The Magus by John Fowles
On the far side of the village there was another harbour, used exclusively by the local fishermen. It was avoided by everyone from the school, and by everyone with any claim tο social ton in the village… There were three tavernas, but only one was of any size. It had a few rough wooden tables outside its doors.
John Fowles
British Novelist
After leaving Oxford University, Fowles taught English at a school on the Greek island of Spetses, a sojourn that inspired The Magus,
Once before, coming back from one of my solitary winter walks, I had gone there for a drink; I remembered the taverna-keeper was loquacious and comparatively easy to understand. By island standards, and perhaps because he was an Anatolian by birth, conversable. His name was Georgiou… On Sunday morning I sat under the catalpa and he came up, obsequiously delighted to have caught a rich customer. Yes, he said, of course he would be honoured to have an ouzo with me. He called one of his children to serve us… the best ouzo, the best olives. I let him ask the usual questions. Then I set to work. Twelve or so faded carmine and green caϊques floated in the still blue water in front of us. I pointed to them.
It’s a pity you do not have any foreign tourists here. Yachts.
Ech.” He spat out an olive-stone. “Phraxos is dead.”
“I thought Mr Conchis from Bourani kept his yacht over here sometimes.”
From The Magus, by John Fowles, c. 1966, Vintage classics 2004, pp. 387-388
