The Athenian Murders (6 page)

Heracles interrupted placidly: 'Calm down, Diagoras. Have a fig. It'll give you the strength to—'

'I've had enough of your figs! I want to know why we're still walking! I think we should try to talk to the women who went into the house and—'

'No. The woman who ran away is the one we want,' said the Decipherer calmly.

'So why aren't we chasing her?'

'Because we're very tired. At least, I am. Aren't you?'

'If we're so tired,' said Diagoras, growing yet more irritable, 'why don't we stop?'

Heracles trudged on, eating his fig in silence. 'You're so Socratic, Diagoras,' he said at last.

They walked on for a while in the smoothly approaching Night. The street rolled on uninterrupted between two rows of dilapidated houses. Very soon, they would be in absolute darkness, unable even to make out the surrounding buildings.

'Athena knows where that woman has got to!' muttered Diagoras, rubbing his hands briskly to warm them. 'She was young and agile ... I believe she could have run without stopping until she was out of Attica . ..'

He imagined her running for the nearby forest, leaving prints of her bare feet behind her, by the light of a moon as white as a lily in the hands of a young girl. She would be unconcerned by the dark (she must know the way), her breath leaping in her chest, the sound of her steps muffled by the distance, her fawn-like eyes wide. Unafraid, she would shed her clothes so as to run more swiftly, her lily-white body a delicate flash of lightning shooting through the undergrowth, dodging the trees, her loose hair barely catching on their antlers (slender as stems or a girl's fingers), quite naked and resplendent, like an ivory flower held by a young girl as she runs.
¹⁴

They soon reached a crossroads. Beyond it, the street narrowed to a passage strewn with stones. An alley started to the left. To the right, a small bridge between two tall houses created a tunnel, its end lost in shadow.

'What now?' enquired Diagoras irritably. 'Do we draw lots to decide on the way forward?'

¹⁴
The original text is missing several words (written so 'hastily' they prove 'illegible', according to Montalo) making this mysterious paragraph difficult to interpret. The implicit eidesis seems to relate to 'speed', which has featured since the beginning of the chapter, but there are also images of deer (though not wild boar): 'fawn-like eyes', the 'antlers' of the trees, suggesting, not the third Labour of Hercules, but the
fourth,
the capture of the Arcadian Stag. I don't find it too surprising that the order of the Labours should have been altered, as this was often the practice of writers in antiquity. But a new metaphor stands out: a young girl holding a lily. Is this an eidetic image? And if so, what does it have to do with the hunting of the stag? Does the author intend it to represent the purity of the goddess Artemis, to whom the stag was sacred? In any case, I don't think one can dismiss it, as Montalo does, 'as an instance of poetic licence of no real significance'.
(T
.'s N.)

He felt a pressure on his arm and, in compliant silence, allowed himself to be led quickly to the street corner nearest the tunnel. 'Let's wait here,' whispered Heracles.

'But what about the woman?'

'Waiting can be a means of pursuit.'

'Surely you don't believe she's going to retrace her steps?'

'Of course she is.' Heracles captured another fig. 'Everyone always returns. And speak a little lower - we don't want to frighten off our quarry.'

They waited. The moon's white horns appeared. A brief gust of wind disturbed the stillness of the night. The two men wrapped their cloaks tightly around them. Diagoras suppressed a shiver, even though the moderating presence of the sea made it milder here than in the City.

'Someone's coming,' whispered Heracles.

It sounded like the supple rhythm of a girl dancing in bare feet, tiptoeing over the stones. But it was a flower, not a person, that emerged from the streets beyond the crossroads, a lily damaged by the rough hands of the wind. It fell apart as it brushed the wall near their hiding place and, scattering petals, it went quickly on its way through air that smelt of foam and salt. It disappeared, carried by the Zephyr as if by a beautiful young girl - eyes of sea, hair of moonlight - wearing it in her hair.

'It was nothing. Just the wind,' said Heracles.
¹⁵

¹⁵
Of course it's something! Our protagonists can't see her, of course (she's a purely fictional figure), but here, once again, we have the 'girl with the lily'. There can no longer be any doubt that this is another eidetic image, and a very powerful one at that, since it crosses over into the reality of the story, like a ghost. What can it mean? I have to admit that this sudden apparition makes me a little
uneasy; I even struck the text, just as Pericles is said to have done to Phidias' chryselephantine statue of Athena to get her to speak: 'What does it mean? What do you mean?' The paper, of course, yields no an
swers. I've calmed down now. (T
.'s N.)

For a brief moment, time stopped, spent. Diagoras, now chilled to the bone by the damp cold, gave himself away by whispering to the Decipherer's stout shadow: 'I never would have believed that Tramachus ... I mean, you understand . . . Purity was one of his greatest virtues, or so it seemed . . . This is the last thing I would have expected ... To associate with a vulgar ... He was still a boy! It hadn't occurred to me that he might be experiencing the normal desires of an ephebe . . . When Lisilus told me—'

'Quiet,' Heracles' shadow said suddenly.

Quick scraping sounds came from the tunnel, as if someone were walking over rubble. Diagoras felt the Decipherer's warm breath in his ear just before he heard his voice.

'Jump on her quickly. Protect your crotch with your hand and watch her knees. Try to calm her.'

'But—'

'Do as I say, or she'll get away again. I'll back you.'

What does he mean? wondered Diagoras, undecided. But there was no more time for questions.

Agile, quick, silent, a shadow, thrown by the trace of moonlight, spread like a carpet over the ground at the crossroads. Diagoras flung himself upon it and, without warning, it turned into a body. A mass of perfumed hair swung in his face, like a slap, and a muscular form struggled in his arms. Gripping tightly, Diagoras pushed her against the opposite wall. 'That's enough, by Apollo!' he cried. 'We're not going to hurt you! We just want to talk to you. Calm yourself.' The figure became still and Diagoras backed slightly. He could not see her face as it was masked by her hands, but her eyes peered through fingers as slender as the antlers of a young stag. 'We want to ask you a few questions . . . about an ephebe named Tramachus. You knew him, didn't you?'

Calmer now, Diagoras thought she would eventually open the delicate doors formed by her hands and show her face.

Then came a flash of lightning in his lower abdomen. The pain, at first, was a perfect, blinding light that flooded his eyes like liquid spilling, relentless, over the edge of a crater. The sensation took a little longer, crouching between his legs before stretching furiously and exploding into his consciousness as if spewing shards of glass. He fell, coughing, to the ground, and didn't even feel his head strike the paving stones.

There was a scuffle. Heracles Pontor threw himself upon the figure. He was far less gentle than Diagoras, grabbing her slim arms and pushing her roughly against the wall. She moaned - a manly gasp. Again he slammed her against the wall. The figure tried to strike back, but Heracles leaned his fat body against her so that she couldn't use her knees. He saw Diagoras struggle to his feet.
He spoke quickly to his prey: ‘I’l
l only hurt you if you give me no choice. And if you strike my companion again, I'll have no choice.' He turned to Diagoras and said: 'Keep a tight hold of her this time. I told you to watch out for her knees.'

Diagoras muttered to the shadow, gasping painfully with each word: 'My friend ... speaks the truth ... We don't wish to hurt you ... Do you understand?'

The shadow nodded, but the philosopher kept a firm grip on her arms.

At last, the struggle subsided, just as cold relinquishes the muscles in a rapid race. Panting, Diagoras felt the flat, anonymous, blurred figure, which he held firmly against the wall, turn quickly into a woman. He sensed the volume of her breasts, the narrowness of her waist, the different smell, the smooth firmness. He observed curly hair, slender limbs, curves. Lastly, he made out her face.

His first thought was that her face was strange. He realised that, for some reason, he had imagined she would be very beautiful. But she wasn't: her curly hair was an untidy mat of fur; her eyes were too large and pale, like those of a swift, timid animal, although in the darkness he could not tell their colour; her thin cheeks hinted at the skull beneath the taut skin. He drew back, confused, the pain still throbbing dully in his abdomen, and asked: 'Are you Yasintra?' The cold clothed his words in steam.

She didn't answer.

'You knew Tramachus,' insisted Diagoras. 'He came to see you.'

'Watch her knees . . .' Heracles' voice warned from a great distance.

The girl stared in silence. 'Did he pay for his visits?'

Diagoras wasn't sure why he asked, but it was the first question to receive an answer: 'Of course he did,' she said. Both men reflected that many ephebes had a less masculine voice than she - it was the echo of an oboe in a cavern. 'The rites of Bromios are paid for in paeans; the rites of Cypris in obols.'

Diagoras didn't know why, but he felt offended. Perhaps it was because the girl seemed unafraid. And were the full lips mocking him in the darkness, or was he imagining it?

'When did you meet him?'

'At the last Lenaea. He saw me dancing in the procession to the god and sought me out afterwards.'

'He sought you?' exclaimed Diagoras in disbelief. 'But he was not yet a man!'

'Many youths seek me.'

'Perhaps you refer to someone else.'

'Tramachus, who was killed by wolves,' said Yasintra. 'I speak of him.'

Heracles said impatiently: 'Who did you think we were?' 'I don't understand.' Yasintra turned her liquid gaze upon him.

'Why did you run away when we asked for you? You don't look like one who flees from men. Who were you expecting?' 'Nobody. I run away if I want to.'

'Yasintra,' pleaded Diagoras, 'we need your help. We know that Tramachus was in some kind of trouble. A very grave matter was tormenting him. I. . . we were his friends and we want to find out what it was. Your relationship with him no longer matters. We simply want to know if Tramachus spoke of his worries.' He wanted to add: 'Oh, please, help me. I care about this more than you can imagine.'

As vulnerable and fragile as a lily in the hands of a maiden, he felt he could have pleaded for help a hundred times. His spirit, stripped of all pride, was like a young girl with blue eyes and shining hair, imploring on her knees: 'Help me, please, help me.' But, gentle as the brush of a girl's white tunic against a flower, and yet, as ardent as the girl's delectable nubile body, his wish was not translated into words.
¹⁶

'Tramachus never spoke much,' she said. 'But he didn't seem anxious.'

'Did he ever ask for your help?' enquired Heracles. 'No. Why would he?' 'When did you see him last?' 'One moon ago.' 'He never talked about his life?' 'Who ever talks to women like me?' 'Did his family approve of your relationship?' 'There was no relationship - he came to see me, paid and left.'

'But perhaps his family disliked the idea that its noble son was coming to you for solace, even if only once in a while.' 'I don't know. It wasn't his family I had to please.' 'Maybe his father knew about you.' pressed Heracles calmly. 'He had no father.'

'You're right,' said Heracles. 'I meant his mother.' 'I don't know her.'

There was a short silence. Diagoras looked at the Decipherer for help. Heracles shrugged.

'Can I go now?' asked the girl. 'I'm tired.'

Although they said nothing, she moved away from the wall and hurried away.

¹⁶
The powerful eidetic image of the 'girl with the lily' persists! And now the idea of 'help' - repeated three times in this paragraph - seems to have joined it. The author describes the young girl according to the rules of eidesis, in other words, scattering adjectives throughout the text for the reader to collect at the end and create the complete image. The image here, I believe, is that of a 'young girl' with eyes as 'blue' as the sea, 'shining' hair or hair of 'moonlight', and a 'delectable' and 'smooth' body, wearing a 'white tunic' and holding a 'lily'. Obviously a very beautiful young girl... But why is she running away? And who or what is threatening her? (T.'sN.)