told me at Lefteris’ that he had come again. I wanted to see him.’
‘And now you see him. Sit down and be silent, Niko. We have much to say.’
I saw Niko throw a quick appraising glance at Simon. ‘Have you told him?’
‘I have told him nothing. Sit down and be silent.’
Niko turned to obey, but his look lingered on Simon. The dark eyes glinted with something that could have been excitement mixed with amusement – or even malice. Simon met it with that masked indifferent look that I was beginning to know. He had taken out his cigarette case and now he glanced at me. I shook my head. ‘Niko?’ the boy put out a hand, then stopped, drew it back, and sent Simon another of his vivid smiles. ‘No, thank you,
kyrie
.’ A glance at his grandfather then he crossed to the big bed and threw himself on it. Simon found his lighter, lit a cigarette with a certain deliberation, then put the lighter carefully back in his pocket before he turned to Stephanos.
The latter was sitting motionless. He still didn’t speak. The silence came back, heavy, charged, and the boy stirred restlessly on the bed. His eyes never left Simon’s face. Beside me the woman hadn’t moved, but as I glanced at her I saw her eyes slide sideways to meet mine, only to drop swiftly to the hands in her lap as if in an ecstasy of shyness. I realised then that she had been covertly studying my frock, and the knowledge came to me suddenly, warmingly, that Stephanos, too, was shy.
Perhaps Simon had divined this too, for he didn’t wait for Stephanos, but spoke easily, bridging the moment.
‘
Kyrie
Stephanos, I’m very glad to meet you at last, and the woman of your house. My father and I wrote to you to thank you for what you did for my brother, but –well, letters can’t say it all. My father is dead now, but I’m speaking for him, too, when I say thank you again. You’ll understand it isn’t always possible to put into words all that one feels – all one would like to say – but I think you will understand what I feel, and what my father felt.’ He turned his head to smile at the woman. She didn’t smile back. I thought she made a little sound as if of pain, and she moved in her chair. Her narrow lips worked in and out, and her fingers gripped each other painfully.
Stephanos said, almost roughly: ‘There is nothing for you to say,
kyrie
. We did no more than we should.’
‘It was a very great deal,’ said Simon gently. ‘You couldn’t have done more if he, too, had been your son.’ A quick glance at the old woman. ‘I shan’t say much about that,
kyria
, because there are memories that you won’t want to revive; and I shall try not to ask any questions that might distress you. But I had to come and thank you, for my father, and for myself … and to see the house where my brother Michael found friends in the last days of his life.’
He paused, and looked round him slowly. There was silence again. Below us the animals shuffled and one of them sneezed. There was nothing in Simon’s face to read, but I saw the boy’s glinting glance on him again before it turned as if in impatience to his grandfather. But Stephanos said nothing.
At length Simon said: ‘So it was here.’
‘It was here,
kyrie
. Below, behind the manger, there is a gap in the wall. He hid there. The dirty Germansdid not think to look behind the sacks of straw, and the dung. Would you like me to show you?’
Simon shook his head. ‘No. I told you I don’t want to remind you of that day. And I don’t think I need ask you anything much about it, as you told us most of it in the letter that the
papa
wrote for you. You told me how Michael had been wounded in the shoulder and had come here for shelter, and how, after … later on, he went back into the mountains.’
‘It was just before dawn,’ said the old man, ‘on the second of October. We begged him to stay with us, because he was not yet well, and the wet weather comes early in the mountains. But he
‘And now you see him. Sit down and be silent, Niko. We have much to say.’
I saw Niko throw a quick appraising glance at Simon. ‘Have you told him?’
‘I have told him nothing. Sit down and be silent.’
Niko turned to obey, but his look lingered on Simon. The dark eyes glinted with something that could have been excitement mixed with amusement – or even malice. Simon met it with that masked indifferent look that I was beginning to know. He had taken out his cigarette case and now he glanced at me. I shook my head. ‘Niko?’ the boy put out a hand, then stopped, drew it back, and sent Simon another of his vivid smiles. ‘No, thank you,
kyrie
.’ A glance at his grandfather then he crossed to the big bed and threw himself on it. Simon found his lighter, lit a cigarette with a certain deliberation, then put the lighter carefully back in his pocket before he turned to Stephanos.
The latter was sitting motionless. He still didn’t speak. The silence came back, heavy, charged, and the boy stirred restlessly on the bed. His eyes never left Simon’s face. Beside me the woman hadn’t moved, but as I glanced at her I saw her eyes slide sideways to meet mine, only to drop swiftly to the hands in her lap as if in an ecstasy of shyness. I realised then that she had been covertly studying my frock, and the knowledge came to me suddenly, warmingly, that Stephanos, too, was shy.
Perhaps Simon had divined this too, for he didn’t wait for Stephanos, but spoke easily, bridging the moment.
‘
Kyrie
Stephanos, I’m very glad to meet you at last, and the woman of your house. My father and I wrote to you to thank you for what you did for my brother, but –well, letters can’t say it all. My father is dead now, but I’m speaking for him, too, when I say thank you again. You’ll understand it isn’t always possible to put into words all that one feels – all one would like to say – but I think you will understand what I feel, and what my father felt.’ He turned his head to smile at the woman. She didn’t smile back. I thought she made a little sound as if of pain, and she moved in her chair. Her narrow lips worked in and out, and her fingers gripped each other painfully.
Stephanos said, almost roughly: ‘There is nothing for you to say,
kyrie
. We did no more than we should.’
‘It was a very great deal,’ said Simon gently. ‘You couldn’t have done more if he, too, had been your son.’ A quick glance at the old woman. ‘I shan’t say much about that,
kyria
, because there are memories that you won’t want to revive; and I shall try not to ask any questions that might distress you. But I had to come and thank you, for my father, and for myself … and to see the house where my brother Michael found friends in the last days of his life.’
He paused, and looked round him slowly. There was silence again. Below us the animals shuffled and one of them sneezed. There was nothing in Simon’s face to read, but I saw the boy’s glinting glance on him again before it turned as if in impatience to his grandfather. But Stephanos said nothing.
At length Simon said: ‘So it was here.’
‘It was here,
kyrie
. Below, behind the manger, there is a gap in the wall. He hid there. The dirty Germansdid not think to look behind the sacks of straw, and the dung. Would you like me to show you?’
Simon shook his head. ‘No. I told you I don’t want to remind you of that day. And I don’t think I need ask you anything much about it, as you told us most of it in the letter that the
papa
wrote for you. You told me how Michael had been wounded in the shoulder and had come here for shelter, and how, after … later on, he went back into the mountains.’
‘It was just before dawn,’ said the old man, ‘on the second of October. We begged him to stay with us, because he was not yet well, and the wet weather comes early in the mountains. But he
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