AGAINST THE COMMON ENEMY
Panayota was lying face down upon the bed, but when she heard heavy
footsteps in the hall and the scratching of the key upon the door, as
some one outside fumbled at the lock, she sprang to her feet and backed
to the wall at the farther side of the room. She cast her eyes about
the bare, dim room, as though there must be some way of escape,
moaning, meanwhile:
"Little Virgin, save me! O, my God, what shall I do?"
When Kostakes entered he found her thus, her fists clenched, her lips
white. She was looking at him, with great eyes of fear and horror, and
she scarcely seemed to breathe. There was in her attitude the
alertness of a hunted cat, that hopes to make a sudden dash for liberty
and to escape even at the last moment.
"In the name of Allah, Panayota," he said tenderly, "why are you so
frightened? Have I not told you I would not touch a hair of your head?"
She made no reply, but slid along the wall, with her eyes fixed on the
open door. He turned with an exclamation of impatience, shut it with a
slam, locked it and put the key in his pocket.
"Na!" he said, "don't think of escaping. Try to fix your mind on what
I am going to say to you. In the first place, I swear to you by my
hopes of salvation that I mean you no harm. Now listen to me!--I love
you, Panayota."
"Is that why you murdered my father?"
"Why do you say that I murdered your father?"
"Bring him to me alive, and then I shall know that you did not."
"You ask an impossible thing, Panayota. He is probably among the
Sphakiote mountains by this time, and you know there aren't troops
enough in all Turkey to get him out."
"Then I'll tell you what you do," cried Panayota eagerly, advancing a
step or two. "Let me go and find him. I'll return here to Canea with
him. Honestly I will, honestly--and you shall come and talk to me all
you like."
Kostakes gave his mustache an impatient twist.
"To let you go, after all the trouble I've had getting you? O, no,
Panayota. You're mine, by Allah! and whoever takes you away from me
must kill me first. You don't know how I love you, I could never tell
you. Listen. There isn't a drop of Turkish blood in me. My
grandfather became a Turk because--because of circumstances, to save
his life. I am the son of a Greek mother and she used to sing Greek
lullabies to me in my cradle." He was talking very fast now. "I have
always said I would turn Christian some time, and when I saw you, I
made up my mind to do it right away. I have heard great news.
Everybody says that the powers have decided to give the island to the
king of Greece. Then there will be no more Turks here. They will
either go away or become Orthodox. Say you'll marry me, Panayota, and
I'll get rid of my harem, and we'll go before the priest--"
"Will you murder your wives as you did my father?" asked the girl.
Kostakes stared at her, deprived for the moment of the power of speech.
In his enthusiasm, he had talked himself into the feeling that his
dreams were already realized. Panayota's voice, hard, sneering, cold
with hate, shocked him like a sudden blow in the face with a whip.
Then rage surged up in his veins and knocked at his temples. His
hands, that he had extended pleadingly, trembled, and he gnashed his
teeth. Kostakes was not beautiful at that moment. Panayota laughed.
"O, you Turk," she cried, "you cowardly Turk! You needn't grind your
teeth at me. I'm not afraid of death. It's only your vile love that I
fear."
Kostakes raised his doubled fists above his head and brought them down
with such violence that an involuntary "Ah!" escaped him.
"By God, girl, you would drive a saint crazy," he cried. "Here I am
offering to change my religion and put away my harem, and all for you,
and I get nothing out of you but an insult. Don't you know that you
are in my power, and I can do with you what I please? No cursed
foreigner will rescue you this time. He did not know enough to keep
you when he had you, and I'll see that he doesn't get another chance.
I want you to love me as I love you. Panayota, I've made an honorable
offer. I leave you to think it over. But make up your mind to
this--you're mine, and I'll never give you up while I live."
When Kostakes stepped into the court again, Souleima was blowing up the
coals in a little charcoal stove, home-made from an American petroleum
can. Ayesha, standing by the table, called out in a stage whisper,
plainly audible throughout the enclosure:
"The Effendi comes," and pulled the fish from the drawer.
"Isn't dinner ready yet?" he snarled; "what have you lazy women been
doing?"
"All ready, Effendi," replied Ayesha. "We couldn't fry the _barbounia_
till you came. They are better hot. Souleima, bring the olive oil and
the salt. In two minutes, Effendi."
"Got any wine?" asked Kostakes, as the platter of steaming fish was set
before him.
"Wine, Effendi, in a Turkish house?"
"Yes, wine; if you've got any, bring it on, I am tired and thirsty."
"I think Ferende has some," suggested Souleima. "She drinks like a
fish."
"Umph! And I don't suppose you help her?"
"Effendi, I swear--" commenced Souleima.
"I don't even know the taste of it," protested Ayesha.
"Silence, silence! and bring me some. And look here," as the decanter
was set before him, "if I ever hear a lisp about my wine drinking I'll
wring the necks of both of you--cackling old hens that you are. And
now send Ferende to wait on me, and get out of my sight, the two of
you. You take my appetite away. She at least is not a greasy old
slattern."
After the Effendi had eaten he betook himself to his chamber in search
of much needed rest. Ferende followed him, but he pushed her from him,
saying in a querulous and disgusted tone:
"Get away from me, can't you? Darken the room and go. Shut the door,
and if any of you women make a noise--eh, there, listen!"
"Yes, Effendi." Ferende had nearly closed the door, but she opened it
a little way and thrust her face back into the room.
"Don't take Panayota up those cold fish. Fry her some hot ones, and
give her some wine."
The ex-favorite found the two elder wives whispering together in the
garden.
She walked straight up to them.
"Let's be friends," she said. "We're all in the same boat, and must
work together. In fact, you are worse off than I am, for I am younger
and better looking than either of you!"
This was not conciliatory language, but it accorded so well with what
the two women had just been saying to each other, that they could make
no reply. Each looked inquiringly at the other for a moment, and then
Souleima asked:
"Do you think he is in earnest?"
"Absolutely. He would have no reason to parley with the girl, else.
She is in his power."
"We shall all be turned into the street," said Ayesha.
"He would never dare," cried Souleima. "He has nothing against us. We
are faithful, honest wives. It would make too great a scandal."
"He will find a way," replied Ferende, coolly.
"What shall we do? O, what shall we do?" sobbed the two elder wives.
Poor things! They had no Virgin to take refuge with.
"If she should fall ill and die!" suggested Souleima.
Ferende started violently and turned pale. "No!" she cried, so loud
that all three of them glanced apprehensively at the windows. Then
lowering her voice:
"Don't ever think of such a thing again. It's too dangerous. She must
escape."
"But the Effendi would kill us even for that."
"It must be done in such a way that he will never suspect us."