I grabbed my dress-I had been lying on it-and started tearing it up.

“My God,” I said. “That was close. What happened?”

“I would say that was obvious,” said Jim.

“Rockslide. I know. But why then? The horse was long gone.”

“Who cares?” Jim’s voice was weaker. “A minor quake, maybe. I wouldn’t have noticed…”

I mopped the blood off his face. Most of the cuts were small ones. I thought it was shock that made his face such a funny color till I noticed the puddle of blood under his head.

He yelped when my fingers probed and found a long gash at the back of his head. The blood was coming out in a thick, steady stream. His hair was already soaked. I tore off another wad of cloth and held it against the wound. I was scared, but I don’t think it showed in my voice.

“Look, you lie still. I’ll go for help.”

“I can walk. Let’s get going, before I get any weaker.”

I helped him up. His back, which had taken most of the punishment, was a mess, all scraped and bloody.

“There’s a house down there,” I said, pointing.

“No, thanks. They’ll slap some goat dung on it and say a prayer. Chris has medical supplies.”

We started down the hill, but we hadn’t gone far before I knew he’d never make it to the village, not on his feet.

“We’re not far from our house,” I said, panting. “If you can get that far-”

He didn’t have to get that far. A few minutes later Frederick appeared around a curve in the path. I had never been so glad to see him.

Frederick didn’t seem to share my feelings. His brows drew together in a scowl, and he exclaimed, “Must you go about the countryside embracing like a pair of cheap hippies? Not only is it in poor taste-”

Jim chose that moment to fold up. We went down together, our knees buckling in perfect harmony, and it dawned on Frederick that things were not quite as they seemed.

“What happened?” he asked. His voice was only slightly less irritated.

“Can’t you see he’s hurt?” I snarled. “Don’t stand there, give me a hand.”

Frederick hauled Jim to his feet and draped a limp arm over his shoulders. I took the other arm and we started walking.

“Where are you planning to take him?” Frederick asked.

“Our place; it’s the closest. You can go for the doctor while I-”

“There is no doctor,” said Frederick distantly. “Not in the village. What happened to him?”

“Rockslide. I suppose part of the cliff was weakened by the quake.”

“Ah. And may I inquire how it happens that you are unmarked, whereas he has cuts only on his back?”

It wasn’t what he said, it was the way he said it.

“I am unmarked because he shielded me,” I said shortly. “If it’s any of your damn business.”

“Hmph,” said Frederick. “Save your breath. You’ll need it, this stretch is rough.”

It was rough, and steep; but I couldn’t help noticing that it showed no signs of fresh disturbance. There had been no falls of rock anywhere-except right above where we happened to be lying.

I put the idea out of my mind. Living with Frederick was infecting me with his delusions of persecution.

Frederick had an extensive collection of medical supplies, including antibiotics, which you can buy in Europe without a prescription. He got to work on Jim with ruthless efficiency, ignoring Jim’s groans and curses. The big cut wasn’t as deep as I had feared, and after an examination that made Jim rise to new heights of profane comment, Frederick announced that there didn’t seem to be a fracture or concussion. He then jabbed a hypodermic needle into a little sealed bottle of penicillin, and ordered me out of the room.

I stared at him. I was standing there holding bloody bandages and a basin of bloody water. My hands were bloodstained. I had watched the whole process without any signs of squeamishness. I couldn’t understand why he was suddenly so considerate of my nonexistent sensitivities. Then Jim, who was lying on his stomach with his chin propped on his folded arms, turned his head painfully and winked at me.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I said, catching on. “Really, Frederick, you are archaic.”

I slammed the door behind me; but when I was outside I couldn’t help laughing. This was a side of Frederick I had never seen. He was behaving like a stuffy, old-fashioned…Father.

I didn’t feel like laughing anymore. But don’t get me wrong, I didn’t feel teary and sentimental either. I wasn’t anxious for Frederick to develop paternal feelings about me-especially when the feelings all seemed to be negative.

I invited Jim to stay, realizing there was nothing for supper except those everlasting tin cans, but he insisted on going back to the hotel. Frederick agreed with him, pointing out that the path was tricky after dark, and that Jim shouldn’t risk falling on his head a second time. I gave my kindly old father a long, thoughtful look. He returned it with interest.

The three of us started out. Jim was walking with the careful steadiness of a drunk who is not certain his head is tightly anchored to his neck. Frederick hadn’t offered him any pain pills, not while I was around, anyway. We talked stiltedly-God knows what about, I wasn’t listening, not even to myself. I was wondering what would happen when we ran into Sir Christopher, Frederick ’s old war buddy.

He was sitting on the hotel terrace when we reached the plaza. His bald head shone in the light of the lanterns Angelos had strung along the arbor. I rather expected Frederick to turn back then. But he didn’t, he marched on, holding Jim by the arm, like a keeper returning an escaped lunatic. And it was in that spirit that he addressed Sir Christopher.

“Better keep an eye on him tonight,” he remarked, without a word of greeting. “There is always the possibility of concussion.”

Sir Christopher, always the perfect gent, had risen. He stared down at Jim’s bowed head in understandable surprise, and then looked at Frederick.

“Hello, Frederick. Good of you to look after my young friend. What happened to him?”

All in order, you see-the greeting, the polite thank-you, the pertinent question. He even managed to nod and smile at me during the speech.

I explained about the rockslide, with a little tribute to Jim’s quick-thinking courage, which had saved me from injury. It was now Frederick ’s turn to make a graceful comment acknowledging Jim’s kindness to his young friend. He didn’t, and I suppose nobody expected him to.

Sir Christopher shook his head. “I did warn you, I believe, about being in a ravine or under a cliff during a tremor.”

“I don’t think it was a quake,” I said. “The rider dislodged some stones when he went by. Maybe others were loosened.”

“Rider?” Sir Christopher repeated.

Jim sat up straight. He was looking better.

“You know, the old guy who rides, back in the hills. The one who lives in the villa on the headland.” He turned to me. “I found out who he is, did I tell you? At least I found out what he is. German. They call him the Colonel.”

Frederick was sitting to my right, balancing on two legs of the chair and staring at the darkening sky, as if to express his boredom with the lot of us. I wasn’t looking at him when Jim spoke, but his reaction would have been hard to miss. The legs of the chair hit the ground with a crash. As I whirled around I saw that his face had gone gray. He tried to speak, but only a gurgle emerged from his gaping mouth. Then he fell forward onto the table, smashing Sir Christopher’s coffee cup.