushing waters for which he was thirsty and wild beasts of which he was afraid. He remembered how once, during a rising, he had slipped out all alone at night onto Cruel Mountain, outside Megalokastro, where the Turks lay. He had gone forward slowly, bent double, with his knife between his teeth. Then he caught soft sounds of speech, saw cigarettes glowing, heard weapons clinking together and saw them gleaming n the darkness. Trembling he had crept away. God now seemed to him like that mountain.
Vangelio had had a hot bath. Renio was combing her hair with the ivory comb given her by her godfather, Idomeneas. She put rouge on Vangelio’s cheeks to hide their yellow tinge, and powder on her nose to make it look less large, while the bride sat in silence before the mirror, Penelope and Krasojorgis’ wife were decorating the bridal bed, strewing it with lucky lemon blossoms, as they trilled wedding songs. Both women were already slightly tipsy. Below in the kitchen those two good housewives, Katerina the wife of Captain Michales and Polyxigis’ sister Chrysanthe, were preparing the wedding feast. Ali Aga was bringing all the plates, knives and forks in the neighborhood.
Diamandes entered with his cloak draped foppishly over his shoulders, gave offhand, sleepy, dissipated greetings and stared with his round eyes at the disturbed house. He pursed his lips and played nervously with his watchchain. All this was not to his liking. They had done very well without a brother-in-law. Why the devil was that fellow with the long coattails and the sagging glasses intruding on them? With heavy tread he stamped up the stairs. Krasojorgis’ wife looked at him knowingly. She knew he had only bought his watch to show off and was quite incapable of telling the time, and that his friends teased him about it. So she asked him, mockingly:
“What time do you make it, Mr. Diamandes?”
“It’s stopped, woman,” he snapped back angrily. “It isn’t going.”
He turned away from her and saw how they were adorning his sister. They’re preparing the victim for the sacrifice, he thought. His sister felt his gaze and turned toward him. Her eyes filled with tears.
Penelope broke in: “We’re dressing the bride. Men are in the way here.”
The handsome man pulled a hair out of his mustache and threw it onto the bed.
“May it bring luck,” he said, and stumped downstairs, sighing.
The narrow street filled with horsemen and the twilight was alive with neighing and the clinking of harness. Captain Sefakas had arrived with his train. The doors of Vangelio’s house swung open and immediately the smell of male sweating bodies, cooked meat and cheese poured through the house. The old grandfather took the bony Vangelio in his arms and kissed her. Then all her new kin fell upon her and enveloped her hi the stink of sweat and goats and vinous breath, The bride’s cheeks were rubbed raw by the bristling whiskers and beards that pressed against them. She ran upstairs into the bedroom to put on more rouge and powder herself afresh.
There was not enough room for the guests hi the downstairs room, so the women went up to the bedroom, and some into the kitchen, and spread out the presents. Many of the men stretched themselves out in the yard. The house hummed.
“Don’t make such a row, children,” shouted Captain Polyxigis, as he ran up and down greeting his new sisters-in-law. “Don’t make such a row, we’re in Megalokastro here, not in the mountains.”
‘ Tityros and godfather Idomeneas soon got away from the embracings and greetings and began whispering together on a corner of the sofa. Tityros talked enthusias-tidally of the many old marriage customs still alive among the people. These Greeks were immortal. And he was glad, not because he was getting married, but because he was being married according to ancient custom. Idomeneas answered that he had yesterday sent a pressing ultimatum to the Queen of England. In a few days without a doubt he would have a reply, and a favorable one too. “God grant, godson,” he said, “that your wedding may be a day of good fortune, and Crete may be set free.”
Captain Michales appeared, with serious countenance, took off his cap and kissed his father’s hand. Then in the ourtyard he shook hands with his brothers and nephews, pretended not to see Captain Polyxigis and, going back into the house, sat down on the settle beside his father. The old man whispered hi his son’s ear, “The bride looks to me a right sorry sight, Michales.”
“She suits the looks of the bridgeroom,” replied Captain Michales.
The old man shook his head and laughed drily.
But their conversation was interrupted. Pope Mandles with the capacious pockets, the deacon with the wild boar beard, and Murzuflos with the silver censer, entered. All rose. The freshly painted bride came down, her godfather took the bridegroom by the hand, Murzuflos filled the censer, and the intoning began. The bride kept her head bowed, and the wild clan, massive and breathing deeply, all full-bloodedness and mustaches, stood about and stared at her. This spindly woman was now entering their clan and would mix her blood with theirs. Would it work out? They were all herdsmen and plowmen, they knew a thing or two about cattle: which goat or bull to couple with which she-goat or cow to get the strongest young and make the herd thrive. And the women knew a thing or two about cocks, hens and rabbits; they sized up the young couple uneasily.
“The bride’s very thin. She has no breasts. How’s she going to nurse children?”
“Don’t you worry. She’ll give milk. Do you remember, last year, the she-goat Mavrada. Skin and bones she was, and you could hardly see her udder! But she was fruitful and had kids and yielded-you won’t believe it! a quart of milk at every milking!”
“She hasn’t any hips either. How will she bear a child?”
“Don’t get worried, she’D broaden out now. They all fill out when they marry.”
The women went on whispering, and Pope Manoles sang the wedding words: “Isaiah danced …”
When the service was over, the godfather carried out the exchange of crowns, and the relatives fell upon the young couple yet again, wishing them long life and an honored old age. Then at the loaded table the chewing and gurgling began. Later, the bridegroom could not remember when all this had happened. A cloud sank over his thoughts, and it was only dimly that he distinguished faces and voiceshis father enthroned on the sofa, holding a roast suckling pig on his knee, Captain Michales on his right and on his left Captain Polyxigis. And laterhe could remember this a littlein came Diamandes, his wife’s brother, and greeted no one. His cap was drawn right down to his eyes. He went straight into the kitchen, to drink and celebrate there. Then Captain Polyxigis leaped up from the sofa and followed Diamandes; immediately after, there was the sound of disputing voices and glass breaking.
Captain Michales gnashed his teeth and started after them, but thought better of it. He remained seated, but his blood boiled. His daughter Rehio came up to him with the salver and offered him fresh cherry juice. He became calmer as he drank. He gave the girl a friendly look. He had already seen her somewhere. Who could she be? All evening she had attended to him and had unobtrusively brought him whatever he wanted: water, wine, something to eat, a cigarette. He signed to his wife, who waV carving the meat for the guests.
“Who’s that nice girl?” He indicated Renio with a glance. “I’ve seen her somewhere. But where?” Katerina sighed. “She’s your daughter.” Captain Michales bent his head and made no sound after that.
Captain Polyxigis came back sweating. All eyes were turned on him. He managed to put on a smile, and said, “He’s drunk. You must excuse him.”
He sat down next to Captain Michales, to put him hi a friendly mood and make him forget the behavior of the the unmannerly Diamandes. Captain Michales’ nostri
ls twitched: his friend smelled of musk. Captain Polyxigis went on trying to soften him. For days Captain Michales had been repulsing him roughly: why? After having several glasses of wine to give him courage, he burst out: “What have I done, Captain Michales, to make you dislike me?”
“You smell too Turkish for me,” came the answer.
Captain Polyxigis blushed.
Captain Michales stared him straight in the eyes. Suddenly his heart leaped high in his throat and seemed about to stifle him. He seized the chair which Renio had brought him to put his feet on; the chair cracked as though its joints would give.
“Now I know,” he said through closed teeth. “Aren’t you ashamed? With a Turkish woman?”
“She’s going to become Christian,” said Captain Polyxigis.
Captain Michales jumped up. The house swayed before his eyes. “Instead of her turning Christian, why don’t you turn Turk? Then we shall be rid of you,” he said softly, and went out into the yard to get some air.
It was almost daybreak but everyone continued to eat and drink. Bagpipes were brought out and played, while in the yard the guests sang and danced the dance of the five rows. The newly married couple sat silent and listless on the end of the sofa, and neither was eager to go up to the flower-strewn bridal bed. The grandfather squatted near them with his eyelids lowered, but he was not asleep. He was listening to the noise of his grandsons around him, to the voices, the songs and the bursts of laughter, as though he were a huge plane tree in the rain, drinking up the water with happy roots.
Captain Michales, with somber eyes, signaled to his wife. “Let’s go!” he said.
God began a new day. The sun shone over the wedding courtyard full of gnawed bones and bread crusts and men sleeping doubled up hi their beards and wide woolen cloaks. It rose over Megalokastro where today, the Wednesday after Easter, the shopkeepers would put on their aprons and open their shops. Caressingly it touched the olive orchards and fields and the estate of Nuri Bey.
Freedom or Death Page 18
