“Just leave us alone,” growled Charaxos.

“Leave a blind man with you, when it is you who is really blind?”

“Let’s not resume our quarrel,” said Charaxos.

“When have we stopped?”

“Please go away,” said Alcaeus, “I can take care of him, myself.”

“I’ll not go! I intend to see you home!” And I ordered the servants to sepa­rate them and leave me with Alcaeus.

Mumbling, he followed along the shore, walking uncertainly, but keeping out of the way of the inrushing water. Where rocks littered the beach, he allowed me to help him, and was soon apologizing.

“I haven’t been home a month and already I act the fool. What right have I to criticize anybody? So he brought home a slave woman. Haven’t I had my share?”

I did not interrupt, preoccupied as I was with guiding him. Besides, my anger with Charaxos was too old, too deep-seated, too complex. It was not a subject to pursue on the beach, with the wind carrying our words and the breakers drown­ing them. This was, I preferred, a private quarrel.

With Charaxos and his men following a distance apart, we made a pretty picture, hiccoughing through Mytilene! Its silent streets were topped by a new moon; Venus seemed swallowed by a single window. Why were we in such con­trast?

Laughter and outworn songs...swaying and shuffling...until the shutting of my door.

Alone, I sit beside my lamp to consider its flame, the why and wherefore of its integrity, fragility. Shadows are commonplace when we ignite a lamp. Yet, without a light, there are profounder shadows.

P

P

I hear that Alcaeus goes out alone, forbidding his servants to follow. Every­one has become uneasy.

Today, he dismissed his secretary. So poor Gogu has sought me out to ex­plain what happened.

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