"No!" we cried. "Tell us!"
"The tale is much the same as yours. The two booksellers were a Hellene and an Egyptian."
Damophilos said: "Here one was a Hellene, I think—a big broad-shouldered man, almost as blond as a Kelt, speaking Kilikian Greek. The other may have been an Egyptian; at least he was very dark and spoke with a curious accent. A small, curly-haired, wiry fellow, like Chares here, with a scar on his chin."
"Yes," said the Koan. "First came the visit of the booksellers; then, a month later, the. rape of the library. I fear that with even slaves and paupers learning to read, book stealing is becoming one of the finer arts."
"That is what comes of giving foreigners such a free run of our city," grumped Genetor. "Between those immoral transparent dresses that our friend Tryphon sells, and robbery, corruption, and inflation everywhere, and women demanding the rights of men, we live in a degenerate age."
"At least," said Damophilos, "Tryphon's dresses will keep men so busy looking at the women that they will not have time for reading. So the demand for books will slacken, and the price will fall."
Giskon laughed "Such knowledge of money is a Phoenician trade secret. If it get out, we shall be ruined. But let the stripling talk; after all, the feast is for him. O Chares, what can you tell us of the doings of Demetrios son of Antigonos?"
I said: "The last I heard, he had settled in Athens after driving out Kasandros' men. He was visiting the historic sights, talking with philosophers, and making merry."
"I hear he is a man of lewd character," said Genetor.
"I don't know," I said. "They say that he likes a joke, a wench, and a skin of wine; that is to say, he is not dedicated to war and conquest like another Alexander. But he is withal accounted a most able and formidable general."
"So? One cannot make a lance head from a lettuce nor a soldier from a pleasure-loving debauchee."
I started to protest this harsh description of Demetrios when Damophilos broke in: "But what is he doing now?"
"Before I left Argos," I said, "I heard a rumor that Antigonos had ordered his son back to Asia."
Genetor said: "We must pray to the Sun that he leave Rhodes alone. Let us hope that my many costly offerings will incline the god in our favor."
"He'll loose the polluted pirates," said Damophilos, "just when we are getting them under control."
Giskon added: "Thrice evil to evildoers! This bodes ill for Cyprus. Antigonos has had his one eye on the isle ever since the Ptolemaios seized it."
"You can always earn your bread in Rhodes," said another.
"Easier said than done," replied Giskon. "You natives won't let a foreigner like me set up in trade here."
Another guest spoke: "If you would shave off that bush, Giskon, and learn to speak without that foul Punic accent, we could pass you off as a Hellene."
Damophilos: "We might even contrive a pedigree for you, showing descent from Herakles or Helios-Apollon."
"Let us not play fast and loose with the gods," said Genetor. "Life is risky enough without antagonizing the unseen powers."
"I doubt if they bother with mortals," said Damophilos with a yawn. "At least one cannot see any divine pattern to modern politics. You might as well address your prayers to Lady Luck and have done with it."
"That is probably why the gods have withdrawn," said Genetor. "With so many turning away from them for Eastern cults and godless philosophies, they might indeed lose interest in men. What the world needs is a great spiritual awakening, a return to the faith of our fathers ... That reminds me," he said, looking at me. "Chares, my cousin Nereus is high priest of the temple of the Sun. He has a vacancy on his Board of Sacrificers, for which he seeks a sober young tribesman. The citizens' sons, he says, are too spoilt and immoral, while most tribesmen are chary of taking on a responsibility that carries no pay. Are you a registered member of the Lindian tribe?"
My father put in: "He was registered before he left."
"Well, then, would you be interested?"
I said: "That's kind of you, sir; but—"
"But what?"
I could not see myself taking many hours from my art for unpaid rites in which I did not believe. However, that did not seem quite the way to put it. "It's—it's a matter of conscience, sir."
"Conscience? Do not tell me that you, too, have succumbed to this modern unbelief!"
"I had my eyes opened in Hellas, O Genetor. I heard the lectures of Pyrron, who shows the folly of all dogma. I listened to Evemeros, who proves that the gods are but mortals whose deeds have been magnified ..."
My father, who shared the couch with me, jabbed my back with his thumb. I would have burst into angry words, but my guardian spirit checked my tongue. I mumbled something about my faith's having been unsettled by travel.
"Ah, youth!" said Genetor, lying back on his couch. "Always running after novelties, always seeking to cast aside the wisdom of their forebears. You will no doubt settle down in time, as the rest of us have; especially when you acquire property. There is nothing like a little hard-earned wealth to give a sound conservative point of view. I know."
I would have given this stuffy old dogmatist an argument, but I felt my father's brown eyes boring into me.
Then the wine was brought and the entertainers came in. These were three girls, one of whom played the double flute while another twanged the Rhodian sambuke and the third danced, wriggling like an octopus on a fisherman's spear. They wore shifts of Koan silk, through which every rosy nipple and raven pubic hair transpired as plain as day. Damophilos cried:
"O Tryphon, this is some of your doing! Who will lay a bet as to what these girls are wearing? How about you, Genetor? We'll make them strip to settle the wager."
"Thank you, but I am not a gambling man," said Genetor. "I prefer sound investments. Besides, my eyesight is not what it was."
"Nor some of your other powers, forsooth," said the naval officer, "or you would show more interest in these little lovelies. Speaking of which, I know a man who claims that the eating of sea food has no effect on the love life of the middle-aged."
"By our lady Persephonê!" said Tryphon. "Then have we been stuffing ourselves with oysters and squids in vain all these years?"
Watching the dancer's supple body through the sheer film of silk, I was moved to desire. But I forebore, as it had hardly been decent to lay a proposal before her openly. My respectable father gave respectable parties, at which nobody vomited or punched a slave or tried to rape the entertainers or seduce his fellow diners. Nor did we auction off the flute girl, a pretty little thing named Doris who belonged to a girlmonger on the waterfront.
The party was, however, merry enough, for a gathering of Rhodians always finds plenty to talk about. We drank from Rhodian pots in which aromatic herbs had been steeped in water before the wine was poured in. This precaution is supposed to arrest intoxication, though I have never seen it stop a man from getting drunk if he really put his mind to it.
When the company had gone, I burst out: "Father, why wouldn't you let me speak my piece to Genetor? Am I not a free Hellene, entitled to say what I please?"
"Son," he said, "you may hold what opinions you like for all of me. But this man is your future father-in-law."
"What?"
"Yes, it's all arranged but the signing. Genetor wanted to look you over first."
"Who's the girl?"
"His daughter Io, and you needn't look as if you'd seen a headless specter in a graveyard at midnight. Io is no Gorgon but a thoroughly nice, attractive girl."
"But who said I wanted to wed?"
"Now, Chares, don't be difficult. I hoped you had outgrown that headstrong streak that used to plague us so."
My mother said: "Everybody knows that a man of your age should be married. She's just the perfect age—fifteen— and the Genetor is rich."