The Oracle Read Free

– the odd man out?’
    ‘Okay, okay, you’re too much in love to think about having a little fun. What’s up for tomorrow?’
    ‘Oh right, Michel – I’ve heard that tomorrow there’s something going on at the Polytechnic, something big. There’s going to be a huge protest demonstration against the government and the police. The students’ committee is talking about a lock-in. They say that the situation in the university has become impossible. Police infiltration, spies . . . people disappearing and you never find out what happens to them.’
    ‘Who told you, Heleni?’
    ‘Yeah, it was her. But it’s stuff that everyone knows. Why?’
    ‘Nothing. So what are you going to do, go to the Polytechnic yourself?’
    ‘No. Why should I? We don’t have anything to do with it. It’s their thing. But I’m going to hang out here at the Institute tonight anyway. You know Heleni; she won’t let them start anything without her . . .’
    ‘Okay. Well, see you here tomorrow, then. ’Night, Claudio.’
    ‘Goodnight, Michel. Say hi to Norman.’
    His friend left and he could soon hear the sound of his Deux-Chevaux as it coughed its way into motion.
    Claudio Setti returned to the epigraphy files he had been working on. He stood up and walked over to the shelves to check a volume; as he was pulling it out a smaller booklet fell to his feet. He bent down to pick it up and gave it a look. The heading on the title page was:
    PERIKLIS HARVATIS
    Hypothesis on the necromantic rite in the Odyssey , Book XI
     
    He started to read the first pages with growing interest, forgetting the files he was working on for his thesis, while a strange uneasiness crept up on him, a sense of confusion and solitude.
    The phone rang. He stared at it at length before putting down the book and picking up the receiver.
    ‘Claudio?’
    ‘Heleni, honey, is that you?’
    ‘ Agapimou , you’re still studying! Have you had dinner?’
    ‘I thought I’d grab a sandwich and keep working.’
    ‘I need to see you. I’m going back to the University tonight.’
    ‘Heleni, please . . . don’t go.’
    ‘Can’t you meet me here? I’m not far, at the Tò Vounò tavern. Please?’
    ‘All right. I’ll come. Have them fix me something to eat.’
    He gathered up his notes to put them into his backpack. As he was about to close it, his gaze fell on the little book he’d left on the table. Too bad he couldn’t finish it. He put it back on the shelf, switched off the lights and left, throwing his military-style jacket with the fake fur lining over his shoulders.
    The streets were nearly deserted. He passed alongside the agora, where the ancient marble gleamed unnaturally white in the moonlight, and slipped down one of the roads in the intricate maze of the Plaka district. Every now and then, between the rooftops and terraces, the Parthenon loomed on his right, like a vessel of the gods shipwrecked on a cliff between the sky and the houses of men. He reached the old Wind Tower square where the tavern was.
    He could see Heleni’s black hair through the misty window. She was sitting alone with her elbows on the table and seemed to be watching the thin thread of smoke rising from her cigarette as it sat in the ashtray.
    He walked in behind her and put his hand on her hair. Without turning, she took his hand and kissed it. ‘I really wanted you to come.’
    ‘You know I want to see you. It’s just that I have to get this work done. I want to get my degree. I’m serious about that.’
    ‘I know you’re serious. They have dolmades tonight. I’ve told them to heat some up. Is that okay?’
    ‘Sure, dolmades are fine.’
    The girl nodded and a waiter brought two plates and a pan with the stuffed grape leaves.
    ‘It’s about tomorrow.’
    ‘Heleni, what do you mean, it’s about tomorrow? What’s that supposed to mean?’
    ‘We’re going to make a proclamation on the University radio asking for a general strike. This government will have to drop their