OLGA GRUSHIN
397
Mov ing as if under water, Constantine fell to his knees.
"Please, tell me the truth," he pleaded thickly.
" I
have to know."
Her liquid, glimmering gaze slid past him, melting into sadness.
"Just like the other one .. ." she whispered, turning away.
"The ... the other one?"
She did not reply right away.
"A boy like you," she said finally. "He came to me one night many
years ago. He too was angry at first, and later he too got down on his
knees and begged me."
"Beppe ... Do you mean Beppe?" he asked hoarsely. "Beppe was
here?"
She nodded .
"I
like you," she added after a pause.
"I
like you very much. You
remind me of him, you know. Not the way he is now, of course, but the
way he was then, when he was young and impetuous . . ."
"Beppe is dead now," he said dully.
She was silent, but he could see golden sparks dancing in her still
eyes, dancing unnaturally, mockingly, maddeningly. His heart suddenly
cold, he stood up. He knew he had to leave, he had to leave right now,
before the dark roar of the unknown sea and the sweet smell of the
freshly spilt blood and the smile of this beautiful, terrible woman
changed the fabric of his mind and soul, sent him flying into insanity,
made him forever forget who he was, he, Constantine Kalvos, a man of
Athens, a man of the twentieth century ...
The girl's voice rang out behind him.
"Won't you stay with us for some supper?"
Startled, for he had forgotten all about her, he turned toward her, and
the same odd feeling of recognition chilled him-and then he knew,
knew with a madman's clarity, where he had seen this face before, this
dark hair, this dimpled smile, these Italianate eyes the color of black
olives. Shattered, he stumbled backward, and a multitude of slaughtered
ewes whirled before his eyes. Then he turned and fled, his hands pressed
over his ears so he would not hear the hoarse, warm, ageless laughter
chasing him out into the night, pushing him toward the sea.
THE BOAT FROM CHIOS was not supposed to arrive until three in the
afternoon, but Constantine was at the dock at sunrise, his bulky suit–
case at his feet, the two bottles of Nestor's wine clutched in his hands.
Soon the villagers began to appear in the harbor; they joked with him
as they dispersed to their fishing boats, but he barely answered, only
nodded and stared wildly. They knew he was getting married in just a
