The Sea King’s Daughter

Chapter 4

UP AND DOWN, UP AND DOWN, THE WAVES ROCKED ME. I was hypnotized by the motion, the warm caress of the water, and the mesmerizing gaze of this maniac who happened to be my father.

“Now just one minute,” I said, getting a grip on myself; for a moment the picture had dazzled me. “Your reasoning is excellent. Sure, there were ships. Some of them must have sunk. But no ship could survive underwater all that time. Oh, I know about the wrecks of Greek and Roman ships; quite a few of them have been located. But they date from a hundred A.D. or a hundred B.C. You’re talking about fifteen hundred B.C. Almost thirty-five hundred years ago.”

“A ship could survive that long. It has. At Cape Gelidonya, in Turkey. That wreck was investigated in 1960. It has been dated to approximately the fifteenth century before Christ. Not only was the cargo found, but even the planks of the ship’s hull.”

“You’re kidding,” I said. But I knew he wasn’t. He wouldn’t joke about anything as important as this. In fact, I had never heard him joke about anything.

“No.”

“Okay, it could happen. But how do you know it happened here? I mean, what exactly did you find?” And then, as he hesitated, I said impatiently, “Look, I know what a couple of hundred years can do to the wreckage of a ship. Nothing survives unchanged-except gold. Timber rots and is eaten by worms, metal corrodes. Even pottery would be changed by marine accretions, or by electrolysis from the elements in the clay. And it’s easy to be deceived. Rocks look like ballast, and natural formations can imitate straight-line, man-made shapes.”

For the first time since I had known him he looked at me with something like respect.

“Essentially you are correct,” he said. “Although pottery is not altered as much as you suggest. There are pots here. They are amphorae, vessels containing material meant for export. A heap of such jars almost always indicates an ancient wreck. But that is not all. The ships themselves are there.”

I was silent. If anyone but Frederick had told me such a yarn I wouldn’t have believed him. I don’t know why I believed Frederick. Maybe it was because I just didn’t expect his insanity to take this particular form. Paranoia was his problem, not fantasy. If I ever lost my mind, this was the kind of beautiful madness I would create.

“An entire fleet must have been in the harbor,” he went on. “Ash had been falling for hours, perhaps for days; the sky was black as night, poisonous fumes made breathing difficult. The rulers of Thera reached a decision-to flee, while flight was still possible. Save the royal treasures, the ritual vessels of the shrines. Seek the safety of the sea, retreat to the motherland. They could not have dreamed of the magnitude of the disaster; they could not know that Crete was also in peril.

“They crowded on board the ships, men, women, and children, with their private treasures and the most precious possessions of the state. But before they could cast off, the volcano caught them. Earthquakes, great tidal waves, showers of molten rock turned the harbor into a scene out of Dante. Some ships caught fire. The flames were quickly quenched when the vessels sank, but I tell you, there are charred ships’ timbers down below, in this very bay.

“The sunken ships were covered almost immediately by sand and ash. That is what preserved them. Throughout the succeeding millennia they remained sealed in their natural tombs. And then, by pure accident, a storm, accompanied by earth tremors, shifted those strata. The hardened ash cracked and the sands were washed away. The skeletons of the ships lay exposed as they had fallen. Only for a short time; another storm followed and again the wrecks were buried. It may be that they are gone forever. But I doubt it. I think they are still there. Of all that wreckage something must remain. It will be a long project to search the area thoroughly. I am no longer fit for such exertion. So-”

“So,” I said. “Me. It’s funny, isn’t it, that your long-lost daughter should turn out to be a diver?”

“Funny?” The cold gray eyes grew cloudy, as if they were focusing on some inner vision. “In the cosmic sense, yes; the kind of jest one might expect from a deity who excels in irony. The Olympians would enjoy such a joke. It would have suited their primitive, revengeful sense of humor. I felt at times as if they were taking a hand in my affairs. And why not? I have been so long concerned with theirs. The accident that put an end to my diving was such a jest, and its author is not hard to identify-who else but the Earthshaker, the lord of the sea, who was also the god of ancient Crete? Resenting the interloper, punishing him for intruding. And then…you. How is that to be taken, I wonder? Has the god relented, or is this the first part of another of those elaborate, childish practical jokes?”

I shivered. The water was warm, but if you stayed in too long without moving, gradually the chill got to you. It had to be the chill of the water-not my response to that eerie speech, which struck an echoing chord somewhere deep inside me.

Suddenly, for no good reason, I knew there was something wrong with Frederick ’s story. He had omitted something, something important.

However, this was no time for questions. He looked odd, and I was worried about the return trip.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll look for your ships. In fact I’m going to have a look right now. Climb up on that ledge and soak in the sun for a few minutes before we start back.”

He gave me a funny look, but did as I suggested. I filled my lungs and went down.

I wasn’t expecting to find anything. If the wreck had been located near a landmark as conspicuous as this rock, he’d have remembered. All I wanted to do was get some idea of the depth and the general character of the bottom.

It didn’t look encouraging. There was a lot of debris down there, rocks and pumice and old, hardened lava flows. I could see the search was going to take a long time. Every blessed rock would have to be examined to make sure it wasn’t an encrusted pot or piece of sculpture.

When we got back to our cove, Frederick was gray in the face and I had to help him up the cliff. I pumped him full of hot soup and coffee and tried to put him to bed, but the food restored all his normal meanness, and he went back to the dig. He wanted me to go with him, but I refused. I hadn’t had my holiday yet. Even my swim had turned out to be an invitation to work.

I put on some white sandals and a long shift I had bought in Athens, slit up the side and embroidered around the neck. I told myself that I was paying honor to Saint Irene, or whoever it was. But of course that wasn’t the real reason for the finery. If our workers were taking a holiday, so were the men on the other dig.

I was absurdly excited as I walked along the weed-grown path toward the road that would take me to the village. Imagine being thrilled at the prospect of a visit to a metropolis of a few hundred! But I hadn’t seen that many people for almost a week. I hadn’t seen a shop or a café or a magazine or a radio-or even a tomato. After a week of canned food, the thought of a tomato made my mouth water. If I accomplished nothing else, I could buy some fresh food for supper.

As I marched on toward the center of the village, I began to meet people. They all nodded and smiled at me. The main plaza was paved with black lava stone. There was a fig tree in the center. On one side a flight of steps led up to the church, a small, squat building with a blue dome. The shops were closed for the afternoon rest period, but of course the hotel was open; it had a terrace out in front, with a grape arbor and a few tables and chairs. I could read a little Greek by now, and I spelled out the lettering on the faded sign: Hotel Poseidon.

I walked around the village for a while. The whole place was only a few blocks square-but it wasn’t square, the streets went up and down the hill and sometimes ended in culs-de-sac, so that I had to retrace my steps. Most of the houses were shuttered and quiet, but some people were out, mostly children, who giggled and ran when I spoke to them. Two old grandmas, wrapped up in dusty black dresses and shawls, were sitting outside the doors of their houses. One had a spindle and a ball of thread, and she was weaving or spinning; the process was unfamiliar to me, but the result looked like coarse lace. Her withered old hands moved with amazing dexterity. I stopped to admire her work and we had a nice talk. Neither of us could understand a word the other said, but we smiled a lot.

The harbor area was the busiest-looking part of Zoa. I gathered most of the traffic came by sea, instead of over the rough roads of the interior. It was also the ugliest part of the village, with the usual man-made mess-oil stains and spills, rusty chunks of metal, garish posters advertising various products.

When I got back to the plaza, people were beginning to come out of their houses. Pretty soon the church bells started to ring, and the crowd eddied toward the church. I followed. I was a little shy about going in, but nobody seemed to mind, in fact some of the worshipers beckoned to me as I paused on the threshold.

The inside of the church was dark. At first I couldn’t see anything, after the sunlit plaza, except candles twinkling like far-off stars. Somebody was chanting in a high, inflected sing-song voice. There was a strong smell of sweetish incense and a fainter, underlying odor of goat, or maybe unwashed human.

Gradually my eyes adjusted, but I still couldn’t see much. The place was windowless and lowceilinged, and the candlelight was obscured by the press of bodies. It was rather like being in a cave. The walls seemed to be painted, or maybe hung with pictures, but this wasn’t one of the fancy mainland churches, like the famous old ones I had seen in Athens. There were no mosaics, no glimmer of gilded arches; the paintings, what I could see of them, were modern and rather crude. I had chosen a modest place at the very back, so I couldn’t see the altar or the priest. I could hear his voice, though, rising and falling in that semi-Oriental chant. People kept wandering in and out and nobody seemed to be paying much attention to the service, except for some older women to my right, who were swaying back and forth and muttering.

Gradually more people began to sway and mutter. Gray clouds of incense billowed out, hanging like fog under the low ceiling. The smell was so strong I felt a little dizzy. A few of the women were keening and wringing their hands, like old Irish ladies at a wake. One woman, near me, was crying; I could see the shiny streaks on her cheeks. More and more people crowded into the small room. I was pressed back against the wall, enclosed by human bodies. Nobody was paying any attention to me, but I began to feel uneasy. I don’t like crowds, or mass emotion. People in a mob lose their identity and become part of a great mindless animal. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t see how to manage it. I didn’t want to offend anyone, and besides, the space between me and the door was packed full. The incense began to get to me. I could feel myself beginning to sway in rhythm with the bodies all around. In another minute I would have started keening.

Somebody touched my shoulder. I recognized the hand before I looked up into Jim’s face. He was smiling.

“Let’s get out of this,” he said. I think he was speaking in a normal conversational voice, but I could hardly hear him.

“How?” I asked helplessly.

He took my arm and turned. I don’t know how he did it, but people sort of scrunched back and made a path. I followed. Even the steps were crowded; apparently everybody in town had come to the service. The air outside made me feel drunk, it was so clean and fresh. I was surprised to see that the sun was far down in the west.

Not everybody had gone to church after all. The shops were open now, and clusters of tables and chairs had sprouted around the perimeter of the plaza. The occupants were all men, except for a few obvious tourist types.

Jim found us a table.

“Wine or ouzo?” he asked.

We had wine. It was heavily resinated, but I didn’t mind the taste; it had a healthy medicinal flavor. At first we talked rather stiltedly about the saint’s day and the church.

“Religion in this area is a funny mixture,” Jim said. “You find the same thing in all the Mediterranean countries, in small peasant communities-a superficial coating of Christianity over the old pagan beliefs. Local saints are the old gods thinly disguised. The festivals of the church celebrate dates that have been sacred for millennia-the spring equinox, harvest, the winter solstice. And maybe one reason why the Virgin Mary is so popular is because a mother goddess was once the most important deity in these parts.”

I decided maybe he liked the intellectual type.

“Ah, yes,” I said. “The earth goddess, mistress of animals, whose sacred creature, the serpent, betokened her role as a goddess of the Underworld. One is struck by her seemingly contradictory nature-the maiden and the mother, ruler of the dead and of rebirth…”

Jim’s jaw dropped. Then he started to laugh. After a few seconds I joined him. I hadn’t intended to do a conscious imitation, but my voice had sounded just like that of my high school history teacher, Miss Pomeroy.

“You must have had a professor who was the twin sister of mine,” he said. “There is an underlying logic beneath the seeming contradiction, of course. The mother was once a virgin, and death must precede resurrection. It startled me, at first, to see how readily the tenets of Christianity could be adapted. But then Christianity was an Oriental religion originally, and the concept of divine sacrifice comes from Egypt and Syria. The god must die in order to ensure the rebirth of vegetation in spring, and the resurrection of the body-”

He stopped abruptly. His funny peaky eyebrows rose even higher.

“Why are we talking like this?” he asked.

“I was trying to impress you,” I said candidly.

“You did. But… I guess the trouble is I’m trying to work up to an apology.”

“What for?”

In a casual, absentminded way he took my hand.

“The other day. I was rude.”

“So was Frederick.”

“Sure, but that didn’t justify my being rude to you. Quite the contrary.” He was still holding my hand. His fingers were long and hard.

“Forget it,” I said. “I gather that Frederick isn’t too popular with his colleagues. Or do you have a more personal reason for disliking him?”

“Oh, no. My boss knows him pretty well; I guess he’s prejudiced me. Look, why do we have to talk about that old-sorry, I keep forgetting he’s your boss. Is there any reason why we can’t be friends? Just because our employers don’t see eye to eye-”

“No reason at all,” I said cheerfully. “I’m a great believer in friendly relations.”

“Then start out by having dinner with me.”

“I don’t know… I’m cook and bottle washerat the dig. And Frederick wasn’t feeling so hot when I left today. We went for a swim this morning, and he overdid it.”

I threw this comment out to see whether Jim would say anything about a ban on diving. His response was more than satisfactory-no suspicion, and considerable interest.

“I’m glad you aren’t swimming alone. Don’t do it, will you?”

I laughed lightly. “Listen, chum, I live in Florida. I grew up in the water.”

“Then you know how stupid it is to take chances. If he can’t go with you, how about me?”

“You?” I repeated, in innocent surprise.

“Sure. I don’t work twenty-four hours a day. We could set up a time-every day, if you want to.”

I considered this handsome offer. And, I mean, it was handsome. It was also impractical. Obviously I couldn’t carry out my explorations in the little bay of the villa with Jim hovering around. But it might not be a bad idea to meet him now and then for some casual swimming in another place.

“I couldn’t do it every day,” I said. “I could let you know. Where are you staying?”

“The hotel.”

“Geez,” I said. Everything I had seen about the hotel, from the greasy tabletop to the waiter’s apron, made me thankful I wasn’t staying there. At least I could keep the house clean.

“That expresses it pretty well,” Jim agreed. “Fortunately I have a cast-iron stomach and all my shots are up to date. Those qualities, plus a bottle of disinfectant, have kept me healthy so far.”

“Are you all staying there?” I asked.

There was a pause. It didn’t last very long, but with the intuitive sympathy I felt for this man, I sensed that it was meaningful. Finally Jim said,

“There are just the two of us. Me and Sir Christopher. A couple of the islanders are semi-trained; they worked with Marinatos at Akrotiri, where the first Minoan houses were found.”

Another pause followed.

“That’s a coincidence,” I said. “There’s just the two of us, too. Me and Frederick. That’s why I ought to go back. I mean, if he is sick-”

“No, don’t leave. The food here isn’t that bad, if you like olive oil. And you ought to see the procession. It will interest you, in light of what we said about the survival of old religious practices.”

“Procession?”

“They carry the saint’s image around town and up the hill. It blesses the houses and the fields, and visits a little cave-shrine farther up, which may have been a sacred spot since the Bronze Age.”

“Oh, well,” I said, abandoning the call of duty. “If it’s an educational experience, I owe it to myself to stay.”

We sat for a while in a comfortable silence, watching the people moving around the plaza. Some of the women were wearing gorgeous peasant costumes-only these weren’t costumes, they were the finery that was saved for special occasions, handed down from mother to daughter. Yards of handmade lace trimmed the aprons and tall white caps. The bodices were embroidered in bright colors, and there were lots of gold coins in evidence, made into necklaces and earrings and heavy collars, hanging in festoons across the women’s foreheads.

The sun was down behind the mountains to the west, and a queer hazy light suffused the plaza. It was still light enough to see clearly, though. I saw the woman as soon as she appeared. She was striking enough to attract anyone’s attention; her clothing alone would have made her stand out in that crowd, where the women were wearing either rusty black or the local peasant finery. This woman’s dress had never come from Thera, or even from Athens. It looked like Paris -a long, mauvey pinky-blue chiffon, heavily trimmed in gold, with little glitters like rhinestones-only the sparks were rainbow fire, brilliant as no imitation diamond can be. Out of the floating folds of chiffon her throat and head rose superbly. The heavy dark hair was wound into an intricate coiffure, held by gold bands. I could see that she was rather stoutly built, from the way the breeze molded the soft fabric against her heavy breasts and thighs. She moved slowly, and as she moved, so did the crowd. It fell back before her, opening a path down which she advanced straight toward the straggly tree in the center of the plaza. There she stopped. She was half turned away from us, and I could see a fine profile, classic in its straight brow-nose line. The funny thing was that she paid no attention to anyone, neither speaking nor nodding; and although they made room for her, none of the crowd appeared to see her.

“Who’s that?” I asked. “Wow, what a gorgeous dress!”

“Too flamboyant for my taste. But she’s a flamboyant creature, isn’t she? She lives in that villa on the other side of town-the big white one on the cliff.”

“I saw it this morning. You mean she owns that place?”

“Not exactly.” Jim was silent for a second or two; then he abandoned himself to the joys of gossip. Men are worse gossips than women, actually. I noticed that years ago.

“She doesn’t live there alone,” Jim went on. “She’s either the wife or the mistress of a peculiar old guy who hardly ever leaves the villa. I’ve seen him once or twice; he rides horseback. Has two or three magnificent horses that look as out of place on this island as his girl friend does. Who and what he is I don’t know. He never comes to town.”

“You don’t know much,” I said critically. “If I talked Greek the way you do, I’d have found out lots more. You don’t even know whether she’s his wife or his mistress?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s not his wife.”

“Pretty sure! Don’t tell me the men in this town don’t gossip about her.”

“Oddly enough, they don’t.” Jim gestured at the woman, who stood stock-still in the center of the plaza, gazing off into space. “Notice that there’s quite a crowd around the outskirts, but not a soul within ten feet of her. Nobody talks to her. And nobody talks about her. I admit I’m just as nosy as the next guy. The first time I saw her she fascinated me; she was wearing slacks and some kind of fancy blouse, with loads of jewelry. The outfit was absolutely ridiculous in this little place. So I naturally asked who she was. Everybody clammed up. I finally pried out the information I’ve just given you, but it took me days. They don’t want to talk about her. It’s as if she didn’t exist.”

“What’s her name?”

“They don’t call her anything. I keep telling you, they don’t talk about her. I overheard a sentence or two, one time, that I’m pretty sure referred to her, and they mentioned the word ‘Potnia.’ That’s not a name, though. It’s a title.”

The word was vaguely familiar. Then I remembered where I had seen it. Jim didn’t pronounce it as I would have expected.

“But that’s the old word for the Minoan goddess,” I said. “It means ‘the Lady,’ or ‘the Mistress.’ Not that kind of mistress…”

“No. Not that kind.”

I looked again at the motionless figure in the plaza. The eerie light of dusk was gathering, dimming the outlines of her face and body. The evening breeze lifted the fragile folds of fabric so that their edges blended with the shadows. A little shiver ran through me. Jim’s hand tightened over mine.

“Are you cold?”

“No.” I shook myself mentally. I was getting fey, and I didn’t like the feeling. It reminded me of the moments in the museum at Herakleion. Greece was an eerie place, there were too many old traditions lingering. I forced a pragmatic tone into my voice.

“I wonder what she’s doing. Why doesn’t she go into the church, or to one of the shops?”

“I expect she’s come to see the procession,” Jim said. “After all, that’s why we’re sitting here.”

As he spoke, the church doors burst open. Light poured out of the entrance. The inside of the church was ablaze with light, quite unlike the gloomy cave I had seen; then I realized that a number of the men were carrying torches. I wouldn’t have allowed them to be used in that age-dried structure, but then I wasn’t the priest. The effect was certainly theatrical.

The torchbearers formed an aisle down the stairs and then the procession appeared, headed by the priest. He was a swarthy young man with a handsome black beard, wearing green-and-gold vestments. Following him came the shrine, supported by four husky villagers. The doors of the carved, gilded box were open, and I assumed that the saint’s statue was inside, but I couldn’t see at that distance. The villagers genuflected and knelt as the priest led the procession down the stairs. A crowd of spectators followed, forming a roughline. It wound down the stairs and around the plaza.

The priest was absorbed in his singing; he was about a quarter of the way around the circuit before he saw the woman in the center. He stopped; for a minute I was afraid the procession was going to pile up behind him like a multiple collision. But he collected himself and went on, taking a few quick skipping steps to get out of the way of the shrine, which was bearing down on him. It might have looked comical, but it didn’t. There was something rather ugly about the incident. I can’t explain why it struck me that way. Maybe it was the way the priest started, as if he were recoiling from something dirty or dangerous; or the fact that the woman was the only one in the plaza who didn’t acknowledge the saint’s passage, not even by the slightest inclination of her head. She stood there unmoving, and as the procession went on its way it almost seemed as if they were paying homage to her, the central figure in the drama.

After circling the plaza three times, the priest led the crowd off into one of the side streets. Gradually the singing died away; but the twinkling lights, twining in and out like a luminous snake, marked the saint’s passage through the fields.

I looked at Jim. He was still staring fixedly at the unmoving figure in the plaza.

“Hey,” I said. “Now that the excitement is over, how about some food? Or is it too early?”

“It’s too early.” Jim turned his head. “But if you’re hungry, maybe I can… Oh, oh. What wasthat you said about the excitement being over?”

I turned to see what he was staring at with that apprehensive expression. Frederick was heading straight for our table.

“Oh, hell,” I said.

“Don’t worry.” Jim lowered his voice. “I’m not going to lose my temper. Whatever he says, I am not going to lose my temper. You have a right to have dinner with me. Greece is the home of democracy, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh,” I said gloomily.

But our fears were groundless. As Frederick approached, I realized that he was going to be pleasant-for him. He greeted us with a nod and, without waiting for an invitation, pulled out a chair and sat down.

I thought of asking him how he felt and decided I had better not. He looked okay.

“I presume your workmen insisted on a holiday too?” he said to Jim.

Jim’s face brightened. Poor boy, he was an ingenuous soul; the slightest gesture of goodwill brought out all his kindly nature.

“That’s right, sir. All these holidays and church festivals are a nuisance, but I guess there’s no use fighting them.”

“None whatsoever. How is your work progressing?”

There was nothing ingenuous about Frederick. He wasn’t subtle, but he wasn’t ingenuous. I could see what had prompted his affability. I suppose Jim could too. He gave me an amused side-long look, and answered without reserve. He had no reason to be secretive.

“Pretty well, considering. The site seems to be a villa of considerable size. Sir Christopher is hoping for frescoes, but we haven’t hit any yet. Of course we haven’t been at it long. Tunneling is slow work.”

“And what,” said my father, with his usual indirection, “is your background?”

Poor Jim. It reminded me of the old days, when a prospective suitor was quizzed by Papa on his prospects-past, present, and future. Of course Frederick didn’t give a damn about Jim as a matrimonial prize; he cross-examined him about his training. He forgot himself once or twice, making rude comments about Jim’s professors, but on the whole he was reasonably courteous.

Finally he said, “Yes, your training is not bad. Not too bad. But you are without experience. How did you persuade Sir Christopher to hire you? He has graduate students of his own. You aren’t even British.”

Jim had kept his temper quite well. He got a little red at this last comment, but managed to smile.

“Personal connections. My mother is English. Oh, I agree, sir, I’m not especially highly qualified, but how can I become qualified without experience? I’m working my-that is, I’m working damn hard. I may have used a little pull to get the job, but I intend to deserve it.”

These noble sentiments did not impress Frederick, not so you could notice.

“As I remember Chris, he is not that difficult a taskmaster. What made him select that site? There is nothing for him there. The palace is in my area. He’ll find a few houses, that’s all.”

“You’ll have to ask him that,” said Jim politely. “I just work here.”

Frederick didn’t answer. Apparently he had found out what he wanted to know, and he was not the man to indulge in idle chitchat. I exchanged a glance with Jim. He grinned at me. The quirky eyebrows had a cocky look, as if he were saying, “See, I didn’t lose my temper, did I?”

It was almost dark now. The woman was still standing by the tree. The center of the plaza was heavily shadowed, but I could see her silhouette, shapeless as a pillar or one of those archaic Greek statues. All the café tables were filled and people were sitting in chairs in front of many of the shops. They were all men; Greek women don’t lounge around public places. I recognized one of the men; it was Nicholas, our foreman. I waved. He waved back.

“Who are you waving at?” Frederick asked suspiciously.

“Nicholas. He’s sitting over there.”

“With all the other lazy louts,” Frederick grumbled. “They had better be on the dig early tomorrow, after wasting a day.”

He turned in his chair so he could glare at Nicholas. The glare was wasted. Nicholas wasn’t paying attention. He and most of the other men were casting sidelong glances at the silent figure by the tree. It was no longer motionless. Slowly, with a majestic stride, it advanced toward the hotel and the terrace where we were sitting.

Frederick continued to grumble.

“Come along, Sandy. There is a good deal of work to do tonight, and I mean to start early tomorrow. It was inconsiderate of you to run off this way. I had no idea where you had gone, and-”

It was as if somebody had chopped him across the throat. His voice caught in a painful grunt.

The woman had stopped a few yards away. The lights on the facade of the hotel shone directly on her, as if she stood in the center of a brilliantly lighted stage. She was looking at Frederick.

If the two of them had been professional actors they could not have communicated emotion more effectively. In fact, there was something decidedly theatrical about the woman’s performance. Her head was thrown back, in the gesture adopted by aging ladies who want a smooth, youthful throat line. Frederick wasn’t putting anything on, though. His face had gone a queer sickly gray. He looked his full age and older. The bones in his cheeks and forehead stood out, skull-like.

Finally, as if some signal had passed between them, they both moved at once. The woman turned, her draperies whirling out around her, and walked away. Frederick shoved his chair back so abruptly that it toppled over. He headed blindly across the plaza, in the opposite direction from that which the woman had taken-away from the street that led to our house. I thought he was going to bump into the tree, but at the last minute he swerved, exaggeratedly, like a drunk, and vanished into the darkness.