The Magus - John Fowles [169]
one of his children to serve us... the best _ouzo_, the best olives. Did things go well at the school, did I like Greece... I let him ask the usual questions. Then I set to work. Twelve or so faded carmine and green caIques floated in the still blue water in front of us. I pointed to them. "It's a pity you do not have any foreign tourists here. Yachts." "_Ech_." He spat out an olivestone. "Phraxos is dead." "I thought Mr. Conchis from Bourani kept his yacht over here sometimes." "That man." I knew at once that Georgiou was one of the village enemies of Conchis. "You have met him?" I said, no, but I was thinking of visiting him. He did have a yacht then? Georgiou had heard so. But it never came to the island. Had _he_ ever met Conchis? "_Ochi_." No. "Does he have houses in the village?" Only the one where Hermes lived. It was near a church called St. Elias, at the back of the village. As if changing the subject I asked idly about the three cottages near Bourani. Where had the families gone? He shook his hand to the south. "To the mainland. For the summer." He explained that a minority of the island fishermen were seminomadic. In winter they fished in the protected waters off Phraxos; but in summer, taking their families with them, they wandered round the Peloponnesus, even as far as Crete, in search of better fishing. He returned to the cottages. He pointed down and then made drinking gestures. "The cisterns are bad. No good water in summer." "Really--no good water?" "No." "What a shame." "It is his fault. He of Bourani. He could make better cisterns. But he is too mean." "He owns the cottages then?" "_Vevaios_." Of course. "On that side of the island, all is his." "All the land?" He ticked off his stubby fingers: Korbi, Stremi, Bourani, Moutsa, Pigadi, Zastena... all names of bays and caps around Bourani; and apparently this was another complaint against Conchis. Various Athenians, "rich people," would have liked to build villas over there. But Conchis refused to sell one meter; deprived the island of badly needed wealth. A donkey loaded with wood tripped down the quay towards us; rubbing its legs together, picking its fastidious way like a model. This news proved Demetriades's complicity. It must have been common gossip. "I suppose you see his guests in the village?" He raised his head, negatively, uninterestedly; it was nothing to him whether there were guests or not. I persisted. Did he know if there were foreigners staying over there? But he shrugged. "_Isos_." Perhaps. He did not know. Then I had a piece of luck. A little old man appeared from a side alley and came behind Georgiou's back; a battered old seaman's cap, a blue canvas suit so faded with washing that it was almost white in the sunlight. Georgiou threw him a glance as he passed our tabib, then called. "_Eh, Barba Dimitraki! Ela._" Come. Come and speak with the English professor. The old man stopped. He must have been about eighty; very shaky, unshaven, but not totally senile. Georgiou turned to me. "Before the war. He was the same as Hermes. He took the mail to Bourani." I pressed the old man to take a seat, ordered more _ouzo_ and another _mez� "You know Bourani well?" He waved his old hand; he meant, very well, more than he could express. He said something I didn't understand. Georgiou, who had some linguistic resourcefulness, piled our cigarette boxes and matches together like bricks. Building. "I understand. In 1929?" The old man nodded. "Did Mr. Conchis have many guests before the war?" "Many many guests." This surprised Georgiou; he even repeated my question, and got the same answer. "Foreigners?" "Many foreigners. Frenchmen, Englishmen, all." "What about the English masters at the school? Did they go there?" "_Ne, ne. Oloi_." Yes, all of them. "You can't remember their names?" He smiled at the ridiculousness of the question. He couldn't even remember what they looked like. Except one who was very tall. "Did you meet them in the village?" "Sometimes. Sometimes." "What did they do at Bourani, before the war?" "They were foreigners." Georgiou was impatient