A BLOW IN THE DARK
Curtis shared the quarters of his amiable host, Kostakes Effendi, in
the front room of the grocery. Panayota and her father slept next
door. The American's bed consisted of blankets laid upon two tables,
placed side by side. As the blankets had been prodigally bestowed he
found the couch sufficiently comfortable. He lay on his back with his
arms under his head, gazing out into the moonlit square. Despite the
fatigue and excitement of the day, he was not in the least sleepy. The
Cretan night was too intense. The moonlight, wherever it fell, was
passionately white, and the shadows of things were as black and
distinct as though sketched in charcoal. Rows of soldiers wrapped in
their blankets were sleeping in the square. Occasionally one sat up,
looked about, and then lay down again. Once, when he was about to
drowse off, he was roused to consciousness by a faint mewing overhead,
and called softly:
"Kitty! kitty!"
The mewing ceased, for oriental cats are summoned by means of a whistle
between the teeth, similar to the sound made by a peanut roaster.
"That's the grocer's cat," mused Curtis. "Poor animal, she doesn't
know what's happened. She was asking me as plain as day, 'Do you know
where my folks are?' Now, the dog probably went with the old man, but
cats are different--the cat and the mortgage stick to the old
homestead. I must make a note of that. Let's see. How do the Greeks
call their felines? 'Ps-whs-whs.' That's it. Ps-whs-whs!"
A scrambling overhead, and a bolder "meouw!" rewarded the effort.
Pussy was between the tile roof and a covering of reeds that, nailed to
the rafters, answered the purpose of lath and plaster.
"Ps-whs-whs!"
"Meouw!" still more confidently, and the sound of cautious feet on dry
reeds. Kostakes sat up on his table and rubbed his eyes.
"Are you awake, too, Monsieur?"
"Meouw!" said pussy again.
"Ah, the cat keeps you awake. If I were a Greek, now, I should order
it killed, but we Turks are very merciful. I will order the sentry to
drive it away."
"No, no, I beg of you. I was holding a little conversation with it. I
cannot sleep, my leg pains me so. I fear that gangrene is setting in."
"Allah forbid! It is from the fatigue. We shall have a surgeon soon."
Kostakes was too good a soldier to keep awake.
"Good night again, Monsieur," he said, and turned over.
Outside the nightingales were calling each other from far, tremulous
distances. The waters of the fountain splashed and gurgled
unceasingly. Curtis' senses became more and more acute. Sounds that
he could not hear a moment ago became audible now, without growing
louder. He heard the plying of axes, and once the sound of a hammer,
followed by laughter.
"What the deuce are they up to?" he muttered. "Are they building a
fortification of any kind? I've got to do some tall thinking in the
morning. Somehow or other I must get away with that girl. But how?
how? I'll make Kostakes believe I'm lamer than I really am, and he
won't watch me so close. But I must have an opportunity. No man can
do anything without an opportunity--and that isn't so bad, either. I
must make a note of that in the morning. Let's see, what's that other
thing I thought of? H'm--hang it, I've forgotten it."
"Meouw!" said kitty.
"That's it, by Jove! Cats and mortgages."
For fully an hour the American invented and discarded schemes for
escaping with Panayota. He tried to think of passages in novels
describing the rescue of captive maidens by heroes like himself, but
fairy tales of enchanted carpets and wishing caps persisted in running
through his head, to the exclusion of more practical methods.
"I must watch for an opportunity," he exclaimed, aloud, bringing his
fist down upon the table. "If I can't do any better I'll stick to
Kostakes till we get to Canea, and then I'll put the matter in the
hands of the English consul. Hello! What's that!"
He was sure he heard a dull, crushing blow, followed by a moan and the
sound of some one falling. He listened for a long time, but heard
nothing more, and yet he was conscious of a sense of horror, as though
he had just awakened from a nightmare. He rubbed his eyes and pinched
himself.
"I'm awake," he thought, "and yet I feel as though a murder had been
committed. Lord, but I'm all haired up! If this keeps on I shall turn
spiritualistic medium. I wonder if I can see the folks at home?" And
he shut his eyes and fixed his mind upon his father and mother.
"Let's see, now, what time of day is it in Boston?"
He was awakened from his reverie by the voice of Panayota, violent and
pleading, by turns; one moment mingled with sobs and the next angry.
She was demanding "Where is my father?" and asking for Kostakes. The
latter sat up and listened for a moment. Then hastily buckling on his
belt and throwing his cloak over his shoulders, he went out. Curtis,
who was not undressed, followed him. As he passed through the door,
one of the guards seized him, but he struck viciously at the soldier
and cried so angrily, "Let go of me or I'll punch you!" that the
Captain looked around and spoke two or three words sharply to the
guard, who released him. Suddenly remembering that he was very lame,
he sat down upon the edge of the fountain. Panayota was standing in
the door of her lodging, in the full moonlight. Her attitude, her
voice, her face, were eloquent of terror and despair. As soon as she
saw Kostakes she stretched her arms towards him and cried:
"Don't let them kill my father. Bring him back to me, please, please!"
"Why, certainly, my own Panayota, You know that I would not harm you
nor any one belonging to you. But where is your father?"
"He asked the guard to bring him a drink of water, and the guard told
him to come out and get it. And he hasn't come back, I tell you; he
hasn't come back. O, Mother of God, help! help! Don't let them kill
him."
"I see it all," cried Kostakes; "he has escaped," and he questioned the
bystanding soldiers in Turkish.
"Yes, my Panayota. He has taken advantage of my kindness. I ordered
that he be not bound and that he be treated with every
consideration--for your sake, dear Panayota!" Here his voice became
low and tender and he moved nearer. The Turk was, indeed, a gallant
figure in the moonlight, leaning gracefully on his sword, the cape of
his long military cloak thrown back over his shoulder.
"You hear the men; they say that he darted away and that they ran after
him, but could not catch him. Had it been anybody else, they would
have shot him down. But I had ordered them not to injure him under any
circumstances. This I did for you, my Panayota, because I love you.
It is you who--"
"Murderer!" screamed Panayota, leaning toward him with a look of pale
hate, the while she fixed him with a long accusing finger.
"Murderer--Oh, don't deny it! Coward! Liar! You come to me red with
my father's blood and talk to me of love. Apostate! Renegade! Where
is my father, eh? You perjured Greek, where is my father?"
Stepping down from the door, majestic as a goddess, she advanced toward
Kostakes with arm extended.
He shrank slightly from her and looked uneasily to right and left, to
avoid her eye.
"But, my dear Panayota, you shouldn't give way to your temper like
that. You wrong me, really you do. I assure you, your good father has
escaped."
She dropped her arm heavily to her side.
"Yes," she replied, solemnly, "escaped from a world of murderers and
liars. Gone where there is no more killing and burning; where there
are no Turks and no renegades--gone, Kostakes Effendi, where you must
meet him again, with the brand of Cain upon your brow!"
Turning, she walked back to the house, but stopped in the door and said:
"Do you know how those are punished in hell who renounce the religion
of Christ and become Turks? And what torture awaits you, renegade and
murderer of a Christian priest? Kill, kill, give up your life to deeds
of blood. Never think of forgiveness. There is no forgiveness for
such as you. Your place in hell is already chosen. They are even now
preparing the torments for you. O God," and she raised her hands as
one praying, "may this man's deeds find him out, in this world and in
the next. May he be haunted night and day for the rest of his life.
May he die a violent and shameful death, and his memory be held in
disgust. May his soul go to the place of torment, and be tortured
forever. For he has renounced the Son of God, and has slain his holy
minister!"
She disappeared within the house, and Curtis heard her sobbing in the
darkness, "Papa! Papa!"
Kostakes filled the cup which hung from the pillar of the fountain by a
chain, and took a long drink. He was trembling so that the tin vessel
rattled against his teeth.
"_Mon Dieu!_" he exclaimed, observing Curtis. "Did you ever see
anything so unreasonable as a woman? Here is her father run away, and
she accuses me of killing him, and consigns me to eternal torment.
Really, she has made me quite nervous. If I were not innocent, I
should really fear her curses." And he took another drink of the cool
water.
Curtis thought of the dull, crushing blow and the groan that he had
heard, and he involuntarily moved a little away from the handsome and
affable Kostakes, who had sat down by him on the rim of the basin.
"What do you keep the girl for, anyway?" he made bold to ask. "You
surely would not force her to join your--your harem, against her
consent?"
Kostakes sighed.
"Monsieur," he said, "is a poet. He will understand and sympathize
with me. I love Panayota. I would make her my sole wife in honorable
marriage. I desire no other woman but her. Bah! What are other women
compared to her? Is she not magnificent? I could not help loving her,
even just now, when she was cursing me. It is true that I am part
Greek by extraction, and that I was baptized into the Greek church, and
that I have become a Turk. But what is religion compared with love?
Panayota is all the heaven I want. I am willing to turn Greek again
and have a Christian wedding, if she would take me."
"Aren't you conducting your courtship in rather a violent manner?"
asked the American. "In my country your conduct would be thought, to
say the least, irregular."
"Have you in English the proverb, 'All things are fair in love and
war?'"
"Certainly."
"Well, you see this is both love and war. I have possession of
Panayota, and I mean to treat her so well that she shall love me. Not
a hair of her head shall be touched until she marries me of her own
free will."
"But your wives?" asked Curtis. "How many have you of them?"
The Captain shrugged his shoulders.
"Three," he replied. "Dumpy, silly creatures. A Mohammedan has not
much difficulty in getting rid of his wives."
Curtis arose.
"If you will help me to the house," he said, "I will try to get a
little sleep."
Kostakes sprang to his feet.
"Lean on my shoulder," he said. "So, so, how is the leg?"
"Bad, very bad. I'm really worried about it. Do I bear down on you
too heavily?"