378
PARTISAN REVIEW
When he finally reached the top of the hill, he was relieved to hear
Hope's strangled miaowing somewhere nearby, and in another minute
he saw her-up in a tree, making pitiful noises, clearly unable to get
down.
It
was close enough to the village, and for an instant he debated
going back for a ladder; but the tree had gnarled branches in just the
right places, and, recalling his not-too-remote childhood days, Con–
stantine shrugged and began to climb.
Hope did not resist his outstretched hands, and, pressing the shiver–
ing animal to his chest, he was just about to come down when he caught
something moving out of the corner of his eye. From where he was, he
could see the far side of the hill descending to the sea, a thin strip of
deserted shore curving all the way back toward the village, and along
the shore, a man walking purposefully, holding something big and white
in his folded arms. Mildly surprised-the villagers had told him many
times that there was nothing of interest beyond the hill-he squinted
and looked harder, and recognized the assured stride of Markos, one of
the three or four most prominent fishermen of Levkothea. In the next
moment he realized that the object Markos carried was a ewe, which
must have wandered off. He thought of calling out, wondering whether
his voice would carry that far, when Markos was briefly obstructed
from view by some trees-and then failed to reappear.
The minutes dragged on. Hope miaowed unhappily, a grasshopper
sang out in the grass, the sun burnt Constantine's neck, and little by lit–
tle some unnamed suspicion began to unfold in his mind. Finally, many
heartbeats later, Markos emerged into sight, but now his arms were
empty. The ewe was gone. With narrowed eyes, Constantine watched
the fisherman turn around and head back toward Inos, soon vanishing
around the tip of the island. He lingered in the tree for a while longer,
but nothing stirred, and, frowning, he slipped down the trunk and,
absently petting Hope, walked back along the path.
He had taken only a few steps when a scream ripped through the
afternoon hush-a most anguished scream. It was terrifying and yet
oddly familiar, and for one instant Constantine stood frozen. The
skinny cat's ribs were heaving with fright against his chest, making him
nervous, confusing his thoughts. And then, suddenly, he knew just what
he had heard-the death cry of a ewe being slaughtered.
THAT EVENING CONSTANTINE ran into Markos and casually inquired
about his day, but Markos's words betrayed nothing out of the ordinary.
Under a slightly uncomfortable pretext of bird watching, Constantine
borrowed a pair of binoculars from a boy in the village, and early the
