Sónnica. Vicente Blasco Ibanez
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would not deprive himself, but search in it as he might he could find not a single obolus. The pilot, who respected the Greeks of Attica, had given him free passage on the ship when he met him wandering along the wharves at New Carthage. He was hungry and alone in a strange land, and if he should enter the hostelry to eat without offering money, he would be treated like a slave, and be driven out with a club.
Mocked by the odor of the viands and sauces, he turned to flee, tearing himself away from this torture of Tantalus, but as he drew back he bumped against a tall man clad only in a dark sagum and sandals with straps crossed to the knees. He resembled a Celtiberian shepherd; but the Greek, as he collided with him, received the impression in a hasty exchange of glances that this was not the first time he had looked into those imperious eyes which recalled to his mind the eyes of the eagle perched at the feet of Zeus.
The Greek shrugged his shoulders with indifference. What he desired was to satiate his hunger and to sleep if possible until sunrise. Turning his back on the wretched suburb, illuminated and noisy, he sought a place where he might rest, and he took the road toward the fane of Aphrodite. The temple, situated on the crest of the hill, was approached by a broad stairway of blue marble, its first step rising from the quay.
The Greek seated himself on the polished stone, proposing to await there the coming of the day. The moon illuminated the whole upper part of the temple; the sounds from the houses near the port, the murmur of the sea, the whisper of the olive trees, and the monotonous croaking of the frogs hidden in the marshes, floated to him muffled, as if lulled by the great calm of night.
Again and again the Greek heard a strident, dismal cry, like the howl of a wolf. Suddenly it whined behind him, he felt a warm breath on his back, and as he turned he saw a woman bending toward him, her hands on her knees, her mouth rent by a stupid smile which displayed gums, in places lacking teeth.
"Greeting, handsome stranger! I saw you flee from the tumult. You must be sad here all alone. I have come to make you happy.——What! Can it not be?"
The Greek recognized her immediately—a "she-wolf" from the port, a wretched woman such as he had seen swarming around the wharves in many countries; miserable, cosmopolitan strumpets, flames for a single night of men of all colors and races, with no other ambition than to earn a few oboli, slinking near a stone or in the shadow of a boat, old hetæræ sunk in brutality, fugitive slaves seeking liberty in obscenity and drunkenness; females who represented all that cruel men of the sea knew of love; poor beasts, weakened in their youth by excessive caresses, and destined to be treated with blows in their old age.
The stranger looked at the woman, who was still young, and detected some traces of beauty. But she was wasted, her eyes lachrymose, her mouth disfigured by broken teeth. She was wrapped in an ample mantle which must have been of beautiful weave but was now dirty and threadbare; her feet were naked, and her tangled hair, in which the unhappy creature had thrust a branch of wild flowers, was held by a copper comb.
"You are wasting your time here," said the Greek with a kindly smile. "I have not so much as an obolus in my pouch."
The man's gentle accent seemed to intimidate the poor unfortunate. She was accustomed to blows; man to her represented brutal assault, gratification revealed with bites, and in the presence of the Greek's tender manner she seemed disconcerted and shy, as if she suspected danger.
"Have you no money?" she said with humility, after a long silence. "It matters not; here I am. You please me; I am your slave. Among all those people rioting at the hostelry my eyes have turned to you."
She bent over the Greek, caressing his curly hair with her calloused hands, while he regarded her with compassionate eyes, seeing her shrunken breast and hollow form. Hungry and alone in an unknown land he felt attracted by the kindness of the unhappy creature; there was the fraternity of misery between them.
"If you desire company, stay near me," he said; "talk as much as you wish, but do not caress me. I am hungry; I have eaten nothing since dawn, and at this moment I would exchange all the joys of Cytherea for the pittance of any mariner."
The harlot stood up straight, so great was her surprise.
"You hungry? You faint with hunger, when I thought you nourished on the ambrosia of Zeus?"
Her eyes displayed astonishment such as she would have felt had she seen Aphrodite, the nude, white, goddess who was guarded up there in her temple, descend from her marble pedestal and offer herself with open arms to the rowers of the port for an obolus.
"Wait, wait!" she cried with resolution, after a moment's reflection.
The Greek saw her running toward the huts, and when at last weariness and weakness began to close his eyes, he felt her near him again, touching his shoulder.
"Take this, my master! It has cost me dear to obtain it. The cruel Lais, an old woman as horrible as the Pareæ, who helps us to live through days of privation, has agreed to give me her supper, after making me take oath that by the time the sun rises I will hand her two sestertii. Eat, my love; eat and drink!"
She placed upon the steps a loaf of brown bread, made in the form of a disk, some dried fish, half a Saguntine cheese, tender and oozing whey, and a jar of Celtiberian beer.
The Greek fell upon the food, and began to devour it, followed by the gaze of the lupa, which sweetened at times, and acquired an almost maternal expression.
"I should like to be as rich as Sónnica, a woman who they say began like any one of us, and is now mistress of many of these ships, and has gardens as wonderful as Olympus, troops of slaves, potteries, and half the domain of the commonwealth as her own property. I should like to be rich if only for to-night, to regale you on the best there is in the city; to give you a banquet like one of Sónnica's, which last till dawn, and where, crowned with roses, you should drink the Samian wine from a golden cup."
The Greek, touched by the simplicity and ingenuousness with which she spoke, gazed at her tenderly.
"Do not thank me," she continued. "It is I who should be grateful for the joy of feeding you. What is this? I know not. Never has a man approached me before without giving me something; some give me copper coins, others a piece of cloth or a patera of wine; most of them blows and bites; all have given me something, and I have accepted, though I detested them. But you, who come poor and hungry, who do not seek me but reject me, who give me nothing, just your being near me has made a new pleasure surge through my body. As I give you food I feel intoxicated, as if I were fresh from a banquet. Tell me, Greek, are you really a man, or are you the father of the gods, descending to earth to honor me?"
Exalted by her own words, she arose, standing half way up the marble steps, and extending her rigid arms toward the temple, bathed in moonlight, exclaimed:
"Aphrodite! My goddess! If some day I manage to get together the price of two white doves, I will present them on thy altar, adorned with flowers and fire-colored ribbons, in memory of this night."
The Greek drank the bitter liquid from the jar and offered it to the woman, whose lips sought the same spot on the rim which had been touched by his.
She did not taste the supper which the Greek held out to her; she continued drinking, and the wine made her more talkative.
"If you only knew what it has cost me to get all this! The lanes are full of drunken men, who wallow in the mire and drag themselves along on their hands, tearing one's clothing and biting one's legs. Wine runs out of the doorways of the inns. They were fighting on the wharf a little while ago. Some Africans were holding one of their companions head down in the water to cure his broken skull; a Celtiberian had opened a great gash in it with his clenched fist. Others amused themselves by catching Tuga, an Iberian girl, by the feet, and thrusting her head in the biggest vat in the tavern as long as they dared. She was half drowned when they pulled her out. It is their usual diversion. I saw poor Albura, a friend of mine, seated on the ground covered with blood, holding in the palm of her hand one of her eyes which a drunken Egyptian had knocked out with a fisticuff. This kind of thing happens every night! And yet, all at once, I have become afraid. I have only just met you, and still it seems to me as if I were living in a new world, and that for the