“I know—I know that she comes from Galilee, that she is nearly twenty years old, and that she lives in the Jews’ quarter, in the east end, near the gardens. But that is all.”
“And about her life, her tastes? can you tell me nothing? She is fond of women, since she came to see you. But is she altogether Lesbian?”
“Certainly not. The first night she passed here, she brought a lover, and I swear to you there was no make-believe about her. When a woman is sincere, I can see it by her eyes. That did not prevent her from returning once quite alone. And she has promised me a third night.”
“You don’t know whether she has any other amie in the gardens? Nobody?”
“Yes, one of her countrywomen, Chimairis. She is very poor.”
“Where does she live? I must see her.”
“She has slept in the wood for upwards of a year. She has sold her house. But I know where her den is. I can take you to it if you wish. Put on my sandals, will you?”
Demetrios rapidly buckled the plaited leather straps round Melitta’s slender ankles. Then he handed her her short robe, which she merely threw over her arm, and they departed in haste.
They walked far. The park was immense. From time to time, a girl under a tree proffered her name and opened her robe, then lay down again and leaned her face upon her hand. Melitta knew some of them: they embraced her without stopping her. Passing before a rustic altar, she gathered three great flowers and placed them upon the stone.