OLGA GRUSHIN
377
discovered, had friendly daughters who were eager to listen to his
slightly exaggerated Athenian adventures, and the fish stew Nestor
served in his taverna was tastier than anything he had ever had in the
capital. Eventually the day came when he accepted the glass of wine
made by Nestor's relative, and one by one the men of Inos stopped ask–
ing him whether he had caught any criminals lately.
On particularly hot days-and in August every day was hot-Con–
stantine began to spend the afternoons napping in his stuffy room. In
the daze of one such siesta he heard Maria wailing just outside the win–
dow. "Oh, the saints help me!" she was crying. "Oh, what shall I do?"
His head swimming, he stumbled out, grabbing his uniform's blazer
on the way. Maria was standing at the front door, wringing her hands.
"What's the matter?" he asked with a foretaste of excitement.
She looked up at him with unseeing eyes.
"Hope's gone!" she said wildly. "She's so old and ... and almost
blind ... she'll never find her way back by herself ... I don't know how
she's managed to slip out, I always keep the door closed ... "
His face fell.
"Oh," he said, struggling to keep his tone even. "No problem,
Madame Passano, I'll find her for you. Just wait here."
Tossing his blazer on the ground, he strode off into the afternoon
glaze.
"How ridiculous!" he murmured as he walked. "Why, I can just
imagine meeting myoId friends back in Athens. 'So, Georgos, how's
your job?' 'I arrested a band of bank robbers the other day. And you,
Costas?' 'Oh, me, I went one better-I found my landlady's lost cat!'"
Maria's house was on the very outskirts of Inos, and, after some hesi–
tation, Constantine turned away from the village and headed in the oppo–
site direction, toward a wooded hill that sloped gently to the sea. This side
of Levkothea was uninhabited, and he reasoned that Hope, a shy four–
teen-year-old animal, was likely to stay away from the streets and the don–
keys, probably making a dash for the trees instead. Calling out her name
in an embarrassed undertone, he made his way along an abandoned path.
The ground around him was burnt out by the heat, red in patches and
empty of flowers; the leaves moved not at all, and the air was brilliant and
still. Even the midday cicadas fell strangely silent. Once more, as on a few
previous occasions, he had a fleeting sensation of unease, as if the world
suddenly had been thrown back some three or four thousand years, as if
time itself had stopped in the breathless darkness of the ages. All at once
he was overcome with a desire to be sitting at the Leaping Oyster, having
a glass of ouzo and arguing politics with Andreas.
