I don't know what to do about Kleis: she goes off by herself, and does not tell me where she goes. I can't very well send someone to check on her. That's an ugly thing to do.

I think she isn't visiting Charaxos' house, because he has sailed for Egypt on one of his wine ships. Of course she could be seeing someone else.

Is it possible that she is interested in Phaon...how shall I find out?

I met him on the pier, the wind blowing, the water choppy under grey skies.

He left off caulking his boat with a cheery "h.e.l.lo" and climbed onto the pier.

How pleased he was to see me! Was I planning another trip?

Sitting on piles of rope, he told me of an underwater city he had seen, with a great bronze statue of Poseidon by a temple...

"The water was like gla.s.s, not a seaweed moving, not a current..." His hand swept sideways, spread flat. "Oh yes, coral...and plenty of fish, big ones. I swam halfway down to the city, but there was no air in me to swim deeper. A fish watched me, from one side of Poseidon, its body curving behind the statue.

Poseidon's eyes were made of jewels..."

Phaon is a handsome young man: I think a man is a man when he is handsome all over. I measured him with my eyes, as he talked to me. I measured his feet, hands, thighs, shoulders-the symmetry is unusual. His skin is the color of oak.u.m and his muscles glide perceptibly under his skin. He smells of the sea.

I stayed a long while, talking on the piles of rope, exciting talk. What would it be like to swim with him? To dive deep with him?

We talked and talked. He never mentioned Kleis. And I forgot why I came.

I went to Alcaeus, to tell him about the submerged city.

"You mean Helike?" he asked. "A quake tore apart the coast and it went un- der," he said, and described something of what I had heard.

"Phaon says the city is visible when the water's clear, and still," I said.

"Phaon?"

"Yes, you remember, the captain who took me on a trip around the island..."

"He fixed his sightless eyes on me and I felt stunned, as one hypnotized. I trembled. Then his expression altered and he changed the subject as quickly as a man might draw a sword during battle.

"I never thought I'd be blind. I never memorized any faces. My home, our bay, the ships-I can't recall things at will, with certainty. There's so little differ- ence now between sleeping and waking. Anything may come to mind.

"A soldier stares at his hand, slashed by a spear. He can't believe he's wounded. It's not his blood spattering the rocks...

"A man lies beside his shield, a hole in his side. He can't believe he sees what he sees..."

Mytilene

For several days, I have been working with Alcaeus in his library. He has taken heart, at last, and is pouring out words, political invective. I sit, amazed.

Even his dead eyes have gathered light. He jabs out phrase after phrase, juggling his agate paperweight from hand to hand, steadily, slowly. I barely have time to write. He breathes deeply, his voice sonorous.

Facing the sea, afternoon light on his face, he could be my old Alcaeus.

Thasos brought us wine.

And we worked still late, our lamps guttering in the wind, the air rough from the mainland, tasting of salt. Shutters groaned.

"To strike a balance between common sense and law, this is the cause to which we must pledge ourselves. Our local tyrants must go. They realize there isn't enough corn. Poverty, we must grind against poverty. If our established life and prosperity can't be made to serve, they, too, will go..."

Walking home, I was hardly aware that a gale had sprung up. Exekias, carry- ing my cloak, seemed surprised at my singing.

A note from Rhodopis-naturally, I was astonished. Her note concerned Kleis: could we talk together?

It was hard to order my thoughts. Rhodopis writing to me, especially with Charaxos gone...

I fixed an hour and we met at a discreet distance from the square, a bench in the rear of a small temple.

Despite the extravagant clothes, the careful makeup, how hard the eyes, the mouth. And I wondered how I looked to her, in my simple dress. But Rhodopis knows the sister of Charaxos is not naive.

It was a brief meeting, cold, the matter quickly attended to.

After waving her servants to stand apart, she faced me with unveiled scorn:

"You daughter's visits are making my household a difficult one," she said.

I flushed.

"So the plaintiff has become the accused? An interesting reversal," I mur- mured.

"I will expect thanks," she said, with a mocking smile, twisting her parasol into the sand, "for sparing you public embarra.s.sment."

I knew she was sharpening her wits, and paused. She lifted a scented hand- kerchief to her mouth and took a slow breath.

"I have waited a long time for this, but I'm more charitable than you think. I won't keep you waiting. It is Mallia-a servant boy, who has caught Kleis'

fancy..."

Vaguely, I had the flash of an image: a fair, slim, country boy, not one of the slaves.

"And what is it you want?" I said, in the same level voice.

The parasol twirled.

"Oh, things could be arranged..."

I did not doubt this. But not knowing the relationship between Kleis and Mallia, remained silent. My silence seemed to exasperate Rhodopis.

"Of course, you could send Kleis to a thiase in Andros," she exclaimed. I re- fused to flinch. Sending one's daughter to school elsewhere was to admit one's own school had failed. Rhodopis knew this, as well as I.

"Or, I could dismiss Mallia, but then, where would the lovers meet? And if he took her home with him..."