A Dream of Kings by Harry Mark Petrakis

Author:Harry Mark Petrakis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: greece, petrakis, harry mark petrakis, greek american fiction, greek american novelist, chicago novelist, anthony quinn, new york times bestseller
Publisher: Harry Mark Petrakis

CHAPTER SEVEN

Silent office before noon. Matsoukas waiting expectantly for clients. Anticipating an interruption momentarily he sat at his desk and carefully copied onto a tablet of clean white pages the ode "Olympia 2" of Pindar, savoring the swift strong beat of the measures.

Beside the high gods they who had joy in keeping faith

lead a life without tears. The rest look on a blank face of evil.

He recited the lines aloud as he dusted the frames and glass of his photographs, and declaimed the words ringingly as he admired his sculpture.

... winds sweep from the Ocean across the island of the Blessed.

Gold flowers to flame on land in the glory of trees ...

He paused before the window and looked uneasily down at the door of the bakery. He had been unable to catch a glimpse of Anthoula during the entire morning and he feared she might be ill.

Since the hour in church several days before when he had felt her responding to his desire, he had been frantic in calculating how to approach her. But the cursed racks and counters of the bakery, like a medieval moat, and the hawk eye of old lady Barboonis, held him straining at bay.

To finance a trip to the bakery he turned his pockets inside out and from the deep core of lint and grains of tobacco mined a scatter of nickels and pennies. Ransacking the office he uncovered an additional dime in the rear of his desk drawer, lost beneath a sheaf of circulars and clippings of past performances from the Racing Form. A more exhaustive search failed to produce a penny more. To aggravate the situation he felt the ravages of hunger assaulting his belly and a thirst in his throat that could not be appeased with water.

He washed his hands and briskly brushed his hair. He retied his necktie to conceal an eggstain that blemished one of the loops. He opened the door of the office preparing to post the small printed sign which read,

EMERGENCY CALL BACK IN 15 MINUTES

when he heard footsteps in the hall behind him.

He whipped the sign back into his pocket and turned eagerly around. A woman emerged from the shadows and with her a boy of about twelve or thirteen.

"Mr. Matsoukas?" she asked. She was in her late forties or early fifties, weary-cheeked with a tight and tired mouth. A faint and shredded remnant of youthful loveliness lingered only about her dark eyes.

"Yes, indeed," he smiled warmly. "Please come in."

She turned to the boy who stared at Matsoukas with hostility and fear. "You wait here," she said. She gestured toward him. "My son, Tony," she said.

Matsoukas smiled a greeting, but the boy did not smile or speak. The woman entered the office and Matsoukas closed the door. She wore a worn cloth coat, frayed at the collar and the sleeves, heavy cotton stockings and flat-heeled black shoes.

"My name is Mrs. Cournos," she said. She looked toward the closed door and lowered her voice. "I came to you because Mrs.

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