Murder in Megara by Eric Mayer Page B

gone and his place no longer knows him.
    Those old Israelites were the first stoics, the teacher had invariably assured his pupils, none of whom had any real inkling of what the composer of the psalm was writing about, and who would have been surprised to realize then that someday the ancient words would make altogether too much sense to them.
    So, John thought, it seems I must continue searching those places the wind has passed over and seek the past that is gone.
    The next place to look, from a logical point of view, would be the house, situated not far away, where Alexis had lived with his parents. He was unlikely to have remained there but his parents might be alive, or perhaps other relatives now residing there would know where Alexis had gone. Since his father had been a church administrator, John could inquire about the family at the church but he preferred to avoid officialdom if at all possible.
    Unlike their old tutor’s home, Alexis’ brick house still stood along the narrow dirt street running parallel to the city wall. During John’s boyhood, large gardens reaching to the wall behind two- and three-story houses attested to the prosperity of the owners. John saw the change as soon as he came to the head of the street. Many of the houses were shells, invaded by tangles of what had been ornamental trees, now unpruned and rampant. Most of the rest of the buildings were in disrepair. A few skinny-ribbed dogs slunk in the shadows and such pedestrians as were in evidence matched the dogs.
    Justinian had expended huge sums in rebuilding the center of the city, but despite a grand new theater, forums, monuments, and administrative complexes, Megara, like many provincial towns, remained underpopulated and had begun decaying around its edges.
    A sickly sweet perfume emanated from the open door of Alexis’ old home. John entered. A fountain featuring a chubby cupid still stood in the atrium, its presence more appropriate now that the house was, obviously, a brothel. A girl clothed in what appeared to be a scarlet shadow leapt from one the couches arranged against the walls and trotted coltishly over to him, reaching him at the same time as a stout middle-aged woman in thick makeup who emerged from a nearby room.
    â€œI am so pleased to be visited by a gentleman of such refinement,” the latter smiled, giving a bow. “I can tell by your manner that you are not the sort of ruffian with whom we are normally burdened, sir. What is your desire?”
    â€œI wished to see the fountain again,” John said with perfect truth. “A friend and I once tried to raise frogs in it.”
    The madam’s visage continued to smile indulgently, as if to say we see numerous men with deranged humors here, and as far as we are concerned their money is as good as the next man’s. “A fine aristocrat such as yourself may desire something out of the ordinary. As it happens, little Theodora here is newly arrived with us. A virgin I have been saving especially for just such a one as you, excellency.”
    â€œHmmmmm,” said Theodora, looking John up and down, which for her, being very short, was a long way up. “Mmmmm. I imagine you would be different than one of them smelly old dock workers.”
    â€œVery much different,” John agreed. “However, having seen the old fountain I will be off. First, however,” he addressed the madam, “could you tell me who owned this house before you?”
    She frowned and gave him a suspicious look. “Are you a tax collector?”
    â€œNo. I am simply looking for an old acquaintance.”
    â€œSo you say. All the former owners I know about ran the same kind of establishment as I do.”
    â€œYou don’t want me then?” Theodora put in.
    â€œApparently not,” sniffed her disappointed employer. “You are very much different from a dock worker, you claim. You flatter yourself, excellency.”
    â€œI am just