The Athenian Murders by José Carlos Somoza Page A

comedies.' He said he had found a boarding house that would tolerate Cerberus. The dog barked hideously upon hearing its name. Heracles, who had no doubt drunk too much, pointed to the dog and said: 'You've ended up married, Crantor. You, who always criticised me for taking a wife. Where did you meet your lovely partner?'
    Diagoras almost choked on his wine. But Crantor's amiable reaction confirmed his suspicion that the impetuous current of a close childhood friendship, mysterious to the eyes of others, flowed between Crantor and the Decipherer, and that their years of distance and the strange experiences that separated them had not quite succeeded in stemming it. Not quite, because Diagoras also sensed - he couldn't have said how, but he often had such impressions - that neither was entirely at ease with the other: they had to return to the children they once were in order to understand, and even bear, the adults they now were.
    'Cerberus has lived with me longer than you can imagine,' said Crantor. His voice was different, lacking its usual violence, as if he were lulling a newborn baby to sleep. 'I found him on a quay. He was alone like me, so we decided to join destinies.' He glanced over at the dark corner where the dog was chewing violently, adding, to Heracles' amusement: 'He's been a good wife, I assure you. He shouts a lot, but only at strangers.' And he stretched out an arm and patted the small white patch affectionately. The animal barked shrilly in protest.
    After a pause, Crantor went on: 'About Hagesikora, your wife . ..'
    'She died. The Moirai decreed that she should have a long illness.'
    There was silence. At last, Diagoras said he must leave.
    'Don't do so on my account.' Crantor raised his huge, burnt hand. 'Cerberus and I will soon be off.' And almost without transition, he asked: 'Are you a friend of Heracles?'
    'I am really a client.'
    'Ah, some mysterious problem to solve! You're in good hands, Diagoras. I know for a fact that Heracles is a wonderful Decipherer. He's grown a little stouter since I last saw him, but I assure you he has the same piercing gaze and quick intelligence. He'll solve your enigma, whatever it may be, and quickly.'
    'By the gods of friendship,' grumbled Heracles, 'let's not speak of work tonight.'
    'So you are a philosopher?' Diagoras asked Crantor.
    'What Athenian isn't?' rejoined Crantor, raising his eyebrows.
    Heracles said: 'Let us be clear, good Diagoras: Crantor is a philosopher in deed, not in thought. He takes his convictions to their utmost limit, for he doesn't like to believe in anything that he can't put into practice.' Heracles seemed to enjoy his speech, as if he had been talking of the trait he most admired in his old friend. 'I remember ... I remember one of your sayings, Crantor: "I think with my hands.'"
    'You remember it wrongly, Heracles. The sentence was: 'Hands think as well.' But it applies to the whole body.'
    'Do you think with your intestines, too?' smiled Diagoras. Wine had made him sceptical, as it often does to those who rarely drink it.
    'And with my bladder, and my penis, and my lungs, and my toenails,' said Crantor. And he added, after a pause: 'I believe you, too, are a philosopher, Diagoras.'
    'I am a tutor at the Academy. Do you know of the Academy?'
    'Of course. Our good friend Aristocles!'
    'We've long known him by his nickname, Plato.' Diagoras was pleasantly surprised to find that Crantor knew Plato's real name.
    'I know. Tell him from me that he is fondly remembered in Sicily.'
    'Have you been to Sicily?'
    'I've come more or less straight from there. It is rumoured that the tyrant Dionysius has fallen out with his brother-in-law Dion because of your colleague's teachings.'
    Diagoras was delighted to hear it. 'Plato would be happy to know that his sojourn in Sicily is beginning to bear fruit. But I invite you to tell him so in person at the Academy, Crantor.
     
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