Bulnes and Flin left the pseudo-Scythian and walked back down the slope of the Areopagos. Flin, wistfully eyeing the Akropolis a mere hundred meters away over his shoulder, said, "You don't suppose we could take an hour off for a spot of sight-seeing."
"No, my dear Wiyem, I don't. Sokrates first."
"We can at least take this street that runs down to the south end of the Agora and get a look at the things along the north side of the Akropolis ... That building must be the Thesmothetaion — or would it be the Prytaneion? Dash it all, 1 wish I had an eidetic memory ..."
"Why not ask?" said Bulnes.
"And accost some total stranger? Ah, there's something I know. See those holes in the cliff?"
"Yes."
"They're the caves of Pan and Apollo. There are supposed to be secret stairs or passages leading from them up to the Akropolis ... And there are the Long Rocks — those are the statues of the Tribal Heroes, and those are the public bulletin boards —"
"Excuse me, comrade, but you're taking us away from our destination."
"So I am," sighed Flin.
Back at the Agora they soon located the Royal Stoa among the shops and offices along the west side of the plaza. Inside the building, a crowd of people watched an argument being conducted before a man who sat on a raised seat and wore a purple himation and a dried-up wreath on his head.
"That," said Flin, "must be the King."
"I thought this was a republic?"
"It is, but they've kept the kingship as a sort of vestigial office. As I recall, he's a combination high-priest and domestic-relations judge."
"I see. Please start asking people for Sokrates."
"Dash it all, you know I hate speaking to strangers. Why don't you? You need the practice."
"Oh, all right- — for you I will. But kindly listen to their replies and be prepared to translate. When they speak fast, I get lost." Knut Bulnes turned his best Greek on one of his immediate neighbors, "Have you see Sokrates, please?"
Within a quarter-hour he had collected a variety of replies: "What?" "No." "I do not know the man." "Do you mean Sokrates the carpenter?" "I have never heard of him." "What are you saying?" "Not today." "I do not understand you." "He and his questions! When I catch that scoundrel ..." "I am a stranger, too." "No, and if you find him, tell him Mnesiphilos wants his five drachmai back." "Who are you?" And finally, "You are looking in the wrong place. He is usually to be found in the Stoa Poikile."
"Thank you," said Bulnes, and turned to Flin. "Where now?"
"I think the Painted Porch was — is — across the Agora. And if you expect to pass as an Athenian, you'll have to drop those ceremonious manners. The average Athenian has no more manners than an American."
"Really, my dear fellow? Most of the people I met in the United States had adequate manners ..."
They pushed out into the noonday glare, stopping at the Bread Market long enough to buy a big loaf from a truculent old woman for three coppers, but passing up a vendor of hot water for drinking at an obolos and a half a cup. Though Bulnes hungrily eyed a sausage-seller's stock, Flin objected, "Probably give you trichinosis. Anyway, this bread's so full of garlic and things it has all the vitamins we need."
As they walked, munching, a beggar plucked at the himation of Bulnes and whined. The man had a missing foot, an empty eyesocket, and some loathsome skin affliction, so Bulnes gave him a copper. Instantly a swarm of beggars descended upon the pair, clutching and importuning.
"Now you've done it!" cried Flin, and shouted "Go away!" until the beggars dispersed. "Why d'you do things like that? We're nearly in the gazette ourselves."
"I suppose I'm a soft touch," said Bulnes. "We see so few beggars I haven't developed an immunity to them. In Italy I could always get rid of people trying to sell me things by saying 'Ich will nicht,' but I don't know what would work here."
They won through the mob to the Painted Porch, where Flin gabbled over the murals: one of the Battle of Marathon, one of the Sack of Troy, one of Theseus fighting the Amazons, and one of some other battles. Bulnes admitted, "The execution's not too bad, but they can't have known^ anything about perspective. Gives a grotesque effect, don't you think?"
He resumed the questioning of passers-by about Sokrates until Flin plucked at his cloak, saying, "Over there. Looks like a sophist with his pupils."
A dignified-looking graybeard was sitting on a bench and lecturing three younger men. Bulnes went up behind the hearers and held up his hand until the lecturer interrupted himself, "Yes? You wish something?"
"Thousand pardons, sir, but have you see Sokrates?"
"What is that?"
"I said, have you see Sokrates?"
One of the youths said something nasty about barbarians who sought wisdom before they could even speak Greek, and the other two laughed. However, the graybeard cut through the ribaldry. "No, my good man, for he is not in Athens today."
"Indeed?"
"In fact he has gone off on a picnic, to revel with the nymphs and satyrs on Mount Hymettos, with Perikles's nephew Alkibiades. You may find him back here tomorrow. Where was I? Ah, yes ... whereas the Philolaos has been asserting the world to be a sphere, this speculation is shown to be absurd and untenable by ..."
"Now can we visit the Akropolis? Can we?" said Flin.
"Very well, my dear comrade."
They walked back to the south end of the Agora and thence to the path that wound up the west end of the Akropolis, through the Propylaia or entrance, and out at last on to the flat top of the great ship-shaped hill, about three hundred meters long and half as wide. With each step Flin's condition became more ecstatic until he broke into a run, dashing from statue to statue as if his life depended upon his seeing everything at once. He babbled happily, "That's the great Athene Promachos, Knut, though the name only goes back ... A Pheidias original! Think of it!"
He put out a finger and delicately touched the brazen foot of the ten-meter colossus.
"Looks bovine to me," said Bulnes. "I thought some of those others were prettier."
Flin, as if he had not heard, was reading the dedicatory inscription on a huge ornamental bronze chariot, almost big enough to have been pulled by elephants: "... the spoils taken from the Boiotians and Euboians ..."
He moved on to where a group of workmen were planting a life-sized statue of Athene on its pedestal, with ropes and grunts. "And this must be Myron's group of Athene and Marsyas, only Marsyas isn't mounted yet. Excuse me," he said to an elderly man directing operations, "but are you Myron?"
"Why yes," said the man.
Flin shut his eyes and squeezed his hands together. "I've seen Myron! I've seen Myron! Isn't it the most dashed wonderful thing you ever saw, Knut? I don't care if I die tomorrow, now I've seen this! Come on, there's the Parthenon!"
And off he galloped, sandals flapping. "No, the entrance is around the far end."
"Why," asked Bulnes, "should they put the entrance at the east end when you come up on to the Akropolis from the west?"
"Some religious reason, or perhaps they wanted the rising sun to light the statue inside for dawn ceremonies. Isn't it beautiful? Isn't it gorgeous?"
Bulnes said, "I must say the Akropolis looks different from what I expected. All those bright colors give the effect of one of the gaudier American amusement parks."
"Didn't you know they painted their temples and statues? I hope after all we've gone through it's the real original Akropolis and not a modern imitation, like that one in Nashville or whatever that American city is."
Chapter Eight
Three hours later they slouched into the inn of Podokles. Bulnes said, "I've got museum feet, and I think a nice big mug of wine — thank you, my dear Podokles. Wiyem, if you find yourself broke in Athens, you can make a living as a tourist guide. But don't try to show everything at once. I've seen so many statues they all look alike to me.