The Woman of Andros and The Ides of March Read Online Free Page A

once a very famous sea-captain. You may have known him. His name was Philocles. Now I think I am his only friend, unless you choose to help him also.’
    Simo did not acknowledge having known him, but the tone in his next words was less vindictive. ‘When would you like this money to go?’
    ‘I . . . I have some money ready now, but I would prefer to send some in ten days.’
    ‘What is your name?’
    ‘My name is Chrysis, daughter of Arches of Andros.’
    ‘Chrysis, I will do this for you, and I will even add to the sum. In return you will do a favour for me. You will refuse my son entrance into your house.’
    Chrysis moved slightly to one side and stretching her arm along the parapet looked down into the harbour. ‘Favours cease to be favours when there are conditions attached to them, Simo. Magnanimity does not bargain with its powers.’ These maxims were almost murmured; then she raised her head and said to him: ‘I cannot do that, unless I tell your son that it is because you have ordered it.’
    Simo’s slightly cynical superiority over the rest of the world reposed on the fact that he had gone through life without ever having been surprised as unjust, untruthful, or ungenerous. Angry, but with himself, for having been caught at this disadvantage, he replied: ‘That is not necessary. It would be quite simple for your servant to tell him that you do not wish him to come into the house.’
    ‘I could not do that. There are several young men on the island to whom my door, for one reason or another, is closed. I cannot do that to Pamphilus without giving him a reason. If you understood the spirit of our group you would not wish me to do that; I think that there we are not lacking in respect for one another. I hardly know your son; I have scarcely exchanged twenty words with him; but I know that he is by far the first young man among my guests.’ Suddenly the image of Pamphilus rose up before her and she was filled with an excitement and joy in praising him, and for that very reason she subdued herself and added in a lower voice: ‘He is old enough to make decisions for himself. And if I do this, he must understand.’
    Simo was aware that some strange wise praise of his son hovered between them and his heart almost stopped beating for pleasure, but from his lips there rushed the brutal phrase he had prepared a moment before: ‘Then you must send your money to Andros some other way.’
    ‘Very well,’ she said.
    They stood looking at one another. Simo suddenly realised that he lived among people of thin natures and that he was lonely; he was out of practice in conversing with sovereign personalities whose every speech arose from resources of judgment and inner poise. With his wife, with Chremes, with the islanders one could talk with half one’s mind and still hold one’s authority, but here in a few moments this woman had caught him twice at a disadvantage. Chrysis saw this and came to his aid; she broke the silence that was leaving him obstinate, angry, and small.
    ‘It is perhaps his younger brother whose life can be arranged for him; your Pamphilus deserves to be better understood than that.’ And her tone implied: ‘You and he are of one measure and should stand on the same side.’
    Simo preferred talking about his sons to any other activity in the world, but his emotions were very mixed as he assembled an answer to this remark:
    ‘Well, well . . . Andrian, I will frank your money for you. I have boats going to Andros every twelve days. One went off today.’
    ‘I thank you.’
    ‘Could I ask you . . . euh . . . not to mention this to Pamphilus?’
    ‘I shall not.’
    ‘Well . . . well, goodnight.’
    ‘Goodnight.’
    Simo trudged home in an unaccustomed elation. It made him happy to hear Pamphilus praised and ‘probably this woman was an exceptional judge of persons.’ He had made a fool of himself, but in good hands one does not mind. ‘Life . . . life . . .,’ he said to himself,