Atlantis: Three Tales

Chapter II

II "By all the gloom hung round thy fallen house, By this last temple, by the goldenage, By great Apollo, thy dear foster child, And by thyself, forlorn divinity, The pale Omega of a withered race, Let me behold, according as thou said'st, What in thy brain so ferments to and fro." —John Keats, The Fall of Hyperion, Canto i "I may be bringing someone home with me," [Turkish] John said. "A man, I mean."John had a long nose. "You won't mind, will you? We'll use the bed in the kitchen; I promise we won't bother you. But..." John's blond hair was half gray; his skin was faintly wrinkled and very dry—"it probably isn't a good idea to mention it to DeLys." "I won't," I said. "I promise. By the time she's back, I'll be gone anyway ." "I meant in a letter, or something. But believe me," he said, "I only pick up nice men. Or boys.There won't be any trouble." And later, on the cot bed in the front room of the tiny two-room Anaphiotika house, set into the mountain behind the Acropolis, I went to sleep. In 'Stamboul,just off Istiqlal, John had had a sumptuousthird-floor apartment, full of copper coffee tables, towering plants, rich rugs and 185 S A M U E L R. D E L A N Y hangings. When I'd been staying at the Youth Hostel, one afternoon he'd fed me a wonderful high tea at his place that had kept me going for two days. A pocketful of the leftovers, in a cloth napkin, had—an hour later—even made dinner for timid, towering Jerry. I woke to whispered Greek, the lock, and two more Greek voices. One laughed as though he were coughing. Shhh'mg them, John herded two sailors, in their whites, through the room. The squat one halted in the door to the kitchen (in which was DeLys's bed that John used), to paw the hanging back. He had a beer bottle in one hand. He laughed hoarsely once more. Then the tall one, towering him by almost two heads, shoved past, with John right after. I turned over —then turned back. Frowning, I reached down and pulled my wallet out of the pocket of myjeans where I'd dropped them over the neck of my guitar case sticking from under the bed; it was also my suitcase. I sat, slipped the wallet behind the books on the shelf beside me. Then I lay back down. John came back through the hanging. All he wore now was a blue shirt with yellow flowers. He squatted beside me, knees jackknifed up, to whisper: "There're two of them, I'm afraid. So if you wanted to entertain one—just to keep him busy, while I did the other one—really, I wouldn't mind. Actually, it would be a sort of favor." "I'm sorry,John," I said. "Thanks. But I'm awfully tired." "All right." He patted my forearm, where it was bent under my cheek. He smelled drunk. "But you can't sayI didn't ask.And I certainly don't mind sharing—if you change your mind." Then he said: "I haven't spoken Demotiki with anyone in more than a year. I'm surprised I'm doing as well as I am." Chuckling, he was up and back into the kitchen, thin buttocks grinding below blue and yellow shirttails. He disappeared around the hanging, into the lighted kitchen, Greek, and laughter. I drifted off—despite the noise... Something bumped my arm. I opened my eyes.The little lamp in the corner was on. The squat sailor stood by my bed, leg pressed against my arm. Looking down at me, with one hand he joggled his crotch. Then he said, questioningly, "Poosty-poosty...?" 186 C I T R E ET T R A N S I looked up."Huh...?" "Poosty-poosty!" He rubbed with broad, Gypsy-dark fingers. A gold ring hugged deep into the middle one's flesh. Pointing at my face with his other hand, he began to thumb open the buttons around his lap-flap. Once he reached over to squeeze my backside. Hard, too. "Aw, hey...!" I pushed up."No... No...!" I made dismissive gestures. "I don't want to. Dthen thello. Phevgel Phevge...