The Athenian Murders

  'Show it to me,' said Heracles.

  'What?'

  'Show me the mystery. I only solve enigmas that I can see. Is it a text? An object?'

  7 I have translated 'the head of the fig' literally, although I'm not quite sure what our anonymous author is referring to. He might mean the round fleshy part or, just as easily, the end with the stalk. Or it might simply be a writer's trick to draw attention to the word 'head' which, it seems increasingly likely, is the next eidetic word. (T.'sN.)

  Again, the man looked astonished, frowning, mouth open, as before. Meanwhile, Heracles neatly bit off the head of the fig.7

  'No, nothing like that,' he said slowly. 'The mystery I've brought you is something

  that was, but is no longer. A memory. Or the idea of a memory.'

  'How can you expect me to solve such a thing?' smiled Heracles. 'I only translate what my eyes can see. I don't go beyond words.'

  The man stared at him hard, as if challenging him. 'There are always ideas beyond words, even if they're invisible,' he said. 'And they are all that matters.'8 The man bowed his head and the round shadow moved down the wall. 'We, at least, believe in the independent existence of Ideas. But let me introduce myself. My name is Diagoras, from the deme of Medonte. I teach philosophy and geometry at the school in the gardens of Academe run by Plato. You may have heard of it... It's known as the "Academy".'

  Heracles nodded. 'I have heard of the Academy and I am acquainted with Plato,' he said. 'Although I have to admit that, lately, I haven't seen him often

  'I'm not surprised,' said Diagoras. 'He's very busy with the next book in his Dialogue on the ideal government. But it's not him I've come about, but. . . one of my students, Tramachus, son of the widow Itys. The young man killed by wolves a few days ago. Do you know who I mean?'

  8 It occurs to me that, quite apart from their purpose within the fiction of the dialogue, these last sentences - 'There are ideas beyond the words ...' and 'They are all that matters' - could also be a message from the author to emphasise the presence of eidesis. Montalo, as usual, doesn't seem to have noticed anything. (T's N.)

  In the dim lamplight, Heracles' fleshy face remained expressionless. Ah, so Tramachus attended the Academy, he thought. That's why Plato went to offer Itys his condolences. He nodded, and said: 'I know his family, but I wasn't aware that he was a student at the Academy'

  'He was,' said Diagoras. 'And a good one.'

  Intertwining the heads of his thick fingers, Heracles said: 'And the mystery you've brought me has to do with Tramachus.'

  'Directly,' said the philosopher.

  Heracles thought a moment, then waved his hand vaguely. 'Now, tell me about it as best you can, and we'll see.'

  Diagoras of Medonte gazed at the pointed head of the flame - a cone rising from the wick - as he reeled off the words: 'I was Tramachus' principal tutor and I was very proud of him. He possessed all the noble qualities that Plato requires of those who aspire to be wise guardians of the city: he was beautiful as only one who has been blessed by the gods can be; he debated intelligently; his questions were always pertinent, his conduct exemplary; his spirit vibrated in harmony with music and his slender body was shaped by exercise in the gymnasium. He was about to come of age and burned with impatience to serve Athens as a soldier. Although it saddened me to think he would soon be leaving the Academy - I held him in great esteem - my heart rejoiced in the knowledge that his soul had learned all that I had to teach and was well prepared for life.'

  Diagoras stopped. His gaze remained fixed on the gently undulating flame. He went on wearily: 'But about a month ago, I began to notice something strange happening to him. He seemed preoccupied. He wasn't concentrating during classes. In fact, he would stand well away from his classmates, leaning against the wall furthest from the blackboard, ignoring the forest of arms that rose, like heads on long necks, when I asked a question, as if he were no longer interested in knowledge ... At first I didn't attach too much importance to his behaviour. As you know, at that age, problems are numerous, but they bubble up then subside smoothly and swiftly. But his lack of interest continued, and even worsened. He often missed classes, he didn't go to the gymnasium . . . Some of his classmates, too, noticed he had changed, but didn't know why. Could he be sick? I decided to speak to him ... although I still believed that his problem was trivial . . . possibly amorous in nature . . . you know what I mean . . . it's common at that age . . .' To Heracles' surprise, Diagoras blushed like a young man. He swallowed before continuing. 'One afternoon, in the interval between classes, I found him alone in the gardens, beside the statue of the Sphinx . . .'

  Among the trees, the young man was oddly still. He appeared to be staring at the head of the stone figure, the woman with a lion's body and eagle's wings, but his prolonged immobility, so like the statue's, showed that his mind must be far away. The man found him standing with heels together, arms by his sides, head slightly tilted. It was cold in the twilight, but the young man wore only a short, light tunic - similar to the Spartan chiton - which flapped in the wind, leaving his arms and pale thighs uncovered. His chestnut curls were tied with a ribbon. He wore beautiful leather sandals. Intrigued, the man came closer. As he did so, the younger man became aware of his presence and looked round. 'Ah, Master Diagoras, it's you.'

  He made as if to leave, but the man said: 'Wait, Tramachus. I wanted to speak to you alone.'

  The young man stopped, his back to him, white shoulders uncovered, and turned slowly The man, eager to appear affectionate, noticed that the boy's smooth limbs were tense, so he smiled reassuringly. He said: 'Are you not rather lightly dressed? It is a little cold.'

  'I'm not cold, Master Diagoras.'

  The man fondly stroked the undulating muscles of his pupil's left arm. 'Are you sure? Your skin is icy, my poor child ... and you seem to be trembling.'

  Emboldened by affection for the boy, he moved a little closer and, with a gentle, almost motherly movement of the fingers, he brushed aside the chestnut curls flopping over his forehead. Once again he marvelled at the flawless beauty of his face, the loveliness of the honey-coloured eyes staring at him, blinking. He said: 'Listen, my child. Your classmates and I have noticed that something is the matter. You haven't been yourself lately'

  'No, Master, I...'

  'Listen,' insisted the man softly. He stroked the youth's smooth oval face, taking his chin in his hand as carefully as he would a goblet of pure gold. 'You are my best student, and a teacher knows his best student well. For a month now nothing seems to have interested you, you haven't taken part in dialogues - Wait, don't interrupt. You've grown distant with your classmates, Tramachus. Of course something is the matter, my child. But tell me what it is, and I swear before the gods that I will help you, for my energies are considerable. I won't tell anyone if you don't wish me to. You have my word. Do confide in me.'

  The boy's brown eyes, open very wide (perhaps too wide), were fixed on the man's. For a moment all was stillness and silence. Then the boy moved his lips - pink, moist and cold - as if about to speak. But he said nothing. He continued to stare, eyes bulging like small ivory heads with huge black pupils. The man saw something strange there and was so absorbed that he hardly noticed the young man step back, still holding his gaze, his white body still rigid, lips tense . . .

  The man stood motionless for a long time after the young man had fled.

  'He was terrified,' said Diagoras, after a deep silence.

  Heracles took another fig from the bowl. Thunder shook in the distance like the sinuous vibration of a rattlesnake. 'How do you know? Did he tell you?'

  'No. I told you, such was my confusion that he ran away before I could say another word ... But, though I lack your ability to read men's faces, I have seen fear too many times not to recognise it. Tramachus' fear was more terrible than any I have ever seen. His eyes contained nothing else. When it was revealed to me, I didn't know what to do. It was as if ... as if the terror in his eyes turned me to stone. When
I looked round, he'd disappeared. I never saw him again. The following day one of his friends told me he had gone hunting. I was a little surprised, since his state of mind the evening before did not seem conducive to the enjoyment of such a pastime, but...'

  'Who told you he had gone hunting?' Heracles interrupted, seizing the head of another fig from among the many poking over the edge of the bowl.

  'Euneos, one of his closest friends. And Antisus, son of Praxinoe.'

  'Both students at the Academy?'

  'Yes.'

  'Fine. Please go on.'

  Diagoras ran his hand over his head (on the shadow on the wall, a creature slithered over the slimy surface of a sphere) and said: 'I wanted to talk to Antisus and Euneos that day. I found them at the gymnasium.'

  Hands rising, writhing, playing in a shower of tiny scales; wet, slender arms; multiple laughter, banter interspersed with the sound of water, eyelids tightly closed, heads raised; a shove, and, again, laughter spilling forth. From above, the image brings to mind a flower formed of adolescent bodies, or a single body with several heads; arms like undulating petals; slimy, multiple nakedness caressed by steam; a tongue of water sliding slickly from the mouth of a gargoyle; the flower of flesh moves, gestures sinuously ... A thick breath of steam suddenly clouds our view.9

  9 This strange paragraph, which would seem to be a poetic description of the young men having a shower at the gymnasium, contains, in concise summary and strongly emphasised, almost all the eidetic elements of Chapter Two: 'damp', 'head' and 'undulation', among others. Also noteworthy is the repetition of 'multiple' and the word 'scales', which appeared earlier on. The 'flower of flesh' image is, I believe, simply a metaphor and has nothing to do with the eidesis. (T's N.)

  The vapour clears. We see a small room - a changing room, judging by the collection of tunics and robes hanging on the whitewashed walls - and several young male bodies in varying degrees of undress; one of them lies face down on a couch, quite naked, and avid dark-skinned hands slide over it, slowly massaging the muscles. There is laughter: the young men jest after their shower. The hiss of steam from the cauldrons

  of boiling water diminishes until it ceases. The curtain at the door is drawn back, and the multiple laughter stops. A tall, thin man, with a shiny bald head and neatly trimmed beard, greets the young men, who hasten to answer. The man speaks. They listen, continuing their various activities: dressing, undressing, rubbing their well-formed bodies with cloths, oiling their undulating muscles.

  The man addresses two of the young men in particular -one, pink-cheeked, with thick black hair, is bending down, tying his sandals, while the other is the naked ephebe who is being massaged. His face (we can see it now) is extremely beautiful.

  The room, like the bodies, exudes heat. Then a snake of mist swirls before our eyes, and the vision disappears.

  'I asked about Tramachus,' explained Diagoras. 'At first they didn't quite understand what I wanted, though they both admitted that their friend had changed, but they didn't know why. Then Lisilus, another Academy student who happened to be there, made an incredible revelation: for some months, in secret, Tramachus had been seeing a hetaera from Piraeus called Yasintra. 'Perhaps it is she who has changed him, Master,' he added spitefully. Antisus and Euneos reluctantly confirmed the existence of the relationship. I was astounded, and, in some ways, hurt. But I was also relieved: that my pupil should keep from me his shameful visits to a prostitute in the port was indeed worrying, considering his distinguished education, but I reflected that if the problem amounted to nothing more there was no need to worry. I decided to speak to him again, at a more propitious moment, and to discuss reasonably how his spirit had erred.'

  Diagoras paused. Heracles Pontor lit a wall lamp, and the shadows of their

  heads multiplied: Heracles' truncated triangles moving, together, on the adobe wall, and Diagoras' circles, thoughtful, still, their perfect outline marred by the hair spilling over his head, and by the neatly trimmed beard. When Diagoras resumed his story, his voice was barely audible: 'But... that night, almost at dawn, the border guards

  knocked at my door ... A goatherd had found his body in the forest, near Lycabettus, and notified the guard ... Once they'd identified him, they called me, as there was no man at his house to receive the news and his uncle Daminus was out of the City ...'

  He paused again. The distant storm and the sound of another fig being smoothly beheaded could be heard. His face was contorted, each word now a great effort. He said: 'Strange as you may find it, I felt guilty ... If I'd gained his trust that afternoon, and persuaded him to tell me what was the matter . . . maybe he wouldn't have gone hunting . . . and he would still be alive.' He looked up at his obese interlocutor, who sat listening, leaning back in his chair, looking so tranquil he might have been about to fall asleep. 'I confess I have spent the past two days tortured by the thought that Tramachus may have decided upon his fateful hunting trip to escape me and my tactless questions ... So, this afternoon, I made a decision: I have to find out why he was so terrified, and how I could have helped . . . That's why I've come to you. In Athens, the saying goes that to know the future you need the oracle of Delphi, but to know the past you simply need the Decipherer of Enigmas ...'

  'That's ridiculous!' exclaimed Heracles.

  His unexpected reaction startled Diagoras. Heracles stood up quickly, dragging all the shadows of his head after him, and paced briskly about the cold, damp room, thick fingers stroking the sticky fig he'd just taken from the bowl. He went on irritably: 'I only decipher the past if it's something I can see - a text, an object, a face. But you talk of memories, impressions and ... opinions! What kind of guidance can they provide? You say that for a month your disciple had seemed "preoccupied", but what does that mean?' He raised an arm abruptly. 'Just before you entered the room, I was staring at that crack, and it might have seemed that I too was "preoccupied"! You claim you saw terror in his eyes. Terror! I ask you this: was terror written out in Ionic characters in his pupils? Is the word "fear" engraved in the lines on our forehead? Is it a line like that crack on the wall? A thousand different emotions might have produced the expression that you attribute to fear alone!'

  Diagoras replied, a little uneasily: 'I know what I saw. Tramachus was terrified.'

  'You know what you thought you saw,' pointed out Heracles. 'Knowing the truth is knowing how much of the truth we can know.'

  'Socrates, Plato's teacher, believed something similar,' admitted Diagoras. 'He said that all he knew was that he knew nothing. In fact, we all agree. But the mind too has eyes and with it we can see things that our physical eyes cannot.'

  'Is that so?' Heracles stopped abruptly. 'Very well, then, tell me what you see here.' He held something up quickly to Diagoras' face: a dark green, sticky head protruded from between his thick fingers.

  'A fig,' said Diagoras, after a moment of surprise.

  'A fig like any other?'

  'Yes. It looks intact. It has a good colour. An ordinary fig.' 'Ah! That's the difference between you and me!' cried Heracles triumphantly. 'I look at this fig and am of the opinion that it seems like an ordinary fig. I may even believe that it is very likely an ordinary fig, but I stop there. If I want to know more, I have to open it up ... as I did with this one while you were speaking.'

  He gently parted the two halves of the fig that he'd been holding together: in a single sinuous movement, multiple tiny heads rose up angrily from its dark interior, emitting a very faint hiss. Diagoras' face contorted in disgust. Heracles said: 'And when I do so . . . I'm not as surprised as you when the truth turns out to be different from what I expected!'

  He put the fig back together and placed it on the table. Suddenly calm again, as at the beginning of the conversation, the Decipherer went on: 'I pick them out myself at a metic's stall in the Agora. He's a good man and almost never cheats me, I assure you - he knows very well that I'm an expert when it comes to figs. But nature sometimes plays tricks.'

  Diagor
as was flushed again. He cried: 'Are you going to accept the job, or would you rather go on about that fig?'

  'Please understand, I can't take on something like this.' The Decipherer picked up the krater and poured a cup of thick, undiluted wine. 'I'd be betraying myself. What have I to go on? Mere suppositions . . . and not even my own, but yours.' He shook his head. 'Impossible. Would you care for some wine?'

  But Diagoras was already standing, straight as a reed. His cheeks were flushed a deep red. 'No, I wouldn't. Nor do I want to take any more of your time. I realise now I was wrong to ask you. I'm sorry. We have both done our duty - I in setting out my offer, and you in rejecting it. I bid you a good evening'

  'Wait,' said Heracles casually, as if Diagoras had left something behind. 'I said I couldn't take on your job, but if you'd like to pay me for a job of my own, I'd be happy to accept your money.'