Gregorio took very little notice of the scenes through which he passed. He knew every inch and corner of the quarter that had been his home for years, and was familiar with most of its inhabitants. He sighed a little as he thought of the money being lost and won in the stuffy ill-lighted rooms at the back of the houses, shut out from view of the authorities. Like most of his race, he was fond of the excitement of gambling. But of what use were regrets and sighs? he had no money, and must needs go home. It was vain to try and borrow or to ask credit for his losses; in these gambling hells what is lost must be immediately paid, for tempers are inflamed by drink and knives are worn at each player's belt.
But he sighed, none the less, at the hard necessity that compelled him to pass down the street without once entering the doors of a tavern.
It was very hot, and he had smoked many cigarettes. He would have been glad to call for a drink. The tavern-keepers, though they were his friends, expected to be paid. One or two women beckoned to him, who would have willingly offered him wine, but he was proud enough to ignore them.
He became more moody and dejected as he went along, silent and sober amid so much revelry. When he reached his house he saw a drunken man lying on the threshold asleep. He stooped to look into his face and recognised an Englishman, the foreman of some tramp in the harbour. He kicked the recumbent form testily as he strode over it.
"These English, what beasts they are!" he growled, "and I--I have not a piastre for a single glass of wine."IICONCERNING A DEBT
Gregorio found, on entering his house, that his wife was already in bed. He went into the tiny kitchen and saw a plate of macaroni ready for his supper. He tried to eat some, but it stuck in his throat. He took a bottle of cheap Cretan wine from a shelf and drank from it; but the wine was sour, and he spat it from his mouth with a curse.
Taking up the lamp, he went into the bedroom. His wife was fast asleep with the boy in her arms. For a moment a smile flickered round Gregorio's mouth as he looked at them. Then he took off his boots and his coat, blew out the lamp, and lay beside them. He was very tired after his long tramp in the hot streets, but he could not sleep.
Angrily he tossed from side to side and closed his eyes tightly; but it was no good, sleep would not come.
At midnight he heard a call to prayer chanted from the minaret of a tiny mosque in the neighbourhood. The muezzin's voice irritated him.
He did not wish to pray, and he did want to sleep. He swore that it was insanity for these fools of Mohammedans to declare that prayer was better than sleep.
Then the thoughts that had agitated him during the walk returned to him. The Rue des Soeurs was still noisy with merry-makers, and it seemed to him that if he could only join them he would be happy. But he had no money, and one can do nothing without money!
Then there came back to him the face of the Englishman he had seen talking to the violinist of the Paradiso. He hated the man because he was ugly and rich. These English were all rich, and yet they seemed to him a miserable race, mere ignorant bullies. He remembered how often he had come to the help of the English travellers who filled Egypt.
Why had he, he asked himself, for the sake of a miserable reward, prevented them being cheated, when he, with all his talents, was condemned to starve? Even his child, he thought, would grow to hate him if he remained poor. He must get money. Amos would have to lend him some. The Jews were unpopular among the Greeks; it were wise to keep on good terms with them, as Amos would find out.
At last he fell asleep.
In the morning his troubles began again. There was no coffee, and only a little Arab bread, and when that was done they must starve if they could not get some money. Gregorio tore off a bit of bread and ate it slowly, looking at his wife, who sat weeping beside him.
"I shall go to Amos," he said, firmly.
"Ah, yes, to Amos," Xantippe answered quietly; "but it will be no good.""Why no good?""Because you owe him money, and he will give you no more till he is paid.""But we cannot pay him. He must let us have some. If not--" and Gregorio raised threatening.
His wife smiled sadly and kissed him.
"You will not frighten Amos, my love. When I told him the child had been ill, he only laughed.""When was that?""Yesterday."
"Then he had been here?"
"He came last night to ask for his money. I told him we had none, and he laughed and said we must get some. He told me I might get some if Icared to. He said I could make, oh, so much!"Gregorio scowled savagely. "The filthy Jew! he said that? Never, never, never!""But we must get some money," the woman sobbed, "if only for our son's sake, Gregorio. But not that way?""No, not that way," he replied, savagely.
"When shall you go to him?"
"Now."
And taking up his hat he rushed into the street. He was terribly angry, not so much at the purport of the Jew's speech as at the man who made it. He loathed the Jews, and felt insulted when spoken to by one; it was a terrible matter to ask this man for help, but it was intolerable that his wife should suffer insult. And yet the child must be fed. Yes, she had said that, and it was true. They must make sacrifices for the child.
He soon reached the Jew's house, and was shown by a richly clad servant into the room where Amos sat. Amos was an old man, tall and strong, with a long bushy beard, in which his fingers continually played; and his eyes were sharp and brilliant and restless, a strange contrast to his stately bearing and measured movements. He rose from his cushions as Gregorio entered, and saluted him courteously, motioning him to a seat. Then, having resettled himself, he clapped his hands together smartly and ordered the servant who answered the summons to bring in coffee and pipes.
Gregorio was rather overawed at the luxury he saw around him, and he felt the stern-looking, polite old man would be a difficult person to deal with. As he puffed at his tube he considered carefully what words he should use.
