"Ha! welcome, Father Zaharia!" cried Zorba. "What's put you in such a state?"

The monk sank to the floor near the fire. His chin was trembling.

Zorba leaned towards him and winked.

"Yes," said the monk.

"Bravo, monk!" cried Zorba. "Now you're sure to go to Paradise; you can't miss it! And you'll have a can of paraffin in your hand as you enter!"

"Amen!" murmured the monk, crossing himself.

"How did it work out? When? Come on, tell us!"

"I saw the archangel Michael, brother Canavaro. He gave me an order. Listen how it came: I was in the kitchen stringing some beans. I was all alone. The door was closed, the monks were at vespers; it was absolutely quiet, I could hear the birds singing outside, and it sounded like angels. I had prepared everything, and I was waiting. I'd bought a can of paraffin and hidden it in the chapel in the cemetery, beneath the holy table itself, so that the archangel Michael would bless it.

"So yesterday afternoon I was stringing beans and Paradise was running in my head. I was saying to myself: 'Lord Jesus, I deserve the Kingdom of Heaven, too, and I'm quite prepared to string beans for all eternity in the kitchens of Paradise!' That's what I was thinking, and the tears were running down my face. Suddenly I heard the beating of wings above me. I understood, and bent my head, trembling with fear. Then I heard a voice: 'Zaharia, look up and be not afraid.' But I was quaking so much I fell to the floor. 'Look up, Zaharia!' said the voice again. I looked up and saw. The door was open and on the threshold stood the archangel Michael, just as he is depicted on the doors of the sanctuary of the monastery, just the same; with black wings, red sandals and a golden halo; only instead of a sword he was holding a lighted torch. 'Hail, Zaharia!' he said. 'I'm the servant of God,' I answered. 'What do you command?' 'Take the flaming torch, and may the Lord be with you.' I held out my hand and felt my palms burn. But the archangel had disappeared. All I saw was a line of fire in the sky, like a shooting star."

The monk wiped the sweat off his face. He had gone quite white. His teeth were chattering as if he were feverish.

"Well?" said Zorba. "Bear up, Zaharia! What next?"

"Just at that moment the monks were coming away from vespers and going into the refectory. As he went by, the abbot kicked me like a dog, and all the monks laughed. I didn't say anythíng. After the visit of the archangel there was still a smell of sulphur in the air, but no one noticed it. 'Zaharia!' said the perceptor. 'Aren't you going to eat?' I kept my mouth shut.

"'Angels' food is enough for him!' said Demetrios, the Sodomite. The monks all laughed again. So I got up and walked away to the cemetery. I prostrated myself before the archangel… for hours I felt his foot heavy on my neck. The time passed like lightning. That is how the hours and the centuries will pass in Paradise. Midnight came. Everything was quiet. The monks had gone to bed. I stood up, crossed myself and kissed the archangel's foot. 'Thy will be done,' I said. I took the can of paraffin, opened it and went. I had stuffed my robe with rags.

"The night was as black as ink. The moon had not risen. The monastery was dark, as dark as hell. I went into the courtyard, climbed the steps and came to the abbot's quarters. I threw paraffin on the door, windows and walls. I ran to Demetrios's cell. There I started pouring paraffin all over the cells and along the big wooden gallery-just as you told me. Then I went into the chapel, lit a candle from the lamp before the statue of Christ and started the fire."

The monk was breathless now, and stopped. His eyes burned with an inner flame.

"God be praised!" he roared, crossing himself. "God be praised! In a moment the whole monastery was in flames. 'The flames of hell!' I shouted at the top of my voice and then ran away as fast as I could. I ran and ran, and I could hear the bells ringing, the monks shouting… and I ran and ran…

"Day came. I hid in the wood. I was shivering. The sun rose and I heard the monks searching the woods for me. But God sent a mist to cover me and they did not see me. Towards dusk, I heard a voice say: 'Go down to the sea! Away!' 'Guide me, guide me, archangel!' I cried, and started out. I didn't know which way I was going, but the archangel guided me, sometimes by means of a flash of lightning, at others by a dark bird in the trees, or by a path coming down the mountain. And I ran after him as hard as I could, trusting him completely. And his bounty is great, as you see! I've found you, my dear Canavaro! I'm saved!"

Zorba did not say a word, but there was a broad, sensual smile across his face, from the corners of his mouth to his hairy ass's ears.

Dinner was ready and he took the pot off the fire.

"Zaharia," he asked, "what is angels' food?"

"The spirit," answered the monk, crossing himself.

"The spirit? In other words, wind? That doesn't nourish a man; come and eat some bread and have some fish soup and a scrap or two of meat, then you'll feel yourself again. You've done a good job! Eat!"

"I'm not hungry," said the monk.

"Zaharia isn't hungry, but what about Joseph? Isn't he hungry either?"

"Joseph," said the monk in a low voice, as if he were revealing a deep mystery, "was burnt, curse his soul, burnt, God be praised!"

"Burnt!" cried Zorba with a laugh. "How? When? Did you see him burnt?"

"Brother Canavaro, he burnt the second I lit the candle at the lamp of Christ. I saw him with my own eyes come out of my mouth like a black ribbon with letters of fire. The flame from the candle fell on him and he writhed like a snake, but was burnt to ashes. What a relief! God be praised! I feel I've entered Paradise already!"

He rose from beside the fire, where he had curled up.

"I shall go and sleep on the sea shore; that was what I was ordered to do."

He walked away along the edge of the water and disappeared into the blackness of the night.

"You are responsible for him, Zorba," I said. "If the monks find him he's done for."

"They won't find him, don't you worry, boss. I know this sort of game too well: early tomorrow morning-I'll shave him, give him some really human clothes and put him on a ship. Don't bother yourself about him, it isn't worth it. Is the stew good? Eat a man's bread and enjoy it, and don't worry your head about all the rest!"

Zorba ate with a very good appetite, drank and wiped his moustache. Now he wanted to talk.

"Did you notice, boss?" he said. "His devil's dead. And now he's empty, poor fellow, completely empty, finished! He will be just like everybody else from now on!"

He thought for a moment or two.

"Do you think, boss, that this devil of his was…?"

"Of course," I replied. "The idea of burning the monastery had possessed him; now he's burnt it he's calmed. That idea wanted to eat meat, drink wine, ripen and turn into action. The other Zaharia had no need of wine or meat. He matured by fasting."

Zorba turned this over and over in his head.

"Why, I think you're right, boss! I think I must have five or six demons inside me!"

"We've all got some, Zorba, don't you worry. And the more we have, the better. The main thing is that they should all aim at the same end, even if they do go different ways about it."

These words seemed to move Zorba deeply. He lodged his big head between his knees and thought.

"What end?" he asked at last, raising his eyes to me.

"How should I know, Zorba? You ask difficult questions. How can I explain that?"

"Just say it simply, so that I understand. Up till now I've always let my demons do just what they liked, and go any way they liked about it-and that's why some people call me dishonest and others honest, and some think I'm crazy and others say I'm as wise as Solomon. I'm all those things and a lot more-a real Russian salad. So help me to get it clearer, will you, boss… what end?"