WAR IN EARNEST
That was one of Lindbohm's bonfires, sure enough. Perhaps a battle was
going on at that moment.
"Mother of God, save my man!" cried the woman with the baby. "Save
him, save him!"
"Mother of God, save my boy, my cypress tree, my Petro!" groaned the
old man.
"Curse the Turks! May their fathers roast in hell!" shrieked the lad.
"Give me a gun, I'm old enough to shoot."
For three hours they stood watching the fire, as though they could
actually see what was taking place there. At times they stood silent
for many minutes together, listening, listening for the sound of guns;
but they could hear nothing. At last a shout was heard in the distance:
"Oo-hoo!"
"What is it? What is it?" the watchers asked, hoarsely, looking at one
another with pale faces.
Again "Oo-hoo! Oo-hoo!" nearer.
At last footsteps were heard, as of one running and stumbling among
loose rocks, and at length little Spiro Kaphtakes staggered up to the
group and stood panting before them. His trousers were torn, and blood
was flowing from his legs. The women and the old man stared at him
open-mouthed for a long minute, and then, pouncing upon him, began to
shake him.
"What is it? what news?"
"Is my Petro safe?"
"How goes it with my Yanne?"
Others ran up out of dark alleys and from the doorways of distant
houses, and soon twenty or more surrounded the poor boy, gesticulating,
screaming. They could not wait for him to get his breath. His tongue
lolled out like that of a Chinese idol, and he swallowed the air
instead of breathing, rolling his eyes about helplessly the while. At
length, with a supreme effort, he gasped:
"Yanne!"
The woman with the babe reeled as though the earth were slipping from
beneath her-feet. A neighbor caught the child and the mother fell
limply to the ground. Then, while friends dashed water upon her face
and rubbed her hands, the boy talked rapidly, shrilly, flinging his
arms about with loose-elbowed gestures. The woman opened her eyes and
two of the men helped her to her feet. She tottered for a moment,
disheveling her hair with despairing hands and whispering hoarsely:
"Yanne! Yanne! What shall I do? What shall I do?"
But suddenly the brave woman-soul asserted itself and her frail body
straightened, tense, defiant, ready for any effort. Clasping the babe
to her breast she kissed it tenderly many times. Holding it for a
moment at arm's length, she looked at it hungrily, and then turned her
eyes away. A neighbor took the child.
"Come!" said the mother, and she ran lightly up the ravine, followed by
the boy. The babe bleated "Mama! mama!" like a frightened lamb, but
the woman did not look back. Hopping two or three steps from the
doorway, Curtis seized a woman by the arm.
"Killed?" he asked in Greek.
"Eh?"
"Killed?"
Unfortunately, everybody understood, and all commenced talking at once.
"I don't understand," shouted Curtis. "Silence! Killed? killed?"
"Silence!" cried the old man with the musket, raising his right hand in
a commanding gesture above the heads of the too-willing talkers.
"No," he replied to Curtis, slowly and distinctly, "not killed. Badly
wounded."
"Thanks," replied the American. "Thanks, thanks, I understand."
Just before sunrise Michali, with his leg broken, was brought in on a
donkey.