The Athenian Murders by José Carlos Somoza Page B
Authors: José Carlos Somoza
Tags: Mystery
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take part in our philosophical dialogues.'
Crantor stared in amusement at his cup of wine, as if it contained something extremely funny or ridiculous. 'I thank you, Diagoras,' he replied, 'but I'll have to think about it. The truth is, your theories don't appeal to me.' And he laughed quietly, as if he'd just made a hilarious joke.
Slightly confused, Diagoras asked pleasantly: 'What theories do appeal to you?'
'Living.'
'Living?'
Still staring at his cup, Crantor nodded. Diagoras said: 'Living isn't a theory. To live, all one needs is to be alive.'
'No. One has to learn how to live.'
Having wanted to leave a moment earlier, Diagoras now felt a professional interest in the conversation. He leaned his head forward and stroked his neatly trimmed Athenian beard with the tips of his slender fingers. 'What you've just said is very curious, Crantor. Please explain, for I fear I don't understand. In your opinion, how does one learn to live?'
'I can't explain.'
'But it would seem that you have learned how to do so.'
Crantor nodded. Diagoras said: 'How can one learn something which is then impossible to explain?'
Crantor suddenly revealed huge white teeth lurking in the centre of his labyrinth of a beard. 'Athenians . ..' he grumbled, so low that Diagoras couldn't make out the rest of the sentence. But as Crantor spoke, his voice grew louder, as if he had been far away and was now charging violently towards them. 'They never change, however long one stays away ... Athenians .. .
Oh, your passion for word games, sophisms, texts, dialogues! Your way of learning, with your arses on a bench, listening, reading, deciphering, inventing arguments and counterarguments in one endless dialogue! Athenians . . . one people made up of men who think and listen to music ... and another people, more numerous but governed by the first, that knows pleasure and suffering but not how to read or write.' He jumped up and went over to the window. The confused clamour of Lenaean revelling filtered through it. 'Listen to it, Diagoras ... The true Athenian people. Its history will never be recorded on funeral steles or preserved on the papyri that your philosophers use to compose their wonderful works . . . This people doesn't even speak: it bellows, it roars like an enraged bull . . .' He moved away from the window. Diagoras noted a savage, almost fierce quality in his movements. 'A people made up of men who eat, drink, fornicate and enjoy themselves, believing they're possessed by the ecstasy of the gods ... Listen to them! They're out there.'
"There are different classes of men, just as there are different types of wine, Crantor,' said Diagoras. 'This people of which you talk is incapable of reasoning. Men who can reason belong to a higher class, so they have no choice but to lead the—'
The cry was savage, unexpected. Cerberus barked loudly, echoing his master's stentorian outburst. 'Reasoning! What good is reasoning? Did you use reason in your war against Sparta? Were your imperial ambitions based on reason? Pericles, Alcibiades, Cleon - these men led you to the slaughter! Were they reasonable? And now, in defeat, what's left? Reasoning past glories!'
'You talk as if you weren't Athenian!' protested Diagoras.
'Leave, and you too will cease to be Athenian! One can only be Athenian within the walls of this absurd city! The first thing you find when you leave is that there is no single truth - every man has his own. And out there, you open your eyes ... and all you see is the blackness of chaos.'
There was a pause. Even Cerberus' furious barking ceased. Diagoras turned towards Heracles, as if about to say something, but the Decipherer appeared to be plunged in his own thoughts. Diagoras assumed he considered the conversation too 'philosophical' and was therefore letting him do all the answering. He cleared his throat and said: 'I understand what you're saying, Crantor, but you're wrong. The blackness you mention,
Crantor stared in amusement at his cup of wine, as if it contained something extremely funny or ridiculous. 'I thank you, Diagoras,' he replied, 'but I'll have to think about it. The truth is, your theories don't appeal to me.' And he laughed quietly, as if he'd just made a hilarious joke.
Slightly confused, Diagoras asked pleasantly: 'What theories do appeal to you?'
'Living.'
'Living?'
Still staring at his cup, Crantor nodded. Diagoras said: 'Living isn't a theory. To live, all one needs is to be alive.'
'No. One has to learn how to live.'
Having wanted to leave a moment earlier, Diagoras now felt a professional interest in the conversation. He leaned his head forward and stroked his neatly trimmed Athenian beard with the tips of his slender fingers. 'What you've just said is very curious, Crantor. Please explain, for I fear I don't understand. In your opinion, how does one learn to live?'
'I can't explain.'
'But it would seem that you have learned how to do so.'
Crantor nodded. Diagoras said: 'How can one learn something which is then impossible to explain?'
Crantor suddenly revealed huge white teeth lurking in the centre of his labyrinth of a beard. 'Athenians . ..' he grumbled, so low that Diagoras couldn't make out the rest of the sentence. But as Crantor spoke, his voice grew louder, as if he had been far away and was now charging violently towards them. 'They never change, however long one stays away ... Athenians .. .
Oh, your passion for word games, sophisms, texts, dialogues! Your way of learning, with your arses on a bench, listening, reading, deciphering, inventing arguments and counterarguments in one endless dialogue! Athenians . . . one people made up of men who think and listen to music ... and another people, more numerous but governed by the first, that knows pleasure and suffering but not how to read or write.' He jumped up and went over to the window. The confused clamour of Lenaean revelling filtered through it. 'Listen to it, Diagoras ... The true Athenian people. Its history will never be recorded on funeral steles or preserved on the papyri that your philosophers use to compose their wonderful works . . . This people doesn't even speak: it bellows, it roars like an enraged bull . . .' He moved away from the window. Diagoras noted a savage, almost fierce quality in his movements. 'A people made up of men who eat, drink, fornicate and enjoy themselves, believing they're possessed by the ecstasy of the gods ... Listen to them! They're out there.'
"There are different classes of men, just as there are different types of wine, Crantor,' said Diagoras. 'This people of which you talk is incapable of reasoning. Men who can reason belong to a higher class, so they have no choice but to lead the—'
The cry was savage, unexpected. Cerberus barked loudly, echoing his master's stentorian outburst. 'Reasoning! What good is reasoning? Did you use reason in your war against Sparta? Were your imperial ambitions based on reason? Pericles, Alcibiades, Cleon - these men led you to the slaughter! Were they reasonable? And now, in defeat, what's left? Reasoning past glories!'
'You talk as if you weren't Athenian!' protested Diagoras.
'Leave, and you too will cease to be Athenian! One can only be Athenian within the walls of this absurd city! The first thing you find when you leave is that there is no single truth - every man has his own. And out there, you open your eyes ... and all you see is the blackness of chaos.'
There was a pause. Even Cerberus' furious barking ceased. Diagoras turned towards Heracles, as if about to say something, but the Decipherer appeared to be plunged in his own thoughts. Diagoras assumed he considered the conversation too 'philosophical' and was therefore letting him do all the answering. He cleared his throat and said: 'I understand what you're saying, Crantor, but you're wrong. The blackness you mention,
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