Cast in Doubt Read Free

size as we are in the States. From what I can tell, before puberty they all play with each other’s genitals and at puberty some boys are the girls, and some the boys. There is now a young pretty blond who is much fussed over by the others, even courted by them. When they walk along the harbor, he is positioned in the center. The other boys keep their arms around him, or at times one of the boys might hold the favorite more possessively, to claim his rights in the moment. It swiftly changes, but the blond boy always remains the girl. And if his future is like that of the others I’ve seen, he will probably wind up a homosexual, despised by his present mates and sexual partners, and exiled to Athens where he will find others of his kind.
    Helen is friendly with these boys and may not be aware of their arrangements. Their contact is limited by language, although one of them has told me that he will take her English class as soon as he finishes high school. He says his mother might pay for it. Helen goes with them to the beach. She does not like going there alone. It is a novelty for Cretan men to see young women on their own, as well as lying half-naked on the beach; to them it is always an invitation. Sometimes they just stand and look at her, from a distance. Sometimes they take out their penises to show her. She is frightened by this.
    I haven’t the heart to tell her that I probably would be delighted if they did that with me. It would not frighten me. But then I am different from Helen. In many important ways. She may be as promiscuous as I, or more, but that would be in her own feminine manner. This manner seems not to include cooking. We had one lamentable meal which she cooked and we ate on my terrace. Smitty had the good grace not to apologize for it. I don’t believe people should apologize for what they can’t help. Helen professes to having no artistic ability. In any case, she can’t render life as it is or even close to what it is. I am not sure what she is good at, though I am sure she is good at something. I have always been good with words, and wrote terribly smart compositions about military heroes when I was a lad, pleasing my mother but not impressing my father, who would have, in true American fashion, preferred brawn to brain, especially in a boy that age. My brother, older by four years, was his favorite. Instinctively I knew fairly early that I would never please my father and gave up before beginning, really. I realized he wouldn’t ever love me, and I clung to my mother beyond reason—though I don’t know why I put it quite like that—and she adored me, even when I came to despise her a little. As I grew older and I outgrew her, I was less in need of her protection, such as it was. Nevertheless, when I was at home, I always took her side; my brother, my father’s. I don’t know how Helen feels about her paterfamilias or materfamilias.
    Helen has reminded me there is no word in English for man-hating, no equivalent to the Greek misogyny. This bothers her but she is careful not to seem as if it really matters to her. I appreciate her sangfroid, because I would hate to have to minister to her. She never makes this necessary, however, although from what I hear from Yannis, much occurs in her life, as if she were a contemporary Colette. I wonder what that woman was truly like. I’d rather know Jean Genet, but I don’t think he’d be interested in me.
    I walk to the restaurant where my usual table awaits me. Christos brings a bottle of wine and opens it with a flourish. Kali spera , Horace, he exclaims. We exchange pleasantries. I look up and see Helen on her terrace. It’s just after five. The fishermen are doing what they do with their boats and talking among themselves. Their faces are brown and their skin, even from this distance, seems thick as hide. I’d like to pinch one of their cheeks, to see if he feels it. To me these men are impervious. I pour myself a glass of wine. The wine is