He turned to the two recruits and gave them his hand.
“Go with God’s blessing. Do your duty! Be men. I take charge of your families. Good luck! Greet the mountains for me!”
A few days later, as grandfather and grandson were chatting of the old man’s experiences, hoofbeats rang out from the mountain path and a group of men came riding down the slope. Shielding his eyes with his hand, the grandfather looked toward the mountain, but in the misty air he could make out nothing clearly.
Old Mavradis, the village crier, came by.
“What’s the news, Captain Decoybird?” (That was what the grandfather called him.) “Who are those men riding in?”
“They say Captain Stefanes’ ship has arrived in Aja Pelaja harbor. It’s bringing ammunition and food….”
The grandfather crossed himself.
“Poor motherland,” he muttered, “you deprive yourself of the best morsels and send them to us.And so?”
“And so, these are your son’s men, to fetch the treasure. Give them a good reception!” aid the grandfather, opening
“They are welcome!’ both wings of the gate.
At the head rode Vendusos. “You’re no use in a fight,” Captain Michales had told him, “but you have knocked about the countryside and you’re cunning. So I’ll make you our guide.”
“Greetings, Captain Sefakas,” shouted Vendusos, dismounting. “If it’s no bother to you, we’ll bed down tonight in your house and, if God wills, ride to the coast tomorrow at crack of dawn.”
“Welcome, children! First have a drink,” said the old man, stretching out his hand to the newcomers.
Blackened with powder and emaciated, the palikars entered the yard. The women hurried to them and asked eagerly after their menfolk. A fire was lighted. The caldron was put on and the table laid. Night fell, and lamps were lighted; by their light the bony, serious faces gathered around the copious meal. They ate like beasts of prey, their jaws crunching, drank like buffaloes, and their harsh man’s smell spread through the house. The women stood around them at a breath’s distance, and joyfully served the rugged guests. The grandfather too stood near them and marveled at them without a word.
When they had eaten, drunk and crossed themselves, he said, “Now lie down and sleep. Ah! if only I were young enough to bear all the fatigue with you. What a wretched thing I’ve become. I sleep in a bed every night, eat and drink morning, noon and night, am a useless guzzler, no longer carry a gun, and nobody shoots at me. I don’t wish even my enemies such wretchedness.”
“God grant us we may live to reach your wretchedness, Captain Sefakas!” said Vendusos with a laugh.
“You’re the guide,” replied the old man, “you’ll go to sleep last, Captain Vendusos, however tired you may be. We two must have a word together.”
“At your service, Captin Sefakas,” answered Vendusos, with an effort suppressing a yawn. “It’s not for nothing that I was promoted guide.”
The palikars stretched themselves out side by side wearing their clothes and their weapons, and even before the women had cleared the table the house was shuddering with the din of the snorers.
Since it was cool, the women heaped wood on the hearth and kindled it. The grandfather sat down in front of it with the lyre player by his side, and the two warmed themselves. The old man stared silently into the flames, but his brows twitched with wild eagerness. Finally he could no longer restrain himself.
“One thing I must discuss with you, Vendusos,” he said in a whisper. “One thing that makes my heart bleed. But tell me, like a man, what you know. I’m a hundred years old and can’t stand lies.”
Vendusos guessed the question in advance. He became thoughtful. At length he said:
“I will tell you the truth, the whole truth.”
The grandfather lowered his voice still more. “Why did Captain Michales go out that night, when the Christ the Lord was destroyed?”
Vendusos poked the fire. Then he crouched back on the bench.
“Leave the fire alone,” said the old man and grasped him by the arm. “Where did he go?”
Vendusos gulped. He was afraid that he would betray all; once he began to speak. “Captain Sefakas, it’s not my business!”
“Speak!” commanded the old man, and shook him by the arm. “Speak out, and don’t try deceiving me. Why did he go out? Where? He’s brought shame upon me. And that’s why he cannot look me in the face. He’s afraid I shall ask him questions. But by my soul, I’ve a good mind to go one dayyes, tomorrow!and seek him out in his hiding-place, call his palikars together and accuse him before them all. And if you don’t answer me now, Vendusos, I shall certainly do it, by this fire! And if he still has the impudence after that, let him try to go on playing captain!”
This hoary lion is capable of anything, thought Vendusos, and shuddered. Then he said:
“Don’t get savage, old Sefakas. I’ll tell you the whole thing from the beginning. Be patient.”
“I’m patient. I’m listening.”
“You know that Nuri Bey had a Circassian girl … .”
“Oh,” the old man groaned, and beat his breast with his fist. “The shame of it! So there’s a woman…”
“To be sure there’s a woman,” said Vendusos, now determined to reveal all. “Oh, you wanted the truth, there it is!”
“She was called Emine. Captain Michales saw her one evening at Nuri’s konak and became mad for her. On the day of the earthquake, Captain Polyxigis also saw her, and it was just the same with him. He kept hanging about her house. He had completely lost his wits. Finally he stormed into her house, sighed something to her, got into her bed and made up his mind to marry her, the fool! She was to become a Christian. Baptism and wedding were to be celebrated together, the day after tomorrow, Holy Cross Day.”
“Go on … go on … What has that to do with my son?”
“You’ll soon understand. God forgive me, but I believe Captain Michales was even more bewitched by the Circassian’s beauty than Polyxigis. On the night he fought before the Christ the Lord, I biought him news: Nuri’s relatives had broken into Kasteli and seized the Circassian girl! At once he sprang on his mare to go after them and took ten of us with him. In the early morning we came upon the kidnapers near Cruel Mountain. Your son fell upon them like a raging lion. Never yet have I seen such a heroic deed, Captain Sefakas! All praise to you, who have begotten such a son! The Turks left the woman and fled for their lives.”
“Oh,” the old man groaned, burying his face in his hands. “So that was it: for a woman’s sake he left his post, like a man without honor! The shame of it! Call that a heroic deed?”
“Don’t curse him, Captain Sefakas! By my father’s loins, your son never once so much as looked at the Circassian girl! ‘Vendusos,’ he said to me, ‘take this woman and bring her to my aunt at Korakjes. Tell her to take care of her until we see what happens next.’ “
Vendusos paused and gazed into the fire. He continued: “What happened next you will have to know, old Sefakas.”
But the old man did not answer. His face had turned into a skull of wax.
“… One morning she was found deada knife in her heart,” whispered Vendusos.
The grandfather stretched out his hand, groped for a wine bottle and drank. He became calmer.
“Who killed her?” he asked softly, as though his voice came from a cave.
Vendusos bowed his head. Should he tell that too? He had formed his own opinion some time ago.
“She must have killed herself … she herself had hold of the knife … that’s what people say.”
“Let people say what they like. Who killed her?” Vendusos raised his head. “Now you may put the pistol to my breast, old Sefakas, but you shall hear it: your son.” “Why?”
Vendusos had got it over with. His heart was lightened. He no longer had any need to dissemble. He replied at once. “Jealousy.”
The old man tossed a piece of wood into the fire. “He did the right thing
,” he said at last. “A bad beginning, a good ending. The worm was gnawing him. He was right.”
“You don’t blame him, Captain Sefakas?” “He was only to blame for one thing: that he left his post. But he has paid for it and is still paying, and one day he will be free. I have confidence in my blood.” “What has the woman done to him?” “Do you think the woman matters? Only Crete matters. But go now and sleep. And keep your mouth shut! Let no breath of this escape you! If it were to get out, the two captains would kill each other. And that would not e in the interest of Crete. Good night! Go! I shall sit up by the fire.”
Morning found the grandfather still in front of the hearth. The fire had gone out. He had fallen asleep with his head on his breast. Vendusos and his wolf pack had already consumed their barley biscuits, drunk several jugs of wine, and moved on. When the grandfather opened his eyes, only the smell of their cigarettes, their boots and their wine-laden breath still hung in the air.
Toward midday, when the women in the yard had finished the baking and the grandfather had at last formed the letters Alpha, Beta and Gamma on the slate and was longing to show them proudly to his grandson, there appeared at the outer door a young fighter from abroad. He was wearing a fustanella(*Short full skirt, Greek from the mainland), jacket, pointed shoes and a high fez with a thick tassel. Over his shoulder hung his gun, and his cartridge pouches were slung across his broad chest. His glance like an eagle’s swept over the threshold.
“A Liapef, a Liape!” the women shrieked, half scared, half joyful. The grandfather raised his head from the slate.
“Welcome, Hellene!” he cried. “Come in, young eagle!”
The man with the fustanella raised a slender leg and stepped over the threshold. The women took courage, came closer and admired his supple body. “Oh, what a joy for the eyes of the mother whose son he is!” one whispered. “He’s like a Cretan.”
The young hero stood before the grandfather and greeted him. “Are you, sir, the man they call old Captain Sefakas?”
“From head to foot. Only I used to be captain, once upon a time. Now I’m only old Sefakas. And what good wind has blown you to my house?”
“I come from Captain Stefanes’ ship. My name’s Mittros and I’m from Rumelia. I’ve heard that Crete is fighting, and I’ve come to fight too. In Syra a man in Prankish clothes, who calls himself your grandson, gave me this letter for you.”
The grandfather stretched out his hand and took the letter. He examined it and passed his hand over it with great joy. It came from his favorite grandson: the firstborn son of his eldest son Kostaros.The first grandchild he had dandled on his knees, and the first to call hm “Grandpa.”
“Thanks, my young hero, for the trouble you’ve taken,” he said, stuffing the letter into his shirt.
With a laugh he glanced at Thrasaki.
“I shall give it to another grandson of mine, a learned one, so that he can read it out to me. But later. Now lay the table, women, we’ve got a guest of noble lineage, a true Greek. Bring him the best chair to sit on.”
They brought an old chair on the back of which was carved the two-headed eagle. The grandfather stood with beaming face in the middle of the yard. The Rumeliot was reluctant to sit down. He stood in admiration before the strong, snow-white ancient. The old man’s like a god, he thought, an immortal.
“Grandfather,” he said, seizing the old man’s hands, “I hear that you have lived like a great oak tree. You have breathed storms, suffered, triumphed, struggled, labored for a hundred years. How has life seemed to you during those hundred years, Grandfather?”
“Like a glass of cool water, my child,” replied the old man.
“And are you still thirsty, Grandfather?”
The graybeard raised his hand, so that the wide sleeve of his shirt fell back and revealed the bony, furrowed arm as far as the shoulder.
“Woe to him,” he cried in a loud voice, as though he were pronouncing a curse, “woe to him who has slaked his thirst!”
They were silent for a moment, the young man and the ancient, in mutual wonder. Between the two stood Thrasaki, filled with pride at the old man and the young. And in a circle the women, arms akimbo.
At last the old man asked, pointing to the north, “And what have you brought us by way of news, young warrior, from over there, from Greece? You’ve no more Turks in your land. You’re lucky!”
He sat down on the bench with a sigh, and the Liape sat on the carved chair. Thrasaki sat near his grandfather, gazing insatiably at the man with the fustanella.
“We have no Turks, certainly,” answered Mitros, “but we have big landowners, police and politicians. Don’t ask me about them, old man.”
In the yard there was a smell of hot bread, and the Rumeliot felt faint. He had been fasting since morning. He cast an eager glance at the hot barley cakes. The old man caught the glance and laughed.
“Quick, you women, we’ll soon have no strength left,” he called. “Bring us some warm bread and some cheese and a jug of wine to put power into the heart.”
He let his eyes range over the yard, the barns, the horsepond, the outer door and the wine presses. He brought them to rest on the Rumeliot, and laughed again.
“Do you know why I’m laughing, youngster?” he asked. “By my soul, people’s memory, when it grows old, becomes a cemetery. Sometimes, though, the gravestones suddenly tilt up and the dead climb out. Yes, at this moment, when I see a fustanella in my yard once more, I suddenly remember 1866, and how in this very yard, in the chair in which you are sitting, Captain Liapes (God rest his soul!), a Greek, sat. And my wife and mother-in-law, old Malamo (God rest their souls!) pulled the bread out of the oven. It was autumn, like now, on Saint Drunkard Jorgis’ Day. In the village they were settling the wine, opening the casks, and tasting the new vintage. And at that moment there appeared Kastanias (God rest him!), a fellow like from the old days, who could overtake a horse running. With him came Surmeles (rest him!), the famous captain of the steamer Devil Pandelis (rest her!). And I said to my eldest son, Kostaros (rest im!): ‘Bless that youth of yours, Kostaros, bring us a small cask of wine and let’s empty it.’ And while I was still speaking, who should appear also from the mountain j but Pig-Jorgis (rest him!)his name suited himmy godfather, a rich owner of herds, with a slaughtered ram over his shoulders and behind him his wife, the black-eyed Angeliko (rest her!), with a soft cheese in each hand? ‘Hey, now we’ve got some good things to eat!’ they all shouted (rest their souls!) and burst out laughing. From the street the schoolmaster (God forgive him!) Manelaos, the sweet tooth, who was passing by, heard the laughter, pushed open the door and came in. ‘Welcome, schoolmaster,’ they cried (God rest them!), ‘sit down and do your paper work while we eat and drink.’ ‘Devil take schoolmastering,’ he answered. ‘I’m going to eat and drink with you too, and I’ll call old Maliario the rhymesmith over, so that he can amuse us with his verses.’ With one bound he was outside and fetched Maliario (rest his soul!) with his lyre. He brought, as well, Andrulis from Sfakia (rest him!) with his bagpipes, and Purnaras (God rest him too!when he opened his mouth to sing, the stones shook). Ah, God rest them all, what’s become of their lips and throats and hands?
“I jumped up, took the pipe which I used for filling casks, and made it fast to the bunghole of the cask. ‘You wild beasts,’ I called out, ‘what d’you want glasses for? Do bull calves drink out of glasses? We’ll drink straight from the caskyou take a pull, then I take a pull. You start, Captain Liapes, you’re the eldest!’ I’d hardly finished saying it when he’d grasped the pipe and begun gulping the stuff down, so that there was a gurgling from the cask like from a narghile. God rest him, he drank and drankwe began to think he’d drink the cask dry. Finally we took the pipe away from him, and all the others (God rest them!) had a swill in turn. I wasn’t left out either, God be thanked!
“Yes, by God, what a feast that was! Ah, God rest them, how they ate and drank, how they filled their hands with cheese! While we were at i
t, the ram was roasted, nd Liapes, God rest him, got hold of the pipe again. ‘You seem to be doing nicely, friends,’ came a voice from the door. It was Nechtaris the pope (God rest him!), with the abbot of Our Lady with the Myrtle (rest him!). Both of them were as full as sponges with drink. They began dancing in the yard, kicking their legs up high, and singing the funeral hymn, ‘To the last greeting come.’ And every time they came to the words ‘last greeting’ they kissed the pipe and took a pull, and from inside the cask there was already the gurgle of the last drops among the lees! Ah, God rest them! what a laughing and singing and mocking of Charos that was! ‘Stamp on the earth that’s going to eat us,’ they cried, and planted their wide soles firmly, some in boots, others barefoot. They had hitched their breeches well up. What bones were those, and what calves, and the hairs on themreal bristles!”
The grandfather fell silent. He stroked his beard thoughtfully. His clear eyes stared into the air, alive with forms. Dread had seized the young man in the fustanella as he listened to the grizzled Cretan peopling his yard with the departed. He could hear the soles of the dead men’s feet stamping on the ground, he could see their bristly calves. The women stood some distance away, smiling, and Thrasaki struck the ground happily with his small feet and laughingly challenged Charos. Only poor Bertodulos, who joined them in order to admire the fustanella, shrank back into the house as soon as he saw the apparition of the departed.
The grandfather began to speak again. His eyes were moist.
“I started by laughing,” he said, “but now that I’ve reminded myself of all those people gone under ground, I am sad. No, not sad, but angry. Yes, angry. There’s something here that’s not right at all! Let God do anything else He likes, but He’s done this wrongmay He forgive me! There are men who ought not to die. Why don’t the mountains die? These men shouldn’t die either. They should remain where they are on earth like pillars and support the heavens. There, there, I’m stamping on ou, earth, damn you! Gobble up the fools, the cripples, the crooked mouths! Gobble ‘em up! Get rid of them! But not of Captain Liapes and Kastanias and the abbot of Our Lady with the Myrtle and my eldest son Kostaros!”
Freedom or Death Page 35
