Corelli's Mandolin

by Louis de Bernières

Stamatis appeared downcast: ‘Hippocrates says so? So I’ve got to be nice to her?’ The doctor nodded paternally, and Stamatis replaced his hat. ‘O God,’ he said. The doctor watched the old man from his window. Stamatis went out into the road and began to walk away. He paused and looked down at a small purple flower in the embankment. He leaned down to pick it, but immediately straightened up. He peered about himself to ensure that no one was watching. He pulled at his belt in the manner of girding up his loins, glared at the flower, and turned on his heel. He began to stroll away, but then stopped. Like a little boy involved in a petty theft he darted back, snapped the stem of the flower, concealed it within his coat, and sauntered away with an exaggeratedly insouciant and casual air. The doctor leaned out of the window and called after him, ‘Bravo Stamatis,’ just for the simple but malicious pleasure of witnessing his embarrassment and shame.