"So I paid. The wench turned round and took a look at me out of the corner of her eyes. She took my hand to kiss it. But I pulled my hand away. What did she take me for? An old man? 'Spassiba! Spassiba!' she cried-that means: 'Thanks! Thanks!' And away she leaped into her cart. She took the reins and raised her whip. 'Zorba,' I said to myself, 'look out, my friend, she's going to slip through your fingers!' In one bound, I was at her side in the cart. She said nothing. She didn't even look round. A crack of the whip and off we went.

"On the way, she came to realize I wanted her to be mine. I could muster three words of Russian, but in these affairs there's no need to say much. We spoke to each other with our eyes, our hands, our knees. No need to beat about the bush. We arrived in the village and stopped in front of her isha. We got down. The girl thrust open the yard gate with her shoulder and we went in. We unloaded the wood in the yard, took the fish and bread and entered the room. A little old woman was sitting by the empty hearth. She was shivering. She was wrapped in sacks, rags, and sheepskins, but she was shivering. It was so cold, I tell you, your fingernails fairly fell out. I bent down, put an armful of wood in the fireplace and lit the fire. The little old woman looked at me and smiled. Her daughter had said something to her, but I hadn't understood. I made the fire go; the old woman warmed herself by it and recovered a little.

"Meanwhile, the girl was laying the table. She brought out some vodka; we drank it. She lit the samovar and made some tea. We ate and gave her share to the old woman. Then she quickly made the bed with clean sheets, lit the Holy Virgin's icon lamp and crossed herself three times. Then she signed to me; we knelt together in front of the old woman and kissed her hand. The old woman put her bony hands on our heads and muttered something. Probably her blessing on us. 'Spassiba! Spassiba!' I cried, and in one bound, there I was in bed with the wench!"

Zorba became silent. He raised his head and gazed into the distance over the sea.

"Her name was Sophinka…" he said after a while, and became silent again.

"Well?" I asked impatiently. "Well?"

"There's no well! What a mania you've got, boss, with your 'wells' and 'wherefores!' Now, does one talk about those things? Woman is a fresh spring. You lean over her, you see your reflection and you drink; you drink until your bones crack. Then there's another who comes, and he's thirsty, too; he bends over her, he sees his reflection and he drinks. Then a third… A fresh spring, that's what she is, and she's a woman, too…"

"Did you leave her after that?"

"What d'you expect? She's a spring, I told you, and I'm a passer-by. I went back on the road. I'd stayed three months with her. God protect her, I've nothing to say against her! But after three months I remembered I was looking for a mine. 'Sophinka,' I said to her one morning, I've got some work to do. I must go.' 'Well,' Sophinka said, 'go along. I'll wait one month. If you're not back in one month's time, I'll be free. So will you. God bless you!' I went."

"And you came back after a month…?"

"But you're stupid, boss, if you don't mind my saying so," Zorba exclaimed. "Came back! Do the jades ever leave you alone? Ten days later, in the Kuban, I met Noussa."

"Tell me about her! Tell me!"

"Another time, boss. We mustn't get them mixed up, the poor things! Your health, Sophinka!"

He quaffed the glass of wine. Then he leaned against the wall and said:

"All right! I'll tell you now about Noussa. I've got Russia on the brain tonight. Strike the flag! We'll empty the holds!"

He wiped his moustache and poked the embers.

"Well, as I said, I met this one in a Kuban village. It was summer. Mountains of melons and watermelons. I'd pick up one now and then and nobody'd say a thing. I'd cut it in two and stick my face into it.

"Everything's to be had in abundance in Russia, boss, everything in a heap. Roll up and take your choice! And not only melons and watermelons, I tell you, but fish and butter and women. You're passing by, you see a watermelon, you take it. Not like here in Greece, where if you ever pinch the tiniest bit of skin off a melon you're hauled up before the courts, and as soon as you touch a woman her brother rushes up and draws a knife to make sausage meat of you! Ugh! To hell with that measly crowd of beggars! You just go to Russia if you want to see how you can live like a lord.

"So, I was going through Kuban and I saw a woman in a kitchen garden. I liked the look of her. Let me tell you, boss, the Slav woman is not like those skinny, greedy little Greeks who sell you love a drop at a time, and do everything they can to palm you off with less than your due and swindle you over the weight. No, boss, the Slav gives you good measure. In sleep, in love, and in food. She's so nearly related to the beasts of the fields and the earth itself. She gives and gives bountifully, she's not niggardly about it like those haggling Greeks. I asked her: 'What's your name?' You see, through women, I'd picked up a bit of the language. 'Noussa! And yours?' 'Alexis. I like you very much, Noussa.' She looked me over carefully, like you look at a horse before buying it. 'You're no weed yourself,' she said. 'You've got sound teeth, a big moustache, a broad back, strong arms. I like you.' We didn't say much else, it wasn't necessary. We came to an understanding in a jiffy. I was to go to her place that evening in my glad rags. 'Have you got a fur-lined cloak?' Noussa asked me. 'Yes, but in this heat…' 'Never mind. Bring it, it'll look smart.'

"That evening, then, I rigged myself out like a bridegroom, I put my cloak over my arm, I also took a silver-knobbed cane I had, and off I went. It was a big country house with out-buildings, cows, presses, two fires in the yard and cauldrons on the fires. 'What's boiling here?' I asked. 'Watermelon must.' 'And here?' 'Melon must.' 'What a country!' I said to myself. 'D'you hear that? Must of melons and watermelons! This is the Promised Land! Goodbye poverty! Here's to you, Zorba, you've fallen on your feet. Like a mouse in a pound of cheese!'

"I went up the staircase. An enormous wooden staircase which creaked. On the landing were Noussa's father and mother. They were wearing a sort of green breeches and red waistbands with big tassels-they were pretty well off, in fact. These monkey-faces opened their arms and enveloped you in huggings and kissings. I was soaked in slobber. They spoke to me at top speed; I didn't understand much, but what did that matter? It was obvious, by their expressions, they wished me no ill.

"I went into the room and what did I see? Tables groaning under food and drink, like great sailing ships. Everybody was standing-relations, women, men, and in front was Noussa, made-up, in evening dress, with her bosom showing, like a ship's figure head. She had dazzling youth and beauty. She was wearing a red kerchíef over her hair, and over her heart was an embroidered hammer and sickle. 'Zorba, you double-dyed sinner, you,' I muttered to myself, 'is that your meat? Is that the body you're going to hold in your arms tonight? God forgive your father and mother who brought you into this world!'

"We all threw ourselves on the food with a will, the women as well as the men. We guzzled and swilled, we ate like pigs and drank like fish. 'What about the priest?' I asked Noussa's father, who was sitting beside me and whose body was steaming through eating so much. 'Where's the priest to bless us?' 'There's no priest,' he spluttered, ''there's no priest. Religion is opium for the masses.'

"On that he rose, puffed out his breast, loosened his red sash and raised his arm for silence. He was holding a glass filled to the brim and looking me straight in the eye. Then he began to talk and talk; he was making a speech to me. What was he saying? God knows! I was tired of standing. Besides, by this time I was a bit pissed. I sat down and pressed my knee against Noussa's. She was on my right.