Jeff turned a dark guarded young face to him, the large eyes so strikingly like Sarah’s that he felt a pang of love for both of them. “What’s up?” Jeff demanded.
“I’ll tell you. Come on upstairs to the study. It might be cooler up there.”
He waited as Jeff slouched and shuffled out of his chair and then preceded him up the difficult stairs. He closed the door behind Jeff and went to the couch where he had slept the night before and seated himself. Jeff ambled to a chair and arranged himself in it—legs flung about, the base of his spine on the edge of the seat, head resting on the back. His eyes roamed restlessly, avoiding his father’s.
George curbed an impulse to reprimand him. This was the current affectation of the young. They thought it old-fashioned to sit up straight. They didn’t believe in moving their lips when they spoke. They cultivated a bored and insolent look. It would pass. There was a more important issue at stake. “We’ve always been able to talk to each other, Jeff.” He heard the wheedling camaraderie in his voice and was embarrassed for himself.
“Yeah, sure.” Jeff had the good grace not to sound completely indifferent.
“Well, let’s get right to the point. It looks as if your friend Dimitri is about to have some serious trouble with the police. I’ve just heard about it. For your own sake, you’d better steer clear of him. You may feel it your duty as a friend to warn him, but otherwise I don’t want you to see him again.” As he spoke, George saw the boy’s arms and legs begin to twitch and at his last words, Jeff gathered himself together convulsively and hugged himself with his arms. His eyes blazed up with startled life.
“Not see him again? What’s he supposed to’ve done?”
“It’s serious. Peddling drugs. Costa has accused you of being in on it with him. I don’t take that seriously, of course, but anybody who sees a lot of him is automatically suspect to the police.”
“How can I be? I haven’t done anything.” The note of querulousness in Jeff’s voice reminded George how close the boy was to being still a child, his child, and he felt a wrench of tenderness for him. He leaned forward and gave the boy’s leg a pat.
“I’m sure you haven’t, but appearances count. Costa says you gave Dimitri a lot of money this morning.”
Jeff forced laughter and pulled his legs up under him. He made a swipe at his hair. “Where would I get money? He came sidling by the way he does when I was helping Dimitri with his accounts. Does holding money mean that I’m giving it to him?”
“I see.” So Costa hadn’t been lying; he had seen Jeff and Dimitri handling money together. “If you’re on those terms with him, knowing about his money and all that, it’s even more serious than I thought. You make yourself an accessory to anything he’s doing.”
Jeff’s dark eyes widened and wavered into contact with George’s and then pulled quickly away. “Adding up his accounts for him isn’t a crime. Why are you so interested in the police all of a sudden, anyway?”
“I’m interested in the police because I’ve got to get my money back. Who do you suggest I go to?” George resented being made to feel apologetic. He added curtly, “As a matter of fact, they’re holding Costa for questioning now.”
Jeff’s eyes stared into George’s with wild incredulous reproach. “But how could you? It’s against everything you believe in.” Jeff sprang forward in the chair and gripped the seat with his hands. “How could you drag an innocent man into it? The money’s obviously in the house somewhere. You don’t know what you’re doing half the time.”
George’s mouth dropped open with astonishment and snapped shut again with anger. “Just what is that supposed to mean?” he demanded.
“It’s true, isn’t it? I live here too, remember? I see what goes on. You’re a drunk. Everybody knows you’re a drunk. You and Mom both. You came staggering home last night. You probably shoved the money in a drawer somewhere and forgot it. That’s the way you are these days. Did you tell the police how drunk you were? Did you tell them you can’t remember half the things you do?”
George waited for the first impact of the words to pass. Even if they were justified, he was stunned that his son could say them. Instinct told him that there was more involved than Costa and his going to the police. An angry reprimand died on his lips. He had to win the boy’s confidence, not alienate him further. “Jeff,” he said quietly, “you’re surely old enough to understand that drinking too much sometimes and being a drunk are two different matters. You’ve never spoken to me like this. There must be something very serious on your mind. Speak up. We’re here to help, you know, and stand by you.”
Jeff subsided back into the chair and pushed at the hair on his forehead. “I can’t stand hypocrisy,” he growled in his deepest tones. “How do you expect me to react to a big paternal scene? What do you know or care about my feelings? You’re too busy fighting with Mom and getting drunk.”
George thought of his parents. No conceivable circumstances could have provoked him to speak to his father in this way. It had always been “yes, sir” and “no, sir,” and the seething rebellion underneath, so that when he had finally freed himself, there had been nothing left, no basis for any sort of relationship. Jeff would at least know who his parents were. He almost envied him being involved in some way with a drug peddler. It sounded so dangerous and grown up. At that age, George had been thinking about school teams and debutante balls. At least, he supposed that was what he had been thinking about. He couldn’t remember.
“If you’d just calm down a bit,” he said persuasively, “you’d discover that I do care. Very much.”
“In a pretty peculiar way. You pay no attention to anything I’m doing and then all of a sudden you lay down the law and tell me I can’t see one of the few people I like here. Who am I supposed to see, for God’s sakes?”
George admitted the point. There was no organized social life for young people here. There was no intermingling of the sexes. Jeff had long since passed beyond the possibility of finding intellectual satisfaction with his immediate contemporaries. The local boys, those who didn’t go to work long before school was over, had simple interests that probably included some casual sexual play until they were ready for their virgin brides. Not a stimulating scene. He couldn’t blame Jeff for being drawn to the larger world of the tourist bar. “You know I’m not much for laying down the law,” he said. “I hardly know Dimitri. It’s generally understood that he likes boys, but I’m sure you know enough about that sort of thing to handle it as it suits you. You’re too old for me to choose your friends for you. Even if he were the devil himself, I wouldn’t interfere unless I had some good reason. All I can offer you from here on is advice if you care to ask for it, and understanding. I’m pretty confident I have more of that than most people. Let’s stick to this drug business. What do you know about it?”
“Drug business? A lot of people here smoke marijuana, if that’s what you mean. You can get it easily enough.”
“So I’m learning. I hadn’t really been aware of it, except for Sid. Have you ever used it?”
“Once. It made me sick. Are we going to have an inquisition now?”
“I just want to know how the land lies. You knew that Dimitri supplies it?”
“There’s no secret about that. Everybody gets it from him.”
“You say Costa didn’t take my money. He keeps trying to make a connection between it and you and Dimitri and the dope. What do you suppose he’s driving at?”
Jeff threw his head back and opened his mouth. His big Adam’s apple worked as if he were trying to get air. “I can’t stand this,” he burst out. “None of it would’ve happened if you’d been sober. Do you think I stole your money? Go on. Say it. Accuse me. Say the truth, for once.” He jerked about in his chair, his coltish legs kicking out disjointedly.
“Take it easy, for God’s sake. I’m not accusing you of anything.” He had offered understanding, but he couldn’t understand Jeff’s behavior now. Maybe he and Dimitri actually were in
business together. Or perhaps he had uncovered a serious love affair. “Listen. I just wanted to warn you that your friend is in danger. I know boys your age are sometimes under terrific pressures. I know you’re not a thief, but anybody might steal if they’re in a bad enough jam. I wouldn’t condone it, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I’m proud of you, dammit. There’s nothing bad in you. That’s why I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
“What’s bad about seeing a friend?” Jeff attempted a defiant note, but his voice caught on tears. “That’s all I’m thinking about. He’s expecting me this evening. We’re—he’s—I want to be his friend.”
“And I want to respect your friendships. The trouble is, I’m responsible for you for three more years. I can’t have you running risks with the law. It involves me. You mustn’t have anything more to do with Dimitri until we see how all this turns out. If you want, I’ll go explain it to him with you. If he values your friendship, he’ll understand. Now. Have we got that straight?”
Jeff began to tremble all over. “It’s all so awful,” he burst out and his words tumbled out chaotically. “I find somebody who likes to have me around and—he’s not perfect but I like being with him. If you knew anything about what’s going on around here—why don’t you leave me alone? What about Mom? Don’t you have some responsibility for her? Maybe you’d like to know where she was this afternoon. She was up at Pavlo’s house. I saw her when I——”
George was on his feet, towering over him. He swung his hand hard across Jeff’s face. The boy made little whimpering sounds in his throat. He swung again and struck so hard that he almost toppled Jeff out of the chair.
Jeff was doubled over, his arms over his head. “No. Don’t. I didn’t—I don’t know what I was saying,” he cried. He was shaken by racking sobs.
George didn’t hear them. He didn’t know how he had got to his feet. He was gripped by a rage of despair, trembling as violently as his son. He reached down and seized Jeff’s arms and grappled him up out of the chair. Jeff resisted feebly. George caught him as he almost fell and thrust his arms around him and pulled him close against his chest. He had nothing more to offer him, nothing more to offer anybody out of the empty ruin within him. Perfectly empty. Perfectly ruined. The comfort he derived from stilling Jeff’s sobs was irrelevant. He pressed his face into the boy’s hair and kissed the side of his head.
“Get out,” he said when he could speak. “Go to your room. I didn’t want to hurt you.” He half-supported Jeff as he stumbled to the door. George didn’t see him go. He was having trouble with his vision. He found his way back to the couch and sat on the edge of it, holding the hand that was still numb from striking his son.
Of course it was impossible. Jeff was an hysterical kid. He knew it was impossible. He had proof. For the moment he couldn’t think what it was. Slowly it came to him. He had seen Pavlo on the rocks. He and Mike had left for their swim well before four. She had been here then. Pavlo had been on the rocks when they arrived. No. He had seen Pavlo arrive. When? Just before he had left Mike to go to the police. He rubbed his hand and tried to remember having seen him earlier. It was no use. There had been time.
He passed his fingers lightly over his forehead. If it was true, he would have to kill her. If? Hysterical or no, Jeff hadn’t made it up. It had burst from him involuntarily.
She had been with Pavlo this morning. She had arranged it then, practically under his nose. A bitch in heat. He would leave her to it. She could have all the Pavlos she wanted. He would simply get on a boat and go. Disappear.
No. Why should he let her get away with it? He would confront her with it, beat her, throw her out. It was the end of everything. Nothing he could do would make any difference. Except to make an end to himself. The infinite relief of nonexistence.
He lifted his hands to his eyes and covered them. He remembered the curious state she had been in at lunch, drinking little, unusually lively and keyed up. He had sat at her feet later and touched her and felt some sort of anticipation vibrating in her. Of course. Thinking of that obscene hunk of male flesh. Panting for a screw.
He surged up and seized the chair Jeff had been sitting in and hurled it against a window. It clattered to the floor in a shower of glass. He strode to the shelves and pulled books from them and flung them about the room. He grabbed a lamp and smashed it to the floor. He would wreck the whole goddamn house. Home sweet home. Through the tumult he was creating, he heard her voice calling from below.
“George? Darling? Are you there? What’s happening?”
He froze, holding his typewriter in his hands, and remembered Mike. He couldn’t face her now and go on to a pleasant evening with Mike. Mike mustn’t know. He somehow had to get through the next few hours treating Sarah as if he knew nothing. His arms ached with a longing to hurl the typewriter down the stairs, catching her where she stood at the foot of them. Only a half hour ago she had welcomed him with eyes full of interest and love. Satisfied eyes. He put the machine down hastily. He had to answer her. If she came up, he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself. It was too raw and fresh in him to pretend with her.
“It’s all right,” he called, finding that his voice was under control. “I knocked over a lamp.”
“Broken?”
“It can be fixed. Are you ready? I don’t want to keep Mike waiting.”
“I’ll be ready in a minute.”
“I’ll be right down.” He moved silently around the room gathering up books and shoving them back in the shelves. He set the chair upright. The window was smashed, but he could fix it himself. The lamp was a ruin. He took a final look around. Nobody could tell what had happened. He would have to think of some explanation for the window.
He hurried downstairs on tiptoe and went to the cabinet in the living room where liquor was kept. He poured out two generous measures of brandy in quick succession, gulping them down. After the second one, he paused with the bottle in his hand and looked around him to gauge the effect. Better. Much better. Something was terribly wrong, something was broken, but he could bear it for the moment. He heard steps on the stairs outside and he poured more brandy into the glass and swallowed it down. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t touch her. It would be all right as soon as they were with people. She called his name unnecessarily loud, assuming he was still in the top of the house. He put the bottle back and started out.
“Coming. I’m in here.” He joined her at the door. It was still all right. With doors to open and close and the street to walk down, she wouldn’t notice that he was avoiding looking at her. She was just a presence beside him. She had no identity, no power to hurt or stir him.
“Dinner’s all taken care of,” she said. “I told Chloë we’d be back at about nine.”
“Fine.” Everything was in order. Everything was perfectly normal. He stumbled slightly as they set off down the rough cobbled street and he concentrated on holding himself steady. It wouldn’t do to look as if he were drunk. The sun was lowering in the west and color was beginning to creep back into the town. A vine bursting over a wall in front of them was a vivid green. All day it had been black.
“You and Mike have a good swim?” she asked conversationally. She noticed that he had been drinking and wondered. Had he and Mike got started on a bender?
“Sure. Fine.” They had had a fine swim while she—that was where the drink came in handy. While she what? He knew, but the answer was like a great blank ache in him, formless, like the knowledge of death. They walked on. Was she saying something? Had he answered? He held as aloof from himself as from her, putting his feet carefully one in front of the other.
They reached the shops and he greeted people automatically. Out on the quai, he saw Peter and a girl heading in the direction of the Mills-Martin house. He didn’t immediately identify the girl and his mind was too abstracted to bother with a second glance. The sun was about to perform its daily miracle. All the houses on the eastern arm of the harbor were beginning to flush
with a golden glow and fire was springing up in their windows. In another fifteen minutes it would be dusk.
The tables in front of Lambraiki’s were full. As they approached, he spotted the Varnums and Sid Coleman and his girl and Joe and Lena sitting together. At a table near them, Mike was sitting with the Italian painter, Roberto, and Paul, his Dutch friend. He wondered where Mike had picked them up. He turned away quickly as he caught a glimpse of Pavlo a few tables from them.
Mike waved. “We’ve saved chairs for you,” he said as they approached. The three men stood for Sarah.
George remained standing for a moment, exchanging remarks with the group at the next table. He was sorry the Mills-Martins weren’t here. Charlie was always an impressive presence to display to visitors. He was aware of a recently arrived French contingent whom he hadn’t met looking at him and nudging each other. He had been successfully translated into French. A big frog in this little pond. He sat down carefully and braced himself to make small talk with the others. Only a few more hours. Mike would be gone tomorrow. Roberto and Paul immediately began asking questions about Costa. It was apparently the latest sensation, for lack of any more scandalous gossip. Roberto and Paul were inclined to be indignant about his being held.
“How can they lock him up when they have no evidence?” Paul demanded.
“They do pretty much what they want to do,” George said indifferently. He wanted a drink. He clapped his hands and ordered for Sarah too when a Lambraiki boy came running.
“I hear he offered to give Joe’s money back.”
“Yes. Perhaps that’s the way it’ll be settled. We’ll know in the morning.”
“Even if he does, can you imagine the police letting him go?” Roberto insisted. “Because he’s had trouble before, they’ll keep him for years. I heard about a case like this in Athens. It was four years while he languished in prison.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about all this?” Mike inquired. “You said you were just going to interpret for an American. I understand you’ve been robbed of seventy thousand drachmas.”
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