Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) by Marcos Chicot

development of the fetus. All the women in the community were very proud of them.
    Ariadne, sitting a few yards away, observed Theano with a melancholy smile. Her mother was aging so well. How beautiful and elegant she was, with no adornment other than a white ribbon binding her chestnut hair, the same light color as Ariadne’s. She loved her mother deeply, but they had not been able to avoid growing apart. When that had happened to her, her mother had tried repeatedly to reach out to her, but Ariadne, incapable of acting differently, had pushed her away every time. What her mother didn’t know was that her presence alone was of great solace to Ariadne, even though she wouldn’t reveal her inner turmoil. In the end, her mother saw that she had withdrawn into her father’s world of ideas, and distanced herself definitively. Ariadne missed her with all her heart and felt lonelier than ever.
    Theano was discoursing on her renowned theory about the parallel between the human body and the universe. Ariadne watched with affection the open-mouthed awe on the youngest girls’ faces, those who were hearing it for the first time. She envied their innocence. There had probably been a time when she was like that, but she couldn’t remember it. Now she shielded herself with cynicism, keeping others at a safe distance with her ironic comments. On the other hand, it was sometimes a good thing to have the ability to put someone who was too sure of himself in his place. Her smile broadened and she quickly brought her hand to her mouth to hide it. It had been really amusing sending Akenon to relieve himself in the middle of the woods so he could cool off a little.
    She stopped thinking about what was going on in the dining hall and began to relive the scene of the previous day.
    A mischievous glint fluttered in her eyes.
     
     
    Pythagoras didn’t bring up the subject of the murder during dinner, as though Akenon were a guest who had nothing to do with the investigation. Instead, he spent the evening explaining in general terms some of the teachings of his brotherhood.
    “Each of us has a divine, eternal, and immortal soul.” His words seemed to remain etched in the devout atmosphere of the small room. “The soul is enclosed in the body, trapped in this mortal casing,” he said, pointing to himself, “but it is reincarnated each time the flesh is extinguished. Depending on our behavior during our lives, our souls will reincarnate as higher beings, growing closer to the divine, or they will descend the scale of living beings.”
    By now, Akenon was no longer paying attention to Pythagoras’ disciples. The master’s explanations had engaged him completely. In Egypt, the dominant belief was that after death, the ka —part of our life force—lived on in the realm of the dead. For that to happen, the body needed to be preserved—hence the frequency of embalming. In Carthage, however, many considered the tomb the eternal dwelling place of the deceased. Cremation was also common, as a practical consequence of not believing in a life after death. Akenon had lost his religious beliefs long ago, and now felt only prudent respect. That didn’t prevent him from finding Pythagoras’ theories fascinating.
    “Do you mean that a criminal could be reincarnated as an animal?”
    “Certainly,” the master affirmed with total confidence. “The soul can travel to any living being, from plants to men, and among men, from the humblest to those who are only separated from the divine by a thin veil. I myself recognized in a dog’s bark the pitch of a deceased friend’s voice.”
    Akenon saw from the corner of his eye that Evander was nodding in silence, as if he had witnessed the event. Pythagoras continued explaining, the flowing quality of his voice grave and comforting.
    “Our souls were free, but they committed a serious offense. Due to that past error, they must now pass through a series of lives until they demonstrate that they are once