"What a pity," I thought, "that such austerity and nobility should be without a soul."

I was tired, I had not slept well, and I stretched out on the grass. The wild violets, broom, rosemary and sage made the air redolent. Insects buzzed continually as in their hunger they plunged into the flowers like pirates and sucked the honey. In the distance the mountains sparkled, transparent, serene, like a moving haze in the burning light of the sun.

I closed my eyes, soothed. A quiet, mysterious pleasure took possession of me-as if all that green miracle around me were paradise itself, as if all the freshness, airiness and sober rapture which I was feeling were God. God changes his appearance every second. Blessed is the man who can recognize him in all his disguises. At one moment he is a glass of fresh water, the next your son bouncing on your knees or an enchanting woman, or perhaps merely a morning walk.

Little by little, everything around me, without changing shape, became a dream. I was happy. Earth and paradise were one. A flower in the fields with a large drop of honey in its center: that was how life appeared to me. And my soul, a wild bee plunderíng.

I was brutally awakened from this state of beatitude. I heard steps behind me and whispers. At the same instant a happy voice cried:

"Boss, we're off!"

Zorba stood in front of me and his small eyes shone with a diabolical gleam.

"Off?" I said with relief. "Is it all settled?"

"Everything!" said Zorba, tapping the upper part of his jacket. "Here's the forest. I hope it brings us luck! And here are the seven thousand Lola cost us!"

He took a roll of banknotes from his inside pocket.

"Take 'em!" he said. "I pay my debts; I'm not ashamed to look you in the face any more. The stockings, and handbags, and perfume and Dame Bouboulina's parasol are all included in that. Even the parrot's nuts! And the halva I brought you, as well!"

"Keep it yourself, Zorba; it's a present from me," I said. "Go and burn a candle to the Virgin you've sinned against."

Zorba turned round. Father Zaharia was coming towards us in his filthy gown, which was turning green, and his down-at-heel shoes. He was leading our two mules.

Zorba showed him the roll of notes.

"We'll split, Father Joseph," he said. "You can buy two hundred pounds of salt cod and stuff yourself with it tíll you burst your belly. Till you spew it up and deliver yourself from cod for ever and ever! Come on, hold out your paw!"

The monk took the dirty notes and hid them.

"I shall buy some paraffin!" he said.

Zorba lowered his voice and whispered in the old monk's ear.

"In the dark when they're all asleep, the bearded old goats; and there must be a good wind," he recommended. "Sprinkle the walls on all sides. You only need soak some rags or cotton waste, anything, then put a light' to it. Got the idea?"

The monk was trembling.

"Don't tremble like that! The archangel ordered you to do it, didn't he? Put your trust in paraffin and the grace of God! Good luck to you!"

We mounted, and I took a last look at the monastery.

"Have you learned anything, Zorba?" I asked.

"About the revolver shot? Don't worry your head about that, boss; old Zaharia's right: Sodom and Gomorrah! Demetrios killed the nice little monk. There you have it."

"Demetrios? Why?"

"Don't try to ferret it out, boss, it's all filth and foulness."

He turned towards the monastery. The monks were filing out of the refectory, heads bent, hands clasped, on their way to lock themselves in their cells.

"Give me your curses, holy Fathers!" he cried.

19

THE FIRST PERSON we met as we dismounted on our beach that night was Bouboulina, who was sitting huddled up in front of the hut. When the lamp was lit and I saw her face I was alarmed.

"What's wrong, Madame Hortense? Are you ill?"

From the moment the great hope-marriage-had gleamed in her mind, our old siren had lost all her indefinable and dubious charms. She tried to wipe out the past and cast off the gaudy feathers with which she had adorned herself out of the spoils from her pashas, beys and admirals. She had no aspiration beyond that of becoming a serious and respectable commoner, a good, virtuous woman. She no longer made up, nor decked herself out; she showed herself just as she was: a poor creature who wanted to get married.

Zorba did not open his mouth. He kept nervously pulling at his newly dyed moustache. He bent down, lit the stove and put on some water for making coffee.

"You're cruel!" the old cabaret singer said all of a sudden in a hoarse voice.

Zorba raised his head and looked at her. His eyes softened. He could never hear a woman say anything to him in a harrowing tone without beíng completely overwhelmed. One tear from a woman could drown him.

He said nothing, put the coffee and sugar in the pot, and stirred.

"Why do you keep me pining so long before marrying me?" said the old siren. "I daren't show myself in the village any more. I'm disgraced! Disgraced! I shall kill myself."

I was resting on the bed. Leaning with my elbow on the pillow, I enjoyed this comically moving scene.

"Why didn't you bring the marriage wreaths?"

Zorba felt Bouboulina's plump little hand trembling on his knee. That knee was the last inch of solid ground to which this poor creature of a thousand and one shipwrecks could cling.

Zorba seemed to understand this and his heart relented. But once more he said nothing. He poured the coffee into three cups.

"Why didn't you bring the marriage wreaths, darling?" she repeated in a quavering voice.

"They haven't got any good ones in Candia," Zorba replied curtly.

He handed the cups round and squatted in a corner.

"I've written to Athens for them to send some," he went on. "I've ordered some white candles, too, and sugared almonds with chocolate flavor."

As he spoke his imagination kindled. His eyes sparkled, and like a poet in the burning second of creation, Zorba soared to heights where fiction and truth mingle and resemble each other, like sisters. He was squatting, and, resting thus, noisily drank his coffee. He lit a second cigarette; it had been a good day-he had the forest settlement in his pocket, he had paid off his debts, he was happy. He let himself go.

"Our marriage, my sweet Bouboulina," he said, "must make a stir. You wait till you see the bridal gown I've ordered for you. That's why I stayed so long in Candia, my love. I sent for two big fashion designers from Athens and I told them: 'Look! The woman I'm going to marry has no equal in the East or West! She was the acknowledged queen of four great Powers; now she's a widow, the great Powers are dead and she's consented to take me as her husband. So I want her bridal gown to have no equal either: it must be all in silk, pearls and gold stars!' The two designers protested: 'But that will be too beautiful!' they said. 'All the guests will be blinded by such magnificence!' 'Never mind about that!' I said. 'What does it matter? As long as my beloved is satisfied!'"

Dame Hortense listened to him, leaning against the wall. A wide, fleshy smile spread across her creased and flabby face, and the red ribbon round her neck was well nigh splitting.

"I want to whisper in your ear," she said to Zorba, making great sheep's eyes at him.

Zorba winked at me and leaned forward.

"I've brought you something tonight," whispered his future wife, almost poking her little tongue into his big hairy ear.

She pulled out of her bodice a handkerchief with one corner knotted, and proffered it to Zorba.

He took the little handkerchief between two fingers and placed it on his right knee, then, turning to the door, looked out at the sea.