Dion: His Life and Mine by Sarah Cate Anstey Page A

the mountain-top when he spied the large figure of his mentor escorted by an unfamiliar smaller blob. As they grew closer, Dion realised that the small blob was a boy. Silenus had often promised to bring his nephew, Amphelos, with him on a visit. Although Dion had been excited by the prospect of a playmate his own age, now that he was here, the novelty of anticipation had worn off. He eyed the other boy suspiciously. Meanwhile, Amphelos’s excitement, at spending a whole month with his favourite uncle, had come to a gradual end, with every step up the mountain. He, in turn, eyed Dion, (whom his uncle had praised to the hilt), with equal enmity. Silenus watched them, amused, and then suggested the boys get out their guitars. By the end of the afternoon, Dion and Amphelos had mutual respect for each other as musicians. By the next day, they were best friends. By the end of the week, they had written thirty songs and had calluses on their fingers, from endless jamming sessions.
    During each annual visit, the boys were inseparable. For the next six years, Silenus brought Amphelos with him whenever he visited the mountain, in the summer. They would start the holiday performing the songs they had practised throughout the year; spend it teaching each other new techniques they’d learnt and writing new material. Their farewells included the promise that they would practise what they had worked on, for the following year.
    The Mas told me they noticed a difference in Dion during those years.
    Music became his life.
    “If he’d been obsessive before, after meeting Amphelos he was compulsive, fanatical even.” Ma Two said, wearily.
    “His focus was the month of Amphelos’s annual visit to the mountain and no second of it could be wasted,” Ma Seven, who had been the lead singer of the group, explained. “It was probably the happiest time of Dion’s life, until now,” she said, patting my hand.
    One summer, Silenus arrived with Amphelos and news of a new music festival that was looking for up-and-coming talent. The boys were eager to go. It was at Delphi. The music festival was set up to provide entertainment for the spectators and participants of the Pythian Games. The boys’ songs and music went down well and they both relished being able to play in front of a crowd, albeit a small one, for the first time. Dion was in his element. He was able to hang out with other musicians and hear their styles. He had found his calling and he and Amphelos hatched plans for their next gig. Dion was also enchanted with the games (a common trend among the men in my life). Growing up on a mountain had made him tough and he was a strong young man, athletic. He learnt that the winner of the wrestling would receive a kistara and Dion needed a new guitar. Needless to say, he won.
    Amphelos, then, decided he wanted a new guitar too and decided to enter the boxing. Dion gently warned him that it was a dangerous sport, but Amphelos wouldn’t listen. In any close friendship there is often a certain amount of hostility. Amphelos entered the competition and won, but, his opponent, Diagoras, damaged Amphelos’s hand. He would never play the guitar again. The following year Silenus arrived as usual, but without Amphelos.
    “Six months later we had to tell Dion that his best friend and surrogate brother had killed himself,” Ma Three told me. “Can you imagine?”
    I could, I had once had to tell somebody that their best friend and brother had died. I remembered that little figure, crumpled on the bed. 
    Needless to say, Dion took it badly and, like Aster, in silence. He left the mountain for days.
    “We didn’t see or hear from him. It was Silenus who brought him back. We don’t know how and he never told us. He just turned up one day, looking for Dion. When he brought him back five days later, Dion was carrying a vine leaf. We asked him where he’d been. “Making music,” was all he would say,” Ma One told me.
    “We’d often hear Dion