CHAPTER V
MITSOS PICKS CHERRIES FOR MARIA
At Nauplia the summer passed quietly, though from other parts of thecountry came fresh tales of intolerable taxation, cruelty, and outrage,hideous beyond belief. But this Argive district was exceptionallylucky in having for its governor a man who saw that it was possibleto overstep the mark even in dealing with these infidel dogs; partly,also, Nicholas's visit, his injunctions to the leading Greeks to keepquiet, and his hints that they would not need to keep quiet longproduced a certain effect; as also did an exhortation delivered byFather Andrea, in which he spoke of the blessings of peace with aferocious tranquillity which left no loop-hole for misconstruction.
July and August were a tale of scorched and burning days, but the vineswere doing well, and the heat only served to ripen them the sooner.In some years, when the summer months had been cold and unseasonable,the grapes would not swell to full ripeness till the latter days ofOctober, and thus there was the danger of the first autumn stormswrecking the maturing crop. But this year, thanks to the heat, therewas no doubt that they would be ripe for gathering by the third week inSeptember, and, humanly speaking, a fine grape harvest was assured.
A certain change had come over Mitsos since the events of the nightrecorded in the last chapter. He suddenly seemed to have awoke to asense of his budding manhood, and his cat, much to that sedately mindedcreature's satisfaction, was allowed to shape her soft-padded baskinglife as she pleased. He used to go out in the dewiness of dawn, whileit was still scarce light, to try for a shot at the hares which camedown from the hills at night to feed in the vineyards, and at eveningagain he would lie in wait near a spring below Mount Elias to shootthe roe when they came to water. But during the day there was no markfor his gun, for the game went high away among the hills to avoid thebroiling heat of the plains, or stayed in cover of the pine woodsupon the mountain-sides, where the growth was too thick for shooting,and where some cracking twig would ever advertise a footstep, howeverstealthy.
But the sudden and violent winds of the summer months had set in, andsailing gave him day-long occupation. He made it his business to knowthe birth-hour of the land-breeze, the length of the dead calm thatfollows, and the hour when the sea-breeze again winnows the windlessheaven; to read the signs of the thread-like streamers in the upperair, which mean a strong breeze; the vibration on the sea's horizon,like the trembling of a steel spring, which means heat and calm, andthe soft-feathered clouds, with dim, blurred outlines that tell ofmoisture in the air, which will fall the hour after sunset in fine,warm, needle-pointed rain. His boat might often be seen scudding acrossthe bay and into the water of the gulf outside, skirting round thepromontories, running up into the creeks and inlets until, as Nicholashad told him he should do, he got to know the shape of the land ashe knew the shape of his own head. Above all, he would practisebeating out to sea in the teeth of the sea-breeze, running out to agiven point in as few tacks as possible, and then, when the sea-breezedied away, he would put into some inlet, fish for a little, and sleepcurled up in the bottom of the boat, awake with the awakening of theland breeze, and run back again, close hauled, past Nauplia, and up tothe side of the bay, where he beached his boat. In these long hoursalone on the sea he would sit in the stern, when the boat was steadyon some two-mile tack, thinking intently of the new life for which hewas preparing himself. Though Nicholas's stories, and the tales ofoppression and outrage with which all mouths were full, made personalto him the longing for vengeance on that bestial breed, it was Nicholashimself who was the inspirer, and his indignation was scarce more thanan image in a mirror of Nicholas. His uncle had long been acquiringthat domination a man can have for a boy, and the main desire andresolve of his mind was to obey Nicholas, whatever order he might layon him, and this resolve to obey was rapidly becoming an instinctover-mastering and unique. His father, far from making objections tohis spending his time in sailing and shooting, encouraged him thereto,for Nicholas had bade him hire labor whenever he wanted a lad inMitsos' place, saying that the club at Athens had authorized him tomake payments for such things. Mitsos, in fact, had definitely enteredinto the service of his country, and it was only right that his fathershould be compensated for the loss of a hand.
But during these months there was little or no farm-work to be done.Early in July Constantine had put up a little reed-built shed tooverlook his vineyard, and there he spent most of the day scaring awaythe birds that came to eat the grapes, and playing with his string ofpolished beads, which he passed to and fro between his hands, everynow and then stopping to sling a pebble at a bird he saw settling inthe vines. The sparrows were the greatest enemies, for they wouldfly over in flocks of eighty or a hundred and settle in differentparts of the vineyard, and when he cleared one quarter and turnedto clear another, the first covey would be back and renewing theirdepredations on the grapes. He had an almost exaggerated repugnancein taking the funds of the club unless it was absolutely necessaryto hire an extra hand, and until the last week before the harvest hemanaged alone; but then--for the grapes were tight-skinned and juicy,and a single bird holding on to a bunch with its claws and feedingindiscriminately from this grape and that would spoil the hundredfoldof what it ate--he hired a boy from Nauplia, and erected another shedsome fifty yards off. There they would sit from sunrise to sunset, andat sunset Mitsos returned brown and fresh, with a song from the sea,with his black hair drying back into its crisp curls after his eveningbathe, and an enormous appetite. He and Constantine sat together tillabout nine, and then Mitsos would go off to the cafes, followingNicholas's instructions, and play cards or draughts, ever pricking anattentive ear when comments on the Turks were on the board. Nicholas'sdirections, however, that there should be no talking of the greatmatter, was being obeyed too implicitly for Mitsos to pick up much; buthe acquired great skill at the game of draughts, even being able toplay three games at a time.
One evening, just before the vintage began, he returned earlier thanusual with a frown on his face. His father was sitting on the veranda,not expecting him yet.
"Have you heard," said Mitsos, "what these Turks have in hand about thevintage?"
"About the vintage? No."
"Instead of paying one-tenth to the tax-collector, we are to payone-seventh; and instead of paying in grapes, we pay in wine."
"One-seventh? It is impossible!"
"It is true."
"Where did you hear it?"
"In the last hour at the cafe in the square. They are all clacking andswearing right and left, and the soldiers are patrolling the streets."
Constantine got up.
"I must go, then," he said. "This is just what Nicholas did not want tohappen. Have there been blows between the soldiers and the Greeks?"
"Yanko knocked a Turkish soldier down with such a bang for calling hima dog that the man will never have front teeth again. They took him andclapped him in prison."
"The fat lout shall eat stick from me when he comes out. I suppose,as usual, he was neither drunk nor sober," said Constantine. "As ifknocking a soldier down took away the tax. Is Father Andrea there?"
"I passed him just now on the road," said Mitsos, "going to the town."
Constantine got up.
"Stop here, Mitsos," he said; "I will catch Father Andrea up, and makehim tell them to be quiet. He can do what he pleases with that tongueof his."
"But mayn't I come?" said Mitsos, scenting an entrancing row.
"And get your black head broken? No, that will keep for a worthiercause."
Constantine hurried off and caught Father Andrea up before he enteredthe town.
"Father," he said, "you can stop this, for they will listen to you.Remember what Nicholas said."
Father Andrea nodded.
"I heard there were loud talk and blows in the town, and I am on theroad for that reason. Nicholas is right. We must pay the extra tax, andfor every pint of wine we pay we will exact a gallon of blood. Ah, God,how I have fasted and prayed one prayer--to wash my
hands in the bloodof the Turks."
"Softly," said Constantine, "here is the guard."
The guard at the gate was unwilling at first to let them pass, butAndrea, without a moment's hesitation, said that he was a priest goingto visit a dying man who wished to make a confession, with Constantineas witness, and they were admitted.
"God will forgive me that lie," he said, as they passed on. "It is forHis cause that I lied."
Since Mitsos' departure the disturbance had increased. There weresome forty or fifty Greeks collected in the centre of the square,and Turkish soldiers were coming out one by one from the barracksand mingling with the crowd. The Greeks, according to their custom,all carried knives, but were otherwise unarmed; the Turks had gunsand pistols. There was a low, angry murmur going up from the people,which boded mischief. Just as they came up Father Andrea turned toConstantine.
"Stop outside the crowd," he said, "do not mix yourself up in this.They will not touch me, for I am a priest."
Then elbowing his way among the people, he shouted: "A priest--a priestof God! Let me pass."
The Greeks in the crowd parted, making way for him as he pushedthrough, conspicuous by his great height, though here and there aTurkish soldier tried to stop him. But Andrea demanded to be let intothe middle of them with such authority that they too fell back, and hecontinued to elbow his way on. He was already well among the peoplewhen two voices detached themselves, as it were, from the angry, lowmurmur, shrilling up apart in loud, violent altercation, and the nextmoment a Greek just in front of him rushed forward and stabbed a Turkin the arm. The soldier raised his pistol and fired, and the man turnedover on his face, with a grunt and one stretching convulsion, dead.There was a moment's silence, and then the murmur grew shriller andlouder, and the crowd pressed forward. Andrea held up his hand.
"'I AM FATHER ANDREA,' HE SHOUTED"]
"I am Father Andrea," he shouted, "whom you know. In God's name listento me a moment. Silence there, all of you."
For a moment again there was a lull at his raised voice, and Andreatook advantage of it.
"The curse of all the saints of God be upon the Greek who next uses hisknife," he cried. "Who is the officer in command?"
A young Turkish officer standing close to him turned round.
"I am in command," he said, "and I command you to go, unless you wouldbe seized with the other ringleaders."
"I shall not go; my place is here."
"For the last time, go."
"I offer myself as hostage for the good conduct of the Greeks," saidAndrea, quietly. "Blood has been shed. I am here that there may beno more. Let me speak to them and then take me, and if there is moredisturbance kill me."
"Very good," said the officer. "I have heard of you. But stop the riotfirst, if you can. I desire bloodshed no more than you."
The group had now collected round them, still waiting irresolutely, inthe way a crowd does on any one who seems to have authority. FatherAndrea turned to them.
"You foolish children," he cried, "what are you doing? The Sultan hasadded a tax, it is true, but will it profit you to be killed like dogs?You have knives, and you can cut a finger nail with knives, and theseothers have guns. This poor dead thing learned that, and he has paidfor his lesson. Is it better for him that he has wounded another mannow that he has gone to appear before God? And those of you who are notshot will be taken and hanged. I am here unarmed, as it befits a priestto be. I am a hostage for you. If there is further riot you yourselveswill be shot down like dogs, or as you shoot the little foxes among thegrapes and leave them for the crows to eat; I shall be hanged, for Igo hostage for you; and the tax will be no less than before. So now toyour homes."
The crowd listened silently--for in those days to behave with aught butrespect to a priest was sacrilege--and one or two of the nearest putback their knives into their belts, yet stood there still irresolute.
"Come, every man to his home," said Andrea again. "Let those who havewine-shops close them, for there has been blood spilled to-night."
But they still stood there, and the murmur rose and died, and roseagain like a sound carried on a gusty wind, until Andrea, pushingforward, laid his hand on the shoulder of one of the ringleaders.
"Christos," he said, "there is your home, and your wife waits for you.Go home, man, lest you are carried in feet first."
The man, directly and individually addressed by a stronger, turnedand went, and the others began to melt away till there were only leftin the square the Turkish soldiers and Andrea. Then he spoke to theofficer again:
"I am at your disposal," he said, "until you are satisfied that thingsare quiet again."
The officer stood for a moment without replying. Then, "I wish to treatyou with all courtesy," he said, "and you have saved me a great dealof trouble to-night. But perhaps it will be better if you stop in myquarters for an hour or two, though I think we shall have no more ofthis. With your permission I will give you in custody."
And with the fine manners of his race, which the Greeks for the mostpart could not understand and so distrusted, he beckoned to twosoldiers, who led him off to the officer's quarters.
The Turkish captain remained in the square an hour longer, but thedisturbance seemed to be quite over, and he followed Father Andrea.
"You will smoke or drink?" he said, laying his sword on the table.
"I neither smoke nor drink," answered Andrea.
The officer sat down, looking at him from his dark, lustreless eyes.
"It is natural you should hate us," he said, "and but for you therewould have been a serious disturbance, and not Greek blood alone wouldhave been shed. I am anxious to know why you stopped the riot."
Father Andrea smiled.
"For the reason I gave to the rioters. Is not that sufficient?"
"Quite sufficient; it only occurred to me there might be a furtherreason, a further-reaching reason, so to speak. I will not detain youany longer. I am sure no further disturbance will take place."
Andrea rose, and for a moment the two men faced each other. They wereboth good types of their race: the Greek, fearless and hot-blooded; theTurk, fearless and phlegmatic.
"I will wish you good-night," said the captain; "perhaps we shall meetagain. My name is Mehemet Salik. You owe nothing to me nor I to you.You stopped the riot and saved me some trouble, but it was for reasonsof your own. I have detained you till I am satisfied there will be nomore disturbance; so if we meet again no quarter on either side, for weshall be enemies."
"I shall neither give quarter nor ask it," said Andrea.
The vintage began the next week, and for the time Mitsos had toabandon his boat and gun for the wine-making, since he alone knewthe particularities of manufacture which Constantine practised--theamount of fermentation before finally casking the wine, the measureof resin to be put in, and the right quality of it, all which were asincommunicable as the unwritten law of tea-making for an individualtaste. The small vineyard close to the house, which was all that wasleft to them after the seizure of the bigger vineyard by the Turk,contained the best vines, which, being nearer to hand, had inevitablyreceived the better cultivation. These again were divided into twoclasses, most of them being the ordinary country stock; but the otherwas a nobler grape from Nemea, which yielded the finest wine. They werealways gathered last, and fermented in a barrel by themselves.
The evening before the grape-picking began, several girls fromneighboring farms came to find labor in the gathering for a couple ofdays, as the harvest would not be ripe in other vineyards for a day ortwo yet. Constantine engaged four of them, who came early next morning,just as he and Mitsos were getting out the big two-handled panniers inwhich the grapes were carried to the press from the vineyard, which laydewy and glistening under the clear dawn. Spero, the boy who had beenemployed for the last week in scaring birds, was also engaged for thepicking, and in all they were seven. For the larger half of an hourthey all picked together, until two of the big baskets were full andthe treading coul
d begin. The press, an old stone-built construction,moss-ridden and creviced outside, and coated inside with fine stucco,stood close to the house. The bottom of it sloped down towards asmall wooden sluice which opened from its lower end, and which couldbe raised from the inside when there was sufficient must trodden tofill one of the big shallow casks in which it was fermented. Mitsoshad spent the previous day in washing and scouring it with avuncularthoroughness, scrubbing the sides with powdered resin, and when Sperohad wanted to assist in treading the grape instead of gathering, helooked scornful, and only said:
"We do not make wine for you to wash in. Get you back to the picking."
They poured the first two big panniers of grapes into the press just asthe sun rose, stalks and all, and after turning his trousers up to theknees, and scrubbing his feet and legs in hot water, Mitsos stepped inand began the treading. The purple fruit was ripe and tight-skinned,and the red stuff soon began to splash and spurt up, staining his legs.Another basket came before he had got the first two well under, andby degrees the pickers gained on him. The day promised a scorching,and the press, which had at first stood in the shade, had been swunground into the full blaze of the sun before a couple of hours wereover. About nine o'clock Constantine, who had just carried up anotherbasket with Spero, and stayed for a moment looking at Mitsos dancingfantastically in the sun, saw that there was already stuff enough tofill a cask.
"There is food for a cask there," he said to Mitsos, "but it is nottrodden enough yet. You will not keep pace without some one to helpyou."
Mitsos paused a moment and wiped his face with the back of his hand.
"I am broiled meat," he said. "Yes, send one of the girls. Make herwash first."
Constantine smiled.
"There speaks Nicholas," he remarked, "who is always right."
So Maria was sent to help Mitsos. She was a pretty girl, aboutseventeen years old, fawn eyed and olive skinned. As she stood on theedge of the press before stepping in, with her shoes off and her skirttucked up, Mitsos found himself noticing the gentle curve of her calfmuscle from the ankle to behind the knee, and how prettily one foot,pink from the hot water, broadened as she rested her weight on it for amoment. He gave her his hand to help her down into the press, and theireyes met.
"We shall do nicely now," he said.
Constantine meantime had fetched one of the casks, open at the top,and with a tap at the bottom, about six inches above the other end,from which the fermented liquid would be drawn off when it was clear,and placing it under the sluice, looked over to see if the must wassufficiently trodden. No baskets had come in for a quarter of an hour,and Mitsos and Maria between them had reduced the whole must to oneconsistency.
"It is ready now," he said to Mitsos; "raise the sluice."
The must had risen above the ring by which the sluice was raised atthe lower end of the press, and Mitsos and Maria groped about for halfa minute or so before they found it. Once they tightly grasped eachother's fingers, and both exclaimed triumphantly, "I've got it."
Maria found it first; but the wood had swollen with the scouring of theday before and it was stiff, so Mitsos had to raise it himself. Thenwith a gurgle and a gulp the purple mass of pulp, juice, stalks, andskins poured riotously out, splashing Constantine, and foaming into thecask with a lusty noise. When it was three-quarters full Mitsos closedthe sluice again, for in the process of fermentation the must wouldswell to the top, and Constantine and Spero took the barrel, cluckingas it was moved, off into the veranda out of the sun, and covered itwith a cloth.
They all rested for an hour at mid-day, and ate their dinner in theshade of the poplar by the spring. The others had brought their foodwith them, with the exception of Maria, who said she was not hungry anddid not care to eat. But Mitsos, pausing for a moment in his own meal,saw her sitting close to him looking rather tired and fagged from themorning's work, and fetched her some bread and some fresh cheese, cooland sweet from the cellar, and Maria's want of appetite vanished beforethese things. After dinner they all lay down and dozed for that hour offiercest heat, when, as the poet of the South says, "even the cicala isstill," some in the veranda, some in the shade of the poplars. Mitsoswas the first to wake, and he, under a stern sense of duty, arousedhimself and the others. Maria had disposed herself under a farthertree, where she lay with her hands clasped behind her head, and hermouth half open and set with the rim of her white teeth. She had drawnup one leg, and her short skirt showed it bare to above the knee.Mitsos stood looking at her a moment, thinking how pretty were her longeyelashes and slightly parted mouth, and wondering why it had neveroccurred to him before that she was pretty, when she woke and saw himstanding in front of her. She sat up quickly and drew her skirt downover her leg, and a faint tinge of red showed under her skin.
"Is it time to go on?" she said; "and I am nothing but a bag of sleep."
"I will help you up," said Mitsos, putting out his hand.
But she stretched herself, smiling, and got up without his assistance.
Then the work went on till nearly sunset; a second cask and a thirdwere filled, which were taken away to the veranda, where they were puton trestles and covered like the first; and, as there would not be timeto fill a fourth before sunset, they stopped work for the day.
Mitsos and Constantine ate their supper together, but afterwards Mitsossaid he would not go to the cafe to-night, he was sleepy, and to-morrowwould be as to-day. The two sat there in silence for the most part, thefather smoking and playing with his beads, and Mitsos lying full lengthon the floor of the veranda intermittently eating a cherry from theremains of their supper.
About nine he got up and stretched himself.
"I am for bed," he said. "How pretty Maria is. I wonder why I nevernoticed before that girls were pretty."
Constantine smiled.
"We all notice it sooner or later," he said. "I noticed it when I wasabout as old as you."
"Did you? What did you do then?"
"God granted me to marry the one I thought the prettiest."
"My mother? It is little I remember of her. But I am not going to marryMaria. Yet she is even very pretty."
The second day was devoted to picking the remainder of the ordinarygrapes, which Mitsos and Maria trod, as on the day before, and Mitsosfeeling a desire--to which he had hitherto been a stranger--to lookwell in a girl's eyes, told her stories about the shooting, and his ownprowess therein--for all the world like a young cock-bird in spring andthe mating-time strutting before his lady. The girls were not requiredfor the third day's picking, and in the evening Constantine paid themtheir two days' wage. Mitsos walked back with Maria through the garden,and together they washed their feet of the must at the spring. A littlefurther on they came to the cherry-tree, and here he told her to holdout her apron while he picked a little supper for her, again takingpride to swing himself with an unnecessary display of gymnastics fromone bough to another, while Maria looked on from below with up-turnedeyes bidding him be careful, and saying, as was indeed true, that therewere plenty of cherries on the lower boughs, and his exertions wereneedless. Something in his conduct seemed to amuse her, for as theysaid good-night at the gate she broke out into a laugh, and, with theair of a great, fine lady to a pretty boy, "Good-night, little Mitsos,"she said; "and will you come to my wedding?"
Mitsos, in spite of his determination of the night before, felt aperceptible shock.
"Your wedding? Whom are you going to marry?"
"Yanko. At least, so I think. He has asked me, and I have not said no."
"Yanko Vlachos? That ugly brute?"
Maria laughed again.
"I don't find him ugly--at least, not to matter."
Mitsos recollected his manners.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "I like Yanko very much. He knocked aTurkish soldier down last week--such a bang on the back of his head!"
"Oh, he's a very good man," said Maria, walking off with a great,important air.
Mitsos went slowly back to the house
, his strutting over.
The third day was devoted to the gathering of the finer grapes, whichwere fermented by themselves in a separate cask. These the two boys andConstantine picked together, until all the trees but one were stripped,but instead of throwing them in stalk and all, they picked each grapeseparately off the bunches and shed them into the cask, until there wasa layer some fifteen inches deep. Mitsos trod these as before, whilehis father and Spero went on picking, and when they were sufficientlypulped he poured on to them about a quart of brandy. More grapeswere then put in, trodden, and more brandy added. When the cask wasthree-quarters full they moved it away with the others, but covered itmore closely with two layers of thick woollen blanket. The remainder ofthe fine grapes were sufficient to fill another half-cask.
Then there came the final act of the grape-gathering, a page of paganritual surviving from the time when the rout of Dionysus laughed andrioted through the vineyard. Mitsos fetched a big bowl from the house,and Constantine cut all the grapes from the remaining vine. These heplaced in the bowl and left in the middle of the vineyard for the birdsto eat.
For the next two days the must required no attention, though thefermentation, owing to the heat of the weather, was going on veryrapidly, and by the end of the second day the thin acrid smell mingledstrongly with the garden scents. Once or twice Constantine raised thecloths which covered the casks to see what progress it made, or drew alittle from the tap at the bottom. But the stuff was still thick, andhad not cleared sufficiently to be disturbed yet.
On the second day Mitsos went off to get fresh resin for the wine.The ordinary pine resin was generally used by Greeks for this, butConstantine always preferred the resin from the dwarf pine, whichwas less bitter and finer in quality. The sides of Mount Elias wereplentiful with the common pine, but the dwarf pine only grew on thehills round Epidaurus, a five hours' journey. Mitsos took his gun withhim on the chance of sighting and slaying game, and started off onhis pony before dawn, for the way wound over low, unsheltered hills,a day-long target for the sun; but before he reached the shoulder ofmountain in which was cut the old grass-grown theatre, about whichthe dwarf pines grew, the sun, already high, had drawn up the heavydews of the night before, and the air was quivering with heat likea man in an ague fit. The growth of these pines was that of bushesrather than trees, some of them covering a space of ten yards square,gnarl-trunked, and sprawling along the ground. On some dozen of them heselected a place near the root and cut off a piece of bark a few inchessquare in order that the resin might ooze from the lips of the woundedtrunk, placing below each a flat stone to catch the dripping. In a fewdays' time there would be sufficient resin collected for the year'swine. On several trees he found the incisions he had made in previousyears, in some of which, where the flow of resin had continued afterhe had removed it for the wine, it had gone on dripping until a littlepillar, like the slag-wax from a candle, stood up between the stone andthe tree. He cut off one of these to see whether it was still good, butthe damp had soaked into it, and the outside surface was covered with agray fungus growth which rendered it useless.
He ate his dinner under shelter of the more shady trees which grewhigher up the slope, and waited till the sun had lost its noonday heat,listening lazily to the bell on the neck of his pony, which was grazingon the hill-side above, dozing and wondering what the next year wouldbring for him. He had no idea what Nicholas would call on him to do,but he was willing to wait. The love of adventure and excitement wasfermenting in him, though he was contented to go on living his usuallife from day to day. Nicholas, he knew, would not fail; some day, heknew not when, the summons would come, and he would obey blindly. Thenhe thought of the horrible scene which Nicholas and he had looked onthree months ago, when they saw that dead, misshapen thing danglingfrom a tree, and his blood began to boil and the desire to avenge thewrongs done to his race stirred in him.
"Spare not man, woman, or child," Nicholas had said.
He lay back on the short turf and began to think about Maria. SupposingMaria had been a Turkish woman, and Nicholas had put a knife into hishand while he was looking at her mid-day sleep beneath the poplars, andtold him to kill her, would he have been able? Could he have struckanything so soft and pretty? Fancy that heavy lout, Yanko, marryingMaria; he was all fat, and sat drinking all day at the wine-shop, yethe was never drunk, like a proper man, and he was seldom sober. ThenMitsos for the first time in his life became analytical, though hisvocabulary boasted no such word. Why was it that since the day he stoodin front of Maria as she lay asleep he had regarded women somehow withdifferent eyes? What was it to him whether Yanko or another had her?Hitherto he had thought of women in the obvious, work-a-day light inwhich they are presented to a Greek boy, as beasts of burden, hewers ofwood and drawers of water, inferior beings who waited on the men, andwhen alone chattered shrilly and volubly to each other like jays, or abushful of silly, jabbering sparrows--creatures altogether unfit forthe companionship of men. But since that moment he or they had changed;there was something wonderful about them which men did not share,something demanding protection, even tenderness, affording food forvague, disquieting thought. He had not understood at all, not havingknown his mother, why Nicholas had spoken as he had of his wife, exceptin so far that she was a possession of which the Turks had robbed him.But Mitsos could think of nothing the loss of which would make himdevote his life to the extermination of the race that had robbed him ofit. Even if the Turks took away his gun he realized that he would notwish to destroy the whole race for that. The brutal hanging of a manwas a different matter; a man was a man, and a woman--Well, that womanwas Nicholas's wife. Suppose the Turks killed Maria, would that beworse than if they killed, say, Nicholas? Well, not worse, not nearlyso bad in fact, but, somehow, different.
Thus knocked Mitsos at the door of the habitation called love, andwaited for its sesame.