The Rebirth of Pan | Page 8

reply Yanni made. He alone among them knew Pan was more than that, more than another holy one with goat's hooves and an urge for lechery who'd long ago died on a hillside on this island. As a growing boy he had walked often up to the pine grove scented with sage that still bore the name Pan's Grave. Then he had grown and gone on. He remembered them talking about the death of Pan at the seminary. They said his name meant the World, and Everything, Holiness, and What is Essential. If Pan was to be reborn then it meant the world being made anew, and really it should be his duty to tell his superiors and do what he could to stop it. Pappa Andros gazed unhappily round at the assembled men and women. More than a few of them were looking at him expectantly. What could he do? Maybe a great deal, or maybe nothing. He didn't know enough. He understood the day to day problems of the island and that was enough. The bishop was in Nafplia, he should make this decision, or the archbishop at Athens or even the Patriarch at Constantinople. But none of them were here.
Yanni raised his glass. "Great Pan!" he said, and drank. Pappa Andros hesitated again, looking round. Then his eyes caught on a pair of figures lounging in the doorway. One was a slim young man. He leaned one hand casually on the doorframe. His beautiful face fell half in the taverna's light and half in the shadow of the night--or, no, Pappa Andros realised with a start that he had a halo. His eyes met Pappa Andros', and slowly and deliberately he smiled. Behind him and entirely in shadow stood another figure, older, bearded, but equally ringed with a faint light of God around the head. He slowly raised a hand in salute to Pappa Andros. Equally slowly, Pappa Andros raised his glass to the holy saints, and sipped.
The red wine was smooth and warming as it went down. As he swallowed all the colours seemed brighter, the scents of the roast pork and the stewed mushrooms reached him clearly and his mouth watered. He stood, and he saw that everyone else was standing too, and raising their glasses. "Great Pan!" they chorused, and all drank together. The holy saint in the doorway drank too, and then stepped back out to join his companion in the shadows. Stellio and his children served the food, and all ate and drank well. Gaiety reigned for the rest of the evening, until all the important people and shoemakers staggered home delightfully drunk, to suffer no hangover. All the conversation was on how best to make the shoes and whatever else might be needed. Dispute grew quite heated about where to store them. Once the glasses were drained, nobody, not even Pappa Andros, questioned the necessity.

3. MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT
(Marie)
Beware the worm, beware the truth it speaks
Beware the craven's lie, the serpent's tooth
and all that makes your heart a frozen stone
you bury far away and can't forget.
Lord, in thy mercy, hear my prayer. Through the grimy window of the tube train as it hurtles along in unaccustomed daylight, I can see endless backs of endless grimy streets and factories, sprawling out in all directions into the distance, ugly as despair. Everything is grey, the sky, the streets, the tube line, and my heart. I cannot pray for her. I swore to you that I would never ask another thing if you would forgive me, and I keep my word. I keep my word. That's the only thing I have left.
That fierceness, that's pride, I will confess that to Father Michael tomorrow. He will give me penance. I almost always have to confess pride, Lord, it is my one remaining besetting sin. But such penance is little enough, compared to the one I will be doing all my life. I stare out of the window at the grey backs of houses, a huge black glass factory making audio tapes and designed to look like a cassette box used to ten years ago. How modern it must have looked when it was new, how ridiculous now. Without meaning to I find I am twisting my cross in my fingers, the little gold cross my godmother gave me, the one I always wear around my neck. I am desolate, utterly desolate, and I cannot even pray for her. Have mercy upon us.
As the brakes on the train squeal, coming into Kilburn I find that once again I am blinking back tears. I will not think of him, or that will be another sin on my soul. Lord God of Hosts, you are very great. I will keep my word. I have renounced my powers