Hell.
So I walked with the group that afternoon, out to Pagasae, the port of ancient Iolkos, set on the promontory opposite Volos. We stood in the shade of the almond trees on the hill that gives good vantage to both seascape and rocky ridge.
"It was from here that the Argonauts set sail on their quest for the Golden Fleece," I told no one in particular.
"Who all were they?" asked Ellen. "I read the story in school, but I forget."
"There was Herakles and Theseus and Orpheus the singer, and Asclepius, and the sons of the North Wind, and Jason, the captain, who was a pupil of the centaur, Cheiron-whose cave, incidentally, is up near the summit of Mount Pelion, there."
"Really?"
"I'll show it to you sometime."
"All right."
"The gods and the titans battled near here also," said Diane, coming up on my other side. "Did the titans not uproot Mount Pelion and pile it atop Ossa in an attempt to scale Olympus?"
"So goes the telling. But the gods were kind and restored the scenery after the bloody battle."
"A sail," said Hasan, gesturing with a half-peeled orange in his hand.
I looked out over the waters and there was a tiny blip on the horizon.
"Yes; this place is still used as a port."
"Perhaps it is a shipload of heroes," said Ellen, "returning with some more fleece. What will they do with all that fleece, anyhow?"
"It's not the fleece that's important," said Red Wig, "it's the getting of it. Every good story-teller used to know that. The womenfolk can always make stunning garments from fleeces. They're used to picking up the remains after quests."
"It wouldn't match your hair, dear."
"Yours either, child."
"That can be changed. Not so easily as yours, of course…"
"Across the way," said I, in a loud voice, "is a ruined Byzantine church-the Episcopi-which I've scheduled for restoration in another two years. It is the traditional site of the wedding feast of Peleus, also one of the Argonauts, and the sea-nymph Thetis. Perhaps you've heard the story of that feast? Everyone was invited but the goddess of discord, and she came anyhow and tossed down a golden apple marked 'For the Fairest.' Lord Paris judged it the property of Aphrodite, and the fate of Troy was sealed. The last time anyone saw Paris, he was none too happy. Ah, decisions! Like I've often said, this land is lousy with myth."
"How long will we be here?" asked Ellen.
"I'd like a couple more days in Makrynitsa," I said, "then we'll head northwards. Say about a week more in Greece, and then we'll move on to Rome."
"No," said Myshtigo, who had been sitting on a rock and talking to his machine, as he stared out over the waters. "No, the tour is finished. This is the last stop."
"How come?"
"I'm satisfied and I'm going home now."
"What about your book?"
"I've got my story."
"What kind of story?"
"I'll send you an autographed copy when it's finished. My time is precious, and I have all the material I want now. All that I'll need, anyhow. I called the Port this morning, and they are sending me a Skimmer tonight. You people go ahead and do whatever you want, but I'm finished."
"Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing is wrong, but it's time that I left. I have much to do."
He rose to his feet and stretched.
"I have some packing to take care of, so I'll be going back now. You do have a beautiful country here, Conrad, despite.-I'll see you all at dinnertime."
He turned and headed down the hill.
I walked a few steps in his direction, watching him go.
"I wonder what prompted that?" I thought aloud.
There was a footfall.
"He is dying," said George, softly.
My son Jason, who had preceded us by several days, was gone. Neighbors told of his departure for Hades on the previous evening. The patriarch had been carried off on the back of a fire-eyed hellhound who had knocked down the door of his dwelling place and borne him off through the night. My relatives all wanted me to come to dinner. Dos Santos was still resting; George had treated his wounds and had not deemed it necessary to ship him to the hospital in Athens.
It's always nice to come home.
I walked down to the Square and spent the afternoon talking to my descendants. Would I tell them of Taler, of Haiti, of Athens? Aye. I would, I did. Would they tell me of the past two decades in Makrynitsa? Ditto.
I took some flowers to the graveyard then, stayed awhile, and went to Jason's home and repaired his door with some tools I found in the shed. Then I came upon a bottle of his wine and drank it all. And I smoked a cigar. I made me a pot of coffee, too, and I drank all of that I still felt depressed. I didn't know what was coming off.
George knew his diseases, though, and he said the Vegan showed unmistakable symptoms of a neurological disorder of the e.t. variety. Incurable. Invariably fatal.
And even Hasan couldn't take credit for it. "Etiology unknown" was George's diagnosis. So everything was revised.
George had known about Myshtigo since the reception.-What had set him on the track?-Phil had asked him to observe the Vegan for signs of a fatal disease. Why?
Well, he hadn't said why, and I couldn't go ask him at the moment.
I had me a problem.
Myshtigo had either finished his job or he hadn't enough time left to do it. He said he'd finished it. If he hadn't, then I'd been protecting a dead man all the while, to no end. If he had, then I needed to know the results, so that I could make a very fast decision concerning what remained of his lifespan.
Dinner was no help. Myshtigo had said all he cared to say, and he ignored or parried our questions. So, as soon as we'd had our coffee, Red Wig and I stepped outside for a cigarette.
"What's happened?" she asked.
"I don't know. I thought maybe you did."
"No. What now?"
"You tell me."
"Kill him?"
"Perhaps yes. First though, why?"
"He's finished it."
"What? Just what has he finished?"
"How should I know?"
"Damn it! I have to! I like to know why I'm killing somebody. I'm funny that way."
"Funny? Very. Obvious, isn't it? The Vegans want to buy in again, Earthside. He's going back to give them a report on the sites they're interested in."
"Then why didn't he visit them all? Why cut it short after Egypt and Greece? Sand, rocks, jungles, and assorted monsters-that's all he saw. Hardly makes for an encouraging appraisal."
"Then he's scared, is why, and lucky he's alive. He could have been eaten by a boadile or a Kourete. He's running."
"Good. Then let him run. Let him hand in a bad report."
"He can't, though. If they do want in, they won't buy anything that sketchy. They'll just send somebody else-somebody tougher-to finish it. If we kill Myshtigo they'll know we're still for real, still protesting, still tough ourselves."
"… And he's not afraid for his life," I mused.
"No? What, then?"
"I don't know. I have to find out, though."
"How?"
"I think I'll ask him."
"You are a lunatic." She turned away.
"My way, or not at all," I said.
"Any way, then. It doesn't matter. We've already lost."
I took her by the shoulders and kissed her neck. "Not yet. You'll see."
She stood stiffly.
"Go home," she said; "it's late. It's too late."
I did that. I went back to Iakov Korones' big old place, where Myshtigo and I were both quartered, and where Phil had been staying.
I stopped, there in the deathroom, in the place where Phil had last slept. His Prometheus Unbound was still on the writing table, set down beside an empty bottle. He had spoken of his own passing when he'd called me in Egypt, and he had suffered an attack, had been through a lot. It seemed he'd leave a message for an old friend then, on a matter like this.
So I opened Percy B's dud epic and looked within.