He gazed out at the Mediterranean Sea, which held buried in its depths his precious past, and for the first time ever felt the blessing of having lived it rather than the devastation of having lost it. Anyone who has actually walked over the Massif des Maures should consider themselves lucky just because of the experience. He turned and started on his way home. The sea breeze caressed his face, not like a funereal veil but like a fresh cool breeze. Book was contentedly opening the gates of his being to allow Phileas back in.
Oddly, he never thought of the six prodigious letter-writers again and his mind buried them irretrievably. As he aged, he also relinquished the ability to design meandroses. Occasionally, however, he was allowed to sit for a long time in the sun on one of France’s beaches for the elderly, with his straw hat lowered to his chin and his aged shoulders exposed, watching the mischievous wavelets arrive all the way from the south-eastern Mediterranean only to break in front of his open-toed sandals like a series of winks. He would smile under the brim of his hat. His minders would worry that the smile signalled the onset of sunstroke and would pull his chair back into the shade and ply him with cool lemonades. They had no idea that Phileas Book had had a ringside seat on the collapse of the Consortium when others had thought that it was still meteorically rising. He would plead with them not to move him as he obediently sucked down the lemonades and stretched out his short legs on the footrest to show that he was helping his circulation. He would beg for five more minutes in the sun.
“Only five more minutes,” they warned him.
He would pull his hat over his face and patiently wait for the minders to move on. Then he would peer slyly through the straw weave of his hat and observe his shadow that was spread out on the sand. His eye would measure it and find it to be … sixty metres and seventy-five centimetres.
COPYRIGHT
Published by Black & White Publishing 2013
This electronic edition published in 2013
ISBN: 978 1 84502 548 9 in EPub format
ISBN: 978 1 84502 549 6 in Mobipocket format
ISBN: 978 1 84502 457 2 in paperback format
Copyright © Ioanna Bourazopoulou 2007
English translation copyright © Yannis Panas 2013
The right of Ioanna Bourazopoulou to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publisher.
First published in Greek by Kastaniotis Editions SA, Athens, Greece.
This translation of WHAT LOT’S WIFE SAW is published by arrangement with Kastaniotis Editions SA.
First published in Great Britain in 2013 by
Black & White Publishing Ltd
29 Ocean Drive
Edinburgh
EH6 6JL
www.blackandwhitepublishing.com
This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Ebook compilation by RefineCatch Ltd, Bungay
What Lot's Wife Saw Page 40
