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WHAT MAIDENS LOTH

What men or Gods are these? What maidens loth?

What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?

Keat’s (Ode to a Grecian Urn)

�

DAY ONE

........IN THE YEAR OF 3000 A.D AN EXPLORATION PARTY ANCHORED OFF THE TINY SEA-PORT TOWN OF AYiOS NIKOLAS BY THE GULF OF MEREBELLO IN EASTERN CRETE. A TEAM OF SCHOLARS FROM THE DEPARTMENT OF ANTIQUITIES (BRITISH MUSEUM ) HAD COME TO INSPECT A MAJOR NEW ARCHAEOLOGICAL DISCOVERY.

THE PREVIOUS YEAR A FEW TENTATIVE EXCAVATIONS. ON THE COAST TO THE WEST OF THE TOWN HAD UNEARTHED WHAT SEEMED TO BE THE FOUNDATIONS OF A HUGE PALACE OF PLEASURE - ONE OF SUCH SPLENDOUR AS TO OUTRIVAL THE PALACE OF KNOSSUS.

ANCIENT MAPS INDICATED THIS NEW DISCOVERY TO BE THE LEGENDARY MIDAS HOTEL.

FURTHER DIGGINGS AROUND THE GULF UNEARTHED THE REMAINS OF A LARGE NETWORK OF STREETS AND HOUSES, AND SOON THE WHOLE ARCHAEOLOGICAL SITE INDICATED THAT A THRIVING AND POPULOUS COMMUNITY HAD ONCE LIVED AROUND THE BAYS AND INLETS OF THIS PLEASANT GULF.

WHAT HAD HAPPENED? SCHOLARS AND ANTIQUARIANS FROM ALL OVER THE WORLD WERE FASCINATED BY THE DISCOVERY. THEY ASKED WHY HAD YET ANOTHER CIVILISATION BEEN BURIED UNDER THE ANCIENT RUBBLE OF CRETE?..

Zorba watched over his crops with quiet contentment. It was going to be a very good year and a very good harvest. Already there had been a few, small, but profitable crops in April and June and now the best crop of the season - coming to rich fruit in August - was ready and ripe for the picking

The size of this year's crop astounded Zorba. His harvests seemed to multiply year by year - and they were such easy crops to grow, He looked up at the kindly sun which beamed down its hot bounty. He tended his fields from a cool seat under a plane-tree by the cafe corner in the town's main square and sat in the cafe just as his forefathers had sat under the shade of the olive-trees in the cool, mountain groves.

His forefathers had farmed the fertile, inland plains and grown such fine tomatoes, figs and olives but Zorba farmed the fertile sandy beaches and blue seas. And - as in the time of his forefathers - all his crops seemed to require were a little watering, feeding and gentle caressing. But some of the fruit bruised - oh so easily. Suddenly Zorba remembered. He must have a word with his son, Spiros. Yesterday at the Adonis snack-bar on Aphrodite Beach with the English girl. That boy! So handsome, but no finesse. Zorba sighed. His son had never been the same since he had got in with the wrong crowd at the Midas Hotel.

"What friends for a son of mine," he had growled to his cousin, Stephano as they sat drinking their sweet, black coffee in the cafe that morning, "Hah, this new, cosmopolitan smart-set."

But the times are changing, Zorba," commiserated Stephano.

“And must we change with them?"

Zorba nearly choked on the bitter coffee grounds as he remembered the previous night.

"Just look at my son'?" he complained. He nearly wept, "Where did we go wrong, Stephano?"

"But he's not such a bad boy. Zorba,"

Stephano glanced apologetically at his watch before adding, "Look, I must go now."

But Zorba's mind was on his son.

“If only my father were still alive," he sighed

"Well - yes," replied his cousin as he rose.

Much as he liked sitting in the cafe. sipping his coffee and enjoying the cool. morning breeze. Stephano had little desire to hear his old friend ramble on about the good old days.

"Goodbye, Zorba." he said as he left he table,“I must be off to work."

He felt a bit guilty for he had left Zorba's employment to work at he new hotel and was uncomfortably sure that he had been included among this new smart-set. "Goodbye. old friend." roared Zorba at his cousin's back, "And mark my words, you'll be clocking in soon."

But the memory of Stephano's betrayal rankled as did the memory of his son's behaviour the previous night. It cast a gloom over Zorba's benign countenance. A gloom that appeared whenever he thought of his son. It had not been the same in his father's time - nor indeed, that of his own.

"She fuck fuck tonight," his son had sniggered to his new, smart friends - and there had been no mistaking the gesture of his finger.

The poor girl had seen and overheard.

Zorba winced at the memory of her hot blush.

Never mind, all was not lost. He would have a word with his old friend, Niki, down at the cafe-bar. A smile and a hug would do the trick. These English girls - so free with their money, so generous - so easy. The best of his crops.

Zorba mused sorrowfully, “This new generation." He must have a talk with Spiros. He must teach his son what his father had taught him. "When you milk a cow you squeeze the tits gently. Siga! Siga!" How wise was his father - Zorba the Greek. But these youngsters today - they never listen.

Zorba looked lazily around the cafe, hazy in the late afternoon sun. In the far corner sat an Englishman. How his father had laughed at those strange men and the stories he had told of one. They were the first crop and how cleverly had his father seen their potential and how well had he cultivated the harvest. Just look how the crops had grown year by year. Why, now they even brought their wives and children!

Zorba rubbed his hands in anticipation. He smiled and raised his glass to the Englishman - just as his father had taught him to do - so many years ago.

Simon, the Englishman, was lost in his thoughts and a carafe of clear liquid on the table before him, so he missed the friendly raised glass.

He was sad for years ago he had sailed to Greece and fallen in love with a prostitute. The poor girl had needed his money and disposed of her simple pleasures with a generous heart heart and a kind spirit. And how and how pleasant were her peasant ways, how pleasing her cheap and gaudy dress and how friendly her free and easy manner. It had had been no hardship -indeed a delight - to return in later years to renew his acquaintance.

He had first heard of this wonderful, sunny girl when he had sat on his grandfather's knee, and gazed in wonder into his grandfather's aesthetic old eyes, while he listened to tales of a wily peasant, and the adventures and mishaps that his grandfather had enjoyed in his company. Even then he had half fallen in love.

And now Simon had returned to look up this old love - this time in Crete, for she lived all over Greece. The previous morning he had sorrowfully inspected the town. God, how she had aged! Gone the gaudy dress. Her streets and alley-ways painted with the most garish of lipstick. His peasant prostitute had become a European whore. Her greedy, peasant soul now resided at the Midas Hotel.

The Englishman was not sure - but somehow he felt that she no longer wanted anted his money. There were far richer pickings to be had.

“Raki?"

Simon looked around in confusion. Had someone spoken to him?

"Parakalo?"

The words came from an overweight waiter.

Zorba beamed down. A smile required little effort on his part. Years of smiling had formed his features into a permanent crease. He beamed again. The Englishman seated at his table was about the same age as his son. Zorba's smile turned into a frown as he remembered. He wished that Spiros had some of that quiet, English temperament. A gloom appeared on his face.

"Don't you ever get sick of grinning at them?" his son had often sneered.

At times Zorba was heartedly sick of it and secretly sympathized with his son who would exclaim "Hah! Tourista!" as though he intended to get out his rifle and shoot them - as his grandfather, Zorba the Greek, had shot the carrion who pecked at his fruit.

The memory of his father restored something of Zorba's good nature. After all, it had been his goodwill and international reputation that had enabled him to set up his profitable business.

"Anglica?"

He smiled at the Englishman as he spoke.

"Eh?"

"Raki?" said Zorba.

"Raki," replied Simon politely.

The conversation languished and, with a grunt, Zorba retreated to his seat under a plane-tree, where he glowered at Englishman from a distance.

“These youngsters today,” he muttered under his breath. But, no matter, it was still going to be a good harvest this year. He glanced at his reflection in the cafe window, smiled with satisfaction and patted his paunch. His crops were flourishing all around him. Rich, plump, golden-brown fruit - fresh and ripe for the picking

• • • • • • • • • • • .

Simon tried to avoid the waiter's gaze. What had he done? Had something he said annoyed the old chap? The waiter had obviously tried to strike up a conversation. What was his interest in him? And why had he patted his paunch? Not that the gaze was hostile. It was ambivalent, solicitous, paternal - almost drooling, one might say.

He turned away and tried to dispel the unhappy thoughts that had entered his brain. "It must be the liquor, “ he mused. He was not used to such heady thoughts. The soul of Greece a whore? Indeed! What nonsense. He was, after all, on holiday and ought to be having fun.

Two weeks! Thirteen days, excluding the flight from London. Eleven if you discounted the day-long sea voyage there and back from Piraeus. Eleven days to enjoy himself. But what should he do first? Yes - first to work. It was a yearly task that had to be done.

'Dear Aunt Edna'. But what could he say? It was, indeed, very hot.

Simon had bought a sack full of postcards from a tiny shop in a side street. He had a large family and knew well the quantity required. The wily Greek proprietor had not only given him a generous bulk discount, but had thrown in a pen as bonus. Though old, and a little brown at the edges, the cards were still quite serviceable. They had been an absolute bargain.

Simon stared at the picture on the postcard before him - a panorama of the bay - and then he looked around the square for inspiration. His particular cafe straddled that corner of the square which led to the sea-front. What he saw bore little resemblance to the card.

He rummaged through the sack and pulled out a card at random. It was a view of the Gulf looking out to sea. Simon grimaced. Already he attempted a short swim in the bay - to wash off the dust from his voyage. He rubbed his calf where it had been cut by an object in the water. Another card fell out from the sack. And here was a view of the town from the sea. Fringed by the mountains, the town looked quite beautiful. And here was a view of the main promenade. 'Aphrodite Beach' was inscribed on the rear of the postcard. The sea looked invitingly blue. Simon dug out some more cards and spread them out on the table. Some were sepia-tinted and were of archaeological sites - Phaestos, Knossus. Ruins and bare rock dominated. And here was a photograph of a Greek Urn. A bacchanal. Young lovers in white and blue. Pottery and clay figurines.

Simon nibbled his pen thoughtfully.

....IT WAS A BURNING HOT, LATE JULY DAY IN THE YEAR OF 3000 A.D. HELENA CLARKE~ ASSISTANT TO PROFESSOR MORRISON .~ OF THE ARCHAEOLOGICAL PARTY, TOOK A SWIM IN THE BAY OF MEREBELLA THAT MORNING - DESPITE THE WARNINGS OF THE REST OF THE TEAM.

THEY HAD SEEN A GREAT MANY SHARP, RUSTY METAL OBJECTS BURIED IN THE SAND JUST OFF THE SHORE. FROM THE SHIP IT HAD SEEMED AS THOUGH THE SHORELINE UAS DISFIGURED BY AN UGLY, BROWN STAIN.

NEVERTHELESS!, HELENA HAD DONNED HER FLIPPERS AND DIVED INTO THE CLEAR, BLUE SEA. SHE FOUND THE COOL WATER REFRESHING AND, AS SHE CLIMBED ONTO THE BEACH,A COOL BREEZE RUFFLED HER SKIN. SHE FELT THAT SHE COULD LIE ON HER BACK AND BASK IN THE SUN ALL DAY - THAT UAS UNTIL A SHARP OBJECT DUG INTO HER CALF.

OUT OF CURIOSITY SHE DUG THE OFFENSIVE WEAPON OUT OF THE SAND. IT UAS A ROUND, METAL CYLINDER, ABOUT TEN CENTIMETRES LONG, AND SEALED AT BOTH ENDS. OF WHAT POSSIBLE USE WAS SUCH A STRANGE OBJECT?

THE TEAM HAD SEEN HUNDREDS AND THOUSANDS OF THESE CYLINDERS SCATTERED HAPHAZARDLY OVER THE BEACHES AND ON THE SEA-BED.

HELENA PUT THE CYLINDER INTO THE CARRIER OF HER HOVERPED AND SKIMMED OVER THE SEA TO WHERE PROFESSOR MORRISON AND THE REST OF THE TEAM WERE WORKING ON THE DIG CLOSE TO THE SHORE.

THEY HAD FIRST SEEN THE IMPRESSIVE RUINS FROM THE SHIP AS IT ENTERED THE BAY.

A BIZARRE, SPIDERY MOSAIC OF CONCRETE BEAMS AND POSTS STRETCHED FOR MILES ALONG WHAT SEEMED TO BE A ROUGH ROAD RUNNING PARALLEL TO THE SHORE. SOME OF THE BEAMS FORMED THE HOLLOW HONEY-COMBED SHELLS OF BUILDINGS - BUILDINGS OF A STRANGE LATTICE-LIKE CONSTRUCTION.

HELENA MAS BOTH SADDENED AND MOVED BY THE SIGHT OF THE RUINS. THEY SEEMED -TO HER -TO BE LONELY IN THEIR MAJESTY AND SOLEMNITY.

THE RUINS WERE DWARFED BY A RANGE OF GREY-GREEN SPOTTED MOUNTAINS IN THE DISTANCE - AND THE WHITE BEAMS SHIMMERED MYSTERIOUSLY IN THE OVERPOWERING HAZE OF BLUE SEA AND SKY. BUT THE ARTIFACTS AND REMAINS OF LONG DEAD CIVILIZATIONS ALWAYS MOVED HELENA. IT MAS WHY SHE HAD MADE THE DECISION TO TRAIN AS AN ARCHAEOLOGIST.

"IT MUST BE SOME SORT OF PRIMITIVE RECEPTACLE," THE PROFESSOR HAD BRUSQUELY SAID AS HELENA SHYLY OFFERED HER CONTRIBUTION TO THE DAY'S DIG.

HE HAD RUDELY, SHE THOUGHT, THROWN THE CYLINDER ASIDE.

SECRETLY SHE HAD BEEN RATHER DISAPPOINTED, FOR SHE LIKED THE PROFESSOR, IN SPITE OF HIS DONNISH WAYS. PERHAPS HE HAD JUST RESENTED HER INTRUSION? HE SEEMED TOTALLY ABSORBED IN THE DAY'S DIG AND, INDEED, HE HAD JUST MADE AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERY.

SCRAPING AWAY AT THE BASE OF ONE OF THE CONCRETE BEAMS HE HAD UNCOVERED A PRIMITIVE INSCRIPTION. 'CA-E BACCHUS' THE UNFAMILIAR SCRIPT SEEMED TO SPELL. EARLIER, FURTHER ALONG THE SHORE, CLOSER TO THE TOWN, HE HAD PULLED A ROTTING, WOODEN SIGN OUT OF THE RUBBLE. 'PERSE-IUS RENTABIKE' IT CLEARLY READ.

THE PROFESSOR HOPED THAT MORE SIGNS IN THE SAME SCRIPT WOULD BE UNEARTHED, IN THAT WAY, THE LINGUISTS ABOARD THE SHIP MIGHT BE ABLE TO PIECE TOGETHER THE WHOLE PRIMITIVE ALPHABET.

ALSO, WHILST DIGGING IN THE SAND SURROUNDING THE RUINS, THE TEAM HAD FOUND MANY PHALLIC SHAPED BOTTLES. 'CA' 'CO' 'LA' AND 'O’ WERE A FEW OF THE BARELY DECIPHERABLE. LETTERINGS THAT ADORNED THE CROUNS. IT WAS AN EXCITING DISCOVERY, FOR THE DESIGN OF THE GLASS SUGGESTED THAT THE BOTTLES WERE NOT OF AN INDIGENOUS CONSTRUCTION.

LABELLING ALL THEIR FINDS CAREFULLY, AND PUTTING THEM IN SEPARATE, NUMBERED PLASTIC BAGS,THE TEAM SPED BACK TO THEIR HEADQUARTERS, ABOARD THE EXPEDITIONARY SHIP, H.M.S ULYSSES, ANCHORED OUT IN THE BAY.

PERHAPS THE LEADER OF THE TEAM - DR MATTHEWS, HEAD OF THE DEPARTMENT OF LINGUISTICS, AND READER IN WHAT PROFESSOR MORRISON RATHER WHIMSICALLY TERMED ‘THE LATE TOURISTIC PERIOD’ COULD FIND SORT SORT OF EXPLANATION FOR THE DAY'S PLUNDER?..

‘Amigo?”

Simon looked up. He had finished he carafe of liquid before him. It was now dark. His eyes caught the clock face on the church tower opposite. It seemed to revolve. Five o'clock? No that couldn't be? Half-past ten? That was it! God, he'd been sitting there most of the evening

Simon put the pen away.

“Merci."

He paid the waiter and rose from his seat. One day of his holiday had passed already. He felt tired and a bit unsteady on his feet. It had been a long day. He decided to take a short stroll along the promenade before retiring early to bed. �

DAY TWO

It was the next day and late afternoon. Again Simon sat in the cafe corner by the town's main square. The cafe was conveniently near to his apartments - in the Hotel Sophocles just around the corner - and he had been sitting there since lunchtime.

"YASOU!”

"What?”

Simon looked up. "Yasou?" he queried, “Oh no, I mean - ."

He stopped in mid-sentence and gazed nervously at the waiter who stood before him.

"Kalymira?" enquired Zorba, “Raki?"

He beamed down at the young Englishman

"Kalymira?” Oh dear." Simon hesitated. “Oh yes, I know what that means,” He breathed deeply, “ Ah, ha, a good-day.”

He rummaged through his shoulder bag. It was nearly empty. But little would be needed for the day's entertainment. There was just two hundred drachmas in a purse; a towel; postcards, a pen and a notebook.

"Ah, here it is."

He sighed with relief. There it was under the towel. Just what he needed - a phrase book.

"Um, yes." he mumbled.

Zorba waited patently while Simon thumbed through the pages.

"Ah, ha - Ena beara, parakalo," said Simon.

He slowly ordered a beer then lazily watched the waiter as he circumnavigated the tables. The beer was a long time coming, but he was quite content just to watch the town come to life after the noon siesta. As the day had progressed, the few wooden chairs and tables beneath the plane-tree by the cafe-corner seemed to have multiplied - spawning strange plastic and metal offspring. By late afternoon these new tables and chairs had spread half way across the square.

Those small, wooden chairs closest to the cafe entrance seemed to be the preserve of the older Greek men - who were as gnarled and wrinkled as the overhanging olive trees which gave them shelter from the sun. As if by tacit consent, the visitors restricted themselves to the new, plastic offspring.

Simon wondered if the whole town operated under the same principle as the spreading tables and chairs?

He had first seen the town from the deck of the passenger ferry as it entered the bay. Then it had seemed to resemble a huge, white spider whose squat body hung over the quay. A few spindly legs clung to the mountain slopes, while others dipped gingerly into the sea and yet others inched along the shore-line feeling for safe footholds.

It had been a premonition. Close too, all the streets disappeared into a maze of unfinished buildings - the concrete shells of what Simon presumed were the tavernas; hotels; souvenir shops; bars, cafes and apartments yet to be. He wondered if - like the plastic tables and chairs - the new buildings were mere accretions which could be disassembled at night and stored away only to be resurrected in the morning? He hoped so.

Nevertheless, it was still a magic little town and it was very pleasant to sit there in the square, though Simon did rather envy the older Greeks their olive trees. But, over his head, spread some young, green vines. It was late July and the leaves and rich, plump fruit - fresh and ripe for the picking - hung suspended from a trellis. They gave him partial, if not complete protection from the sun.

He waited patiently for his drink, picking up a pen and idly doodling on the back of a postcard. Meanwhile, the waiter ambled slowly towards his table.

� ...ON THE DISCOVERY SHIP, H.M.S ULYSSES, ANCHORED OUT IN THE BAY, PROFESSOR MORRISON GINGERLY HANDLED A STRANGE METAL OBJECT HE HAD FOUND BURIED IN THE RUBBLE NEAR THE SIGN CA-E BACCHUS THE OBJECT WAS ABOUT EIGHT CENTIMETRES LONG AND SHAPED AND HONED TO A SHARP~ TRIANGULAR POINT. A SMALL METAL RIDGE~ OR LIP~ HAD BEEN STAMPED OUT OF THE METAL - JUST BEFORE THIS APEX. THE OBJECT SEEMED TO SERVE NO USEFUL PURPOSE... �

"Ena beara?”

"Parakalo."

Simon thanked the waiter.

....“HUM. SOME SORT OF ADORNMENT, OR PERHAPS A PRIMITIVE WEAPON?” THE PROfESSOR QUERIED TO HIS ASSISTANT.

HELENA BLUSHED WITH PLEASURE. THE PROFESSOR HAD BEEN REASONABLY POLITE TO HER ALL THE AFTERNOON AND! AS SHE SHE TOOK THE IMPLEMENT OUT OF HIS HAND, THEIR FINGERS ACCIDENTLY TOUCHED.

THE PROFESSOR BLUSHED IN RETURN. THE PREVIOUS DAY HE HAD SEEN A FLASH OF NAKED SKIN DIVE OFF THE SHIP AS HE WORKED ON THE DIG CLOSE TO THE SHORE. HE HAD BEEN RATHER SHOCKED WHEN HIS ASSISTANT HAD RISEN OUT OF THE WATER BEFORE HIM. NOW HE HAS SORRY THAT HE HAD BEEN SO CURT. HELENA HAD SHOWN PROMISE AS AN ARCHAEOLOGIST AND HE HOPED TO PRONOTE HER TO THE MAIN TEAM...

As the waiter busied himself with the bottle of beer, Simon watched some couples heading for the beach.

...THEY HAD ALSO FOUND WHAT THEY PRESUMED TO BE BUNDLES OF ANCIENT CLOTHING, NARROW STRIPS WHOSE PURPOSE SEEMED TO COVER THE MAMMERY GLANDS AND THE PRIMARY SEXUAL ORGANS. PRELIMINARY LABORATORY TESTS HAD INDICATED THESE STRIPS TO BE COMPOSED OF A POLY-EUROTHENE AND PRIMATIVE PLASTICS.

THE SCIENTISTS HAD TENTATIVELY DATED THE MATERIAL AS OF THE LATTER PART OF THE TWENTIETH CENTURY. AS NO SPECIALIST ON PRIMATIVE APPAREL HAD BEEN HIRED TO THE TEAM, PROFFESOR THOUGHT THAT HELENA COULD WELL FILL THE POST. SHE SEEMED TO HAVE A SPECIAL BENT FOR THE SUBJECT . INDEED, AFTER A BRIEF DISCUSSION!, SHE HAD CONFESSED TO A PREFERENCE FOR HIS FIRST OPINION - ON THE SUBJECT OF THE METAL OBJECT - THAT IT HAD BEEN A PIECE OF ADORNMENT.

“PERHAPS JEWELLERY?” SHE HAD QUALIFIED.

MANY SIMILAR IMPLEMENTS HAD BEEN FOUND ALL CLOSE TO THE SHORE AND MANY WERE ATTACHED, BY CHORDS, TO DISINTEGRATING LEATHER THONGS.

“A NECK-BRACELET?” HELENA HAD QUERIED FURTHER AS SHE HAS TRIED THE THONG AROUND HER PRETTY NECK.

BUT THE THONG WAS TOO LARGE.

"HOW ABOUT THE WAIST?" SAID THE PROFFESOR, HIS PROFESSIONAL CURIOSITY AROUSED.

HE HAD BLUSHED AS HIS ASSISTANT EXPERIMENTED, TRIED THE THONG AROUND VARIOUS PARTS OF HER ANATONY. IT FITTED PERFECTLY AROUND HER DELICATE WAIST AND THE METAL OBJECT DANGLED PROVOCATIVELY FROMITS CORD. BUT NEITHER THE PROFESSOR , NOR HIS PRETTY ASSISTANT, COULD FATHOM AS TO ITS POSSIBLE USE...

Simon envied the practiced flick with which the waiter prized the cap off the beer bottle. He took a tentative sip.

"Merci,” he said.

Zorba ambled away leaving the Englishman alone with the foaming glass and his thoughts. Simon dug out another handful of postcards. These were of island scenery.

“Do you really need all of those?"

A voice came from a nearby seat,

"Can't I have some'?"'

Simon looked around, startled. A huge back-pack parked on the seat next to him indicated a new arrival, and the sickly pallor of its owner the country of origin.

“My name's Douglas,replied the newcomer, adding "You've a large family," as he swept a hand across the postcards on the table.

Sinon laughed as he handed over a fistful.

“I got them as a job-Iot," he explained, they're a bit yellow at the edges, but quite servicable.”

Over another beer they discussed the weather, the town and the journey. Douglas confessed that he had not yet been able to find a place to stay. His friendly, freckled face promised an agreeable companion and, noting the sleeping bag, Simon decided to share his secret.

The previous day he had taken the local bus to the east of the town. Five miles along the coast road, down a slippery path, he had discovered a small cove. A sandy beach nestled among shady trees and a small taverna at the rear sold cold drinks and snacks.

He drew a small map on the back of one of the postcards indicating the spot Then, swearing Douglas to secrecy, he handed it over.

Douglas rose,

“Well, Goodbye then, Simon.

They decided to meet next afternoon on Aphrodite Beach.

Simon happily watched his new companion head towards the bus station. His holiday was certainly looking up. That morning he had taken an excursion to -the Gorge of Samaria on the southern side of the island. It had been a very enjoyable trip.

• * * * * * * *

At the head of the Gorge of Samaria a mountain rose. By some strange trick of early morning light, its peak seemed to resemble a face. The face of a kindly, old lion - or a vengeful Greek God - thought Simon after walking its eleven mile legnth.

He had begun the steep, two mile descent to the foot of the Gorge early in the morning. The rest of the party had enthusiastically bounded down the vertical path before him. Soon they were out of sight. But he was glad, for now he had the Gorge all to himself.

At the foot ran a stream of cold, clear water over white pebbles and smooth boulders. On either side rose huge mountains; their slopes covered with beautiful wild flowers, colourful shrubs and green pine-trees. The mountain peaks were barely visable in the hazy morning sun and the walls of the Gorge were so close together that the stream was in perpetual, cool shade.

On the descent, Simon fancied that he had seen some goats. Just for a moment high in the mountain passes - small doe like creatures, who disappeared the moment they were spotted. They bounded away with bursts of agility. To such goats Pan might have played. Perhaps his flute could just be heard over the quiet buzzing of the cicidae?

Simon bathed his arms and drank of the cool, refreshing mountain water,thinking thatin such surroundings, Ariadne and other nymphs of legend might well have frolicked and bathed. All was surrounded by calm. He was seized by a feeling of euphoria.Everything was allright. ‘Siga, Siga’ It was such a feeling of peace .Nothing could ever go wrong. It had always been like this. It would always be like this.

His reverie was suddenly destroyed by a stab of pain. Foolishly he had let one of his hands rest on the boulders that provided a convenient crossing point to the paths on either side of the stream. Someone had trodden on his fingers!

"You clumsy ---."

Simon shouted and gazed up in a rage of hurt which soon turned to astonishment. How dare he place his insignificant hand under the foot of so beautiful a creature?

“I”m sorry,” he mumbled.

A young girl stood silently before him dressed in a simple, white tunic. Was it a Greek costume or a t-shirt tied round her waist with, a piece of string? (Whatever it was - neither cloth covered her golden-brown legs.) The inscription across her pithy breasts 'WOMEN ON TOP' seemed to suggest the latter. Before Simon could decide, the girl strode away. She climbed across the boulders and down the stream, swinging her legs with all the agility of a mountain goat.

• * * * * * *

Later, as he sat at the table under the plane tree in the town’s main square, Simon reflected upon the moment as he sipped at a glass of Raki in his hand. Had It been a panic attack, he wondered? Hot flushes? Trembling limbs? The world had swayed. He felt sudden need to grab hold of something. A rock? His hand inched towards the biro on the table. Again, he sipped at the glass of Raki. What had he felt? Fear? No! It was such a feeling such as St Paul might have had on the road to Damascus.

• * * * * * * * **

Polyhymnia strode briskly over the pebbles and down the stream. She hardly looked where she was going and barely glanced at the stones beneath her feet. Damn! That was why she had not seen the hand. It had distubed her thoughts.

Polyhymnia was furious. The previous night at the Adonis Taverna on Aphrodite Beach. How could he?

"Allo Missie’ “o-where you from?"O where you go?"Ow like zee Engleesh rhose."

From the moment she arrived it had been like a Greek chorus. Spiros had been different - or so she had thought. More charming, much more handsome - and he had such a distinguished grandfather! But it was the same with all the boys. As soon as the evening progressed, the conversation changed. Spiros ignored her and talked with her friends. They even seemed to dance together.

She now wished that she had taken her usual holiday with her cousins at the family villa on the lower slopes of Mount Parnassus. But then there would have been that eternal family bickering.

How dare he treat her like one of the ordinary girls? She wasn't a piece of fuck fuck. Didn't he know who she was? No how could he? Why she wasn't even English! Come to think of it, she was more Greek than he was.(Englishness was a mere matter of convenience - no need to produce those bothersome papers of identity) A working holiday at her uncle's travel business 'Hermes Tours' on the town promenade.

Why, Spiros was only a waiter - no better than she! Polyhymnia strode angrily down the Gorge Gorge and up the mountain paths. She would teach him - but he was so handsome..

• * * * * * * * *

Simon nursed his injured fingers and stared at the figure of the retreating girl. Soon she was out of sight. But had he not seen her before? Handing out leaflets on the town promenade?

"Best trips in town" "Come and see" "Tours! Tours" "Boat trips" "Yes! All the sights" "Excursions" "Phaestos" "Knossus"

Despite her northern accent she was obviously English - like a beautiful siren he had thought. It had been she who had sold him the excursion to the Gorge of Samaria the previous night.

• * * * * * * * * *

After the morning's excursion, Simon had returned to the town in a state of dream-like shock. Sitting in the cafe by the town's main square, sipping his Raki, he pondered on the day's events.

The excursion had involved a night trip to Khania - on the north west coast - before crossing the island before dawn the following morning.Thus he had not seen much of the island scenery, save a vague impression mountain passes and twisting roads. There had been no access by road to the sea-mouth of the Gorge, so the journey had involved a short boat trip along the coast to Khora Sfakion - a neaby village. This village possessed a track leading to road that crossed the mountains. These mountains virtually divided the island in half.

Chugging its way though the blue sea the small boat had pulled into Loutro - a hamlet on the coast. The boat's colourful arrival, in white foam under the blue sky and grey rocks, was the main event of the day and the whole population had thronged the quay.

Among the welcoming crowd, Simon thought he recongised some faces from a previous holiday.

”Steven! Shiela.” he had shouted

The boat pulled away almost immediately. The churn of the engines and the sudden movement had nearly catapulted him over the tap-rail. But the hamlet had made a vivid impression on Simon - as vivid an impression as the girl had made upon him in the Gorge. There were a few tavernas; pensions, cottages and a small beach bathed in white light. Paradise!

Simon now wished that he had looked around and found such a small village at which to stay. Instead he had booked flight, voyage and accomodation as a package from a travel agent. But he could not complain. The agent had given him a generous discount for a late booking. His room was bare, but adequate. A bed, shower and washing basin was all that he required.

• * * * * * * * *

It was now approaching evening and Simon felt hungry. He paid for his drink and returned to his apartments in the Hotel Sophocles where he changed for dinner. Soon he was seated at the Cafe Bacchus in the main square - next to the cafe corner. He inspected the menu wearily for he had previous experience of Greek cuisine. Indeed, there was little choice on the menu. It was more a choice of which organ - the stomach, head, kidneys or liver - to inflict damage for the night.

He also knew full well that whatever he ordered, he could well be served the same thing. Eschewing, for the moment, the goat stew, he ordered chicken. A few moments later there was a squawk from the area of the kitchen. Simon smiled with inward satisfaction. No more would that damned cockerel awake him and his fellow travellers at such an unholytime.

The meal finished, Simon returned to his favourite seat by the cafe corner. He sipped an oozo.

It was now several hours into the evening and the square had filled up. The cafe opposite had too spawned its metal and plastic offspring and the whole square was now a writhing mass of people, chairs and tables. He wondered what would happen when the two cafes met? What strange objects would be formed from that unholy alliance? Would the whole square seize up? He hoped so. The mopeds, cyclists and a few small cars were beginning to take short cuts in between the tables. Indeed, one particular motor cyclist, indicating a left turn into the main street, had come perilously close to sweeping his postcards off the table and the pen out of his hand.

The church clock struck ten.

Simon rose. There would be time for a stroll through the town and and a night-cap on the quay before retiring to bed. The square was set at some distance from the harbour and was linked to it by the main street. This street was now ablaze with colour and resembled, in no small manner, an Eastern bazaar. Older Greek women, dressed in black, sat outside their stalls, knitting. Their wares were spread out underawnings and along the shop fronts. Even the plane-trees growing out of the pavements were festooned with woollen garments - suspended from the branches.

Simon wandered down to the harbour.

He bought a packet of cigarettes from a kiosk in a central position. These kiosks seemed to sell everything that even the most obdurate tourist might require. He wanted a local brand of cigarette and handed over a note.

"Karelia, parakalo," he said.

The little girl who served him was totally charming. The Greek children were beautiful, he thought. What warm, friendly smiles and those lovely, round, innocent eyes. There was a moment's distraction as the girl handed him his change. She gabbled furiously in Greek to an older lady sitting on a wooden chair by the kiosk. Simon presumed her to be the girl's grandmother. She looked very picturesque, shrivelled and dressed in black from head to toe. How charming. Local colour.

"Wait a minute?"

He had handed over a five hundred drachma note and only received the change for one.

Simon gazed at the little girl in the kiosk. A grubby little hand was held under the counter. She smiled sweetly.

"You little ----."

He glowered.

"No problems, signor."

"No problems?"

The little girl smiled with unconcern as she handed over the missing notes. The old lady looked on impassively as he walked further along the promenade.

Along the quay were now set tables under brightly coloured awnings. Rows of coloured light bulbs hung, suspended from their bare flexes. These bulbs, and the lights of the hotels and shops surrounding the harbour, reflected in the calm water where bobbed a few caiques. A few white yachts, stars and the hills behind, completed the scene. It was quite beautiful. In the distance could be seen the white frontage of a huge hotel. Its lights formed a solid, square reflection in the water of the bay, and its bulk stood out in sharp relief against the dark, brooding hills.

Rows of youths were strung across the top of iron railings. They serenely gazed upon the evening parade of lovers, families and children. All enjoyed the cool, night air - so refreshing after the heat of the day. The night was so beautiful that Simon suddenly felt sad that he was alone. He thought of joining the youths on the railings with their grandstand view of the evening parade. He strolled down the promenade practising the machismo walk. God! Was it difficult without high heels! There -a swing of the hips stomach out front. (The display was necessary for it was well known that, in this part of the world, a paunch was a token of wealth and virility. Simon had no wealth and no paunch. No matter, he consoled himself, a small, but noticable beer gut would have to suffice; though it was clear, from the paunches around him, that his was of little consequence.)

“Bravo, Bravo,” came from the crow, “Bellisimo”

Simon bowed graciously

For the second time that day, he smiled with nward satisfaction as he noted the swiveled heads, the smiles and the excited gossip from the railings. Practice would make perfect.

At the end of the promenade was the shop that sold 'Hermes Tours'. A few steps led to a dark interior and blackboards outside advertised the latest excursions. Simon stopped in his tracks. There was the girl!

She was beautiful.

A simple, white evening gown with one fold draped across a shoulder and another gathered in a gold bracelet above a breast, graced her slender figure. As she stood under a lamp-post, a pair of golden ear-rings sparkled so brightly that she seemed to be surrounded by a golden aora. She could not be English. The nose was too straight. Surely the noses of English girls tended towards the pert or the retrousse? But it was now or never. Simon was glad that he had changed for dinner and swung his jacket nonchalantly over his shoulder. It was now or never - before he lost his nerve.

• * * * * * * * * *

Polyhymnia stood in front of 'Hermes Tours' selling her wares. She always dressed up for she was only paid commission on those tours she sold. Nevermind, she always sold more than the other girls. Hephaestus had done her proud this year. He had always been her personal favourite of the step-brothers. And those ear-rings he had forged out of some old armour? How they sparkled! She shook her head and they flashed attractively in the light of the lamp-post.

But there was Spiros coming down the promenade. She would show him. He could not avoid her now.

"Spiros," she shouted, "Come here."

A handsome youth turned around.

"Missie?" he said.

Missie? Polyhymnia fumed.

"Of all the -," she swore under her breath.

She grabbed Spiros by the arm and kissed him on the lips.

"Hey - Missie?"

He tried to pull himself away.

"You and me - dancing," snarled Polyhymnia.

There was little Spiros could do but abjectly concur. Polyhymnia held his forearm in a hammer-lock.

• * * * * * * * *

Simon walked down one of the paths that led off the promenade. How could he have breen so stupid? What on earth made him think that she might? The Greek boy was handsome. There was no doubt about that. He had caught the flash of white teeth in the sparkling of an ear-ring.

He hid behind a plane-tree and spied on the couple as they headed, arm in arm, towards the town. His heart beat heavily and his shirt stuck to him with perspiration. Thank God she had not seen him. As if to add to his disappointment, Poseidon sent out a sudden gust of wind. It blew empty bottles of mineral water and garbage against the beach where bobbed the day's detr tus with the night tide.

It was suddenly quiet. The cicidae had ceased their chirruping. Simon disappointedly kicked a rusty can under some reeds. What moment ago had seemed magical now seemed less than commonplace.

He continued distractedly along the road to the west of the town, wishing ferventl y that he had gone to the Lake District instead. Walking in a daze, and hardly noticing his surroundings, he reached the Midas Hotel.

A huge coach with black-tinted windows pulled up by the hotel's wraught-iron gates and, with a hiss of air-conditioned brakes, nearly ran Simon down. The sharp 'schliick' of opening doors awoke him. He turned round and recoiled in horror!

Vivid black stripes ran down the side of the coach. They proclaimed 'Zeus Tours' and resembled forked lightening. A radiator grill resembled the teeth of a dragon. Did it hiss fire? Steam spurted out of the vents. A hot, steaming belly disgorged the beast's pale, frightened quarry while an underbelly vomited out their remains - baggage and suitcases. A lonely bucket and spade rolled disconsolately in the gutter. Then, with a frightening hiss and roar, the coach drove away.

Simon was temporarily destracted by the sound of an arguing couple.

"William, please don't row,”came a plaintive voice.

"Row, Prudence? ME?" came an anguished retort.

A child wailed and the wraught-iron gates opened. The pavement, that for an instant had milled with people, emptied like a sieve. The gates slowly closed as the Midas Hotel swallowed its prey.

All was quiet once more.

“Oh! Young man?"

A petite, middle-aged woman stood next to a trunk on which sat a young girl. The woman seemed nervous.

”What me?" said Simon, pointing to himself.

Nobody else was in sight.

The woman nodded so he approached.

”You woldn't be so kind as to give me a hand?" she pleaded.

The girl removed herself from the trunk and Simon dragged it over tothe wraught-iron gates.

"Thank you, that was most kind, " said the women, producing her purse.

"There's no need," he replied.

"Oh.”

I'm Mrs Robinson."

"I'm Simon."

They shook hands.

"And this is my daughter, Elizabeth."

Simon's heart skipped a beat as the girl's nose swivled in his direction and her face suddenly became illuminated by the lights of the hotel forecourt.

"Oh, hallo," he said.

She sniffed and turned away.

Mrs Robinson's eyes travelled the distance from her trunk, across the courtyard, to the hotel's entrance. Her eyes then setled on Simon.

"I don't suppose you'd care for a drink?" she enquired.

He apprehensively followed her gaze and stammered profuse apologies saying that he must really get back to town but perhaps another time?

”Oh yes. That would be fun.” said Mrs Robinson.

She seemed disappointed.

Simon waved goodbye as he headed back along the coast road. He turned round once and caught the girl staring in his direction. She sat on the trunk. Then the gates of the hotel opened and they entered.

As he walked along the road, Simon's spirit's Iifted. The hotel might well repay a visit the following morning. After all, Elizabeth was a very pretty girl.

• * * * * * * *

It was well past midnight before Simon reached the town. He had walked the whole two miles and now the harbour was nearly deserted. The kiosk was still open, though this time an old man peered out of the serving hatch. Out of curiosity, Simon bought another packet of cigarettes - with another large note. The same trick was repeated. He angrily demanded his change. a few moments the old man gabbled furiously.

"Me, Signor?" he complained.

There was a look of innocence on his face.

Simon demanded his change again.

“Karemata, parakalo," he shouted.

There was no reply. He glared. The same unconcern that he had seen on the face of the girl appeared before him. Simon glared some more.The visage seemed to crumble. Beads of sweat and oil poured down. Course, peasant features blurred into shape.

"Mistake, Signor."

As the old man handed over the money he shrugged his shoulders.

This time Simon was annoyed. He strode angrily down the main street and turned the corner to his hotel. Having only been there once before, and the town looking different at night, he soon lost his way. Seeing some lights in the distance, he headed in their direction and found himself in Hades Street.

Hades Street consited of a grimy row of bars and discos, lit by neon signs that had none of the charm and innocence of the rows of naked light bulbs festooned across the bay. Western pop-music blared out of loud-speakers.

In order to cool down and to find his directions, Simon went into one of the bars where he ordered a drink. It was an angry little place. The town was a sea-port. Men with sex-hungry eyes - violent - eyed the few girls in the bar, who had equallY sex-hungry eyes.

Finding that he was only a few streets away from his hotel, Simon sat outside. Opposite flashed a neon sign 'THE MEDUSA DISCO'. Its dance floor could just be seen from the street.

Simon was aghast. The girl from the promenade and the Greek youth were dancing alone. She danc:ed beautifully, lost in the rhythm of the music. The earrings, the white evening gown and the gold brooch glittered mesmerisingly in strobe lighting. He watched destractedly

...HELENA AND THE PROFESSOR HAD WANDERED OVER TO THE EAST OF THE EXCAVATION SITE. THEY HAD SPOTTED A FLASHING LIGHT FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BAY AND HAD COME TO INSPECT IT. IT WAS OBVIOUS THAT THE REMAINS TO THE EAST WERE OF A POORER QUALITY. THE CONCRETE HAD DISINTEGRATED AFTER ONLY A FEW HUNDRED YEARS.

THEY FOUND THAT THE FLASHING OF LIGHT HAD BEEN CAUSED BY A SQUARE PIECE OF METAL - ABOUT TWENTY METRES BY TWENTY REFLECTING IN THE SUNLIGHT. THEY CAREFULLY CLEARED DEBRIS OFF THE SURFACE AND FOUND MANY OF THE PHALLIC SHAPED BOTTLES AND MANY MORE PIECES OF THE STRANGELY SHAPED METAL OBJECTS.

"A SPORT'S ARENA?" SUGGESTED THE PROFESSOR.

THE SQUARE NATURE OF THE RAISED DIAS AROUND ITS PERIMETER SUGGESTED AN AREA SET ASIDE FOR CONTEST. THE PROFESSOR WALKED ONTO THE METAL SURFACE AND SLIPPED. HELENA FOLLOWED THE PROFESSOR. SHE TOO SLIPPED. AS THEY TRIED TO PICK EACH OTHER UP, THEY SLIPPED AGAIN - IN HARNESS.

THE PROFESSOR WAS HUGELY EMBARRASSED. THE METAL FLOOR HAD REFLECTED A GOOD DEAL OF HELENA'S THIGHS. (AND WHY HAD THE METAL NOT RUSTED?) WHAT HAD NOT BOTHERED HIM BEFORE NOW HAD MADE HIM QUITE QUITE DISTRACTED.

HELENA LAUGHED.

THEY SLIPPED AGAIN. IT WAS ALM0ST LIKE DANCING...

Polyhymnia was glad that she had taken those dancing lessons from her sister, Terpsichore. She twirled and pirouetted with reckless abandon.

• * * * * * * *

Simon could watch no more and staggered down the road. The combined effect of beer, oozo, wine and brandy from the bar made him quite drunk. As he passed one of the shabbier hotels a little arm seemed to come out of a door and tug at his jacket.

"Want a good time, mister? Sister? No problems."

He pushed the little arm away. He had no idea where he was. One cobbled street led into another cobbled street. It seemed as though hours passed. The streets were deserted. Wild cats from balconies hissed and scratched as he passed. Dogs growled out of doorways and dogged his heels. The lights of the town suddenly flickered out.

Was this hell?

Ah - water - the harbour - there - some plastic tables and chairs. Landmarks. A remembered doorway. Flower-pots that seemed familiar. A hand?

Simon had no idea how he got back to his hotel that night.

DAY THREE

ZORBA tended his crops carefully. It was not till mid morning that he inspected the fields by the seashore. By then the crops would have begun to multiply and grow vigorously and he could begin to estimate the size and potential of the day's harvest.

He sighed with contentment and patted his paunch. Yes - they were doing nicely - growing fine. Admittedly there were a few pale, weedy crops here and there, but he knew that with luck, and sunshine, the most unpromising of saplings could produce the most abundant fruit. He knew because his father had told him so.

All the same, Zorba clicked his worry beads nervously as he approached the Midas Hotel.

The fields and grazing land were still held to be common property but, by its sheer extent, the hotel had enclosed a sizeable stretch of the beach. And it was on Aphrodite Beach - whose sands extended from the town to the hotel - where grew the most profitable cash-crops.

It was not that Zorba did not appreciate the new farming methods. They resulted, when all was said and done, in increased profits and turnover. Take the case of his cousin, Stephano. Stephano ran the restaurant at the new hotel. They both bought their wine from the same wholesaler at the same price, but Stephano managed to sell his for three, even four times the price Zorba obtained at his taverna. It was all good, sound economics. (Zorba owned the Adonis Taverna, situated half way between the town and the hotel at an attractive point on Aphrodite Beach.)

No, in fact, he admired the new methods. Just look how the crops grew in nice, straight lines. It made gathering the harvest so much easier and, after all, you had to progress.

But, in quiet, reflective moments, Zorba admitted to himself that he did not get the same pleasure out of his crops that he used to - years ago. Now there seemed to be no need for all his years of experience and expertise. He had, after all, pioneered many of the methods. He was all too sadly aware that almost all of his old friends had adopted the new style of Athenian entrepreneurship. He growled, thinking of his son. Nevertheless, the crops were doing nicely - growing fine. Perhaps he was a bit old fashioned? Set in his ways? Out of impulse, he got out his fork and prodded a fresh, pink rump. Indeed, it was browning nicely. I n a week, or perhaps even less, it would be done to a turn.

• * * * * *

Prudence gave a yelp and turned over. A wily Greek face peered down at her. The man was holding a fork in one hand. The cheek of it! he was smiling!

• * * * * *

"Madame," exclaimed Zorba with a gracious bow.

He smiled and doffed his cap - just as his father has taught him so many years ago.

• * * * * *

Prudence was too shocked speak. She had just been assaulted! Instinctively she stiffened and covered her breasts, fearing a second, frontal attack. What could she do? Call the police? She stealthily peered around the beach. Where on earth was William? She inwardly cursed all men and husbands in particular, and then gave a sigh of relief. There were plenty of people within easy screaming distance.

The immediate problem over, Prudence relaxed, though she still hugged her breasts defensively.

What could she do?

She glowered to no effect. The bronze face still gazed down upon her. She wished that he would get it over and done with. Funny? There seemed to be no sexual interest in the eyes whatsoever; in fact, the gaze seemed concerned, solicitous - almost paternal.

Suddenly Prudence giggled. She couldn't help herself. She had never been molested in such an odd manner before. (The paunch was quite reassuring.) In fact, it had been a very long time since she had been molested at all. She lay back and closed her eyes.

• * * * * *

Zorba smiled. This was a healthy sapling. Well matured but good, promising responses. Once more he bowed courteously and then continued on his way down the beach.

• * * * * *

After a few moments, Prudence opened her eyes. She watched the old man's gentle progress as he ambled slowly between the rows of reclining figures. A word here - a smile and a caress there. Finally he sat down on a wooden seat under a eucalyptus tree near the beach.

She rubbed the sore patch on her rump and turned on her stomach. WHy? He was just a harmless, old eccentric. In a way she felt comforted - protected. For, as he sat under the tree -so still - with an old cap pulled low over his brow, he gradually merged into the landscape. And then, as he gazed along the beach and out to sea, Prudence felt as though he was tending them - he the shepherd, they his sheep.

She lay on her stomach and purred as the sun blazed down and soon dozed off to sleep.

• * * * * * *

The morning inspection over, Zorba sat under the eucalyptus tree while counted his crops.

There was the Englishman from his hotel. (Zorba also owned the Hotel Sophocles, though he seldom made an appearance there. It was quite capably run by his wife.) The youth looked rather out of place, sitting on a high-stool by the beach bar. Like a lettuce in a field of asparagus. No. Not one of his most profitable crops. Only one to a room.

It was quite true, thought Zorba, what they said about the English and the midday sun. He had found the youth staggering down the road well past midnight and had helped him to his room. The Englishman spoke gibberish. About 'plastic tables?' 'Goats?' 'Beasts of prey?'

"Christos!"

Zorba swore, for he had just seen his son walking towards the beach. That boy! Preening himself as usual. He frowned. His son should be at the taverna, scrubbing floors and washing dishes.

"These youngsters today," he growled.

• * * * * *

It was mid-morning and Simon had risen late - much later than the sun which had not yet reached its full frenzy. He sat on a bar stool and sipped a drink, hoping that Mrs Robinson and her daughter would make an appearance. After all, yesterday was yesterday. He winced and hoped that it had all been a bad dream. And the view was very pleasant.

Simon inspected the beach, the blue sea and the horizon.

But damn it! Yesterday had been no dream. He would recognise those white teeth anywhere. They would haunt him in his dreams. But what was the Greek youth doing?

• * * * * *

Spiros walked to the water's edge and dipped his toe in the blue sea, as though testing for temperature. Deciding that the water was yet too cold, he delicately drew his toe out as though it were a baby's bottom. He then swiveled his hips - thus exhibiting the pectorals to their best advantage,

As he strutted his elegant way past the rows of reclining figures, some of the women ran for cover, or dived into the water.

Simon thought it was rather like watching Moses part the Red Sea.

But then Spiros spotted the morning's entertainment. There - under a huge, colourful parasol - sat a girl alone. Plain, white skin indicated a new arrival. He flexed his arms and shoulder blades and crowed.

So that was it!

Comprehension dawned and, as Simon watched the Greek make a preliminary sortie, he leaned forward with extreme interest. Perhaps, if he observed carefully, he might be able to pick up a few points?

The girl was gazing out to sea.

The Greek strolled past, then returned a few moments later, in the opposite direction. Then he stood in front of her, obstructing her view of the sea.

"Ah, ha, the opening gambit," thought Simon.

The Greek stood still for a moment. He then slunk towards the water, swinging his buttocks. Obviously professional at work. How on earth did do it without high heels?

At the water's edge, the Greek repeated his toe-dip, torso swivel.

The girl glanced up, sniffed and turned away.

Simon nodded

"First attract the attention,” he murmured and reached for his biro to take notes.

The girl had returned to her philosophical inspection of the sea and the distant horizon when, suddenly, a voice intruded on the scene.

"My, she's going to be a tough one to crack."

Simon turned. An Englishman stood by the bar.

"Yes,” Simon replied.

The portly gentleman raised his arms in despair.

“How is he going to cope” he said.

They grinned at each other.

"I'm Simon."

"I'm William."

They shook hands and returned their attention to the beach.

All watched the build up to the approach. Women half-rose from deck chairs and sunglasses were raised, A crowd of Greeks had gathered by road and Simon noted, out of the corner of his eye, that a few notes were being furtively exchanged. Were bets being taken? A few binoculars had been produced and a few ribs had been nudged. A hush descended on the scene and, all that could be heard, was the gentle rustle of the surf on the sand.

Meanwhile, Spiros had nonchalantly strolled over to one of the deck chairs that lay at frequent intervals along the beach. He reclined, lazily stretching out his arms, and yawned. Then he delicately rubbed one of his long, oiled legs with the instep of his foot.

The girl still stared out to sea.

The Greek rose once more, walked again to the water's edge and took a short swim.

Simon noted that, when he returned, he had moved quite a few deck-chairs nearer to the girl. He was making the approach! Simon leaned further forward. Damn! He could hear nothing but the lapping of water and the cicada.

Spiros looked to the left and to the right, flicking his hand through the comb of his hair. He made a few pecking motions of his head in the direction of the girl. She backed away, making converse motions of hers.

Would he mount her on the beach?

There was a sudden flash of white teeth in the sunlight and a smile and he girl turned round from the sea.

God! Simon gave a start. It was Mrs Robinson's daughter! That face with its distinctive, upturned nose - was visible even from the beach bar.

”The greedy sod," complained Simon, "What on earth does he want two of them for?"

William concurred heatedly though he had little idea of his companion's real despair.

Simon grasped at straws. Perhaps she would turn the Greek down? Perhaps she would be washing her hair that evening? Seconds passed like hours. More words were spoken. It was like watching a game of poker. Would the Greek win? Simon looked on in anguish. Perhaps the Greek would drop dead? Every cloud had a silver lining -or so he had been told.

No! The girl rose from her towel, gathered her possessions, and meekly followed Spiros off the beach. She walked a few paces behind him.

It was as though Jesus had just summoned a new disciple.

A feeling akin to rejection tore through Simon's beating breast. He felt as though he had lost the game, even though he had not played a hand. No! That was not quite true. He had already come face to face with that upturned nose and had felt the full opprobrium of the sniff. The sniff was a challenge - provocative - in its way.

“It is likely, he commented, “that the Greek had succeeded where many have failed.”

William raised the palms of his hand.

“Well - maybe,” he said

The crowd by the road slowly dispersed and sunglasses were lowered, All returned to the sun god.

Simon ordered another drink and gulped it down.

As he watched the couple disappear - down the same road that he had seen the Greek take the girl from the promenade the previous evening - it seemed as though the Greek clucked and crowed.

"Life," he moaned silently.

William placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

"Have another drink," he suggested.

Simon gulped it down.

• * * * * *

After a third drink and an hour, Simon he calmed down. The sun, sea and warm air did the rest. There was still much to admire . Mounds, peaks, valleys and gently declining slopes as far as the eye could behold. Why! A girl even stood by the shore's edge, dressed demurely in shorts and a halter top. As she dipped her foot in the water, her back arched gracefully against the blue sky.

Simon sipped his drink appreciatively.

...IT WAS MID-MORNING. HELENA AND THE PROFESSOR HAD STROLLED DOWN TO THE SHORELINE IN FRONT OF THE RUINS OF THE PALACE. BOTH WERE CURIOUS AS TO WHY THE SHORE-LINE HAD BEEN CONCRETED OVER?

“OF WHAT POSSIBLE USE WAS A HARBOUR WITH A DEPTH OF FIFTEEN CENTIMETERS?” SAID HELENA .

‘WELL? --”

BUT, EVEN WITH ALL HIS EXPERIENCE, THE PROFESSOR COULD NOT RECALL HAVING COME ACROSS ANY VESSELS WITH SO SHALLOW A DRAUGHT.

HELENA TOOK OFF HER SHOES AND DIPPED HER TOE IN THE SEA. SHE QUITE LIKED THE FEEL OF WATER AND TOUCHED IT WHENEVER SHE COULD. SHE FOUND THE CONCRETE CONVENIENT. IT WAS NOT QUITE UNBEARABLE TO THE TOUCH AND THERE WAS NO NEED TO BRUISE THE DELICATE SOLES OF ONE’S FEET ON THOSE SHARP PEBBLES - OR GET THAT TICKLISH SAND IN-BETWEEN ONE’S SENSITIVE TOES.

METAL PRONGS PROJECTED OUT OF THE CONCRETE AT EVEN INTERVALS. SOME WHERE JOINED TO RUSTY SPRINGS AND TO THE REMAINS OF METAL FRAMES. HELENA THOUGHT THEY RESEMBLED COUCHES. THE FRAMES RECLINED AT JUST THE RIGHT ANGLES. VISIONS OF ROMAN FEASTS CONSUMED UNDER A CANOPY STARS FLITTED THROUGH HER MIND - AND THE SUN BEAT DOWN.

“HELENA! HELENA! LOOK!"

THE PROFESSOR SHOUTED LOUDLY FOR HE THOUGHT THAT HE HAD SEEN SOME FIGURES IN THE FOOTHILLS . PERHAPS THERE WERE NATIVES?

"HELENA! HELENA"

HE LOOKED AROUND ANXIOUSLY. HELENA WAS NOWHERE TO BE SEEN.

"HELENA, "WHERE ARE YOU?"

HE SCANNED THE SEA, BEACH AND FOOTHILLS. NOTHING BUT SKY, MOUNTAINS AND SAND. SHE HAD DISAPPEARED. GOD! HAD SHE BEEN ABDUCTED? WAS IT A RAIDING PARTY? THE PROFESSOR'S HEART BEAT WILDLY. HE STARED TOWARDS THE HORIZON IN CONFUSION AND THEN DOWN AT HIS FEET. HE SIGHED WITH RELIEF. THERE SHE WAS - SAFE. BUT WELL?

• * * * * *

AT FIRST THEY HAD THOUGHT IT TO BE SOME FORM OF SLEEPING SICKNESS, CONTRACTED DUE TO HELENA'S HABIT OF TAKING AN EARLY MORNING SWIM. BUT CHEMICAL ANALYSIS HAD SHOWN THE WATER TO BE RELATIVELY BACTERIA FREE. BUT THEN HER SKIN HAD TURNED TO AN ALARMING COLOUR.

THE TEAM HAD RUSHED HER TO THE SICK BAY ABOARD SHIP AND, DESPITE HER PROTESTATIONS THAT SHE HAD NEVER FELT BETTER IN HER LIFE. THEY LOCKED HER IN THE ISOLATION WARD.

SHE WAS RELEASED FIRST THING IN THE MORNING AFTER THE SHIP'S DOCTOR HAD GIVEN HER A THOROUGH MEDICAL EXAMINATION AND PRONOUNCED HER A.I

“ITS NOTHING, OLD MAN,” HE HAD SAID TO PROFESSOR M0RRISON, “JUST AN ELEMENT IN THE SKIN'S PIGMENTATION REACTING TO THE SUN'S RAYS."

"IS IT CATCHING?"

“NO, QUITE HARMLESS."

"AND THE SLEEPING SICKNESS?" QUERIED THE PROFESSOR

"PURE LAZINESS~ OLD MAN."

BUT PROFESSOR MORRISON WAS NOT SO SURE THE COMPLAINT HAD FIRST BEEN CONTRACTED BY HIS ASSISTANT THE PREVIOUS DAY BUT, THAT MORNING, SOME OTHER MEMBERS OF THE TEAM HAD SUCCUMBED TO THE DISEASE.

INDEED, HE HIMSELF, HAD BEEN HORRIFIED WHEN HE AWOKE. SKIN HAD STARTED TO FLAKE ODD THOSE PARTS OF HIS BODY WHICH HAD BEEN EXPOSED TO THE SUN. AND WHEREAS HELENA HAD TURNED A NOT UNATTRACTIVE SHADE OF BROWN, HE HAD TURNED A BULBOUS SHADE OF PINK.

OVER BREAKFAST HE HAD CASUALLY MENTIONED TO THE DOCTOR THAT HE HAD BEEN UNABLE TO SLEEP THE PREVIOUS NIGHT DUE TO AN ITCHING SENSATION AND, DRAMATICALLY, UNROLLED THE BANDAGES FROM HIS FACE.

"CONTAMINATION?" HE HAD ANXIOUSLY ENQUIRED.

THE DOCTOR HAD ROARED WITH LAUGHTER. "ITS ABSOLUTELY HARMLESS, OLD MAN ," HE HAD SAID, PATTING HIM REASSURINGLY ON THE ARM.

PROFESSOR MORRISON HAD SCREAMED IN AGONY AS THE DOCTOR TOUCHED ONE OF THE DISEASED PARTS OF HIS BODY. THUS IT WAS WITH WORRY AND CONCERN THAT HE PEERED DOWN AT HIS ASSISTANT, WHO LAY IMMOBILE AT HIS FEET. HE SIGHED, KNOWING FULL WELL THAT IT WAS OF NO USE COMMUNICATING WIT HER WHILE SHE SUFFERED ONE OF HER BOUTS. THESE WERE USUALLY ACCOMPANIED BY A PURRING SOUND AND, FROM THE NOISE BELOW, IT SEEMED AS THOUGH HELENA WAS ENDURING A SEIZURE. HE LOOKED CLOSER.

• * * * * *

HELENA HAD FASHIONED A MAT OUT OF PLAITED REEDS AND LAY PRONE ON HER BACk. SHE HAD TAKEN TO WEARING SHORTS AND HAD TUCKED UP HER SKIRT TO EXPOSE HER MIDRIFF. HER BREASTS WERE THUS COMPACTED IN A MOST ATTRACTIVE FASHION.

THE PROFESSOR WIPED THE STEAM OFF HIS GLASSES. HE PEERED A LITTLE CLOSER. GOD! BEADS OF SWEAT HAD APPEARED ALL OVER HER BODY. SHE POSITIVELY GLISTENED. WAS SHE IN A FEVER?

"HELENA? HELENA? DOES IT HURT?"

HE TOUCHED HIS ASSISTANT GINGERLY WITH HIS FINGERTIPS.

"HUM?" SHE SAID, BLINKING HER EYES, "LUNCH ALREADY?”

SHE PURRED AND TURNED OVER ON HER STOMACH, PRESENTING A VIEW OF A PERT BACKSIDE.

RATIONAL, IF INCOMMUNICADO, THOUGHT THE PROFESSOR, THOUGH HE HAD TO ADMIT THAT SHE POSITIVELY GLOWED WITH HEALTH, LOOKED ABSOLUTELY RADIANT.

NEVERTHELESS, HE RINSED HIS FINGERS CAREFULLY IN SEA-WATER BEFORE RETURNING TO THE MAIN EXCAVATION PARTY WHO WERE WORKING ON THE REMAINS OF THE PALACE. AS HE INSPECTED THE GLORIOUS RUINS, ALL THOUGHTS OF HER ILLNESS - AND ALL THOUGHTS OF THE FIGURES HE HAD SEEN IN THE FOOTHILLS - FLED FROM HIS MIND.

THE TEAM HAD WORKED WELL AFTER ONLY A FEW DAYS THEY HAD EXPOSED THE WHOLE FOUNDATIONS. IT HAD BEEN A STRUCTURE OF IMMENSE PROPORTIONS. ONE OF THE HOST PERFECT OF ITS TYPE HE HAD SEEN.

“MY, THOSE GREEKS CERTAINLY KNEW HOW TO SITE THEIR BUILDINGS,” SAID A SOFT, FEMALE VOICE.

PROFESSOR MORRISON TURNED.

“AH, HELEN’” YOU'VE RECOVERED.”

BOTH GAZED IN AWE AT THE MAJESTIC SIGHT BEFORE THEM. DUE TO ITS DOMINANT POSITION ON THE PROMONTORY, THE PALACE RUIN COULD BE SEEN FROM ANY PART OF THE BAY AND IT DWARFED THE SURROUNDING ARCHAEOLOGICAL SITE. OVER A THOUSAND YEARS OLD THE RUIN HAD ACQUIRED A MYSTERIOUS PRESENCE. IT NOW BELONGED THERE.

“WHAT A SHAME, THE STEREOBATES AND INFRASTRUCTURES SEEM TO HAVE COMPLETELY DISINTEGRATED.”

THE PROFESSOR SPOKE QUIETLY - ALMOST TO HIMSELF.

HELENA AGREED.

IT WAS TRUE THAT ONLY THE SUPPORTING SHELL AND THE CROSS-BEAMSOF MANY OF THE ROOMS REMAINED. THROUGH THEIR STRANGE, LATTICE-LlKE CONSTRUCTION COULD BE SEEN EITHER THE SEA, THE SILENT, BROODING MOUNTAINS OR THE BLUE SKY.

HELENA FELT LIKE AN INTRUDER.

"YES - PURE NEO-CLASSICAL HIGH-RISE," MUSED THE PROFESSOR.

HE KNEW THE ORDER WELL.

THEY BOTH GAZED TOWARDS THE SKY. THE REMAINING CENTRAL,STRUCTURAL PILLARS TOWERED MAJESTICALLY ABOUT FORTY METRES ABOVE THE GROUND.

"THE TRIGLYPHS ON SOME OF THE LOWER ARCHITRAVES SUGGEST A PERSUASIVE INFLUENCE OF SPANISH GOTHIC. WOULDN'T YOU AGREE?"

"HUM, YES," REPLIED HELENA, "BUT NOT UNPLEASANT," SHE ADDED.

THE PROFESSOR FROWNED AND SHE WISHED THAT SHE HAD KEPT HER MOUTH SHUT. HE WAS A WELL KNOWN PURIST.

A LARGE, SUNKEN BASIN WITH A STRANGELY DECLINING BASE HAD BEEN EXCAVATED TO THE WEST OF THE FRONTAGE.

THEY WALKED IN REVERENTIAL SILENCE ALONG A DIAGONAL CAUSEWAY WHICH LINKED THE RIM OF THE BASIN TO WHAT THEY IMAGINED TO BE THE MAIN ENTRANCE HALL. FRESCOES OF A LATE, POSTMODERNIST DESIGN WERE SET INTO THOSE PORTIONS OF THE PORTICO WHICH REMAINED STANDING.

THEY PASSED UNDER AN ARCHWAY.

THE TEAM HAD CLEARED OUT THE VESTIBULE AND UNCOVERED A MARBLED, TILED FLOOR COVERING. THEY HAD ALSO PROVISIONALLY MAPPED OUT THE EXTERIOR COURT. LARGE, WROUGHT-IRON GATES BURIED IN THE RUBBLE NEXT TO A ROUGH, BEATEN TRACK, SUGGESTED ITS OUTER PERIMETER.

THE PROFESSOR GAZED AROUND AND ABOVE.

THE BUILDING WAS ABOUT ONE THOUSAND METRES IN LENGTH, THOUGH NOT MORE THAN FORTY IN WIDTH. A FEW PRIMITIVE STEEL STRUTS STILL PROJECTED OUT OF THE SUPPORTING PILLARS. THUS HE WAS ABLE TO ESTIMATE THE SIZE AND PLACEMENT OF THE VARIOUS BED-CHAMBERS AND THEIR ANTI-ROOMS. THESE WERE ABOUT FIVE METRES BY FIVE AND SITED REGULARLY ABOVE EACH OTHER.

"WHAT ECONOMY OF SCALE " HE SIGHED, "WHAT PRECISION! WHAT FORM! AH, PERFECTION!"

HIS EXPERIENCED EYE COULD PLACE THE SITES OF THE LIFT-SHAFTS.

"AN UNUSUAL FEATURE OF BUILDINGS OF THIS AGE IN THIS PART OF THE WORLD," HE COMMENTED.

“TRUE,” SAID HELENA AS SHE JOTTED ALL HIS WORDS DOWN IN HER NOTEBOOK AND JIGGLED WITH HER CAMERA AND TAPE-RECORDER.

AS YET, FEW ARTIFACTS HAD BEEN DISCOVERED WHICH GAVE MUCH CLUE AS TO THE LIFESTYLE AND APPEARANCE OF THE LONG DEAD INHABITANTS.

THE PROFESSOR AND HIS ASSISTANT JOINED THE REST OF THE PARTY AND CAREFULLY BEGAN SIFTING THROUGH THE DUST AND RUBBLE OF ONE BED-CHAMBER. AFTER AN HOUR, THEIR SIEVES CONTAINED LITTLE APART FROM SOME ANCIENT COINS.

THERE WERE FEW LARGER ARTIFACTS IN THE ROOM, THOUGH THEY FOUND A PUZZLING SQUARE ORNAMENT WITH A STRANGE INDENTATION SET IN ONE OF ITS RIMS. WHAT ON EARTH HAS ITS FUNCTION?..

Mrs Robinson perched on the edge of her bed and puffed nervously at a cigarette. It was quite a nice room, she thought. The walls were white-washed and had attractive, coloured rugs as adornment. Rug matting covered the floor. Two beds lay close together and verandah windows led to a balcony with a view out to sea. If one breathed in deeply it might just be possible to squeeze onto the balcony and then, by straining one's neck and peering sideways, it might just to be possible to see the beach.

But Mrs Robinson's mind was otherwise occupied.

She eyed the other bed in the room. There was a dishevelled, barely slept-in look about it and her daughter had rushed out onto the beach early that morning.

The previous evening, Elizabeth had wanted to go to the disco. Her plea had been made in the same voice that she had used as a child when she wanted to go to the toilet.

Mrs Robinson could not refuse.

Now she looked at her watch. It was now nearly lunchtime and her daughter had not yet returned.

“These youngsters today," she muttered.

It seemed unlikely that Elizabeth would make an appearance before evening so she decided to catch a bus into town.

She waited at the bus-stop by the wrought-iron gates.

This bus-stop was elegantly composed of a vine tree with a time-table nailed to its tacky stem. Under its branches - mrs Robinson hid from the heat of the sun. She was an English rose and did not transplant easily.

A cloud of red dust pulled round the corner.

Tentatively, she put out a hand from under the tree. The sun beat mercilessly down on her exposed skin,

She screamed.

An immediate retreat was made to the bus-stop where she nursed an injured hand under the cool shade of its branches.

The red cloud stopped

She looked up hopefully for a passing cloud. None were in the sky. But it was only a short run to the bus and its dark interior beckoned invitingly.

The bus purred.

"Ayos?" enquired a dark face, poking out of the door.

"Hum? Oh - yes?"

The bus chugged impatiently while Mrs Robinson thought about the offer. There was only one road into town and the bus seemed to be pointing in the right direction. She tried to decipher an unfamiliar script above the driver's window.

Dark faces peered interestedly down at her from the windows.

Madame?"

"Oh My!" said Mrs Robinson exclaimed with confusion and not a little apprehension as the decision was taken from her. A strong arm emerged from the bus, plucked her off the road, and she was deposited inside the bus.

"Oh, thank you, driver," she said with petite courtesy.

She perched on a seat, flustered and a little alarmed. Already she was aware that, though the native population might take hours deciding on a course of action, it’s execution would be carried out at tremendous speed. Indeed, the bus roared off with a grinding of gears

Mrs Robinson's maternal stomach lurched with the bus as it curved around the corner. She struggled to the rear window and stared at the disappearing beach. There was her daughter sitting safe in a taverna. Her pretty, sun-burnt, up-turned nose shone like a cat's eye on a dark road and was easily visible from the bus.

Relieved, she edged onto a seat next to an old woman, dressed in black. She accidentally jogged a cardboard box that the old woman carried on her lap.

"Whoops."

"Baa! Baa!"

"Oh my!"

Mrs Robinson recoiled. The head of a young lamb poked out of the box and bleated pitifully every few seconds.

"I am so sorry," she apologised, then peered around the bus while she tried to calm her shattered nerves. Before her sat a young girl almost dressed in a blue bikini. The girl's dark, sun-tanned skin was covered in down and flecks of golden sand and Mrs Robinson was tempted to reach out and stroke her. The girl wore golden earrings which sparkled and she was mesmerised.

Music blared from a loudspeaker suspended from the roof by a bare flex. The bus screeched to a halt at a stop convenient for the taverna where he daughter sat and Mrs Robinson was tempted to get out after the beautiful girl who moved towards the door. There was a sudden uneasy silence as hungry eyes followed the girl's slender form and graceful movements. Then the bus sprayed a cloud of fine, red dust as it accelerated down the road.

Mrs Robinson tapped a nervous foot to the music and waited impatiently for the town to come into view.

• * * * * *

Prudence awoke, yawned and turned on her side, Ah, there was her husband.

"William! WILLIAM! I'm over here."

William peered along the rows of bodies on the beach. He had left beach bar and had ambled down the beach, hoping to come across his wife. He was puzzled. Ah, the twenty fifth body on the third row had a mouth open. That must be his wife?

He ambled over.

Prudence viewed her approaching husband with apprehension. From a distance, it seemed as though he was in a good mood.

Now he was above her.

“Prudence, where have you been?” he said.

“Where have I been ? Of all the --”

She muffled her reply, “No arguments, please,” and crossed her fingers.

“Let;s walk into town. Its only a few miles,” said her husband.

“But, William, it’s too hot.”

“Nonsense, woman.”

He strode off.

Prudence slipped on her dress, picked up her belongings and followed meekly behind him.

• * * * * *

Zorba sighed as his crops dispersed from the beach. Watering and feeding time was approaching. Indeed, the crops had started to wither badly - parched in the mid-day sun. He rose from his cool seat under the eucalyptus tree, unpadlocked his bike from the wrought-iron gates and peddled into town.

...AS THEY SIEVED THEIR WAY THROUGH THE RUBBLE, PROFESSOR MORRISON SUDDENLY REMEMBERED THE FIGURES HE HAD SEEN IN THE FOOTHILLS AND MENTIONED THEM TO HIS ASSISTANT.

“COME ON,SCAREDY CAT” WAS HER IMMEDIATE RESPONSE.

“BUT HELENA'? THE DANGER. YOU DON'T KNOW --- “ HIS WORDS EVAPORATED IN THE DRY SUN.

“....HELENA. HELENA. WAIT FOR ME.”

SOON HELENA WAS A FIGURE IN THE FAR DISTANCE.

THE PROFESSOR FINALLY CAUGHT UP WITH HER IN WHAT THEY HAD ASCERTAINED TO BE THE TOWN'S MAIN THOROUGHFARE. HELENA WAS DIGGING IN THE RUBBLE OF ONE SMALL RUINS.

“LOOK, PROFESSOR,” SHE SHOUTED '" WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THESE?”

HE WHEEZED TOWARDS HER.

“IT MUST HAVE BEEN A POTTER'S SHOP,” SHE CONTINUED, HOLDING UP SOME PIECES OF POTTERY FOR HIS INSPECTION.

“YES HELENA. VERY GOOD.”

THE FLOOR WAS LITTERED WITH CRACKED PIECES OF EARTHENWARE. SOME OF THE PIECES WERE GLAZED BLUE - SOME WHITE AND BLACK. THE PROFESSOR PEERED AROUND IN VAIN, LOOKING FOR AN OVEN.

SUDDENLY HELENA SAW SOMETHING OUT OF THE CORNER OF HER EYE.

“LOOK, PROFESSOR! A CHURCH!”

HONESTLY, HE THOUGHT, SHE HAS LIKE A LITTLE CHILD. BUT THERE IT WAS - AT THE END OF THE THOROUGHFARE - WHITE AND PERFECTLY PRESERVED.

AS SHE RUSHED OFF TO INSPECT. HE PICKED OUT SOME OF THE MORE COMPLETE VASES AND PUT THEM ASIDE, READY TO CARRY BACK TO THE SHIP FOR FURTHER ANALYSIS. THEN HE WHEEZED SLOWLY UP THE STREET. BUT, BY THE TIME HE REACHED HIS ASSISTANT, SHE HAD ALREADY FORGOTTEN THE CHURCH.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK THESE WERE FOR?" SHE QUERIED.” KICKING AT SOME PIECES OF TWISTED METAL AT HER FEET.

"CAREFUL HELENA. OH, REALLY. THEY'RE CHAIRS."

THE PROFESSOR INSPECTED THE SURROUNDING AREA.

"THIS MUST HAVE BEEN THE MAIN SQUARE - THE FOCAL POINT," HE SAID, "LOOK~ THERE'S SOME SORT OF FOUNTAIN BASE IN THE CENTRE."

BUT HIS ASSISTANT HAD ALREADY SCAMPERED OFF - UP A ROAD THAT LED INTO THE FOOTHILLS.

"HELENA, COME BACK," HE SHOUTED, "WHERE DO YOU THINK WE ARE? ON HOLIDAY?"

HE FOLLOWED HER UP A TRACK THAT LED INTO WHAT SEEMED TO BE A FIELD OF OLIVE-TREES.

Mrs Robinson alighted from the bus at the harbour quay just in front of a kiosk that seemed to sell everything. She bought some insect repellent.

Not much change from such a large note she thought, as she fingered a few coins and walked up the main street. She glanced backwards, over her shoulder. The girl who had served her smiled sweetly and waved.

But Mrs Robinson was too tired to think. Her nerves had been strung up by the bus trip and she hardly slept the previous night.

"One hundred and ten in the shade,” had been muttered in the bar.

She knew the remark would be repeated when they all returned home - as though dark skins had been achieved at great personal cost.

And then the night had been sultry. A hot wind had blown. Then she had been aroused by a slight rumble and seen the light bulb, suspended from the ceiling, sway. She had rushed down the stairs in fright. "Ees nothing,“ said the concierge, ‘Eees earth tremor. Sometimes ‘appens at time of year.”

Now, as she walked through the main street, she inspected the sky and the mountains. Both seemed solid enough and the sun beat down

She entered one of the shops.

It was dark inside and refreshingly cool. Pottery was for sale. The next shop sold clothes; the next was a bank, and then a post-office. A visit could easily be made to all three. She calculated that, if she spent some time in each shop, she would reach the main square in a few hours. Thus too prolonged an exposure to the sun would be avoided.

Some tables and chairs could just be seen at the far end of the street and, in the distance, a fountain and a church. Its clock-face and the rumblings of her stomach proclaimed the approach of lunch-time.

Mrs Robinson decided that, after her shopping expedition, she would have a cold drink and something to eat under the shade of a plane-tree which was just visible at the junction of the main street and a square.

• * * * * *

Simon sat at a table in the interior of a cafe among the olive-trees behind the town. He nibbled at a lunch of tomato salad and drunk from a bottle of white wine. He had taken a walk in the hills to clear his mind before meeting Douglas in the afternoon. He sipped at the wine more to numb his embarrassed thoughts than out of thirst, for it had happened again!

He had stopped at the office of 'Hermes Tours' on his way through the town. Now that the Greek had appropriated Mrs Robinson's daughter, might not the other girl selling the tours be free? He had entered the door with jacket thrown nonchalantly over one shoulder and a heart that beat wildly. But she had not been there. A Greek girl sat behind a desk.

"You van't Pollee?" she had asked.

So that was her name.

"Pollee?" the girl had repeated.

How could she have known? Of course! What an idiot he was. Many men must have entered the office for that very same reason. The girl's dark eyes had drilled into his brain with what seemed to be disgust. He might well have plaintively asked "Since when was falling in love a crime." For that was the case. But, on reflection, he supposed her look was for the way he had walked into the door post on his way in.

Sitting in the cafe among the olive-groves, he reddened at the thought. Those sunglasses had certainly been a bad buy. He had bought them at the same shop from which he had purchased the sackful of postcards. Any air of mystery the glasses might have imparted - any glamour - was soon cancelled out if one could barely see through them. Sunglass technique was a skill the Latin race absorbed at birth while those from a more temperate climate required lessons. Nevertheless, the memory of his encounter with the Greek girl in the agency, and the look on her face, smarted.

"Pollee - ees not 'ere," she had repeated, angrily tapping her fingers on the counter.

• * * * * *

From her desk in the travel agency, at a prominent position on the town promenade, there was little that Ariadne, the black-eyed receptionist did not know.

She viewed every evening parade from a vantage point and had seen the Englishman's aborted approach to Polly the previous night.

But her anger was due more to Pollee - Niki's young English niece - who had appropriated the top floor of the travel agency. Yes! Pollee, who was trying to steal the affections of Spiros whom Ariadne had known since she was a little girl.

“No Pollee," she had said again.

• * * * * *

"Oh well then." Simon had flinched as she spoke. For some reason he had not wanted her to know of his passion. Trying to hide his disappointment, he had peered at the notice board above her head. The board advertised the latest excursions.

“T.t.t.to Phaestos," he had stammered, asking for the first excursion on the list.

Then he had grabbed the ticket out of her hand, paid the money and stumbled hurriedly down the steps away from her gaze. It was not until he reached the end of the promenade that he realised the girl had misunderstood him, and had handed over two tickets.

• * * * * * *

Oh, well he now thought, as he nibbled at the salad, perhaps Douglas would come with him? The coach did not depart until the following afternoon. He finished the meal and a handsome waiter brought the bill. The waiter sported a dashing pair of sunglasses.

Simon growled

But the view through the cafe door presented a picturesque sight and, as opened his bag, he surreptitiously eyed his remaining postcards. Ah - here was one of the view - and a picture of the cafe.

...HELENA AND THE PROFESSOR HEARD THE SOUND OF A GOAT BLEATING AND CHICKENS SQUAWKING. THE NOISE SEEMED TO COME FROM THE FIELD OF OLIVE TREES. THEY ENTERED THE FIELD.

THE PROFESSOR FELT NO FEAR.

THEY FOUND A SMALL BUILDING BURIED AMONG THE TREES. THE AREA SHOWED OBVIOUS SIGNS OF HABITATION AND SEEMED PERFECTLY PRESERVED. HELENA GINGERLY PUSHED A DOOR OPEN. IT SQUEAKED. SHE GASPED. AN OLD MAN WAS SITTING BEHIND A RAISED COUNTER. HE TOO SEEMED PERFECTLY PRESERVED. THE OLD MAN LOOKED UP - NONPLUSSED - AND SLOWLY APPROACHED THEM.

“AMIGOS? DAMES? HERON? MESDAMES? SIGNORS?” HE RECITED AS THOUGH RECALLING AN ANCIENT LITANY.

TIED TO THE OLD MAN’S BELT WAS ONE OF THOSE STRANGELY METAL SHAPED OBJECTS.

HELENA NUDGED THE PROFESSOR

“MISTER MILADY?” CONTINUED THE OLD MAN.

THE PROFESSOR TOOK OFF HIS GLASSES, RUBBED THEM, PUT THEM ON AGAIN AND PEERED MORE CLOSELY AT THE METAL OBJECT.

“AH! COMPRENNEZ!” SHOUTED HE OLD MAN WITH J0Y. “RAKI?”

“WHAT? OH?” BEAMED HELENA.

THEN COMPREHENSION DAWNED. IT WAS A SALUTATION.

“RAKI” SHE REPLIED WITH A SMILE.

THE OLD MAN PRODUCED A GLASS WHICH HE FILLED WITH SOME CLEAR FLUID HE PLACED IT IN HER HAND, TAKING ANOTHER HIMSELF.

HELENA SIPPED, AND THEN CHOKED AS THE LIQUID BURNT DOWN HER THROAT.

THEN~ WITH TEARS IN HER EYES, SHE GASPED.

“HELENA! HELENA” ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” CRIED THE PROFESSOR.

"NO - LOOK!" SHE SAID IN AMAZEMENT.

THE YOUTH SMILED BEFORE HER. HE HAD ADVANCED FROM AN INNER ROOM AND WORE A NATIVE COSTUME REAPPEARED WEARING A NATIVE COSTUME . A TIGHT, WHITE OVER-GARMENT, UNBUTTONED, WITH BLACK LEG-COVERINGS UNDERNEATH, WHICH - TO HELENA'S EYES - FITTED HIS HIPS TO PERFECTION. A GOLD MEDALLION, SUSPENDED FROM A CHAIN ROUND HIS NECK, COMPLETED THE ENSEMBLE.

“MEDALLION MAN,” SHE WHISPERED.

SHE GULPED.

“MISSIE?” SPOKE THE YOUTH.

AND HE HAD A PERFECT SET OF WHITE TEETH.

SHE BLUSHED.

THE OLD MAN BOWED GRACIOUSLY AND INDICATED THAT THEY SHOULD SEAT THEMSELVES AT A TABLE.HELENA AND THE PROFESSOR EXCHANGED GLANCES. WAS A PRIMITIVE RITUAL TO BE ENACTED IN THEIR HONOUR?.....

Simon paid for his meal with one last glance at the view. The olive trees were brightly and greenly illuminated by the sun. Chickens and wild geese ran loose. Goats were tethered by the door. A white Byzantine church and what seemed to be a village in the distance completed the scene. The village, perched midway up a mountain, looked very picturesque and might repay a visit.

He headed back towards the town and Aphrodite Beach where he was due to meet Douglas. He soon reached the main square where he halted, confused. All the cafes seemed to have amalgamated. Waiters darted in and out of doors set into the buildings. They created a vivid impression of white shirts, white teeth and black trousers.

But Simon had not yet visited the square at this particular time of day when the sun shone directly overhead. The trellis of vines at the cafe corner had been augmented with an awing and even the outer perimeter of tables, those which escaped the shade of the vines, had been given intimate, comforting, personal protection - in the form of coloured parasols. He noted that the relationship, and positioning, of the tables and chairs was far more complex than he had previously supposed. It was obvious that, by deft arrangement and re-arrangment of all - of table, chair,awning and parasol that the square could be kept in shade all day long. Thus the tables and chairs ebbed and receded, across the square, in tune with the sun's progress across the sky. How intriguing?

It was while pondering this phenominum that Simon backed into Mrs Robinson.

• * * * * *

By deft maneuvering between shop interior, shop front and shop awning, Mrs Robinson had finally achieved her object that of reaching the town's main square without suffering too much exposure from the rays of the sun. She was about to sit down at one of the tables under the shade of the plane-tree, when she backed into Simon who had just found his way to his favourite seat by the cafe corner.

"Oh, excuse me,” she said.

"Yes?" replied Simon.

"Simon?"

"Yes?

Oh, Mrs Robinson.

What a surprise."

They both apologised and sat down at the table,

Zarba approached and beamed down.

“Parakalo/” he said.

Simon asked for a beer and Mrs Robonson ordered a meat salad.

He sipped politely as she wolfed down the meal. She ate ravenously. Juice from the meat dribbled down the corners of her mouth and dripped onto the ground.

Mrs Robinson noticed his interest.

"Blood corpuscles," she said, while continuing to bite into the flesh.

"Yes?" Simon queried - politely.

Then she told of the terrors of the previous night - of the howling wind; her daughter and the swaying light bulbs. In between bites she told of mosquitos like Stuka pilots - diving down like crazed Kamakazi suicide squads; a high pitched whine, then silence as they hit her legs - higher - and then higher - must replenish the blood," she finished.

"Yes, the mosquitos are bad this year," commiserated Simon.

He complimented Mrs Robinson on her powers of description.

"Mosquito net?" he suggested.

"Oh, What a good idea, Simon.”

Her face brightened at the thought of a peaceful night's sleep and she greedily sucked the remaining meat juice off her fingers.

While she did so, Simon debated whether or not to ask her if she would care to accompany him to Phaestos.? He reasoned that if she said yes, he would not only have solved the problem of what to do with the extra ticket. After all, Douglas might not be able to come. (He had said that he hoped to meet up with his girl friend, who had come to Greece with her mother) But certain possibilities might be opened up for the following day's entertainment. He might also meet Elizabeth again. All in all, it seemed like a good idea.

By the way," he said casually, "I happen to have a spare ticket for an excursion to Phaestos tomorrow. I wonder - would you care to come?"

"Well - I don't know."

Mrs Robinson demurred while she thought about the offer. There was her daughter to consider but, the way things were going, it would seem unlikely that she would see much of Elizabeth in the near future. Of course, Simon would be company and, far more important than that, he would provide a certain amount of protection from all those brown, piercing eyes.

"Why thank you. Simon,” she said, "It'll be a pleasure. I'd love to come."

She smiled and licked the last of the meat juice from her finger-tips.

They agreed to meet at the same cafe the following afternoon.

Simon rose from the table.

"That will be fine,” he said, "Good bye, Mrs Robinson."

"Good bye, Simon.”

“About two o'clock then?"

"Two o'clock."

Simon headed towards Aphrodite Beach where he was due to meet Douglas near a taverna that he had spotted about a mile down the beach in the direction of the new hotel.

• * * * * *

Mrs Robinson paid the bill, then headed back in the direction of her bed for what she thought of as a well earned siesta. She found the bus-station and boarded her bus.

As they passed the taverna at which her daughter had been seated, Mrs Robinson sighed with relief. Elizabeth was still there. Two other girls had joined her. Al three girls were beautiful. She saw a mop of indigo hair, an upturned nose and she was temporarily blinded by a flash of white light from a pair of golden ear-rings.

She also saw a couple heading into town and recognised them from the previous night. She waved. The couple had been rowing then - and rowing in the hotel lobby. It would seem as though the row had continued unabated through the night and was still in progress as they walked along the beach. She stuck an arm out of the window and waved again. They peered in the direction of the bus, but made no response. She sat back on her seat. They might turn up in the bar that night? Perhaps they would be company?

Mrs Robinson waited nervously for the bus to pull up at the hotel.

• * * * * *

William plodded slowly behind his wife as they made their way down Aphrodite Beach

"God, its hot." he said,

They had walked for one mile already and his stomach seemed to get heavier with each step. He clutched his paunch with both hands as though support would make the burden lighter. As he did so, pairs of Greek eyes stared at him, and then their owners nodded to each other approvingly. William wondered why?

"Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink," he croaked pitifully to his wife's back.

"William, will you stop complaining, " her back seemed to reply.

Prudence bit her lip. It was going to be one of those days. She turned on her perspiring husband.

"Look," she said, “You were the one who insisted on walking."

They faced each other on the beach.

"How do you suggest we get about?" he complained, "Hovercraft? Space-shuttle?"

Prudence shuddered. It really was going to be an unpleasant afternoon.

"There are roads," she said defensively, pointing to a rough track running parallel to the shore-line.

"Roads?”

William peered around inquisitively. He gazed to the fore, shading his brow with one hand, like an explorer. In the distance, he could see the main road.

"Oh yes, I see," he said.

He attempted to avert both eyes and ears. The buzzing of motorbikes all but drowned the buzzing of the cicidae. Red dust rose in a cloud. He blinked. A huge dust storm approached. Was that an arm appearing out of the mist? The cloud soon passed, leaving a view of the road. Along its edge spread what seemed to be the outskirts of a shanty town - rough unfinished buildings. He could hardly bare to look.

"We could have hired bicycles, or even a motorbike," continued Prudence.

"How about a donkey?" suggested William petulantly, "Or you could have asked one of those Greeks to give us a piggy-back."

He stopped still. His arms hung straight by his sides and his hands, clenched into fists, dug belligerently into his hips.

"William, what do you mean?" she said with concern.

William's amusement at the episode of the beach bar and the glow provided by a few martinis had long since departed.

"Well, you've been behaving like a star-struck schoolgirl ever since we arrived," he said

"WILLIAM! I have not!" she replied.

She denied the accusation almost too vehemently and then blushed, for therewas some truth in what her husband had said. Luckily something else seemed to be wrong, for he had put both hands over his ears and gone white.

"Prudence," he pleaded, "Please don't shout. My head aches."

Prudence laughed.

"Well I told you not to drink that wine last night."

"I had one glass."

"One glass?"

"What was it called?" he enquired, “ "Domestos ?"

"RealIy! It was called Domestica and you finished up the whole bottle."

William put his hands protectively over his forehead and groaned.

"Please? Don't remind me."

They had walked half the distance from the hotel to the town and were now virtually opposite the Adonis Taverna. At this point, the road was at some distance from the beach. It had been diverted by an outcrop of rock and the beach was restfully quiet.

"Look. This seems a nice restaurant, " said Prudence in her best peacemaking voice, "Let's stop here and sit in the shade."

"A nice restaurant? Hah!"

To William's eyes, the restaurant had all the appeal of a motorway cafe. Wooden tables covered in oil-cloths were placed on a wooden platform - in front of a concrete shack with a glass front. He saw 'THE ADONIS SNACK BAR RESTAURANTE CAFE TAVERNA' on a sign illustrated with what he thought to be Dionysus spearing a fish with a trident. A blackboard the door announced PERSEUS RENTABIKE: FASTEST WHEELS IN TOWN: RING NIKI 3425 2235'. Underneath was inscribed 'CHEAPO!~ CHEAPO!!' in chalk lettering. Underneath that was a further advertisement for 'HERMES TOURS: town promenade'.

William and Prudence walked onto the wooden platform which was shaded by a trellis of vines. A dead wasp floated in a small carafe of olive-oil on the table before them.

"Let's go home?" begged William.

Prudence knew that her husband was in no mood to enjoy anything.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," she cajoled, "Sit down. Its nice."

William inspected the view.

"What do we have here? A frieze? And who might this be? A rather podgy Dionysus, I presume?"

"Its quite delightful." I do so agree. Folk art. How charming. He appears to be spearing a fish with a fork? No-I'm wrong. Its a trident. Prudence, I do believe he's caught our supper!”

"What?"

”Whale cutlets.”

“Oh! Stop it! Sit down. Have something to drink. It'll cool you down."

“Ouch. You reminded me. My poor head."

Prudence couldn't help smiling. It was suitable revenge for spoiling her holiday.

“I do believe you've got a hangover,” she said smugly.

"Hum. Must have been the acid fumes.”

”Come on. Sit down. Over here.”

Prudence led her husband to one of the tables.

”My God," he said, "What's that?""

He pointed to the table-top.

”Honestly,” said Prudence, '"Its a carafe of olive oil.”

“No - in the bottle.”

“I can't see anything," she replied defensively, 'Where?”

”lt's a dead wasp. Let's go home?”

”Sit down. The sun must be going down soon."

"Thank God for that," said William as he flopped down on one of the wooden chairs.

Prudence was exasperated.

"Please don't spoil my holiday," she complained, "We've only been here for one day and you've been quite unbearable."

William raised his eyebrows in shock.

"Unbearable? ME?"

He gazed at his wife, astonished.

"You don't like the sun, " she continued, "You can't stand the food, you hate the hotel and, what's more, I don't think you like me."

Prudence felt like crying as she catalogued his sins.

William replied patiently, ticked the items off on his fingers.

"I like civilisation, Prudence. I like good wine. I like food; books, the theatre and I like my meat cooked - all the way through."

He glowered as he delivered his final remark.

Prudence could concede a point there, but still she refused to give in.

"Well,"she said, "You are here now. so don't let's row."

She glanced around the taverna. There was no sign of a waiter and little more of customers. Three girls sat at a table near the beach. They were pretty. Prudence was reminded of a frieze she had seen in a museum, but she could not quite place it.

"Its not very busy, is it?" she said.

"Its the siesta," her husband grumbled, "And we should be sleeping too."

Prudence ignored him.

"There's just us," she continued, "And those three girls. Aren't they pretty?"

William sniffed as he inspected the girl's table.

But, at that moment, their peace was disturbed.

"Cor, Lizzie, Look over there."

One of the girls put all her fingers in her mouth and blew a loud wolf-whistle.

A Greek youth was walking down the beach.

William covered his ears.

"Oh, my poor head," he moaned.

The girl now whispered quietly to her companion.

"Cor, Lizzie,” she said,

Elizabeth swivel her nose and gazed admiringly at her new friend.

"Cor,” she said.

Elizabeth had met Suzy at the "Medusa disco' the previous evening.

Prudence looked at her husband with alarm.

"William! William!" she cried, “Are you all right?"

He had gone ashen and was clutching his heart.

"Those two girls brazen,” he spluttered, liThe little hussies."

"But they're lovely," said Prudence enviously.

"What's the colour of that one's hair?" he asked, pointing to the prettier of the two girls.

Prudence thought about it. "Indigo?" she suggested.

"Hum! Puce, I think," mused William.

There was a moment's silence.

"But do you think they're punks?" he added in horror.

• * * * * * *

At that word, Polyhymnia, the third girl of the party - who was seated away from the other girls - and was engrossed in a book, pricked up her ears. Punks? She had met the two girls at the 'Medusa disco' the previous night and was quite taken with them. She hadn't come across anything like it since the Maenads. She made a mental note and returned to her book.

• * * * * * *

Just then, the girl with the indigo hair shouted again.

"Lizzie, look. There's another one."

William watched on,

"'God, those girls couldn't be more than fifteen years old," he exclaimed to his wife, "Shameless."

Prudence looked dreamily at the girl with golden ear-rings.

“1 wish I could wear that bikini," she sighed.

William huffed. "I wish she would wear it," he said.

Suzy gave one last scream.

"Look lizzie! Wow Liz! He can ring my bell anytime."

"And mine," added Elizabeth pensively.

William spoke to his wife.

"And to think they're English. I can recognise those dulcet tones anywhere."

He moved his chair slightly and leaned over towards the girls' table.

"Excuse me?" he said.

There was no reply.

"Ladies, excuse me," he said again.

Suzy looked over.

"Clacton, I presume?" enquired William.

Suzy sniffed.

"'Naw, Luton airport," she said.

Elizabeth giggled.

"Well! I never!" William huffed and turned to his wife.

Suzy was getting a bit bored.

"Where's Spiros?" she asked her friend.

They both gazed with longing at the glass partition of the taverna. The taverna's interior seemed to be deserted.

"Hey - Spiros - out 'ere," shouted Suzy.

"Spiros," echoed Elizabeth.

William, who was thirsty, pricked up his ears.

"Spiros?" he queried, "ls he the waiter?"

He directed his question towards Elizabeth who the communicative of the three girls. A small, upturned, sunburnt nose swivelled in his direction. his heart skipped a beat.

"Spiros, he's gorgeous,”said Elizabeth.

"Not much luck there, " he thought.

"Hey lover boy”, shouted Suzy, "Show yerself."

William removed his glasses, slowly polished them, put them on again and calmly inspected Suzy.

"Oh, quiet, you little minx," he said.

"-Huh,”she replied, "Enjoying yourself, grandpa."

Then Suzy folded her arms and sulked.

William looked to his wife for support.

"Prudence?" he asked plaintively, "Were we like that?"

Prudence was quite enjoying herself. It was not often that her husband was so discomforted.

"Don't be such a prude, II she said.

"Prude?

"ME? "

"Yes, prude."

William could see that it would be unlikely that he could win the argument. He changed the subject:

"Where's that damn waiter?"

"Yes - change the subject.”

"But its so undignified.”

Prudence wasn't going to let her husband off his hook so easily and fe t, moreover, that she should support her sex.

"But William?" she argued, "men have been behaving like that for centuries. Its our turn now. Isn't it girls?"

They both nodded.

'Well," said William, "I hope they get a good price. That's all I've got to say.“

He folded his arms and sulked. He was outnumbered four to one.

“WILLIAM! Apologise!"

He turned to face the beach.

Prudence was angry.

"Well, I wouldn't say no," she said.

Her husband turned around.

"Prudence, What do you mean?”

“Those Greek boys are handsome. Even you must admit that.”

He gazed at the bronze, oiled bodies laying across the beach. He gazed for a few seconds.

"No," he said reflectively, "Far too greasy."

"Huh?” said suzy.

“Its all the olive-oil they eat," he continued.

Suzy looked blankly at Elizabeth and then at William with a puzzled expression on her face.

"It comes out of the pores," he added by way of explanation.

"You are just jealous," said Prudence.

"Jealous? ME?"

"Yes, jealous. And those girls have got courage."

She leaned over to their table.

"Girls? Girls?'

They looked up.

"Have you come on your own?" she enquired.

"Well?

Almost," replied Elizabeth.

"Package, actually,” qualified Suzy.

"Baggage more likely,” snorted William, who had been eavesdropping.

"WILLIAM! Please.”

He turned away.

"Girls? Do you like it here?" asked Prudence.

“I was goin' to Blackpool,” sulked Suzy.

William butted in; "Why on earth didn't you go there?" he complained, "Instead of coming here?'

Suzy looked at him glumly.

“’Ere was cheaper,” she explained.

"Hah! Freddie Laker has got a lot to answer for," snapped William at the girls before plaintively asking, “Couldn't you have gone to Spain instead?"

Suzy looked even glummer.

"Naw. All booked up."

Just then Elizabeth spotted Spiros's head poking out of the glass partition of the taverna.

"Look!" she whispered, digging her friend in the ribs, "Its Spiros."

They both stared longingly at the taverna door.

"What?

Where?" asked William.

"There -, " they replied, " - behind the glass."

They both pointed to the partition as though some scarce specimen of wild bird had just made a fleeting appearance from its nest in a zoo cage.

Prudence glanced behind her. Out poked brown hair and white teeth. 

"Oh yes,” she said.

She cooed and waved her arms.

"WAITER! SERVICE!"

”BOY! GARCON!" added William.

"He won't come out," said Prudence.

"I'm not surprised. What with you waving your arms like that,” complained her husband. The poor boy's probably frightened.”

He turned to the party for their opinion on the matter and saw Suzy take in a huge lungful of air. He further saw the prospect of a drink vanishing forever.

"Hush, everybody," he said and put a finger to his lips.

The whole party waited expectantly.

At William's insistence, they sat absolutely still. They waited for what seemed like hours. In the end, Suzy could contain herself no longer. She put all her fingers in her mouth and blew a loud whistle: "Hey - come 'ere."

"Harridan, “scowled William.

"Gho haway laideez," came a plaintiff voice.

Brown hair and white teeth promptly withdrew.

"That's torn it," snarled William.

He glowered at Suzy.

• * * * * *

Spiros heard the commotion outside and had peered lazily out of the kitchen door.

Noticing only tourists, he returned inside, where he had been busy practising. He plucked a few chords on his instrument and studied his new instruction book intent! y. "HOW TO PLAY BOUZOUKI IN TEN EASY LESSONS' . He had mastered two chords already. Soon he would be good enough to play in the taverna.

• * * * * *

"Oh, he's gone back inside," said Elizabeth.

There was a look of disappointment on her face. She felt a bit confused. Why had Spiros asked her to accompany him to the cafe if he. then proceeded to ignore her? She thought of asking her new friend for enlightenment, for Suzy a lady of the world. But Suzy was getting a bit restless. She had spotted a group of youths playing football on the beach.

"Aw, cummon, Lizzie let's go ,” she urged.

She tugged at her friend's arm.

Elizabeth gazed at the beach and then gazed wistfully at the taverna. There was still hope. He might yet come out.

Suzy stripped off her halter-top - ready for action.

William, who had always prided himself on his liberal beliefs, suddenly found himself confronted by a pert pair of breasts; a sudden pain in the chest; a resurgence of a long dormant, Puritan streak and a strange intimation of mortality. Besides that, he blamed Suzy bitterly for the loss of his drink.

"You little minx!" he hollered.

"Huh?”

"Whore! Jezebel! slut! Troll!"

He whitened as he spoke and his last word emerged as little more than a squeak, for Suzy advanced towards him, hands on hips, breasts out front.

"Well, Lizzie," she spat, "Wot do you fink we 'av 'ere?"

Elizabeth tried to back her friend up.

"A professor of English Literature?" she suggested helpfully.

William smirked, "Well, Art, actually."

"We're both dons," explained Prudence, "!'m Eng Lit and William's Art Hist."

Suzy puzzled over this for a moment,

"Hum! Hustler, broad, piece, chippy, punk." She slowly enumerated the words on her tongue and fingers before turning to her friend and shouting: "Cummon, liz. I'll race you to the beach."

They put on their sandals and, as they raced away, Suzy bellowed to William and Prudence over her shoulder: “Look after our things. Ta."

"Of all the cheek."

William moaned and closed his eyes.

Prudence looked enviously at the young, lithe, sprinting bodies.

"Have a good time, dears, " she shouted at their departing backs, "And good hunting."

There were a few seconds of blissful silence. William opened his eyes.

"Have they gone?" he enquired hopefully.

He lay back in his chair and crossed himself before closing his eyes again. It was now quiet and he intoned under his breath with thanksgiving: "May the Lord forgive us our trespasses and those who trespass against us," and then he mouthed a silent "Amen."

As he did so, he heard the lapping of the water and the buzzing of cicidae, and he felt the heat of the sun.

"Ah, Arcadia," he whispered as he and Prudence fell gently asleep.

• * * * * *

Spiros soon tired of practising on his instrument and looked out of the kitchen. He saw Polly reading and a couple of tourists snoozing at one of the tables. They seemed very content. He thought about this for a bit. ‘-And you must always attend to the welfare of the clientelle -’ had been the wise counsel of his father. So he ambled obediently over to the customers' table. How could he best attend them? "Englazy? You horder now, Missie?"

Spiros had put his hands around his mouth and shouted loudly into Prudence's ear. Prudence awoke with a start. A brown face peered down at her. Visions of a man with a fork filled her brain. No - this was a younger version.

"Oh, er, um, William! William! Wake up!" she whispered. She dug her husband in the ribs. "He's come!"

"Ouch! Huh? What?"

William looked round in confusion.

"Oh" he said.

From the tone of his wife's voice, he thought that she had announced the “Second Coming’. I

"Menu?" enquired Spiros politely,

"Nice veal? Souvlaki? I 'av meat balls?"

"Oh yes," said Prudence.

"Moussaka? Beif-cake? Stuffa tomato?" continued the waiter,

"Well?"

Prudence thought about the prospect and then turned to her husband for assistance. There was a bemused, quizzical expression on his face; one that indicated, clearly, that he would be of little help.

"Um, oh, yes," she said.

She frowned as he was handed a menu - one half of which was printed in Greek, the other half seemed to be in English. Lamp-shops? Griffs?

Spiros smiled encouragingly down.

Her heart gave a flutter.

"Oh dear, " she said, blushing and consulting the menu again. "Let me see? Hum."

She thought for a moment before raising her eyes.

"Thighs please." She ordered with a smile before handing back the menu.

"Thighs? Thighs? -- "

Spiros's face went blank.

” ---Ah, comprennez," he said and his face lit up, "Thice-cream?"

"No! No! No!" cried William.

"Eh?"

"Oh, nevermind."

He glanced towards his wife with a pained expression and then spoke to the waiter again, “She'll have thice - no no! I mean ice-cream and I'll have a beer."

"Thice-cream. ena beara. Pronto." said Spiros.

He placed the menu on the table and ambled back to the interior of the taverna.

William waited until he was out of ear-shot before hissing to his wife:

"What made you say that?”

"I'm sorry," said Prudence, "It was a slip of the tongue."

"Hah, very Freudian."

"I couldn't help it, really I couldn't,”

She glanced quickly y towards the taverna before whispering: "He's so sexy."

"Sexy?" Her husband's eyebrows shot up. "Sexy? HIM?"

"I can quite see what those girls were on about," continued Prudence, "you're not a woman, William. He's beautiful. Just like the statue of that boy in the museum, you remember - the greek God?"

"You mean the one with the little - “

"WILLIAM!"

She had spied the approaching waiter just in time.

"Ena beara, for mister, eh?"

Spiros beamed just like his father had taught him and leaned forward.

"Oh? Thank you.” Merci.

William licked his parched lips impatiently while the waiter fiddled with the beer bottle. He seemed to be having some trouble. At last, after a period of agitation and, with a twist of the wrist, Spiros triumphantly shouted: “Hela!"

The cap flew off, spraying William with fizzing liquid.

“You clumsy idiot," he wailed.

Prudence laughed. "Serves you right," she said,

"That’ll cool you down."

"But I'm soaked," he complained.

"Excuso, I av clowth."

Spiros advanced towards William's dripping head with a dirty tea-towel stretched between two hands.

"No!

No!" William begged, “Please? No. Go away.’

William inspected the bottle of beer. 'Fix' proclaimed the label. He carefully poured some of the contents into a glass, sipped, and waited expectantly for the liquid to whizz round his body and smack into his brain, as promised. Instead, the sickly, noxious fluid oozed down to his stomach, where it produced bile which rose in his throat

William snarled.

"you horder now?" replied Spiros. "Meal? Nice feeshe? Octapussy?

"Oh, Prudence? Please - let's"

William beamed delightedly.

“Oh dear, she thought, it was going to be a glorious evening.

"Well," she said defensively, "The octupus was quite nice last night."

“Yes - and india-rubber is tasty too."

"Later perhaps?" Prudence said quickly.

"Eh?"

"Ce soir," she continued.

.She thought for a moment.

"But I think I'll have a bottle of wine?" she added, "What do you think, William?"

"Um - yes, " he replied, looking wistfully at the menu, He beamed at Spiros.

"Eh? Monsieur? Mylady?"

"William! Stop teasing the boy," said Prudence.

"Ah! tease. Anglica. Comprennez."

Spiros's face lit up.

"We 'av old Engleesh Pickwick tease-bag."

"No!" said Prudence sternly.

She pointed to an item on the menu.

"Look. We'll have a carafe of the house wine. Vino."

"Ah, me savvy - plonk. Why you no say?"

Spiros peered at her with a sorrowful expression.

"Un secondo."

He hurried off to the interior of the cafe and returned quickly with one bottle and a glass. He pulled out the cork which popped - like a champagne cork.

As he tipped the beer out of William's glass and filled it with wine, William gritted his teeth before hissing to his wife: "Prudence, this is suicide. You're only doing this to get at me."

"William, please," she hissed back, "Not in front of the waiter."

"Ah, monsieur, signorita."

Spiros handed over the glass for William to taste - and then stood back.

William held the glass up to the sun for inspection.

"My God! Prudence, its alive." he whispered

She took the glass and sipped the wine.

"Just a bit fresh, that's all," she explained, "Fruity."

"Fresh? Fruity?" he said, "Its fizzing?"

"Nice bouquet, “ said Prudence sniffing the glass.

He took the glass back and sipped.

"Christ! Its still fermenting,”

"WILLIAM!, Please. "

Prudence saw him turn an alarming shade of red.

"We're on holiday, “she pleaded, "Don't let's row?"

"Row? ME?"

"Yes, row. Calm down. Please."

"Si, signor,” added Spiros, "Siga. “

“Cigar? I haven't had my coffee yet?"

"Ah, coffee,” said Spiros brightly, "Cafe expresso. Coffee El Grecko."

"No. No. Please, no," William pleaded

"William. siga,” Prudence explained carefully, "It means take it easy. Slow down. Its a Greek expression.""

"Oui, laidee, slow down, amigo," admonished Spiros gravely as he patted William on the back.

"Amigo? Cheek!"

William nearly exploded.

Spiros gazed down sweetly.

"Cheek? Me? Monsieur?"

Sorrow hung in his eyes

William took another sip of wine to calm his shattered nerves.

"My God!" he spluttered.

• * * * * *

At that moment, Polyhymnia looked up from her book and spoke angrily in G to Spiros in Greek,

• * * * * *

William and Prudence heard the word 'Zorba" repeated several times. Spiros turned pale. He disappeared towards the taverna. William sat back in his chair and gazed up at the skies.

“Oh for a beaker full of the warm south,” he intoned,” full of the true and blushfull Hippocrene," he moaned, "With beaded bubbles at the brim and purple stained mou --!"

The words evaporated in the sun.

Spiros stood abjectly before him, bottle in hand.

"Ees nice - white wine from Samos," came from a pair of plaintive, red lips.

The waiter poured some wine into a new glass.

William tasted. It really wasn't too bad.

"Thank you," he said.

Spiros returned slowly and sorrowfully to the kitchen. He had been rather frightened that his father might be told of his behaviour.

"Thank you," said William to the girl, "That was very kind. What is your name?"

“Polyhymnia, " she replied.

"Ah, the poetic muse," he said.

"No, that's my sister, Erato," quipped Polyhymnia, "I'm mime."

“I’m William.

“People call me Polly

"Well, thank you, Polly."

William raised his glass and sipped.

• * * * * *

Polyhymnia returned,to her book. She bit her lip. She'd have to be more careful. Poetry? She thought about her family and the latest scandal. It had all been her father's fault. He always got jealous when his women folk took an interest in mortals. It was all right for him? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!

What a row there had been when Zeus discovered that Erato had arranged a secret assignation with a poet on the island of Ithaca. He'd got into a furious temper and ordered Poseidon to blow up a terrible storm. Poseidon had done his best. The poet's boat had sunk and the poet had drowned. They had watched his funeral pyre from the other shore of the Ionian sea.

What had been the boy's name?

Polyhymnia tried to remember. All the sisters were gifted with an infinite memory - that she knew But It had all been so long ago Especially for her. What had been her real responsibility? Yes - she had been the muse of sacred song. But what of today? “Mime?” she had quipped. And what had Erato done? Poetry she knew - but how?

She sipped the wine.

Now what was that boy's name? Shelley? Yes that was it.

Erato had been so upset about the whole thing that she had shut herself up in her room and cried for the past one hundred years. Then Polyhymnia had been asked by Mnemosyne, their mother, to deputise for Erato until such time as she decided to emerge.

Polyhymnia sighed. It was promotion in a way. Much more responsibility. But she did find it difficult at times - especially of late. She often climbed to the very peak of Mount Parnassus to discuss her problems with Homer. It was very nice in his little wooden hut he usually took one look at what she had inspired, turned completely white, and nodded off to sleep.

Polyhymnia returned to her book with a frown of concentration. She would get the hang of it soon enough.

• * * * * * *

Prudence shrugged her shoulders.

The girl had seemed to gaze into the distance as though she could see for a thousand miles.

"Perhaps she's tired?" she whispered.

“Hum, " replied her husband.

Prudence left them both to the middle distance, searched through her bag and found a book to read.

William took a further sip of the wine and relaxed. What a nice girl.

"Ah," he sighed, "That I might leave the world unseen, and with thee fade into the forest dim." He glowed at the sun - which glowered ferociously back - but nevertheless, wondering why his thoughts had taken such a poetic turn, he gently drifted off to sleep accompanied by the buzzing of cicidae and the gentle laving of water.

• * * * * *

William dreamed for a long time of a cool, English river shaded by weeping willows; a village church, white clouds and he felt rain. He awoke.

"Prudence, Prudence, its raining, .. he shouted with excitement, "I felt drops."

His joy was short lived as the clouds took tangible form in front of his waking eyes.

"Phew, that was loverly," said Suzy, out of breath, "Pass the towel, Lizzie."

She shook her head, shaking droplets of water over William.

"My God!" he wailed, "Its those Viragos again."

"There's no need for that. Be polite," his wife reproved.

"Oh, I am sorry.’

He spoke apologetically to the two girls.

“Hallo dears. Did you have a nice swim?"

Then he smiled sweetly.

”Smashing, ta," replied Suzy as she dried her hair vigourously.

"Fish not biting today?" he politely enquired.

"WILLIAM! Please."

But then Spiros appeared.

There was a sudden air of excitement in the taverna.

William looked around. While he had been asleep, the taverna had filled up with dehydrated bodies. Whether from the exertions of the sun, or swimming, all bodies were in need of liquid. The waiter was watched with beseeching eyes as he ambled, slowly, around the tables.

"Drinks?" he enquired as he came to the girls' table.

“Oh, Spirls, please.” your place or mine?”

Both girls waited eagerly for a reply, but Spiros suddenly rushed off forhe had spotted his father on his bicycle - staring down at the taverna.

• * * * * *

Zorba had been making his usual quick inspection of his field by the sea-shore. The previous day he had found much of his crop bleating piteously and in need of watering. He had found his son in the kitchen - smoking a cigarette. Something similar was happening today.

But Zorba suddenly remembered his own youth, and the strapping he had once recei ved from his father, who had caught him watching the girls in the vineyards, instead of tending the goats up in the mountains. He sighed. There was little more he could do about his own son - apart from threaten to stop paying the instalments on his bouzouki.

"These youngsters today," he muttered under his breath.

But, at least, Spiros seemed to be mobile.

• * * * * * *

Spiros had little intention of yesterday's scene with his father be in greeted. He rushed off to serve another table. It was true he was frightened of Zorba but, more important than even that, there were only six months of instalments to pay on the bouzouki - and then it would be his.

• * * * * *

. Prudence was transfixed by the figure of the retreating waiter.

"The poor lamb," she said to Suzy, "He's rushed off. He probably didn't understand you."

“Didn't understand? Didn't understand?” said William, "That was unmistakable in any language. “Didn't you see what that - that - girl did?"

"Sorry?" replied his wife,

"I wonder where he's going?"

"Can't you keep your eyes off that boy for just one second?"

"Hum?" She spoke absentmindedly, her mind fixed on Spiros's retreating figure, "What did did he - I mean she - do?"

William put his left hand in the crook of his hand into a fist and raised his forearm sharply. "This!" he grunted in his best machismo style.

"SO?”

“My God, woman. Where were you born?"

”Oh, please. Let's not row."

Prudence's mind and attention were now taken by a strikingly handsome man striding down the beach.

"Oh, look, Suzy," she whispered, "Just like Omar Shariff."

"That's Niki," explained Elizabeth, "He owns one of the boats in the harbour. “

• * * * * *

Pol yhmnia hid behind the pages of her