Nightspawn Read Online Free PDF Page B

We went forward. At the far end of the plateau, a makeshift bar had been set up, two barrels with rough planks laid across them. A fat old woman was busy filling bottles from a wine cask. A sharp blow with the heel of her hand and tunk, the corks were driven home. I was fascinated. Erik moved toward her, and I caught his arm.
    ‘I can’t drink any more tonight,’ I said.
    He stared at me.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Well, why not, indeed.’
    The old woman showed us one lonesome discoloured tooth. We carried our bottle reverently away, and sat down on the grass beneath the central tree. I sighed contentedly and sniffed at the fine dry night. The crowd on the plateau was taking to the stony ground in groups, talking together in low voices, drinking , rattling their worry beads. There were few women present. Under a further tree the musicians were gathered. There was the piper, and one or two old men with flowing white whiskers and shiny double-breasted suits. A young boy was tuning a bouzouki, bending his ear intently to the soft singing of the strings. One of the old men slowly brushed the skin of a little drum with his fingertips.
    ‘We’re not welcome here,’ I said.
    Cold looks were being cast our way, and colder comments made behind cupped hands. Erik looked around.
    ‘We will not be noticed in the crowd,’ he said, mimicking me with gentle derision.
    How tedious this is. Could I not take it all as understood, the local colour and quaint customs, and then get on to the real meat of things? But I suppose the conventions must be observed. And anyway, there are pearls here strewn among this sty of words. Time enough to rend and tear, time enough. Erik shall say something.
    ‘Nikos is in prison.’
    I took a drink from the bottle. The wine was bitter, and left in my mouth a taste of the bad blood of roots and stems. I considered the stars and asked,
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Nikos. He was Andreas’s driver sometimes, you know, he drove the car sometimes. He’s in the Bouboulinas. And the boy also, do you remember him?’
    ‘Should I remember these people?’
    ‘They came to you here a year ago and asked for your help.’
    ‘Did they?’
    ‘You refused.’
    ‘Did I?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Now how do you know that, Erik?’
    Once again I was privileged to witness that rarity, Erik’s sly grin.
    ‘I know everything.’
    The plateau suddenly descended into a new level of silence, and for one wild instant I expected a round of applause for Erik. The fire — no no, not yet. I turned and saw, coming into the flickering light, the entourage I had met upon the quay. There was father, moving slowly with his oddly fluent lurch, and his brood marching behind him, boy and girl. We all watched. Someone laughed, and lapsed immediately into confused silence. The family halted where a table (barrels and planks again) had been placed under the third plane tree. They satupon crates. A finger was lifted, and the old woman waddled briskly forward. The father said something to her, and they both laughed heartily. I thought he might give her a playful pinch. Wine and glasses were brought, and a lamp, their private lamp. Erik belched. The girl glanced in my direction, and I looked away. I must have had a secret intimation. I looked at Erik. He was watching me, smiling, it seemed. He coughed, and touched his spectacles with his fingertips. The fire was lighted. Voracious flames leapt through the kindling and sent showers of sparks dancing up into the darkness. The red light flashed on the faces around and made of them strange masks with empty eyeholes, ruined mouths.
    ‘I wonder why you didn’t help them,’ Erik said, and relinquished the bottle.
    ‘I did. She would have dropped that trunk if I hadn’t —’
    ‘Nikos, I meant Nikos and the boy.’
    ‘I thought they were insane. That was sixty-two or something .’
    He looked at me.
    ‘But even now you see no reason to —’
    ‘Ah shit, Erik.’
    I lay back upon the grass with my hands behind