The Athenian Murders (33 page)

Heracles, usually so calm, suddenly felt overcome with rage. 'What does your damned Academy matter now? What did it ever matter?'

The philosopher stared at him bitterly. Heracles went on more gently, recovering his composure: 'We have to accept that people find your Academy a very boring place, Diagoras. They go there, listen to your lectures and then . . . then they go off and eat one another. That's all.' He'll accept it eventually, he thought, moved by the look on the tutor's haggard face, visible in the moonlight.

After an uncomfortable silence, Diagoras said: 'There has to be an explanation. A key. If what you say is true, there must be some final key that we still haven't found.'

'Perhaps there is a key to this strange text,' agreed Heracles,

'but I'm not the right translator for it... Maybe we need to see things from a distance to understand them better.
¹⁰²
Anyway, let's proceed cautiously. If they've been watching us, and I suspect they have, they'll know what we've discovered. And that's what they least like. We have to move quickly.' 'What are we going to do?'

'We need proof. All the cult members we know of have been, or are about to be, killed: Tramachus, Euneos, Antisus, Menaechmus. Their plan was very clever. But we may have a chance ... If only we could get Menaechmus to confess!'

'I could try to talk to him,' suggested Diagoras.

Heracles thought a moment. 'Very well. Go and see Menaechmus tomorrow. I'm going to see what information I can get from a certain other person.'

'Who?'

'The person who may constitute the only mistake they've made! I'll see you tomorrow, good Diagoras. Be prudent!'

The moon was a woman's breast, with a finger of cloud approaching its nipple. The moon was a vulva, which the pointed cloud tried to penetrate.
¹⁰³

¹⁰²
From what kind of distance? From down here? (T.'s
N
.)

103
I’ve been locked up in here for too long. For a moment I thought these two sentences could perhaps be rendered less crudely:
'The moon was a breast lightly brushed by the finger of cloud. The moon was a hollow in which a cloud of pointed outline sought refuge ', or something. Something much more poetic than what I've produced, anyway. It's just that . . . Oh, Helena, I need you and miss you! I've always believed that physical desires were merely servants of our noble intellect... but now ... What I wouldn't give for a good tumble! (I put it like that, without beating around the
bush, because let’s be honest, Who’s going to read this?) Oh translating, translating a mindless Labour of Hercules imposed by a mad Eurystheos! So be it! Here in this dark cubbyhole, am I not the master of what I write? Well then, that is my version of the sentence, however shocking! (T.s N)

But Heracles Pontor was not watching all this celestial activity. He crossed the garden, laid out beneath Selene's watchful gaze, and opened his front door. The dark, silent hollow of the hall resembled a watchful eye. Heracles watched out in case his slave Ponsica had left a lamp on a shelf by the door, but Ponsica had obviously not watched out for such a possibility.
¹⁰⁴
So he entered the dark house, like a knife cutting into flesh, and closed the door.

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What's going on? The verb 'to watch' is springing up eidetically all over the place
,

'Yasintra?' he called. There was no answer.

His gaze stabbed the darkness, to no avail. He made slowly for the rooms at the centre of the house. His feet seemed to step on the points of knives. The icy cold of the dark house pierced his cloak like a knife.

'Yasintra?' he called again.

'Here,' came the reply, cutting through the silence.
¹⁰⁵
He came to the bedroom. She had

her back to him, in the darkness. She turned.

'What are you doing here, in the dark?' asked Heracles. 'Waiting for you.'

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Knives! The eidesis is spreading like poison ivy! What image is being conjured up here? 'Watchfulness' . . . 'Knife' . . . Oh, Heracles, Heracles, look out, you're in
danger!

Yasintra hurried to light the lamp. He observed her back as
she did so. The brightness grew, hesitantly, and spread up the wall. Yasintra didn't turn around immediately and Heracles continued to observe the strong lines of her back. She wore a smooth, floor-length
peplos,
pinned with a fibula at each shoulder, forming folds down her back. 'Where is my slave woman?'

'She hasn't returned from Eleusis,' she replied, still with her back to him.
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Then she turned. Her face was beautifully painted - eyes outlined with pigments, cheeks whitened with ceruse and lips stained very red; her breasts hung freely beneath the blue
peplos;
a gold link belt cinched her already narrow waist; her toenails were painted two different colours, as was the custom of Egyptian women. As she turned, a light perfumed dew spread through the air.

¹⁰⁶
And now the word 'back'! It's a warning! Maybe: 'Watch
your
back, because .. . there's a
knife.' Oh,
Heracles, Heracles! How can I warn you? How? Keep away from her! (T.'s
N.)

[1]
The repetition, in this paragraph, of the three eidetic words emphasises the image. Watch your back, Heracles, she's got a knife! ('I.'sN.)

'Why are you dressed like that?' asked Heracles.

'I thought you'd like it,' she said, eyes watchful. From each small earlobe hung an earring - as sharp as a knife - shaped like a naked woman with her back turned.
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^1
07
The repetition, in this paragraph, of the three eidetic words emphasises the image. Watch your back, Heracles, she's got a knife! (T.'sN.)

The Decipherer said nothing. Yasintra stood still, surrounded by a halo of lamplight. A twisted column of shadow stretched from her forehead to the pubic confluence of the folds of her
peplos,
neatly dividing her body in half. She said: 'I've prepared some food.'

'I'm not hungry.'

'Are you going to bed?'

'Yes.' Heracles rubbed his eyes. 'I'm exhausted.'

She went to the door. Her bracelets jangled as she moved. Watching her, Heracles said: 'Yasintra.' She stopped and turned. 'I need to talk to you.' She nodded in silence and came to stand in front of him. 'You told me that some slaves, claiming to have been sent by Menaechmus, threatened to kill you.' She nodded again, more quickly this time. 'Have you seen them again?'

'No.'

'What did they look like?'

Yasintra hesitated a moment. 'They were very tall. With Athenian accents.'

'What exactly did they say?' 'What I told you.' 'Remind me.'

Yasintra blinked. Her pale, almost limpid eyes, avoided Heracles'. The pink tip of her tongue slowly ran over her red lips. 'They said that I should tell no one of my relations with Tramachus, or I'd be sorry. And they swore by the Styx and by all the gods.'

'I understand.' Heracles stroked his silver beard. He began pacing quickly to and fro in front of Yasintra: left, right, left, right. . ,
¹⁰⁸
He murmured, thinking aloud: 'I'm sure
they, too, must have been members of
...'

¹⁰⁸
Don't turn your
back
to her!
(T.'s N.)

He turned his back to the girl.
¹⁰⁹
On the wall in front of him, Yasintra's shadow appeared to grow. A sudden thought made

¹⁰⁹
no, damn it, no! (T.'s
N
.)

Heracles turn back to the hetaera. She seemed to have moved a few steps closer, but he thought nothing of it. 'Wait. Do you remember if there was anything distinctive about them? I mean, such as tattoos, bracelets

Yasintra frowned and averted her gaze. 'No.'

'But they were definitely grown men, not boys. You're sure of that?'

She nodded and said: 'What is it, Heracles? You told me I no longer had anything to fear from Menaechmus.'

'You don't,' he reassured her. 'But I'd like to catch those two men. Would you recognise them if you saw them again?'

'I think so.'

'Good.' Heracles suddenly felt tired. He glanced at the tempting prospect of his bed and sighed. 'I'm going to rest now. It's been a difficult day. If you can, call me at daybreak.'

'I will.'

He dismissed her with indifference and laid his large back on the bed. Gradually his watchful mind closed its eyes and sleep cut through his consciousness like a knife.
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¹¹⁰
The danger isn't past - the three words r
ecur like eidetic warnings! (T
.'sN.)

The fingers gripped the beating heart. There were shadows all around, and Heracles could hear a voice. He turned to look at the soldier - he was speaking. What was he saying? He must find out! Enclosed in a trembling grey cloud, the soldier was moving his lips, but the booming heartbeats drowned his words. Heracles could see him clearly - he was wearing a cuirasse, skirt, greaves and a helmet with a brightly coloured plume. He could tell his rank. He thought he understood a few words. The heartbeats grew louder; they sounded like approaching footsteps. Naked women crawled from the tunnel. Menaechmus was there, smiling, of course. But the most important thing was to remember what he had just forgotten. Only then... 'No!' he moaned.

'Was it the same dream as before?' asked the shadow, leaning over him.

The bedroom was dimly lit. Fully dressed and with painted face, Yasintra lay down beside him, watching him tensely.

'Yes,' said Heracles. He ran his hand over his damp forehead. 'What are you doing here?'

'I heard you, like last time. You were talking in your sleep, moaning ... I couldn't bear it, so I came to wake you. The gods have sent you the dream, I'm sure of it.'

'I don't know . . .' Heracles licked his dry lips. 'I think it's a message.'

'A prophecy?'

'No, a message from the past. Something I have to remember.'

She replied, softening her mannish voice: 'You haven't attained peace. You do too much thinking. You don't give yourself up to sensations. When my mother taught me to dance she said: "Yasintra, don't think. Don't use your body. Let it use you. Your body belongs not to you, but to the gods. They manifest themselves through your movements. Let your body give the orders - its voice is desire, its language is gesture. Don't translate the language. Listen to it. Don't translate. Don't tr
anslate. Don't translate .. .
¹¹¹

¹¹¹
These hypnot
ic words make my eyes close. (T
.'s N.)

'Your mother may have been right,' said Heracles. 'But I feel I cannot stop thinking.' And he added proudly: Tin a Decipherer in the purest sense.'

'Maybe I can help you.'

And with that, she lifted the sheet, leaned over meekly and placed her mouth over the area of tunic covering Heracles's flaccid member.

He was dumbfounded. He sat up abruptly. Barely parting her thick lips, Yasintra said: 'Let me.'

She kissed and kneaded the docile, malleable thing beneath his tunic, the long soft bulge of which he'd hardly been aware since Hagesikora's death. But then, during her meticulous exploration, her mouth found a small rim. He felt it, as if his flesh had cried out, perceived it suddenly, piercingly. He moaned with pleasure, fell back on the bed, and closed his eyes.

The feeling spread to cover a patch of his lower abdomen. It grew in breadth, volume, intensity, until it was no longer merely an area of his body, but a rebellion. Heracles couldn't tell from where in the pleasurable mystery of his member it proceeded. The rebellion was now a movement of tacit disobedience that had become a separate entity with a form and will of its own. And all she'd used was her mouth! He moaned again.