The Magus - John Fowles [242]
65
I came to Bourani about half-past three. The gap beside and the top of the gate had been wired, while a new notice covered the _salle d'attente_ sign. It said in Greek, _Private property, entrance strictly forbidden_. It was still easy enough to climb over. But I had no sooner got inside than I heard a voice coming up through the trees from Moutsa. Hiding the tools and lamp behind a bush, I climbed back. I went cautiously down the path, tense as a stalking cat, until I could see the beach. A ca�e was at the far end. There were five or six people--not islanders, people in gay beach clothes, a brown girl in a white bikini. As I watched, two of the men picked up the girl, who screamed, and carried her down the shingle and dumped her into the sea. There was the blare of a battery wireless. I walked a few yards inside the fringe of trees, half expecting at any moment to recognise them. But the girl was small and dark, very Greek; two plump women; a man of thirty and two older men. I had never seen any of them before. There was a sound behind me. A barefoot fisherman in ragged grey trousers, the owner of the ca�e; came from the chapel. I asked him who the people were. They were from Athens, a Mr. Sotiriades and his family, they came every summer to the island. Did many Athenian people come to the bay in August? Many, very many, he said. He pointed along the beach: In two weeks, ten, fifteen caIques, more people than sea. Bourani was pregnable: and I had my final reason to leave the island. The house was shuttered and closed, just as I had last seen it. I made my way round over the gulley to the Earth. I admired once again the cunning way its trap door was concealed, then lifted the stone and pulled on the ring. The dark shaft stared up. I climbed down with the lamp and lit it; then climbed back and got the tools. I had to saw halfway through the hasp of the padlock; then, under pressure from the crowbar, it snapped. I picked up the lamp, shot back the bolt, pulled open the massive door, and went in. I found myself in the northwest corner of a rectangular room. Facing me I could see two embrasures that had evidently been filled in, though little ventilator grilles showed they had some access to the air. Along the north wall opposite, a long built-in wardrobe. By the east wall, two beds, a double and a single. Tables and chairs. Three armchairs. The floor had some kind of rough folkweave carpeting on top of felt, and three of the walls had been whitewashed, so that the place, though windowless, was surprisingly ungloomy. On the west wall, above the bed, was a huge mural of Tyrolean peasants dancing; _lederhosen_ and a girl whose flying skirt showed her legs above her flower-clocked stockings. The colours were still good; or retouched. In the middle of the east wall there was a door. I opened it and found myself in another similarly shaped room. There were five beds in this one, another wardrobe. In a corner, a paraffin stove. The same blockedin embrasure slits. And on a desk in one corner a field telephone. I went back into what had evidently been the girls' room, and started examining it more thoroughly. There were fifteen or so changes of costume for Lily in the wardrobe, and at least eight of them were duplicated for Rose; several I had not seen. In a set of drawers there were period gloves, handbags, stockings, hats. Even an antiquated linen swimming costume with a lunatic ribboned Tam o' Shanter cap to match. Blankets were piled on each mattress. I smelt one of the pillows, but couldn't detect Lily's characteristic scent. Over a table between the old gun slits there was a bookshelf. I pulled down one of the books. _The Perfect Hostess. A Little Symposium on the Principles and Laws of Etiquette as Observed and Practised