Nikos Kazantzakis - Zorba The Greek

As he talked Zorba regaíned his spirits. Death had made him speechless for an instant, but he had soon put it in its proper place.

"Now, what shall we do, boss? I think we ought to burn hím. He who kills others by paraffin shall perish by paraffin himself. Isn't there something like that in the Gospel? And with his clothes stiff with dirt and paraffin already, he'd flame up like Judas himself on Maundy Thursday!"

"Do what you like," I said, ill at ease.

Zorba became absorbed in profound meditation.

"It is a nuisance," he said at last, "a hell of a nuisance. If I set light to him, his clothes will flame like a torch, but he's all skin and bone himself, poor chap! Thin like he is, he'll take a devil of a time to burn to ashes. There's not an ounce of fat on him to help the fire."

Shaking his head, he added:

"If God existed, don't you think he would have known all this in advance and made him fat and fleshy to help us out? What do you think?"

"Don't mix me up with this business at all. You do just what you like, but do it quickly."

"The best thing would be if some sort of miracle occurred! The monks would have to believe that God himself had turned barber, shaved him and then did him in to punish him for the damage he did to the monastery."

He scratched his head.

"But what miracle? What miracle? This is where we've got you, Zorba!"

The crescent of the moon was on the point of disappearing below the horizon and was the color of burnished copper.

Tired, I went to bed. When I awoke at dawn, I saw Zorba making coffee close to me. He was white-faced and his eyes were all red and swollen from not sleeping. But his big goat-like lips wore a malicious smile.

"I haven't been to sleep, boss, I had some work to do."

"What work, you rascal?"

"I was doing the miracle."

He laughed and placed his finger across his lips. "I'm not going to tell you! Tomorrow is the inauguration ceremony for our cable railway. All those fat hogs will be here to give their blessing; then they'll learn about the new miracle performed by the Virgin of Revenge-great is her power!"

He served the coffee.

"You know, I'd make a good abbot, I think," he said. "If I started a monastery, I bet you I'd close all the others down and pinch all their customers. How would you like some tears? A tiny wet sponge behind the icons and the saints would weep at will. Thunder claps? I'd have a machine under the holy table which would make a deafening row. Ghosts? Two of the most trusty monks would roam about at night on the roof of the monastery wrapped in sheets. And every year I'd gather a crowd of cripples and blind and paralytics for her feast day and see that they all saw the líght of day again and stood up straight on their legs to dance to her glory!

"What is there to laugh at, boss? I had an uncle once who found an old mule on the point of death. He'd been left in the mountains to die. My uncle took him home. Every morning he took him out to pasture and at night back home. 'You there, Haralambos!' the people from the village shouted at him as he went past, 'what do you think you're doing wíth that old crock?' 'He's my dung factory!' answered my uncle. Well, boss, in my hands the monastery would be a miracle factory!"

THE EVE of that first of May I shall never forget as long as I live. The cable railway was ready; the pylons, cable and pulleys gleamed in the morning sun. Huge pine trunks lay heaped at the top of the mountain, and workmen stood there waiting for the signal to attach them to the cable and send them down to the sea.

A large Greek flag was flapping at the top of the pole up at the point of departure on the mountainside and a similar one down below by the sea. In front of the but Zorba had set up a small barrel of wine. Next to it was a workman roasting a good fat sheep on a spit. After the benediction ceremony and the inauguration, the guests were to have wine and wish us success.

Zorba had taken the parrot's cage, too, and placed it on a high rock near the first pylon.

"It's as if I could see his mistress," he murmured, looking fondly at the bird. He took a handful of peanuts from his pocket and gave them to the parrot.

Zorba was wearing his best clothes: unbuttoned white shirt, green jacket, grey trousers and good elastic-sided shoes. Moreover, he had waxed his moustache, which was beginning to lose its dye.

Like a great noble doing the honors to his peers, he hastened to welcome the village worthies as they arrived, and explained to them what a cable railway was, and what a benefit it would be to the countryside, and that the Holy Virgin-in her infinite grace-had helped him with her wisdom in the perfect execution of this project.

"It is a great piece of engineering," he said. "You've got to find the exact slope, and that takes some working out! I racked my brains for months, but to no purpose. It's obvious that for great works like this the mind of man is inadequate; we need God's aid… Well, the Holy Virgin saw me hard at it, and she had pity on me: 'Poor Zorba,' she said, 'he's not a bad fellow, he's doing all that for the good of the village, I think I'll go and give him a hand.' And then, O miracle of God!…"

Zorba stopped to cross himself three times in succession.

"O miracle! One night in my sleep a woman in black came to me-it was the Holy Virgin. In her hand she held a small model line, no bigger than that. 'Zorba,' she said, 'I've brought you your plans; they come from heaven. Here is the slope you need, and here is my blessing!' And she disappeared! I woke up with a start, ran to the place where I was testing at the time and what did I see? The wire was set at the right angle, all by itself. And it smelled of benjamin, too, which proved that the hand of the Holy Virgin had touched it!"

Kondomanolio was opening his mouth to ask a question when five monks mounted on mules appeared along the stony mountain pathway. A sixth, carrying a large wooden cross on his shoulders, ran shouting in front of them. We strained to know what he was shouting but we could not make it out.

We could hear chanting. The monks were waving their arms in the air, crossing themselves, and the hooves of their mules struck sparks from the stones.

The monk who was on foot came up to us, his face streaming with sweat. He raised the cross on high.

"Christians! A miracle!" he cried. "Christians! A miracle! The fathers are bringing the Most Holy Virgin herself! On your knees and worship her!"

The villagers, notables and workmen ran up excitedly, surrounded the monk and crossed themselves. I stood apart. Zorba glanced at me, his eyes twinkling.

"You go closer, too, boss," he said. "Go and hear about the Most Holy Virgin's miracle!"

The monk, breathless and in haste, began his story.

"Down on your knees, Christians, and listen to the divine miracle! Listen, Christians! The devil had seized upon the soul of the accursed Zaharia and two days ago led him to sprinkle the holy monastery with paraffin. We noticed the fire at midnight. We got out of bed in all haste; the priory, the galleries and the cells were all in flames. We rang the monastery bell and cried: 'Help! Help! Holy Virgin of Revenge!' And we rushed to the fire with pitchers and buckets of water! By early morning the flames were out, praise be to her Holy Grace!

"We went to the chapel and sank to our knees before her miraculous icon, crying: 'Holy Virgin of Revenge! Take up your lance and strike the culprit!' Then we gathered together in the courtyard and noticed that Zaharia, our Judas, was absent. 'He is the one who set us on fire! He must be the one!' we cried and rushed after him. We searched the whole day long but found nothing; then the whole night, but still nothing. But today at dawn, we went once more to the chapel and what did we see, brothers? A terrible miracle! Zaharia was lying dead at the foot of the sacred icon and the virgin's lance had a large spot of blood on its point!"