The grandfather stamped on the ground, and two fat tears welled from his eyes.
“Hey, Grandfather,” said Thrasaki, catching him by the hand. “The table’s laid. The Liape’s hungry.”
The old man looked at his grandson, felt the cool little hand on his bony, burning fingers and once more made his peace with God.
“Forgive me, children. I was remembering the ones that have gone and I lost my bearings. But we’re still alive. So forward! To table, all the living!”
With these words he sat down on the ground and pulled the table between him and the Rumeliot. He made Thrasaki too sit near him.
“Welcome, countryman! God bless us and keep us always close together!” he said, piling his guest’s plate with food.
Meanwhile Vendusos and his wolf pack were approaching the coast. The sea breeze was in their faces, making the tassels on their headbands flutter. Joy gave them wings; they were going to land weapons and load their mules with provisions and give the revolt fresh nourishment. It was all theirs. Greece had sent it for them. And yetis there any fun in receiving something peacefully and sharing it justly and reasonably? What did they do over the wives? When the parents had come to an agreement, the bride was combed and adorned and the tables were laid; but did meat which one had not stolen taste good? So the bridegroom would storm in on horseback and seize the bride. She would pretend to resist. He would lift her onto his saddle and make off with her like lightning, shooting in all directions and yelling, to his home.
Captain Stefanes’ corsair ship, the Miaulis, had managed in the darkness to elude the Turkish patrol vessels.
She had run the blockade and landed in the small remote harbor of Aja P.elaja, under its mighty cliffs. The sea was gentle as milk. The neighboring villages had not yet noticed that a loaded ship was anchored off their beach. So Captain Stefanes had had time to unload his freight undisturbed and to spread it out on the cliffs.
The sun today was mild, autumnal. The sea mews circled over the ship or squatted on the rocks and watched. Captain Stefanes had come ashore and was hobbling up and down over the thick-strewn flints. He had also brought Saint Nicholas ashore and made him fast to a rock so that his face was turned to the ship. The saint could sun himself, but he was also to keep watch.
“Hurry up, children!” the captain called out to his sailors, “don’t let the Turks catch us. Don’t give the Christians time, either, to find us and start plundering. They’re the ones I’m most afraid of. Be quick, children! Captain Michales’ palikars will turn up, wherever they may be.”
“There they are already!” shouted the ship’s boy, who had climbed to the top of the mast. He pointed at the ten palikars, who came riding down on their mules.
Captain Stefanes turned round and recognized Vendusos at their head. With a laugh he called out to him, “Have you too joined the warriors?”
“That’s what I’ve been condemned to,” answered the other, jumping off his mule and embracing the captain. “You’ve come in the nick of time. We’d no powder left, and hunger was beginning to worry us. A thousand times welcome, Captain Stefanes!”
But the seaman was in a hurry. “Help us unload,” he said, “so that I can sail away promptly, as soon as it’s night. I’ve been caught once, and that’s enough. Go at it, get going! Pretend you’re robbing us, to make it more fun.”
Vendusos took him by the arm and led him aside. “Greetings from Captain Michales,” he said to him in a low voice. “And if you’ve any message …”
“What message?” asked Captain Stefanes, scratching his head.
“Entrust it to me. No one except Captain Micahles shall know of it.”
Captain Stefanes bent down, picked up a big pebble, and threw it into the sea. He threw another and still said nothing. At last he plucked up courage and said:
“Vendusos, you’re a good lyre player, I know. But, forgive my saying so, I’ve no trust in that little tongue of yours. As soon as you’ve had a drop too much…”
Vendusos sighed. “Where am I to get a drop too much? Don’t worry …”
Captain Stefanes looked at Vendusos searchingly. The sun had browned him. His body was taut, the fat had vanished from his neck and cheeks, and his eyes now shone with something other than wine.
“Open your ears then, Vendusos,” he said, in a muffled voice. “Report to Captain Michales my exact wordsdo you understand? Don’t soften them, and don’t blow them up.”
“You needn’t worry, Captain. Speak out.” “I’ve no good news to send him. I’ve knocked at some important doors, spoken with leading men and urged them to tell me the truth: whether they had any hope that Crete would be freed, or thought that all our plans would again.be thrown to the winds. Some of them beat about the bush, others talked a lot of high-sounding nonsense, and only one man spoke out honestly. And who was he? Captain Michales’ nephew Kosmas, who had just landed in Syrahe’d come from the Franks’ country. ‘You must be brave, Captain Stefanes,’ he said to me. ‘Crete will not see freedom this time either.’ ‘Will our blood be shed in vain, then?’ I asked. “Blood is never shed in vain,’ he answered. ‘Don’t you know that freedom is a grain of seed that needs blood in order to sprout? So we’re sprinkling the seed now, and it’s certain that one day the plant will come upbut that day hasn’t arrived yet.’ Then he pulled a letter out of his pocket and gave it to me. ‘Send it,’ he said to me, ‘by a trustworthy man to my grandfather, old Sefakas.’ It’s been sent to him already, by a
Liape who was on board our ship. Captain Michales can learn the rest from that letter.”
Vendusos listened while his feet kicked the pebbles about violently. When Captain Stefanes had finished speaking he burst out, “Is there no God, then? What do you think, Captain Stefanes?”
“What’s a poor wretch like me to think? I don’t even know if there’s a Saint Nicholas, and are you asking me about God? And Saint Nicholas is sometimes there when he’s wanted, and sometimes he’s not there when he’s wanted. I’ve learned that much, in the many years I’ve been beating up and down the sea. So let’s not talk about God, but see what happens.”
The sea was growing dim as the sun sank. The hull of the ship had been emptied, and guns, cartridges, leather equipment, flour and salted fish were now loaded on the backs of the mulessheer gifts of God to the Cretans.
“I’ll bring you more powder and food yet,” cried Captain Stefanes to the ten corsairs by way of good-by. But as he was about to jump on board, he remembered the icon.
“Oh mercy, I’ve forgotten Saint Nicholas!” he said, and limped up the cliff as fast as he could. He carried the icon down and dipped it in the sea to refresh it. Then he kissed the hands of the saint, still dripping with salt water.
“On the journey here you managed well, Nicholas, my captain!” he said to the icon. “Good luck to you, and now mind you don’t disgrace us on the return journey. And I vow, by the sea, that I’ll order a picture of you from the holy Mount Athos, with short breeches and a black fez and a telescope in your hand, like the sea-hero Miaulis. Miaulis and Saint Nicholas in onethat would be safest….”
He leaped aboard. Clouds were now gathering in the sky. The world grew dark. A light breeze was blowing from the land, and a swell was beginning. Captain Stefanes picked up his telescope. The sea seemed dead. He crossed himself.
“In God’s, name,” he said. “Weigh anchor, children! Saint Nicholas, we’re casting off!”
After he had eaten and drunk and the table had been cleared away, the Liape leaned against a doorpost. He was feeling the effect of the rough sea, which had turned his insides upside down. It was the first time he had come down from the Pindus Mountains and boarded a ship. His hero’s courage had melted away when he had soiled his fustanella. Even now it seemed to him as if the earth were swaying under his feet like the ship’s deck. He smelled horse dung and felt better. He remembered that tomorrow morning, early, Charidimos, the old shepherd, was to take him to Captain Michales’ citadel. He gave him
self up to sleep with a feeling of security.
When the grandfather heard him snoring, he beckoned Thrasaki, and sat down with him under the old lemon tree in the middle of the yard. The women were no longer working at the oven and had gone indoors. Silence reigned over the yard. It was a good opportunity to have the letter read. The grandfather expected grave news; his grandson Kosmas would not have written unless it was important. The old man pulled out the letter and tore open the envelope.
“Come, Thrasaki,” he said, “read it slowly, word by word, so that I can understand.”
Thrasaki read:
“Honored Grandfather, I have returned to the sacred soil. Perhaps I shall soon come to Crete and kiss your respected hand …”
“He’s a flatterer too,” muttered the old man, shaking his heavy white-haired head. “But what sort of a letter is this? He doesn’t begin by asking after our health. All right! Go on, Thrasaki.”
“… But before such a pleasure can be vouchsafed to me, I find myself compelled to write you this letter. As soon as you have read it, be sure to send it to my uncle Michales. I hear he has raised his banner and is once more fighting in the mountains against the Turks. It is good that he should know how things are, and not grope orward blindly. Afterward let him do as God enlightens him.”
“A long yarn. Still, read on. But slowly, Thrasaki, there’s a good lad.”
“.. . So then: from Greece no hope is to be looked for. She is too weak. A poor beggar of a country without a fleet andwhat is worsewithout the slightest support from the Franks. Crete is a good morsel. And the mighty of the earth are interested in its remaining on the Sultan’s plate. If he comes to grief and the heritage has to be divided up, each of the Great Powers hopes that Crete will fall to it. If, on the contrary, Crete became united with Greece, neither God nor the Devil could separate them again.”
“Oh,” groaned the old man, “this grandchild of mine has learned a lot. Go on!”
“… Realize, then: this time, too, Crete is condemned to failure. We can have success only in one way: by starting negotiations to get the Sultan to enlarge our rights. This, I know, is merely a bone, but it has some meat on it. Lefs gnaw it till the good moment comes.”
“We’re reduced to dogs, mangy dogs. People throw bones to us! Go on.”
“… have spoken with many official personages among the Franks and in Greece. Tomorrow I am going to Athens to see some men who are very highly placed. If necessary I shall come to Crete, to help save what can be saved. This time again, unfortunately, the pen will be mightier than the sword. The sword-bearers have done their duty and prepared the way. But they could not reach the goal. Now the pen-bearers are going into actiondon’t be angry with me, Grandfather….”
“These quill-drivers!” the grandfather shouted, and spat. “Glasses, tight breeches, hats, swallowtails and stockings! Ugh!“and again he spat.
He turned to Thrasaki. “Finished? Is there any more?”
“One sentence, Granddad: 7 kiss your hand with deep respect, Grandfather. Give me your blessing! Your grandson, Kosmas.’”
The grandfather’s head sank. He closed his eyes and saw Crete, bewildered and bloodstained, standing before him in the middle of the yard. Was it Crete? Or was it the Virgin, coming from her Son’s cross? Large drops of rain fell.
“My little Thrasos,” said the grandfather at last, “you have learned a secret. You’re a man. Don’t betray it!”
“Don’t worry, Granddad. Not a soul shall know. Only we two, and a thirdmy father.”
“And a fourthGod. That’s enough.”
While grandfather and grandson were still talking, Tityros, red-cheeked, appeared on the threshold with his staff and his sack on his back. The grandfather still sat under the lemon tree, now wet with rain, and raindrops glittered in his beard. He himself was like an old tree trunk as, without stirring, he let himself be sprinkled. The old man’s leathery skin gleamed wetly. For a moment he did not recognize his son, who looked stout and sunburned and without a stoop.
“Is it you, Janakos?” he called out, and raised his head to see better. “You’ve changed, thank God. Aren’t you a teacher any more? Come in.”
“Don’t you know me, Father?” asked the teacher, delightedly.
^“How should I? I’d be ready to swear you’ve given up paper work and fashioned yourself a neck, a pair of shoulders and good, healthy cheeks. Didn’t I tell you? Those letters are leeches, twenty-four leeches that suck a man’s blood. I too have been trying hard to learn that damned alphabet. A stony road! A torment! I stumble from one letter to another. But I’ve got a definite aim. What about you?”
Tityros laughed. He seized his father’s hand and kissed it. “Father,” he said teasmgly, “it was your fault that I became a teacher. Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember. Do you think I’ve grown feeble? You were no good for anything else. But really, I was wrong.”
The old man looked him up and down, pinched his arm, squeezed his hand and pulled up his Up, as they do with cattle, to examine the teeth. He was satisfied.
“By my faith,” he said, “this one’s beginning to be a pleasure to me. Of course, you were my child, I was fond of youbut how shall I put it? You were no pleasure to me. You seemed to me like the lather from soap, with your book learning and your stoop. You didn’t fit into our family. All our forefathers had worn full breeches and high boots, and carried a gun. But you dressed in the Prankish style, wore glasses and carried a pen. That’s that, I thought, the blood’s exhausted and is going to the devil … But now here you are, coming back to the natural way of men, thank God! And my name isn’t Sefakas if I don’t give you some full breeches and high boots and hang a gun over your back! Did you hear what I said? Why are you laughing?”
“Are you a prophet, Father? Can you read my mind? That’s just what I’ve come to the house of my fathers for, I swear! You’re bound to have an old suit that you or one of my dead brothers used to wear. And surely there’s a gun left in your storeroom. We’ll burn my Prankish clothes together, here in the yard, like they burn Judas, and I’ll dress like a Cretan. Then I’ll take a gun on my shoulders and go into the mountains. I too have a special aim.”
The old man embraced his son. “Take my blessing,” he said, “I’m going to kill a goat in your honor, and this evening we’ll celebrate. I had thought of you as lost. Welcome, Janakos!”
The old man forgot his grief over his grandson’s letter. He opened an old chest and brought out the finest clothes he could find: an embroidered jacket, full breeches of thick wool, a silken linen belt and a fez from Tunis. He chose boots of the smallest size, and brought a gun from the storeroom. He placed all these on top of the chest, to deck out his youngest son on the morrow like a bridegroom.
There was great rejoicing in the house. For the rumor had been spread that the Turks had set a trap for the schoolteacher in the course of his wanderings through the villages and that they had taken him prisoner and spitted him like an Easter lamb. And now here he was, in full health, devouring with his father a whole small kid and drinking wine out of the jug. Beside the two of them Thrasaki felt quite small! He could hardly bring himself to eat. He simply stared in bewilderment at the schoolmaster. Was this the same man under whose feet they had strewed shot so that he fell full length and broke his glasses?
“Off with you, Thrasaki, to bed with you,” said the grandfather. “I’ve still some things to say to your uncle. And never call him schoolmaster again, do you hear? Always Uncle Janakos now!”
“What was the truth of that business with your wife?” he asked, when they were alone and seated on the low sofa. “Why did she hang herself? Can you explain it? I’ve asked the others, but they all put me off with talk.”
“God forgive her. The poor thing was sick with fear and ran away.”
“She did right,” the grandfather said. “There was strength in the woman. It takes courage to kill oneself. She was running away from you as well, that’s s
ure. And-.now what do you mean to do? Won’t you marry again? Won’t you beget me a little grandson? My last? You must hurry up. My days are numbered.”
The schoolmaster’s face beamed as he said, “What a miracle, Father! The nearer you come to death, the more you resemble an immortal. Yes, you’ve discovered the second purpose that brought me here.”
“Well, tell me, Janakos! Has a girl dazzled your eyes?”
“Yes, she’s dazzled me, and I ask for your blessing.”
“Who is she, by Saint Onufrios? Is she all right? Strong bones, broad hips, .. good family with lots of vineyards and fields? Has she her thirty-two teeth?”
“She’s all right,” the bridegroom-to-be answered. “She’s got all her teeththirty-two and more.”
“No, not more! That would not be good. Then she could ride you. A thing that’s unnatural is against God’s will. Thirty-two are enough. But let’s hear who she is. Who are her parents?”
“She’s a grandchild of Captain Elias. Her name’s Pe-Jaja. And I’ve come to ask for your blessing.”
“Ah, bravo, Janakos! You have my blessing! That’s a fruitful stock with sons, grandsons, vineyards and fields. And will she have you?”
“She’ll have me and has spoken to her father. He answered, ‘We’ll ask the old manhe’s head of our race!’ At first Captain Eh’as looked sour. ‘A schoolmaster,’ he said, ‘I know him. A leanbottomed weakling. All the same, his family’s all right. Fruitful, with sons and grandsons and vineyards and fields. Wait till I’ve had time to think it over.’ But the girl was in a hurry, and she talked to the grandfather and was nice to him and won him over to our side. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I give my blessing, but on one conditionhe’s to put off that Frankish suit of his and dress like a man.’ “
Old Sefakas clapped his hands. “God protect you, old Eh’as! It was a great worry to me too, but I said nothing. And now, into the fire with that suit, tomorrow, first thing!”
Freedom or Death Page 36
