Nikos Kazantzakis - Zorba The Greek

The monk was breathless now, and stopped. His eyes burned with an inner flame.

"God be praised!" he roared, crossing himself. "God be praised! In a moment the whole monastery was in flames. 'The flames of hell!' I shouted at the top of my voice and then ran away as fast as I could. I ran and ran, and I could hear the bells ringing, the monks shouting… and I ran and ran…

"Day came. I hid in the wood. I was shivering. The sun rose and I heard the monks searching the woods for me. But God sent a mist to cover me and they did not see me. Towards dusk, I heard a voice say: 'Go down to the sea! Away!' 'Guide me, guide me, archangel!' I cried, and started out. I didn't know which way I was going, but the archangel guided me, sometimes by means of a flash of lightning, at others by a dark bird in the trees, or by a path coming down the mountain. And I ran after him as hard as I could, trusting him completely. And his bounty is great, as you see! I've found you, my dear Canavaro! I'm saved!"

Zorba did not say a word, but there was a broad, sensual smile across his face, from the corners of his mouth to his hairy ass's ears.

Dinner was ready and he took the pot off the fire.

"Zaharia," he asked, "what is angels' food?"

"The spirit," answered the monk, crossing himself.

"The spirit? In other words, wind? That doesn't nourish a man; come and eat some bread and have some fish soup and a scrap or two of meat, then you'll feel yourself again. You've done a good job! Eat!"

"I'm not hungry," said the monk.

"Zaharia isn't hungry, but what about Joseph? Isn't he hungry either?"

"Joseph," said the monk in a low voice, as if he were revealing a deep mystery, "was burnt, curse his soul, burnt, God be praised!"

"Burnt!" cried Zorba with a laugh. "How? When? Did you see him burnt?"

"Brother Canavaro, he burnt the second I lit the candle at the lamp of Christ. I saw him with my own eyes come out of my mouth like a black ribbon with letters of fire. The flame from the candle fell on him and he writhed like a snake, but was burnt to ashes. What a relief! God be praised! I feel I've entered Paradise already!"

He rose from beside the fire, where he had curled up.

"I shall go and sleep on the sea shore; that was what I was ordered to do."

He walked away along the edge of the water and disappeared into the blackness of the night.

"You are responsible for him, Zorba," I said. "If the monks find him he's done for."

"They won't find him, don't you worry, boss. I know this sort of game too well: early tomorrow morning-I'll shave him, give him some really human clothes and put him on a ship. Don't bother yourself about him, it isn't worth it. Is the stew good? Eat a man's bread and enjoy it, and don't worry your head about all the rest!"

Zorba ate with a very good appetite, drank and wiped his moustache. Now he wanted to talk.

"Did you notice, boss?" he said. "His devil's dead. And now he's empty, poor fellow, completely empty, finished! He will be just like everybody else from now on!"

He thought for a moment or two.

"Do you think, boss, that this devil of his was…?"

"Of course," I replied. "The idea of burning the monastery had possessed him; now he's burnt it he's calmed. That idea wanted to eat meat, drink wine, ripen and turn into action. The other Zaharia had no need of wine or meat. He matured by fasting."

Zorba turned this over and over in his head.

"Why, I think you're right, boss! I think I must have five or six demons inside me!"

"We've all got some, Zorba, don't you worry. And the more we have, the better. The main thing is that they should all aim at the same end, even if they do go different ways about it."

These words seemed to move Zorba deeply. He lodged his big head between his knees and thought.

"What end?" he asked at last, raising his eyes to me.

"How should I know, Zorba? You ask difficult questions. How can I explain that?"

"Just say it simply, so that I understand. Up till now I've always let my demons do just what they liked, and go any way they liked about it-and that's why some people call me dishonest and others honest, and some think I'm crazy and others say I'm as wise as Solomon. I'm all those things and a lot more-a real Russian salad. So help me to get it clearer, will you, boss… what end?"

"I think, Zorba-but I may be wrong-that there are three kinds of men: those who make it their aim, as they say, to live their lives, eat, drink, make love, grow rich, and famous; then come those who make it their aim not to live their own lives but to concern themselves with the lives of all men-they feel that all men are one and they try to enlighten them, to love them as much as they can and do good to them; finally there are those who aim at living the life of the entire universe-everything, men, animals, trees, stars, we are all one, we are all one substance involved in the same terrible struggle. What struggle?… Turning matter into spirit."

Zorba scratched his head.

"I've got a thick skull, boss, I don't grasp these things easily… Ah, if only you could dance all that you've just said, then I'd understand."

I bit my lip in consternation. All those desperate thoughts, if only I could have danced them! But I was incapable of it; my life was wasted.

"Or if you could tell me all that in a story, boss. Like Hussein Aga did. He was an old Turk, a neighbor of ours. Very old, very poor, no wife, no children, completely alone. His clothes were worn, but shining with cleanliness. He washed them himself, did his own cooking, scrubbed and polished the floor, and at night used to come in to see us. He used to sit in the yard with my grandmother and a few other old women and knit socks.

"Well, as I was saying, this Hussein Aga was a saintly man. One day he took me on his knee and placed his hand on my head as though he were giving me his blessing. 'Alexis,' he said, 'I'm going to tell you a secret. You're too small to understand now, but you'll understand when you are bigger. Listen, little one: neither the seven stories of heaven nor the seven stories of the earth are enough to contain God; but a man's heart can contain him. So be very careful, Alexis-and may my blessing go with you-never to wound a man's heart!'"

I listened to Zorba in silence. If only I could never open my mouth, I thought, until the abstract idea had reached its highest point-and had become a story! But only the great poets reach a point like that, or a people, after centuries of silent effort.

Zorba stood up.

"I'm going to see what our firebrand's up to, and spread a blanket over him so that he doesn't catch cold. I'll take some scissors, too; it won't be a very first-class job."

He went off laughing along the edge of the sea, carrying the scissors and blanket. The moon had just come up and was spreading a livid, sickly light over the earth.

Alone by the dying fïre, I weighed Zorba's words-they were rich in meaning and had a warm earthy smell. You felt they came up from the depths of his being and that they still had a human warmth. My words were made of paper. They came down from my head, scarcely splashed by a spot of blood. If they had any value at all it was to that mere spot of blood they owed it.

Lying on my stomach, I was rummaging about in the warm cinders when Zorba returned, his arms hanging loosely by his side, and a look of amazement on his face.

"Boss, don't take it too hard…"

I leaped up.

"The monk is dead," he said.

"Dead?"

"I found him lying on a rock. He was in the full light of the moon. I went down on my knees and began cutting his beard off and the remains of his moustache. I kept cutting and cutting, and he didn't budge. I got excited and started cutting his thatch clean off; I must have taken at least a pound of hair off his face. Then when I saw him like that, shorn like a sheep, I just laughed, hysterically! 'I say, Signor Zaharia!' I cried, shaking him as I laughed. 'Wake up and see the miracle the Holy Virgin's performed!' Wake be damned! He didn't budge! I shook him again. Nothing happened! 'He can't have packed it in, poor fellow!' I said to myself. I opened his robe, bared his chest and put my hand over his heart. Tick-tick-tick? Nothing at all! The engine had stopped!"