Would she forgive him? No pilgrimage would have been too long for him if she would relieve him of his misery. With some difficulty, the relations between Italy and Greece still being strained, he obtained a permit, and after further efforts he succeeded in getting on board an Italian vessel at Brindisi, laden with troops.
The next day at sundown Corfu appeared, set in the swelling sea. In the leaden channel they dipped their ensign to Count Cavour, Julius Cæsar, Saint Mark, Leopardi and all kinds of Italian celebrities painted iron-grey, armed with naked guns trained on the old citadel protected by its interlacing vines. The principal buildings sought shelter under the white flag. The whole town was peacefully doing its laundry. The Italians had just declared a blockade against the island.
At the Hôtel de la Belle Venise, Lewis heard that the Greek ships with their passengers were confined to the south, in the Khalkiopoulo Bay. He went there at sunset.
It was raining. Confusedly, in the westerly wind, the Greek destroyers with their financiers' names and their metal masts through the lattice work of which the sky shone like new wine, jostled transport ships, cargo boats from Patras, unable to proceed on their journeys, and even feluccas laden with flour and asphalt stopped in their island coast trade and guarded by searchlights from Italian hydroplanes.
Like a belated sailor returning to his ship, Lewis, in a boat rowed by two men on the bilious sea, was looking with the aid of a pocket lamp for the Basileus II, on board which Irene was. In the darkness he strayed amongst screw-blades, beneath the stiff figure-heads and amongst the anchor cables; one heard concertinas, forecastle songs, the creaking of masts and the barking of dogs on the sailing ships. A trimmer emptied a scuttle of clinkers almost on top of him. Idle passengers, to relieve the boredom of quarantine, gazed at him over their black bulwarks and cursed him in Greek.
At last a searchlight swung the night round and the word Basileus II appeared on a poop in letters of gold.
[XVI]
HE found her in her cabin. A bunk with a wooden frame, a screwed-up porthole, washing soaking in the basin, open trunks. A fan churned the exhausted air. He faltered:
"Irene!"
"Don't touch me!"