Jokingly I said, 'I hope you did not overcharge the Englishman?'

Such a remark would normally have been greeted with some play-acting, slyly exaggerated assertions of honesty. But Dranas did not even smile. 'From the harbour to the plateia it is twenty-five kurus,' he said. 'Everyone knows that.'

'I know it,' I said, in the same manner as before. 'And you know it. But does he?'

For his only answer the old ruffian leaned forward and spat sideways. The spittle landed quite near my left shoe. This is a sign of hostility and contempt among uneducated Greeks, Excellency, and although still puzzled I decided to move away. I knew now that the Englishman was staying at the Metropole. I was turning away when Dranas spoke again. 'If there are complaints,' he said, 'I will know who to thank.'

'Complaints?' I said. 'I make no complaints. It is none of my business. Why are you speaking to me in this way?'

Dranas looked at me and moved his hand up and down slightly, several times. 'Xerome ti isse' he said. 'We know.'

I was frightened by his face. It was so vindictive and so certain. No matter if in his ignorance he reduces my role to his own scale, to questions of cab fares, a few kurus more or less. He knows what I am. And if he, others – whose scale will be different.

We exchanged a long glance. For that shocked moment, as I looked into the old man's face, everything hushed, stopped. Then suddenly, without cover and soft-skinned as I was, exhilaration swept through me, the sense of a desired ending, and I smiled full at old Dranas. I smiled broadly, saying nothing, and I saw his face change. Then I turned and walked away.