The Messenger of Athens: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

drink and a pot to piss in, dozing, dreaming, remembering. Some days, he believed he’d never again leave that bed. On better days, he swigged chalky antacids directly from the bottle, and thanked God for some relief. But there was blood in his stools, and his appetite was all but gone. He was a frightened man: afraid to see a doctor, afraid of dying alone in the night, more afraid to show need, and fear.
    He spooned coffee from the jar, and took the brandy bottle from the shelf. But the brandy was not his vice; it was from the medicinal-blue bottle of Milk of Magnesiathat he surreptitiously unscrewed the cap, and, turning his back to the terrace, drank like a man addicted.
    She put her hands around the coffee cup to warm them, but the coffee, cooled by milk and brandy, had no heat. He had added too much alcohol; it flamed her cheeks red, and set her stomach on fire. It worked its magic quickly. Soon, the bleakness of the outlook mattered less.
    He took a cigarette from the packet and struck a light from a box of matches, cupping it against the wind. His hands shook, and the swelling of his joints made him clumsy, but he had had many years of practice. He drew in smoke.
    “So,” he said, wiping his nose with a finger. “Have you spoken to your mother?”
    “The phone’s still out of order. I went to the company office to tell them. Twice. They said they’d come. But they haven’t been.”
    “Because they’re idle.” He flicked ash onto the wet stone terrace. “Go again. Make a nuisance of yourself.”
    “It won’t make any difference. They won’t come for me. They won’t work for foreigners. Andreas can go, when he comes home.” She looked towards the headland and the cloudbanks which hid the mainland. “If the weather were clear, we might see our village from here. I can see it, sometimes.”
    He dropped his cigarette butt into a puddle by his chair, watching the paper change from white to gray as it absorbed water. Her eyes were wet. He believed it was the wind, stinging them.
    “You’re deluded,” he said. “Our village is fifteen miles up the coast.” She crushed his cigarette butt with her foot. “You should phone your mother. She’ll worry, if you don’t. Use a public phone. If they’re working.”
    “She worries less, now I’m off her hands.”
    “She misses you. Like you miss Andreas.”
    “With him gone, there’s nothing for me to do.”
    “Some women,” he said, “would be glad to have the freedom of an absent husband. No meals to cook. No shirts to wash. Time to walk, and talk to me.”
    “When you came here, Uncle, why did you stay?”
    “Plain and simple. I fell in love with your aunt. And with this place. Look at that.” He swept his arm across the breadth of the bay. “All this beauty. And listen.” The waves were breaking on the jetty; across the bay, the canvas of the yacht’s loosened sail snapped in the wind. “Silence. No traffic. No crowds. Peace, and quiet. The secret of a happy life. What more could you want?”
    “Life,” she said. “Excitement.”
    “Excitement is vastly overrated,” he said. “Take it from me.”
    “A change of scene, then. Athens. Australia.”
    With a gesture, he dismissed both.
    “Forget all that,” he said. “Put it out of your mind. He married someone else. Your life is here, now. Andreas isn’t the travelling kind.”
    “He told me he was. He told me he’d take me anywhere I wanted to go.”
    “Men say all kinds of things, when they’re in love. Your life is here now.”
    “That’s easy for you to say. You travelled everywhere. Saw the world.”
    “I travelled for my work.” Venezuela, Costa Rica, Brazil. “It was hard being away.”
    The women, all those beautiful, willing women. It was hard to come back.
    He took another cigarette from the pack. She stood, and took their coffee cups inside the house while he recalled. At night, he had played poker in smoky, run-down bars where the rum was cheap and red-lipped whores