A Man Over Forty (35 page)

‘I was planning to go as far as Salonika. And Mount Athos isn't very far from there.'

‘I'll go and talk to him. He may need some persuasion—'

‘Ay, it's a big step to take. And if I were you I'd let him lie quiet for a day or two before suggesting anything of the sort. He's had a shock, poor Ned – ay, a double shock! The shock of exposure, and the shock of near drowning; however that came about. And it wouldna be a kindly thing to let him think we were taking advantage of him, when he's in a state of weakness, and forcing him to a decision. If he goes to Mount Athos it must be of his own free will.'

‘You're right, of course,' said Palladis. ‘I was tempted, for a moment, into rushing things. I've been under something of a strain myself—'

‘That I can well believe. But him and me are old friends – and here's Myrtle to say it's time for lunch.'

In the afternoon they returned to Paros, where Palladis
went to the hotel, paid their bill and packed their clothes. They lay at anchor that night, and in the morning, in fine weather, sailed to the neighbouring island of Naxos. Palladis and the Riccis went ashore, did some sightseeing in the little town under the hill, and idly said, ‘We must come back some day and spend more time here.' Balintore stayed in bed, reading
The Living World of Literature
, and in the evening Palladis sat with him for a long time, and gently and tactfully began to speak of Mount Athos, of his uncle who lived there, and of the possibility that Balintore might find in one of its monasteries a refuge from the world, of men and memories, that had become intolerable to him.

Balintore listened quietly, without apparent surprise, and said, ‘It sounds a very good idea. Give me time to think about it, will you? I'd like some whisky before I go to sleep.'

‘Tomorrow,' said Palladis, ‘we're going over to Delos. To Delos and Mykonos. There's a promise of good weather, but the skipper says the sea may be a little rough.'

‘It won't worry me. I'm an old sailor.'

‘You'll come ashore with us, won't you?'

‘On Delos? There's nothing there but a ruined town and a row of old marble lions. And Mykonos – that's where the tourists go. No, I think I'll stay where I am. It's very comfortable here.'

At ten o'clock in the morning they anchored off Delos, and Palladis and the Riccis went ashore to look at the roofless town and the marble lions. In the afternoon they crossed over to Mykonos, where they dined at a tavern on the quay. But Balintore lay in bed, eating well, reading
The Living World of Literature
, and drinking a good deal of whisky.

They stayed another day in Mykonos, and then, while a north-easterly wind blew with increasing force, ran up under the lee of Tinos and Andros to a sheltered bay near the southern end of the long island of Euboea.

They lay at anchor, safe and snug under the lee of the land, and before dinner, under a moving sky that seemed reluctant to let go the radiance that had coloured their voyage – a radiance of gold and sapphire, dwindling to amethyst and violet – Ricci said, with an edge of irritation on his voice, ‘I
wish you could give me a plain answer. Is he willing to go, or isn't he?'

‘He says it's a good idea.'

‘We need something more definite than that.'

‘He hasn't shaved since we left Paros.'

‘What's that got to do with it?'

‘No beardless man can live on Mount Athos. Women and bare faces are barred.'

‘So you think he has made up his mind?'

‘Let's assume that he has. When we get to Chalcis I'll tell him I have to go to Athens, to make the necessary arrangements – he'll need money, and permission from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs – and that will give him a chance to say no. Let him say no if he wants to, but don't force him to say yes.'

‘Is that fair?'

‘It's easier to say no.'

They spent two days in the long gulf between the southern half of Euboea and the mainland, and the next morning, with the fast-going current beneath them, ran through the very narrow gap at Chalcis and tied up to a wharf in the northern part of the town.

Balintore still spent most of the day in bed, and preferred to have his meals served in his cabin. When Palladis said he was going to Athens, and told him why, he remained silent for a little while, and then, as easily as if they were planning a move of no great consequence, said, ‘That's very kind of you. Will you buy me some good, heavy underwear? I'll need it for the winter, won't I? Heavy underwear, and books. I'll have a lot of time on my hands, and I'm going to read. Novels of the nineteenth century to begin with: Dostoievski, the Brontës, Stendhal – get me all you can. And don't worry about money. Cable to my bank to send what you need—'

‘There are still restrictions on sending money abroad.'

‘You'll find someone in Athens who can arrange that sort of thing. I'll want a couple of hundred pounds or so, to give a present to whichever monastery decides to take me in, and then, of course, a certain sum will have to be remitted every month, or every quarter, to pay for my board and lodging. I
remember reading somewhere that all the monasteries are hard-up nowadays, and can't afford indiscriminate charity. Well, I shan't ask for that, but I rely on you to make arrangements. And don't forget my underwear.'

‘I shall probably be away for four or five days,' said Palladis.

‘Don't worry about that. The Riccis will look after me.'

Balintore yawned, and lay back on his pillow. ‘I haven't dreamt since we left Paros,' he said. ‘I think we have outdistanced the Solemn Ones.'

Palladis reported his conversation to Ricci, and caught a bus to Athens. The Military Attaché at the British Embassy was a distant cousin who invited him to stay. ‘Every hotel is full to the transoms,' he said, ‘but we have a spare bedroom to which you're very welcome.'

With some assistance from the Embassy Palladis quickly got permission from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for Balintore to visit Mount Athos, and an introduction from the Archbishop of Athens to the Holy Synod. Without reference to the Embassy he found a dealer in antiques who, in addition to his classical knowledge, had an up-to-date acquaintance with the modern world and its financial systems; and with his help Palladis was able to open an account at the Bank of Greece.

He remained six days in Athens, and returned to Chalcis with a suitcase full of underclothing, and a large parcel of books.

The Riccis said they had enjoyed their chance to explore the gracious, nobly-forested hills and fertile valleys of Euboea, but they were worried and puzzled by Balintore's behaviour.

‘He's been acting,' said Ricci, ‘like a well-mannered stranger. Like the sort of man you find aboard a big passengership. You're introduced to a man sitting next to you at the Purser's table, or the Doctor's table. You talk to him, and he talks to you, about nothing in particular, but always in a decent, civil fashion. And that's the way Ned has been talking to us: to me, that's his oldest friend, and to Myrtle who saved his life.'

‘Except once,' said Myrtle.

‘When he was drunk.'

‘We went to say good-night to him, and he told me I might have done more than save his life. He said, “You've given me a chance to save my soul.”'

‘Has he been drinking much?'

‘Very little, except that day. We were ashore – it's a bonny island, Euboea! I'd like to come back here – and while we were ashore he got up and found a bottle of whisky.'

‘Did he never go ashore with you?'

‘Only once. We went north, up the gulf, and over to the other side: to Thermopylae. And he did come ashore there. He said he'd always wanted to see Thermopylae.'

‘There's a remnant of good sense in him,' said Palladis.

‘No more than that?'

‘In his present state of withdrawal he doesn't let you see much more, does he?'

‘I still don't see why he wants to act like a stranger.'

‘In preparation for what he's going to be.'

‘A stranger for the rest of his life?'

‘A stranger to us, I'm afraid.'

In his cabin Balintore examined with care the store of winter underclothes that Palladis had bought, and said, ‘Yes, this is just what I wanted. You've done very well: very well indeed. But I didn't want all these Trollopes.'

‘There wasn't very much choice.'

‘I'll have to give you a list of what I want before you go back to London. You'll be going straight home, won't you?'

‘If you want me to put your affairs in order—'

‘I expect you to do that, of course. I'd better give you a power of attorney, hadn't I?'

‘It would help.'

‘I do like these vests,' said Balintore.

On deck again, Palladis said to Ricci, ‘He may treat you like a stranger, but he treats me like a valet under notice of dismissal.'

‘I once had a girl friend,' said Myrtle softly, ‘who had to go to prison for stabbing her boy friend. I used to go and see her on visiting days, and that's how she treated me. I think it was to stop me feeling sorry for her.'

‘Well,' said Ricci, ‘we may as well set a course for Mount Athos. There's nothing to hinder us now.'

‘I hope the weather stays fair. We've a long passage in open sea.'

‘The engine's all right. I had it overhauled while you were in Athens, and it's running sweetly.'

They sailed at dawn, and anchored for the night a little north of Thermopylae. The next day, again leaving at dawn, they reached Skiathos, and lay there for a day, buying fruit and crayfish and red mullet. There was a full moon and they made a night passage to Cape Ambelos over a calm sea, but off the Cape ran into a sudden gale, and for two or three hours plunged uncomfortably in quick-rising waves. Then the weather moderated, the morning sun shone hotly, and they approached the wooded, mountainous peninsula of Mount Athos over dancing blue water.

Balintore dressed and came on deck to look with lively interest at his destination. He became a little more cheerful, and spoke almost easily – almost in his old manner – to Palladis and the Riccis. He took Palladis by the arm, and leading him apart, said, ‘The last few weeks must have been almost as difficult for you as they have been for me. I'm well aware of that, and don't think I'm not grateful. I shall never cease to be grateful. Never. But there's one thing I want to know, and that is who it was – which of the two of you – who first thought of bringing me here?'

‘Ricci.'

‘I guessed as much. When we were boys together he often had good ideas – and let me put them into practice.'

He went back to the bows, and stood snuffing the landbreeze. The lower part of his face was now completely covered by a short but thickly growing beard.

Ahead of them lay a little harbour and a line of small houses. Apparently they were approaching a fishing village, but in the wooded slopes of the long mountain range above it the sun lighted, here and there between tall trees and sudden glens, brown roofs and high stone walls and small blunt towers; and about the harbour black-draped figures slowly moved.

When they were less than a mile from the shore Myrtle fell into a panic and exclaimed, ‘Perhaps I shouldn't be looking at them!'

‘You won't be allowed to land.'

‘I know. And if you dress up as a man, they poke you in the chest, just to make sure—'

‘They wouldna need to do that, hen.'

‘All right, I'm not going ashore. But perhaps I shouldn't even look at them.'

‘Maybe you'd better go down to your cabin, and stay there till we leave.'

‘I must say goodbye to Ned.'

‘I think he's left us already.'

In the bow of the boat Balintore stood intent on the approaching land. He said goodbye to Myrtle without emotion; and she, in sudden tears, turned and ran down to her cabin.

To Palladis he said, ‘Do you think your uncle will come to meet me?'

‘I wrote to him when I was in Athens, and sent a telegram just before we left Chalcis. But I know nothing about postal deliveries to a monastery.'

When they were within a hundred yards of the harbour, a tall monk, blackly habited, under a black cylindrical hat and a black umbrella that he used as a sunshade, came with long strides out to the end of the little pier, and waved to them. ‘If that is Uncle Harry,' said Palladis, ‘how glad I am that my mother isn't here. That beard!'

It was indeed a remarkable beard, a crisply-curling, bright-ginger beard, that jutted fiercely forward, and above it were a broad-winged moustache, a great aquiline nose with sunburnt skin peeling from its scarlet ridge, and, under thick sandy brows, pale-blue eyes of a startling brilliance.

‘Yes,' said Palladis, ‘it's Uncle Harry.'

A clear, high-pitched voice – a voice that carried into the bright Greek air the echoes of a cavalry mess – hailed them across the narrowing water: ‘How are you, my boy? How nice to see you after all these years. My word, how you've grown!'

They drew alongside, and Palladis stepped ashore.

‘How's your mother?' asked Brother Henry. ‘I've fallen out of the habit of writing letters, you know, and when you don't write to people, they don't answer you, do they? But tell meyes, tell me how she is? She's all right, is she?'

‘Very well indeed,' said Palladis. ‘Let me introduce Edward Balintore, about whom I wrote to you, and Peter Ricci.'

‘I'm delighted to see you all. Welcome to Mount Athos! Now let's go ashore, there aren't many formalities, but we may as well get them over and done with. All these dear people are good friends of mine. Very good friends indeed.'

He spoke in fluent Greek to a customs official, an indifferent policeman, and a functionary whose duties were obscure; and led them to a small tavern before whose white walls stood some warped benches and sun-cracked wooden tables.