we joined our patient's father in the downstairs room, "this Timon Kokinis, who was he?"
"Timon Kokinis?"
"Précisement, Monsieur, have I not said so?"
“He was a childhood friend of Anastasia's. His parents escaped from Smyrna with my wife and me when the American destroyers took us from the burning city. He and she were born in this country and grew up together. We Greeks are rather clannish, you know, and prefer to marry in our own nationality, so when the children showed a fondness for each other his father and I naturally assumed they'd marry."
"Perfectly, Monsieur. We make such arrangements in France, too; but the happy consummation of your plans was frustrated by the young man's death?"
"Not quite, Dr. de Grandin. Timon was a wild lad, rather too fond of the bottle, and with a hard streak of cruelty in him. He was two years Anna's senior, and almost from babyhood seemed to think he owned her. When they went to grammar school it was she who carried both their books, not the other way around, as usually happens, and if he did not feel like doing his homework, which he seldom did, he made her do it for him, then meet him at his house early enough for him to copy it. If she displeased him he would beat her. More than once she came home with a blackened eye where he had struck her in the face with his fist.
"By the time they reached high school he had become completely possessive. She was afraid to look at another boy or even have an intimate girl friend."
"Afraid, Monsieur?"
"Yes, sir; literally. Timon was an athlete, a four-letter man, and more than a match for any of his classmates. If he caught Anna at the soda fountain with another boy he did not hesitate to slap her face, then beat her escort unmercifully."
"Mordieu, and you permitted this?"
Mr. Pappalukas raised his brows and drew the corners of his mouth down. "The Levantine does not regard such things as Western Europeans and Americans do, sir. With us it is the woman's place to serve, the man's to command. Perhaps it is the relic of centuries of Turkish oppression, but—"
"And Mademoiselle your daughter? She was born here, grew up here. Surely she had no such Oriental ideas?"
Once more Mr. Pappalukas made that odd grimace that seemed almost a facial shrug. "Anna had been, brought up in a Greek household, Dr. de Grandin, and Timon was conspicuously handsome—like one of our old demigods. From infancy she had been led to expect she would marry him—”
“But ultimately there was a break?”
“Yes, sir; ultimately. I don't think Anna ever loved Timon. She accepted the thought of their marriage as she might have accepted him as a brother, because there was no help for it, but notwithstanding her strict rearing and his possessive attitude she began to rebel before she was through high school. When war came and he joined the Army she broke away completely. We could not very well object to her engaging in Red Cross activities, and the contacts that she made in the work changed her attitude entirely. When Timon came back she told him she would not honor the engagement his father and I had made for them in infancy."
"And Monsieur Timon, how did he take her rebellion?"
"He flew into a rage and beat her so severely that she was in bed a week. Then I took sides with her, and the engagement was definitely broken. When I refused to force her to marry him he called a curse down on her, saying she should surely die a prey to a vrykolakas, which is to say—"
"One comprehends, Monsieur. And afterwards?"
"After that he shot himself."
De Grandin's little round blue eyes lit up with that sharp light I knew portended action. "One understands, in part, at least, Monsieur. You have been very helpful. It now remains for us to find a way to circumvent that curse."
"Then"—Mr. Pappalukas’ voice trembled—"you think my daughter's illness is no natural thing?"
