Catherine saw Constantin Demiris twice after that, once when she went to the races with Larry and once at a Christmas party Demiris gave at his villa. Each time he went out of his way to be charming to her. All in all, Catherine thought, Constantin Demiris was quite a remarkable person.
In August the Athens Festival began. For two months the city presented plays, ballets, operas, concerts--all given in the Herodes Atticus, the ancient open-air theater at the foot of the Acropolis. Catherine saw several of the plays with Larry, and when he was away she went with Count Pappas. It was fascinating to watch ancient plays staged in their original settings by the race that had created them.
One night after Catherine and Count Pappas had gone to see a production of Medea, they were talking about Larry.
"He's an interesting man," Count Pappas said. "Polymechanos."
"What does that mean?"
"It is difficult to translate." The Count thought for a moment. "It means 'fertile in devices.'"
"You mean 'resourceful'?"
"Yes, but more than that. Someone who is always very ready with a new idea, a new plan."
"Polymechanos," Catherine said. "That's my boy."
Above them there was a beautiful, waxing gibbous moon. The night was balmy and warm. They walked through the Plaka toward Omonia Square. As they started to cross the street, a car raced around the corner, headed straight toward them and the Count pulled Catherine to safety.
"Idiot!" he yelled after the disappearing driver.
"Everyone here seems to drive like that," Catherine said.
Count Pappas smiled ruefully. "Do you know the reason? The Greeks haven't made the transition to automobiles. In their hearts they're still driving donkeys."
"You're joking."
"Unfortunately no. If you want insight into the Greeks, Catherine, don't read the guidebooks; read the old Greek tragedies. The truth is, we still belong to other centuries. Emotionally we're very primitive. We're filled with grand passions, deep joys and great sorrows, and we haven't learned how to cover them up with a civilized veneer."
"I'm not sure that's a bad thing," Catherine replied.
"Perhaps not. But it distorts reality. When outsiders look at us, they are not seeing what they think they see. It is like looking at a distant star. You are not really seeing the star, you are looking at a reflection of the past."
They had reached the square. They passed a row of little stores with signs in the windows that said "Fortune-Telling."
"There are a lot of fortune-tellers here, aren't there?" Catherine asked.
"We are a very superstitious people."
Catherine shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't believe in it."
They had reached a small taverna. A hand-lettered sign in the window read: "MADAME PIRIS, FORTUNE-TELLING."
"Do you believe in witches?" Count Pappas asked.
Catherine looked at him to see if he was teasing. His face was serious. "Only on Halloween."
"By a witch I do not mean broomsticks and black cats and boiling kettles."
"What do you mean?"
He nodded toward the sign. "Madame Piris is a witch. She can read the past and the future."
He saw the skepticism on Catherine's face. "I will tell you a story," Count Pappas said. "Many years ago, the Chief of Police in Athens was a man named Sophocles Vasilly. He was a friend of mine and I used my influence to help him get into office. Vasilly was a very honest man. There were people who wished to corrupt him and since he would not be corrupted, they decided that he would have to be eliminated." He took Catherine's arm and they crossed the street toward the park.
"One day, Vasilly came to tell me of a threat that had been made on his life. He was a brave man, but this threat disturbed him because it came from a powerful and ruthless racketeer. Detectives were assigned to watch the racketeer and to protect Vasilly, but still he had an uneasy feeling that he did not have long to live. That was when he came to me."
Catherine was listening, fascinated. "What did you do?" she asked.