A VIOLENT WOOER
Kostakes had something of importance to say to Panayota--something
unpleasant, to judge from his perturbed appearance. The door to her
room failed to open at the first turning of the key; the lock was old
and worn and the bolt did not always respond. But Kostakes did not
calmly try again. He threw his weight pettishly against the unyielding
barrier and kicked noisily at the panels. Having thus given vent in a
slight degree to his boiling passion, he again tried the key, swearing
to himself meanwhile in Greek--that language being in every way more
satisfactory than Turkish in a crisis demanding profanity. Almost
falling into the room, he brought himself up with a jerk and stood
glaring at the unhappy girl. To Panayota, who had always seen him
hitherto in a gentle and persuasive mood, he was as a man who had put
off a mask. Somehow he did not frighten her, for his looks now
corresponded with her idea of his real character; that scowling brow,
those glaring eyes, that protruding under jaw trembling with rage, well
befitted the murderer of her father and the despoiler of her home. If
Kostakes should come into her room some time when he was drunk! But
now he was only angry, seemingly speechless with rage. She had been
peering through the grating of her window watching a rat that was
running to and fro in the sunless court below; he was so fat and his
legs were so short that he seemed to be sliding over the pavement like
a toy mouse. When she first heard Kostakes' key in the lock she
grasped the iron bars to keep herself from falling and, leaning against
the wall, stood looking at the door. And thus she stood now, a smile
of scorn faintly curling her pale lip. Kostakes strode across the room
and, seizing her wrist wrenched her hand loose from the iron bar.
"You won't marry me, eh?" he said. "I'm not good enough for you, eh?
I suppose I'm old or ugly or you prefer somebody else? Is that it, eh?
Well, now I'm going to tame you. You wouldn't have me as a Christian,
you shall have me as a Turk. There aren't going to be any more
Christians, do you hear? Eh? Do you hear? We're going to kill the
whole cursed brood of them, English, French, Italians, Cretans! There
won't be one left. Islam is aroused. We'll cut their throats--" he
shouted, flinging her wrist from him, and making an imaginary slash at
his own neck. "The streets will run blood. Every dog of an unbeliever
in Crete must die, men, women and children--except you."
The blood of the Turkish father had prevailed, and Kostakes was
overwhelmed with that form of religious mania which cries for blood.
He had joined a band of young Turks, who had planned a grand coup, to
save Crete, and his Christian love for Panayota was fast turning into
Turkish love. It needed but a riot of blood and rapine to make the
change complete.
"You would not have me as a Christian," he repeated, with his hand on
the door knob; "then you shall take me as a Turk," and he went out.
Panayota, being left alone again, was frightened, and it is proof of
the girl's nobility of soul that she thought not of herself, but of her
fellow Christians, whom she believed to be in imminent danger. If she
could only escape and give them warning! But she dismissed that
thought, for she had tried every possible means again and again. She
might stand at the window and scream, but she had already done that,
with no effect. Kostakes' house was right in the center of the Turkish
quarter, and the screams of an hysterical or angry woman attracted
little attention. A girl shouting in Greek for help was a time-honored
legend of Turkish rule; as old as Islam and as natural as murder. So,
as a last resort, she fell upon her knees and besought the Virgin to
help and save the people, to pity the mothers and the little children
and to turn away from them this danger. Now, while she was praying, a
conflict had been taking place within the breast of Kostakes, of which
he felt the effects, but of which he was entirely unconscious. The
blood of his Greek mother had been making a last stand against that of
his Mohammedan father, and while he was even yet breathing out curses
against the Christians and muttering, "She shall have me as a Turk," he
turned about automatically, as it were, and retraced his steps to
Panayota's room. The girl rose from her knees.
"I am praying the Holy Virgin to save my people," she said in a solemn
tone. Her eyes were streaming with tears. Kostakes shuddered, and
involuntarily raised his arm, restraining himself with difficulty from
making the sign of the cross. This Virgin of his mother could be a
very terrible being when angry.
"Panayota," he said, "I--I--was too rough with you just now. But you
are very obstinate. Listen, I tell you the truth. The young Turks
have planned a grand coup, and I have joined them. But I would do
anything for you if you would only let me. Say that you will marry me,
and I will give the foreign officers warning, and the Christians will
be saved. I will then turn Christian--O, Panayota, won't you marry me?"
But the Virgin had comforted Panayota and given her courage. She
pointed superbly to the door.
"Go," she cried, "God will save His people without that sacrifice."