The Collected Short Fiction Read online

  Grigg had not come by motor-coach, and therefore had freedom to see the sights, such as they were; to clamber over the hot, rocky hills; and to sit at his ease every evening watching the splendid sunsets. He found the food monotonous, the noise incredible, and the women disappointing (in general, they seemed only to come to identity around the age of sixty, when they rapidly transmogrified into witches and seers); but drink was cheap and the distant past ubiquitous. The language was a difficulty, of course, but Grigg could still scramble a short distance on what remained to him of the ancient variety, which, now that a test had come, was more than he had supposed.

  Most of the time it was straight, beating sunshine, something that had to be accommodated to by a steady act of will, like a Scandinavian winter (at least if there was any kind of serious enterprise on hand), but sometimes the air was green or blue or purple, and then the vast bay could be among the most beautiful places in the world, especially when the colour was purple. On his second or third evening, Grigg sat outside the café, an establishment patronised almost entirely by boring, noisy males, but unself-conscious and affable, none the less. He was drinking local drinks, and, despite the din, feeling himself almost to merge with the purple evening light. In the middle of the view appeared a smallish boat, with curving bow and stern, low freeboard, and a single square sail. If it had not risen from the depths, it must have sailed from behind the small offshore island. It seemed timeless in shape and handling. It added exactly the right kind of life to the sea, air, and evening.

  But Grigg noticed at once that the other customers did not seem to think so. Not only did they stare at the beautiful boat, but they stared with expressions of direct hatred that an Englishman has no practice in adopting. They fell almost silent, which was a bad sign indeed. Even the white-coated waiters stopped running about and stood gazing out to sea like the customers. All that happened was that the boat put about and sailed on to the open waters. As she turned, Grigg thought that he could discern the shapes of sailors. They must have been good at their work, because the ship made off along a dead straight line in what seemed to Grigg to be very little breeze. Already she was merely a darker purple fleck in the perceptibly oncoming evening. The hubbub in the café soon worked up again. Grigg got the impression that the ship, though unpopular, was quite familiar.

  Soon his waiter was removing his glass. Grigg ordered a renewel.

  'What was that ship?'

  He perceived that the waiter had a little English, but doubted whether it would suffice for this. It did suffice.

  'She comes from the island.' The waiter stood gazing out, either at the ship or at the island.

  'Can I visit the island?'

  'No. There is no boat.'

  'Surely I can hire one if I pay for it?'

  'No. There is no boat.' And the waiter departed.

  When he returned with Grigg's ensuing ouzo, Grigg did not resume the subject. All the same, what the waiter said had been absurd. The island could hardly have been more than a mile way and lay in the centre of the calm, sheltered bay. Grigg had not previously thought of the island as anything more than a point of emphasis in the view, an eye-catcher, as our ancestors termed it. Now he wanted to see more.

  In the town was one of the state tourist offices, to which all foreign travellers are directed to go when in need. Grigg had not visited any of them before, but now was the time. He went next morning.

  The pleasant young man who seemed in sole possession spoke pretty good English and received Grigg's enquiry with sophistication.

  'The fishermen do not like the island,' he said, smiling. 'They give it, as you say, a wide berth.'

  'Why is that?'

  'It is said to be a very old island.'

  'But surely this is a very old country?'

  'Not as old as the island. Or so the fishermen say.'

  'Is that a bad thing? Being very old?'

  'Yes,' said the young man, with perceptibly less sophistication. 'A bad thing.' He sounded surprisingly firm. Grigg recollected that the tourist officials were recruited from the police.

  'Then you think that no one will take me there?'

  'I am sure of it,' said the young man, again smiling. 'No one.'

  'Then I shall have to swim,' said Grigg. He spoke lightly, and he would have hated to have to do it. But the young man, who could not be sure of this, tried another tack.

  'There's nothing to see on the island,' he said a shade anxiously. 'Nothing at all, I assure you. Let me give you our leaflet of tourist sights. All very nice.'

  'Thank you,' said Grigg. 'I've got one already.'

  The young man put the leaflet away, more obviously disappointed than an Englishman would have permitted of himself.

  'Then you've been to the island yourself?' asked Grigg.

  'No,' said the young man. 'As I told you, there is nothing to see.'

  'Last night I saw a ship sail from the island. Either someone must live there or there must be some reason for going there.'

  'I do not know about that,' said the young man, slightly sulky but still trying. 'I cannot imagine that anyone lives there or wants to go there.' Grigg could not suppose that this was to be interpreted quite literally.

  'Why shouldn't they?'

  'The Turks. The Turks made the island unlucky.'

  Long before, Grigg had realised that throughout Hellas everything bad that cannot be attributed to the evil eye or other supernatural influence is blamed upon the Turks; even though the stranger is apt on occasion to suspect, however unworthily, that the Turks provided the last settled and secure government the region has known. And he had furthermore realised that it is a subject upon which argument is not merely useless but impossible. The Turks and their special graces have been expunged from Hellenic history; their mosques demolished or converted into cinemas.

  'I see,' said Grigg. 'Thank you for your advice. But I must make it clear that I do not undertake to follow it.'

  The young man smiled him out, confident that the local brick wall would fully withstand the pounding of Grigg's unbalanced and middle-aged head.

  *

  And so it seemed. Contrary to legend, Grigg, as the day wore on, discovered that few of the fishermen seemed interested in his money: to be more precise, none of them, or none that he approached, and he had approached many. It did not seem to be that they objected to going to the island, because in most cases he had not reached the point of even mentioning the island: they simply did not want to take him anywhere, even for what Grigg regarded as a considerable sum. They appeared to be very much preoccupied with their ordinary work. They would spend one entire day stretching their saffron-coloured nets to dry on the stones of the quay. Naturally the language barrier did not help, but Grigg got the impression that, in the view of the fishermen, as of various others he had met, tourists should adhere to their proper groove and not demand to wander among the real toilers, the genuine and living ancestors. Tourists were not to be comprehended among those strangers for whom, notoriously, the word is the same as for guests.

  None of the separate, discouraging negotiations had taken long, and by the evening of that same day Grigg had combed the port and now found time on his hands. Thinking about it all, over an early drink, he wondered if word could have gone round as to the real destination of his proposed excursion. He also wondered if the island could be an enclave of the military, who were often to be found embattled in the most renowned and unexpected corners of the land. It seemed unlikely: the young man would have been proud to tell him so at once, as a young cowherd had told him at the ancient castro above Thessalonika. Besides, the ship he had seen could hardly have served for war since the Pericleans. It struck him to wonder whether the ship had returned during the night. He felt sure that it belonged to the island and not elsewhere. He even thought of buying a pair of field-glasses, but desisted because they would have to be carried all the way home.

  Over his next ouzo, Grigg went on to consider why it mattered to him about
reaching the island, especially when so much difficulty seemed to be involved. He decided that, in the first place, it had been the beautiful ship. In the second place, it had been the hostility to her of the people in the café. Grigg was one whose feelings were usually contrary to any that might be expressed in mass emotion; and he was confirmed in this when the popular feeling was so morally narrow and so uniform as, commonly, among the Hellenes. In the third place, it was undoubtedly the mysterious business about the island being bad because very old. A perceptive traveller in Hellas comes to think of the Parthenon as quite modern; to become more and more absorbed by what came earlier. Soon, if truly perceptive, he is searching seriously for centaurs.

  All the same, Grigg quite surprised himself by what he actually did. Walking along the hard road in the heat of the next mid-afternoon, with almost no one else so foolish as to be about at all, apart from the usual discontented coach trip, he observed a small boat with an outboard motor. She was attached, bow on, to a ring. He could borrow her, visit the island, be back almost within an hour, and pay then, if anyone relevant had appeared. He was sure that it was now or never. He was able to untie the painter almost at his leisure, while the coach-party stared at him, welcoming the familiar activity and the familiar-looking man who was doing it. The engine started popping at the first pull. A miracle, thought Grigg, who had experience of outboards: fate is with me. In a matter of hardly more than seconds in all, his hand was on the helm and he was off.

  To anyone that loves the seas of Britain or the great sands of Belgium and Holland, there is something faintly repulsive about the tideless Mediterranean and Aegean, which on a calm day tend to be at once stagnant and a little uncanny. Dense weed often clogs the shallows, uncleaned by ebb and flow; and one speculates upon fathom five and millennia many of unshifting spoil. While he was still near the shore, Grigg's enjoyment was mitigated also by the smell, much more noticeable than from the land; but soon the pleasure of being afloat at all worked on him, and within minutes there was nothing in his heart but the sun, the breeze, the parting of the water at the prow of the boat, and the island ahead. After a spell, he did half look over his shoulder for a possible gesticulating figure on the quay. There was no one. Even the coach-party was re-embarked and poised to go elsewhere. And soon the lights that sparkled on the miniature waves were like downland flowers in spring.

  Upon a closer view, the building on the island's back proved to be merely the central section, or keep, of saffron-coloured fortifications that included the whole area. In view of what the man at the tourist office had said, they had presumably been erected by the Turks, but one never quite knew whether there had not been contributions from the Venetians, or the Normans, or the Bulgars, or the Cyclops, or, at different times, from them all. Some of the present structures seemed far gone in decay, but all of them were covered with clusters and swags of large, brightly coloured flowers, so that the total effect was quite dazzling, especially when seen across a few hundred yards of radiant blue sea. Grigg perceived that the island was simply a rock; a dark brown, or reddish brown rock, which stood out everywhere quite distinctly from the lighter hue of the stonework.

  Then he saw that the sunlight was glinting on glass in at least some of the windows, small and deepset though they were. To his right, moreover, an ornamental balustrade, hardly a part of the fortress, descended the sloping back of the island until it ended almost at sea-level. Grigg thought that the rock might continue to slope in the same gentle degree under the water, so that it would be as well to go cautiously and to keep well out; but it seemed, none the less, the likeliest end of the island for a landing. He rounded the island in this way without incident, and saw that on the far side there was a square stone harbour, though void alike of craft and citizens. He cut off his noisy engine and drifted in. He marvelled more than ever at the number, the size, and the gorgeousness of the flowers. Already, still out at sea, he could even smell them: not the smell of one particular species, but a massed perfume, heavy and almost melodious, drifting across the limpid water to meet and enfold him. He sailed silently in like a coasting bird, and settled perfectly at the harbour steps, as one commonly does when not a soul is looking. Grigg sprang ashore, climbed the steps, which were made of marble, and made fast to one of the rings in the stonework at the top. He observed that here the ocean-verge was uncluttered with weed, so that he could look downwards many yards through the water and the shoals of fish to the sunny sand below.

  Having but borrowed the boat, he meant, of course, to remain for only a matter of minutes; merely to make up his mind as to whether there was anything on the island to justify the difficulty of a renewed effort for a more conventional visit. At once, however, he realized how glad he was to be alone, how greatly a professional boatman would have spoiled his pleasure.

  On this side of the long sloping balustrade were wide steps; a marble staircase leading from port to citadel. They were immaculate: even, level, and almost polished in their smoothness. Grigg ascended. On his right was the bare brown rock. He noticed that it was strikingly rough and gnarled, with hardly anywhere a flat area as big as a lace handkerchief. He put his hand on this rough rock. It was so hot that it almost burnt him. Still, soil had come from somewhere: as well as the wonderful flowers, there were fruit trees ahead and heavy creepers. Curiously coloured lizards lay about the steps watching him. He could not quite name the colour. Azure, perhaps; or cerulean. When he reached the citadel, there were nectarines hanging from the branches spread out against the yellow walls. They seemed much ahead of their time, Grigg thought, but supposed that so far south the seasons were different. He was feeling more and more a trespasser. The island was quite plainly inhabited and cared for. There was nothing about it which accorded with the impression given at the tourist office.

  The citadel had wooden gates, but they were open. Grigg hesitated. There was nothing to be heard but the soft sea and the bees. He listened, and entered the citadel.

  The structure ranged round three sides of a stone-paved courtyard. The fourth side, which faced away from the bigger island, had either fallen or been bombarded into ruin, and then perhaps been demolished, so that now there was nothing left but high, rough edges of yellow masonry framing the view of the open sea, vast, featureless, and the colour of the sky. Again there were flowers everywhere, with a big flowering tree near the centre of the court. The glazed windows stood open, and so did several doors. Grigg did not care to enter: the place was clearly lived in, and he had no justification for being there.

  Still he did not feel as yet like returning.

  On the far side of the courtyard was another open gateway. Grigg passed cautiously through it. There seemed nothing to worry about. As usual, no one was to be seen. There were not even the farm animals he had half expected. There was nothing but a tangle of collapsed defence structures from past centuries, starting with an irregular wall which ringed this entire end of the island at little above sea-level. Between the many ruined buildings was dense, sharp grass, reaching above Grigg's knees, and unpleasantly suggestive also of snakes. None the less, he ploughed on, convinced by now that this was his only chance, as he would never be able to find a reason for coming back.

  A considerable garrison must have been installed at one time, or at least contemplated. The place was still like a maze, and also gave the impression, even now, of having been abandoned quite suddenly, doubtless when the Turks departed. There were still long guns, mounted and pointed out to sea, though drawn back. There were straggling, dangerous stacks of stone, and other obviously ancient heaps that might once have been heaps of anything. Grigg was far too hot and increasingly lacerated, but he determined to scramble on, as there was a circular tower at the end of the island, which, if climbable, might offer a more revealing panorama. Anyway, who that had imagination, could reach the island in the way Grigg had reached it, and not at least try to climb that tower?

  When at long last attained, the tower seemed to be in almost perfect order. Grig
g dragged open the parched door, and wound his way up and up through the spiders and other crepusculæ. The circular stone stair emerged through a now uncovered hole in the stone roof, so that the top steps were shapeless and treacherous beneath deep, lumpy silt which had drifted in from the atmosphere.

  And then there was a revelation indeed. As Grigg emerged and looked out over the low battlements, he saw on the instant that another boat had entered the small harbour, almost a ship; in fact, without doubt, the ship. She was painted green, and her single blue sail had already been struck. Grigg perceived that now he could hardly depart from the island without explanations.

  He descended the tower, not having studied the other features of the prospect as carefully as he otherwise would have done. As he stumbled back through the débris and thick, dry vegetation, he grazed and sliced himself even more than on the outward scramble. He felt very undignified as he re-entered the citadel, especially as he was hotter than ever.

  Standing in the courtyard were three women. They all appeared to be aged between thirty and forty, and they all wore identical greeny-brown dresses, plainly intended for service.

  'Good afternoon,' said one of the women. 'Do you wish to stay with us?' She had a foreign accent, but it struck Grigg at once as not being Greek.

  'Can one stay?' It was a foolish rejoinder, but instinctual.

  'We do not run an hotel, but we sometimes have guests. It is as you wish.'

  'I am staying in the town. I couldn't find out anything about the island, so I borrowed a boat to see for myself.'

  'How did you do that?' asked one of the other women, in what seemed to Grigg to be the same foreign accent. She had dark hair, where the other two were fair, and a darker voice than the first speaker.