فصل 7

VII

We stayed silent by the brazier until far into the night. I felt once more how simple and frugal a thing is happiness: a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. Nothing else. And all that is required to feel that here and now is happiness is a simple, frugal heart.

“How many times have you been married, Zorba?” I asked.

We were both in a good humour, not so much for having drunk a lot as on account of the indescribable happiness within us. We were deeply aware, each of us in our own way, that we were two ephemeral little insects, clinging tightly to the terrestrial bark, that we had found a convenient corner near the sea, behind some bamboos, planks and empty petrol-cans, where we hung together, and, lastly, that we had before us some pleasant things and food, and within us serenity, affection and security.

Zorba did not hear my question. Who knows on what oceans beyond the reach of my voice his mind was sailing? I stretched out my arm and touched him with the tip of my fingers.

“How many times have you been married, Zorba?” I asked again.

He started. He had heard this time. Waving his great hand, he answered: “What are you delving into now? D’you think I’m not a man? Like everyone else, I’ve committed the Great Folly. That’s what I call marriage—may married folk forgive me! Yes, I’ve committed the Great Folly, I’ve married!” “Yes, but how many times?”

Zorba scratched his head vigorously.

“How many times?” he said, at last. “Honestly once, once and for all. Half-honestly twice. Dishonestly a thousand, two thousand, three thousand times. How d’you expect me to reckon it?” “Tell me a little about your marriages, Zorba. Tomorrow’s Sunday, we’ll shave and put on our best clothes and go to old Bouboulina’s ‘for a good time and a bad girl!’ Now, tell me!” “Tell you what! Are those really things you talk about, boss? Honest marriages are tasteless; they’re a dish without any pepper. Tell you what! When the saints ogle you from their icons and give you their blessing, d’you call that a kiss? In our village we say ‘only stolen meat is tasty.’ Your wife is no stolen meat. Now, as for the dishonest unions, how are you going to recall them? Does the cock keep a register? You bet! And why should he, anyhow? There was a time, when I was young, I kept a lock of hair of every woman I got familiar with. I always kept a pair of scissors on me. Even when I went to church, yes, there were my scissors in my pocket! We’re men, after all; you never know what’ll come along, do you?

“So, like that, I made a collection of locks of hair. There were dark ones, fair ones, ginger ones, even a few white ones. I collected such a lot, I stuffed a pillow with them. I sniffed the pillow I slept on—only in winter, though. In summer it made me too hot. Then, a bit later, I got fed up with that, too—you see, it began to stink, so I burned it.” Zorba started laughing.

“That was my register, boss,” he said, “and it’s burnt. But I was fed up to the teeth with it. I thought there wouldn’t be so many, and then I saw there was no end to it. So I threw my scissors away.” “What about the half-honest marriages, Zorba?”

“Oh, those have a certain charm,” he sighed. “O wonderful Slav, may you live a thousand years! What freedom! None of those: ‘Where have you been?’ ‘Why’re you late?’ ‘Where did you sleep?’ She asks you no questions and you ask her none. Freedom!” He reached for his glass, emptied it and shelled a chestnut. He munched as he spoke.

“One was called Sophinka, the other Noussa. I met Sophinka in a tidy-sized village near Novo Rossisk. It was winter and snowing. I was going to look for work in a mine, and stopped in this village. It was market-day and, from all the villages round about, men and women had come to buy and sell. A terrible famine and bitter cold. To buy bread people were selling all they had, even their icons!

“Well, I was going round the market when I saw a young peasant woman jumping down from her cart—a six-foot hussy with eyes as blue as the sea and such thighs and buttocks—I tell you, a real brood mare!… I stopped dead in my tracks. ‘Poor Zorba, oh, my poor bloody Zorba!’ I said.

“I started to follow her and look… I couldn’t keep my eyes off her! You should’ve seen her buttocks swinging like church-bells at Easter! ‘Why go looking for mines, you poor mutt?’ I said to myself. ‘Why waste precious time there, you damned weather-cock? Here’s the mine for you: get in it and open up the galleries!’

“The girl stopped, started to bargain, bought a load of wood, lifted it up—Jesus, what arms!—and threw it into her cart! She bought some bread and five or six smoked fish. ‘How much is that?’ she asked. ‘So much…’ She took off her golden earrings to pay. As she’d no money, she was going to give her earrings. My heart leapt into my mouth. Me, let a woman give away her earrings, her trinkets, her scented cakes of soap, her little bottles of lavender-water?… If she gives away all that, it’s all up with the world! It’s as if you plucked a peacock’s feathers. Would you have the heart to pluck a peacock? Never! No, as long as Zorba lives, I said to myself, that won’t happen. I opened my purse and I paid. It was the time when roubles had become bits of paper. With a hundred drachmas you could buy a mule, with ten a woman.

“So I paid. The wench turned round and took a look at me out of the corner of her eyes. She took my hand to kiss it. But I pulled my hand away. What did she take me for? An old man? ‘Spassiba! Spassiba!’ she cried—that means: ‘Thanks! Thanks!’ And away she leaped into her cart. She took the reins and raised her whip. ‘Zorba,’ I said to myself, ‘look out, my friend, she’s going to slip through your fingers!’ In one bound, I was at her side in the cart. She said nothing. She didn’t even look round. A crack of the whip and off we went.

“On the way, she came to realise I wanted her to be mine. I could muster three words of Russian, but in these affairs there’s no need to say much. We spoke to each other with our eyes, our hands, our knees. No need to beat about the bush. We arrived in the village and stopped in front of her isha. We got down. The girl thrust open the yard gate with her shoulder and we went in. We unloaded the wood in the yard, took the fish and bread and entered the room. A little old woman was sitting by the empty hearth. She was shivering. She was wrapped in sacks, rags, and sheepskins, but she was shivering. It was so cold, I tell you, your fingernails fairly fell out. I bent down, put an armful of wood in the fireplace and lit the fire. The little old woman looked at me and smiled. Her daughter had said something to her, but I hadn’t understood. I made the fire go; the old woman warmed herself by it and recovered a little.

“Meanwhile, the girl was laying the table. She brought out some vodka; we drank it. She lit the samovar and made some tea. We ate and gave her share to the old woman. Then she quickly made the bed with clean sheets, lit the Holy Virgin’s icon lamp and crossed herself three times. Then she signed to me; we knelt together in front of the old woman and kissed her hand. The old woman put her bony hands on our heads and muttered something. Probably her blessing on us. ‘Spassiba! Spassiba!’ I cried, and in one bound, there I was in bed with the wench!” Zorba became silent. He raised his head and gazed into the distance over the sea.

“Her name was Sophinka…” he said after a while, and became silent again.

“Well?” I asked impatiently. “Well?”

“There’s no well! What a mania you’ve got, boss, with your ‘wells’ and ‘wherefores’! Now, does one talk about those things? Woman is a fresh spring. You lean over her, you see your reflection and you drink; you drink until your bones crack. Then there’s another who comes, and he’s thirsty, too; he bends over her, he sees his reflection and he drinks. Then a third… A fresh spring, that’s what she is, and she’s a woman, too…” “Did you leave her after that?”

“What d’you expect? She’s a spring, I told you, and I’m a passer-by. I went back on the road. I’d stayed three months with her. God protect her, I’ve nothing to say against her! But after three months I remembered I was looking for a mine. ‘Sophinka,’ I said to her one morning, ‘I’ve got some work to do. I must go.’ ‘Well,’ Sophinka said, ‘go along. I’ll wait one month. If you’re not back in one month’s time, I’ll be free. So will you. God bless you!’ I went.” “And you came back after a month… ?”

“But you’re stupid, boss, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Zorba exclaimed. “Came back! Do the jades ever leave you alone? Ten days later, in the Kuban, I met Noussa.” “Tell me about her! Tell me!”

“Another time, boss. We mustn’t get them mixed up, the poor things! Your health, Sophinka!” He quaffed the glass of wine. Then he leaned against the wall and said: “All right! I’ll tell you now about Noussa. I’ve got Russia on the brain tonight. Strike the flag! We’ll empty the holds!” He wiped his moustache and poked the embers. “Well, as I said, I met this one in a Kuban village. It was summer. Mountains of melons and watermelons. I’d pick up one now and then and nobody’d say a thing. I’d cut it in two and stick my face into it.

“Everything’s to be had in abundance in Russia, boss, everything in a heap. Roll up and take your choice! And not only melons and watermelons, I tell you, but fish and butter and women. You’re passing by, you see a watermelon, you take it. Not like here in Greece, where if you ever pinch the tiniest bit of skin off a melon you’re hauled up before the courts, and as soon as you touch a woman her brother rushes up and draws his knife to make sausagemeat of you! Ugh! To hell with that measly crowd of beggars! You just go to Russia if you want to see how you can live like a lord.

“So, I was going through Kuban and I saw a woman in a kitchen garden. I liked the look of her. Let me tell you, boss, the Slav woman is not like those skinny, greedy little Greeks who sell you love a drop at a time, and do everything they can to palm you off with less than your due and swindle you over the weight. No, boss, the Slav gives you good measure. In sleep, in love, and in food. She’s so nearly related to the beasts of the fields and the earth itself. She gives and gives bountifully, she’s not niggardly about it like those haggling Greeks. I asked her: ‘What’s your name?’ You see, through women, I’d picked up a bit of the language. ‘Noussa! And yours?’ ‘Alexis. I like you very much, Noussa.’ She looked me over carefully, like you look at a horse before buying it. ‘You’re no weed yourself,’ she said. ‘You’ve got sound teeth, a big moustache, a broad back, strong arms. I like you.’ We didn’t say much else, it wasn’t necessary. We came to an understanding in a jiffy. I was to go to her place that evening in my glad rags. ‘Have you got a fur-lined cloak?’ Noussa asked me. ‘Yes, but in this heat…’ ‘Never mind. Bring it, it’ll look smart.’

“That evening, then, I rigged myself out like a bridegroom, I put my cloak over my arm, I also took a silver-knobbed cane I had, and off I went. It was a big country house with out-buildings, cows, presses, two fires in the yard and cauldrons on the fires. “What’s boiling here?” I asked. ‘Watermelon must.’ ‘And here?’ ‘Melon must.’ ‘What a country!’ I said to myself. ‘D’you hear that? Must of melons and watermelons! This is the Promised Land! Goodbye poverty! Here’s to you, Zorba, you’ve fallen on your feet. Like a mouse in a pound of cheese!’

“I went up the staircase. An enormous wooden staircase which creaked. On the landing were Noussa’s father and mother. They were wearing a sort of green breeches and red waistbands with big tassels—they were pretty well off in fact. These monkey-faces opened their arms and enveloped you in huggings and kissings. I was soaked in slobber. They spoke to me at top speed; I didn’t understand much, but what did that matter? It was obvious, by their expressions, they wished me no ill.

“I went into the room and what did I see? Tables groaning under food and drink, like great sailing-ships. Everybody was standing—relations, women, men, and in front was Noussa, made-up, in evening dress, with her bosom showing, like a ship’s figurehead. She had dazzling youth and beauty. She was wearing a red kerchief over her hair, and over her heart was an embroidered hammer and sickle. ‘Zorba, you double-dyed sinner, you,’ I muttered to myself, ‘is that your meat? Is that the body you’re going to hold in your arms tonight? God forgive your father and mother who brought you into this world!’

“We all threw ourselves on the food with a will, the women as well as the men. We guzzled and swilled, we ate like pigs and drank like fish. ‘What about the priest?’ I asked Noussa’s father, who was sitting beside me and whose body was steaming through eating so much. ‘Where’s the priest to bless us?’ ‘There’s no priest,’ he spluttered, ‘there’s no priest. Religion is opium for the masses.’

“On that he rose, puffed out his breast, loosened his red sash and raised his arm for silence. He was holding a glass filled to the brim and looking me straight in the eye. Then he began to talk and talk; he was making a speech to me. What was he saying? God knows! I was tired of standing. Besides, by this time I was a bit pissed. I sat down and pressed my knee against Noussa’s. She was on my right.

“The old boy just wouldn’t stop talking, the sweat was pouring off him. So they all rushed round him and hugged him to make him stop talking. He stopped. Noussa signed to me. ‘Now you must speak!’

“So I got up in my turn and made a speech, half in Russian, half in Greek. What did I say? I’m damned if I know. I only remember that at the end I launched on some Klepht brigand songs. Without rhyme or reason, I began to bellow: From the hills the Klephts came down, Each a rustler! Of horses found they none, But they found Noussa!

“You see, boss, I changed the song to fit the circumstances. Away they go, away they go… (Away they go, mother!) Ah! my Noussa! Ah! my Noussa! Vyel!

“And, as I bellowed ‘Vyel’ I threw myself on Noussa and kissed her.

“That was just what was wanted. As if I had given the signal they were waiting for, and they were, in fact, only waiting for that, several great fellows with red beards rushed and put out the lights.

“The women, the jades, started yelping, screaming they were afraid. But almost at once, in the darkness, they giggled: ‘Hee-hee-hee!’ They liked being tickled and laughed.

“What happened, boss, God alone knows. But I don’t think He knew either, because if He had known, He would have sent a thunderbolt to burn them up. There they were all mixed up, men and women, rolling on the ground. I started to search for Noussa, but where could I find her? I found another and did the job with her.

“At daybreak I rose to leave with my woman. It was still dark, I couldn’t see clearly. I caught hold of a foot, I pulled it. No, it wasn’t Noussa’s. I caught hold of another foot no! I pulled a third—no! I catch hold of a fourth, a fifth, and in the end, after no end of trouble, I found Noussa’s foot, pulled it, and extricated her from two or three great devils who were sprawling over the poor girl, and I woke her up. ‘Noussa,’ I said, ‘Let’s go!’ ‘Don’t forget your fur cape!’ she replied. ‘Let’s go!’ and we left.” “Well?” I asked again, seeing that Zorba remained silent.

“There you go again with your ‘wells’,”” said Zorba, impatient at these questions.

He sighed.

“I lived six months with her. Since that day—God be my witness!—I need fear nothing. Nothing, I say. Nothing, except one thing: that the devil, or God, wipe out those six months from my memory. D’you understand? ‘I understand,’ you ought to say.” Zorba closed his eyes. He appeared very moved. It was the first time—I had seen him so strongly gripped by a memory of long ago.

“Did you love that Noussa so much, then?” I asked a few moments later.

Zorba opened his eyes.

“You’re young, boss,” he said, “you’re still young, you can’t understand! When you’ve gone white on top like me, we’ll talk again about this—this everlasting business.” “What everlasting business?”

“Why, women, of course! How many times must I tell you, woman is an everlasting business. Just now, you’re like a young cock who covers the hens in two shakes of a lamb’s tail and then puffs out his breast, gets on top of the dung-hill and starts to crow and brag. He doesn’t look at the hens, he looks at their combs! Well, what can he know of love? The devil take him!” He spat on the ground in scorn. Then he turned his head away; he did not wish to look at me.

“Well, Zorba,” I asked again, “what about Noussa?”

Zorba replied, gazing into the distance over the sea:

“When I came home one evening, I couldn’t find her anywhere. She’d gone. A handsome soldier had just arrived in the village and she’d run off with him. It was all over! I tell you, my heart split in two. But the knave soon stuck itself together again. You must have seen those sails with red, yellow and black patches, sewn with thick twine, which never tear even in the roughest storms. Well, that’s what my heart’s like. Umpteen holes, and umpteen patches: it need fear nothing more!” “And didn’t you bear Noussa any grudge, Zorba?”

“Why? You can say what you like, woman is something different, boss… something different. She’s not human! Why bear her any grudge? Woman’s something incomprehensible, and all the laws of state and religion have got her all wrong. They shouldn’t act like that towards a woman. They’re too harsh, boss, too unjust. If I ever had to make laws, I shouldn’t make the same laws for men and for women. Ten, a hundred, a thousand commandments for man. Man is a man, after all; he can stand up to it. But not a single law for woman. Because—how many times do I have to tell you this, boss?—woman is a creature with no strength. Let’s drink to Noussa, boss! And to woman!… And may God give us men more sense!” He drank, raised his arm and brought it down with force, as if he were using an axe.

“He must either give us men more sense,” he said, “or else perform an operation on us. Otherwise, believe me, we’re finished.”