The Rebirth of Pan | Page 8

we're to get shoes ready."
"How many shoes?" asked Spiro, his gold tooth catching the light as he
spoke.
"A lot. All sizes." said Yanni. "He said we should all start work on
them straight away so we'd be ready."
"Why shoes? Doesn't Pan have goat's hooves?" asked Lambros the
baker. There was a gust of nervous laughter at this. Pappa Andros
looked down into his dark wine, and saw the reflection of his own face,
his dark eyes, his greying beard. He did not hear what 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