Nikos Kazantzakis - Zorba The Greek

"Well, Zorba," I said, to make him wild, "God may not ask you what you ate, but he'll certainly ask you what you did."

"And I say he won't ask that either! 'And how do you know that, Zorba, you ignoramus?' you'll ask me. I just know! I'm sure of it! If I had two sons, one quiet, careful, moderate and pious, and the other rascally, greedy, lawless and a woman-chaser, my heart would go out to the second one. Perhaps because he'd be like me? But who's to say I'm not more like God himself than old Pappa Stephanos, who spends his days and nights going down on his knees, and collecting money?

"God enjoys himself, kills, commits injustice, makes love, works, likes impossible things, just the same as I do. He eats what he pleases; takes the woman he chooses. If you see a lovely woman going by, as fresh as clear water, your heart leaps at the sight. Suddenly the ground opens and she disappears. Where does she go? Who takes her? If she's a good woman, they say: 'God has taken her.' If she's a harlot, they say: 'The devil's carríed her off.' But, boss, I've said so before, and I say it again, God and the devil are one and the same thing!"

Zorba picked up his stick, pushed his cap to one side, perkily, looked at me with pity and his lips moved for a moment as if he wanted to add something to what he had just said. But he said nothing and went off with his head in the air towards the village.

In the evening light I could see his giant shadow and his swinging stick. The whole beach came alive as Zorba passed by. I listened for some time, picking out his steps as they grew fainter and fainter. As soon as I felt myself to be absolutely alone, I leaped up. Why? To go where? I did not know. My mind had made no decision. It was my body that had leaped up. My body alone was deciding and was not consulting me.

"Go on! Forward!" it commanded.

I went towards the village with quick determined steps, stopping here and there to enjoy a deep breath of spring. The earth smelled of camomile, and as I approached the gardens I ran into wave upon wave of perfume from the blossom on the lemon and orange trees and the laurels. In the west the evening star began to dance merrily in the sky.

"Sea, women, wine and hard work!" I was murmuring Zorba's words in spite of myself as I walked. "Sea, women, wine and hard work! Throwing yourself headlong into your work, into wine, and love, and never being afraid of either God or devil… that's what youth is!" I kept saying it to myself and repeating it as if to give myself courage, and I walked on.

Suddenly I stopped dead. As though I had come to my destination. Where? I looked round: I was in front of the widow's garden. Behind the hedge of reeds and prickly pear I could hear someone humming in a soft, feminine voice. I went near and parted the reeds. Beneath the orange tree was a woman, dressed in black, with a great swelling bosom. She was cutting branches of blossom and singing as she did so. In the dusk I could see the white globes of her half-naked breasts.

It took my breath away. She's a wild beast, I thought, and she knows it. What poor, vain, absurd, defenceless creatures men are to her! She is fat and voracious, just like some female insects-the praying mantis, the grasshopper, the spider-and she too must devour the males at dawn.

Had the widow become aware of my gaze? She suddenly ceased her song and turned round. Our eyes met. I felt my knees give way, as though I had seen a tigress behind the reeds.

"Who is it?" she said in a strangled voice. She pulled her neckerchief over her bosom. Her face darkened.

I was on the point of leaving, but Zorba's words suddenly filled my heart. I gathered strength. "Sea, women, wine…"

"It's me," I answered. "It's me. Let me in."

I had hardly said these words when a feeling of terror gripped me and I was just about to run away again. But I controlled myself, though filled with shame.

"Who d'you mean, you?"

She took a slow, cautious step forward, leaning in my direction. She half-closed her eyes to see more clearly, advanced another step, with head forward, on the alert.

Suddenly her face lit up. She put the tip of her tongue out and licked her lips.

"The boss!" she said in a softer voice.

She came forward again, crouching as if ready to leap.

"You, boss?" she asked hoarsely.

"Yes."

"Come!"

Dawn was breaking. Zorba was home already, sitting before the hut on the beach. He was smoking, looking out to sea. He seemed to be waiting for me.

As soon as I appeared he raised his head and fixed me with his gaze. His nostrils were quiveríng, like those of a greyhound. He craned his neck and took a long sniff… he was scenting me. In a second his face lit up with joy; he had scented the widow.

He stood up slowly, smiled with his whole being and stretched out his arms to me.

"My blessing on you!" he saíd.

I went to bed, closed my eyes. I heard the sea quietly, rhythmically breathing, and I felt myself rise and fall on it like a seagull. Thus, gently rocked, I fell asleep and dreamed: I saw, as it were, a giant negress crouching on the ground, and she looked to me like a gigantic old temple in granite. I was going round and round her desperately trying to find the entrance. I was scarcely as big as her little toe. Suddenly, as I rounded her heel, I saw a dark opening, rather like a cave. A great voice commanded: "Enter!"

And I entered.

I woke towards midday. The sun was coming in through the window, bathing the bedclothes in light; its rays were beating with such force on the small mirror hanging on the wall that they seemed to be shattering it into a thousand fragments.

The dream about the giant negress came back to my mind, I could hear the sea murmuring, I closed my eyes again and I was deeply happy. My body was light and contented, like an animal after the hunt, when it has caught and eaten íts prey and is lying in the sun, licking its lips. My mind, a body too in its way, was resting, contented. It seemed to have found a marvellously simple answer to the vital, complicated problems which tormented it.

All of the joy of the prevíous night flowed back from the innermost depths of my being, spread out ínto fresh courses and abundantly watered the earth of which I was made. As I lay, with my eyes closed, I seemed to hear my being bursting its shell and growing larger. That night, for the first time, I felt clearly that the soul is flesh as well, perhaps more volatile, more diaphanous, perhaps freer, but flesh all the same. And the flesh is soul, somewhat turgid perhaps, somewhat exhausted by its long journeys, and bowed under the burden it has inherited.

I felt a shadow fall across me and opened my eyes; Zorba was standing in the doorway looking at me happily.

"Don't wake, don't wake, old chap!…" he said gently with an almost maternal solicitude. "It's a holiday today, too. Sleep on!"

"I've slept enough," I said, sitting up.

"I'll beat up an egg for you," said Zorba, smiling. "It builds you up!"

I made no answer but ran down to the sea, dived into the water, then dried in the sun. But I could still feel a sweet, persistent odor in my nostrils, on my lips and fingers. The scent of orange water and of the laurel oil with which Cretan women dress their hair.

Last night she had cut an armful of orange blossom which she was going to take to Christ that evening when the villagers were dancing beneath the white poplars in the square and the church was empty. The iconostasis above her bed was loaded with lemon flowers, and through the petals could be seen the mourning Virgin, with large almond eyes.

Zorba brought the egg in a cup down to the beach for me, with two oranges and a small Easter bun. He served me quietly and happily, as a mother would her son when he returns from the wars. He looked at me fondly and then went away.