"Boss," said Zorba suddenly, "who was that rascally god who would never let a single woman have room for complaint? I've heard something about him, I know. It seems he used to dye his beard, too, and tattooed hearts and arrows and sirens on his arms; he used to disguise himself, they say: turned into a bull, a swan, a ram, and, saving his reverence, an ass; in fact, whatever the jades desired. What was his name?"
"You must be talking about Zeus. What made you think of him?"
"God preserve his soul!" said Zorba, raising his arms to heaven. "He had some rough times, he did! What he must have gone through! A great martyr, believe me, boss! You swallow everything your books say, but just think a moment what the people who write books are like! Pff! a lot of schoolmasters. What do they know about women, or men who run after women? Not the first thing!"
"Why don't you write a book yourself, Zorba? And explain all the mysteries of the world to us?" I sneered.
"Why not? For the simple reason that I live all those mysteries, as you call them, and I haven't the time to write. Sometimes it's war, sometimes women, sometimes wine, sometimes the santuri: where would I find time to drive a miserable pen? That's how the business falls into the hands of the pen-pushers! All those who actually live the mysteries of life haven't the time to write, and all those who have the time don't live them! D'you see?"
"Let's get back to our subject! What about Zeus?"
"Ah! the poor chap!" sighed Zorba. "I'm the only one to know what he suffered. He loved women, of course, but not the way you think, you pen-pushers! Not at all! He was sorry for them! He understood what they all suffered and he sacrificed himself for their sakes! When, in some god-forsaken country hole, he saw an old maid wasting away with desire and regret, or a pretty young wife-or even if she wasn't at all pretty, even if she was a monster-and her husband away and she couldn't get to sleep, he used to cross himself, this good fellow, change his clothes, take on whatever shape the woman had in mind and go to her room.
"He never bothered about women who just wanted petting. No! Often enough even he was dead-beat: you can understand that. How could anybody satisfy all those she-goats? Ah! Zeus! the poor old goat. More than once he couldn't be bothered, he didn't feel too good. Have you never seen a billy after he's covered several she-goats? He slobbers at the mouth, his eyes are all misty and rheumy, he coughs a bit and can hardly stand on his feet. Well, poor old Zeus must have been in that sad state quite often.
"At dawn he'd come home, saying: 'Ah! my God! whenever shall I be able to have a good night's rest? I'm dropping!' And he'd keep wiping the saliva from his mouth.
"But suddenly he'd hear a sigh: down there on earth some woman had thrown off her bedclothes, gone out onto the balcony, almost stark naked, and was sighing enough to turn the sails of a mill! And my old Zeus would be quite overcome. 'Oh, hell! I'll have to go down again!' he'd groan. 'There's a woman bemoaning her lot! I'll have to go and console her!'
"And it went on like that to such an extent that the women emptied him completely. He couldn't move his back, he started vomiting, became paralyzed and died. That's when his heir, Christ, arrived. He saw the wretched state the old man was in: 'Beware of women!' he cried."
I admired Zorba's freshness of mind and rocked with laughter.
"You can laugh, boss! But if the god-devil makes our little venture here successful-it seems impossible to me, but still-do you know what sort of shop I'll open? A marriage bureau. Yes… that's right. The Zeus Marriage Agency'! Then the poor women who haven't managed to pick up a husband can all have another chance: old maids, plain women, the knock-kneed, the cross-eyed, the hump-backed, the lame, and I shall receive them all in a small lounge with a crowd of photographs on the walls of fine young fellows, and I'll say to them: 'Take your pick, ladies, choose the one you want, and I'll set about making him your husband.' Then I'll find any fellow who looks a bit like the photo, dress him up the same, give him some money and tell him: 'So-and-so Street, such-and-such a number, go and see Miss What's-it and make violent love to her. Don't be disgusted; I'll pay for it. Sleep with her. Tell her all the nice things a man ever tells a woman; she's never heard any of them, poor creature. Swear you'll marry her. Give the poor wretch a bit of pleasure, the sort of pleasure nanny-goats have, and even tortoises and centipedes.'
"And if some old nanny turned up on the lines of our old Bouboulina-God bless her!-and nobody would agree to console her, no matter how much I paid him, well… I'd cross myself, and I, director of the marriage bureau, would do it in person! Then you'd hear all the old fools of the neighborhood saying: 'Look at that! What an old rake! Hasn't he any eyes to see or nose to smell with?' 'Yes, you bunch of donkeys, I have got eyes! Yes, you pack of flint-hearted gossips, I have got a nose! But I've got a heart, too, and I'm sorry for her! And if you've got a heart, it's no use having all the eyes and noses in the world. When the time comes, they don't count a jot!'
"Then, when I'm absolutely impotent myself, through sowing wild oats, and I peg out, Saint Peter the Porter will open the gate of Paradise to me: 'Come in, Zorba, poor fellow,' he'll say; 'come in, Zorba the martyr. Go and lie down beside your comrade, Zeus! Rest, old chap, you did your bit on earth! My blessing on you!'"
Zorba went on talking. His imagination laid traps for him and he fell right into them. He began to believe in his own stories. As we were passing the Fig Tree of Our Young Lady, he sighed. Then holding out his arms as though swearing an oath, he said:
"Don't fret, Bouboulina, poor ill-treated, rotting old hulk. Don't fret! I won't leave you without consolation! You may have been abandoned by the four great Powers, by youth, and even by God himself, but I, Zorba, will not abandon you!"
It was after midnight when we got back to the beach, and the wind was rising. From yonder, from Africa, came the Notus, the warm south wind which swells out the trees, the vines, and the breasts of Crete. The whole island, as it lay by the water, came to life beneath the warm breath of this wind which makes the sap begin to rise. Zeus, Zorba and the south wind mingled together, and in the night I distinctly saw a great male face, with black beard and oily hair, bending down and pressing hot red lips on Dame Hortense, the Earth.
20
AS SOON as we arrived, we went to bed. Zorba rubbed his hands together in satisfaction.
"This has been a good day, boss. I suppose you'll ask me what I mean by 'good'? I mean full. Just think: this morning we were miles away at the monastery, settling the abbot's hash-he must have cursed us! Afterwards we came down here to our hut, found Dame Bouboulina and I got engaged. By the way, look at the ring. Mint gold… She said she still had two English sovereigns the English admiral gave her towards the end of last century. She was keeping them, she said, for her funeral; and now-may the hour be kind to her-she goes and gives them to the goldsmith to have rings made of them. What a damned mystery mankind is!"
"Go to sleep, Zorba!" I said. "Calm down! That's enough for one day. Tomorrow we have a solemn ceremony to perform: the setting up of the first pylon for our cable. I've asked Pappa Stephanos to come."
"You did well, boss; that's not a bad idea. Let him come, that old goat-bearded priest, and let all the village notables come as well; we'll even give out little candles and they can light them. That's the sort of thing to make an impression; it'll be good for our business. Don't take any notice of what I do; I've got my own God and my own devil. But other people…"