Mr. Achilles

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Mr. Achilles, by Jennette Lee

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Title: Mr. Achilles
Author: Jennette Lee
Release Date: December, 2003 [Etext #4714] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on March 6, 2002]
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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MR. ACHILLES By Jennette Lee
1912

MR. ACHILLES
BY
JENNETTE LEE

To GERALD STANLEY LEE
"To keep the youth of souls who pitch Their joy in this old heart of things;
Full lasting is the song, though he, The singer, passes; lasting too, For souls not lent in usury, The rapture of the forward view."

MR. ACHILLES

I
ACHILLES GOES TO CHICAGO
Achilles Alexandrakis was arranging the fruit on his stall in front of his little shop on Clark Street. It was a clear, breezy morning, cool for October, but not cold enough to endanger the fruit that Achilles handled so deftly in his dark, slender fingers. As he built the oranges into their yellow pyramid and grouped about them figs and dates, melons and pears, and grapes and pineapples, a look of content held his face. This was the happiest moment of his day.
Already, half an hour ago Alcibiades and Yaxis had departed with their pushcarts, one to the north and one to the south, calling antiphonally as they went, in clear, high voices that came fainter and fainter to Achilles among his fruit.
They would not return until night, and then they would come with empty carts, and jingling in their pockets coppers and nickels and dimes. The breath of a sigh escaped Achilles's lips as he stood back surveying the stall. Something very like homesickness was in his heart. He had almost fancied for a minute that he was back once more in Athens. He raised his eyes and gave a quick, deep glance up and down the street--soot and dirt and grime, frowning buildings and ugly lines, and overhead a meagre strip of sky. Over Athens the sky hung glorious, a curve of light from side to side. His soul flew wide to meet it. Once more he was swinging along the "Street of the Winds," his face lifted to the Parthenon on its Acropolis, his nostrils breathing the clear air. Chicago had dropped from him like a garment, his soul rose and floated. . . . Athens everywhere--column and cornice, and long, delicate lines, and colour of marble and light. He drew a full, sweet breath.

Achilles moved with quick, gliding step, taking orders, filling bags, making change--always with his dark eyes seeking, a little wistfully, something that did not come to them. . . . It was all so different-- this new world. Achilles had been in Chicago six months now, but he had not yet forgotten a dream that he had dreamed in Athens. Sometimes he dreamed it still, and then he wondered whether this, about him, were not all a dream--this