382
PARTISAN REVIEW
rosily from a candle lit inside it, some leafy branches were strewn on the
ground around a big flat stone in the cave's depths, and garlands of
footprints were woven in the sand, some shod, others barefoot. But the
place itself was deserted . Disappointed, Constantine lingered for a
moment, knowing that he might not be able to find enough courage to
come here again. Finally he sighed and began to walk away when a
slightly hoarse voice sounded behind him.
"Was there anything you needed?"
He swung around.
The woman in the long shimmering robe was standing in the open–
ing of the cave, leaning against the rock. She was not as young as he had
expected-thirty-five at least, perhaps even older.
It
was hard to tell, he
thought as a sudden confusion stole over him, for there was something
strangely elusive in her face, as if with every breath her features rose and
fell imperceptibly, shifting, rearranging themselves ever so slightly. Yet
even without being able to pinpoint the impression, he knew that she
was more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen, anyone he could ever
imagine. Her mouth was full and calm, her skin glowed with a soft,
golden light, and her eyes were blue, and green, and honey-colored, and
looking into them was like seeing one's very first sunrise over the
Aegean, or savoring one's most delicious glass of wine on board a small
boat-or perhaps like being a young boy again and diving off a steep
cliff into the warm, welcoming sea and, after swallowing a mouthful of
water, soaring up to the surface to be dazzled by the sun and the foam
and the glistening rocks upon which Nereids once used to comb their
long silver tresses....
Abruptly, she turned and disappeared into the cave, and, over–
whelmed, he followed her, stumbling, dreaming incoherent dreams. But
when his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he drew a sharp breath. Before him
stood a middle-aged woman with a broad, rather plain face, and her
eyes were gray and flat . He realized then that the whole unearthly vision
had been merely a trick of the evening sun, a reflection of the light danc–
ing in the waves, a fleeting mystery imparted by the play of shadows,
and he was suddenly embarrassed and angry with himself.
The stuffy air soaked up the silence, while she watched him without
moving. Finally he coughed and straightened his shoulders.
"I'm Constantine Kalvos," he said dryly. "I'm .. ."
"I know who you are," she interrupted. "The new policeman in Inos."
"So the villagers talk about me, do they?"
