02 _ Maltese Goddess, The by Lyn Hamilton Page B

nodded.
    “I’m studying history. You know they don’t teach us much of anything in school about our own history, just everybody else’s,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the statue of Queen Victoria in the square.
    “I have this great new teacher. She’s here from England, on a sabbatical, but she knows more about the history of Malta than anyone I’ve ever met. She’s teaching us about the ancient archaeological sites—she says they are among the oldest and most important in the Mediterranean. I’ve been going to see them since I was a little girl and I had no idea! I can hardly believe what she’s teaching us. We’re even doing a play about Malta’s history right from ancient times. The teacher calls it a tableau, or something. I have a small part in it.” She smiled shyly.
    “I think it sounds wonderful!”
    “Do you, honestly?”
    “I do, yes.”
    “She’s giving a public lecture Tuesday night at the University. I really want to go, but I’m not allowed to go by myself. I can’t ask my parents. The teacher talks about ancient gods and goddesses, and my parents would think that’s heretical. Anthony says maybe he’ll come, but I know he’s not really interested in anything except architecture, and anyway he has to study every night if he’s to get into the Academy next year. I don’t suppose…”
    “I’d love to come,” I said. And why not? I thought. By that time the painting and electrical work at the house would be done and the furniture would be mere, or at least on its way. A couple of hours off would be fine. “Just tell me where and when,” I said.
    Just then Anthony returned with the guidebook, and immediately showed me the section on Cassar. Sophia gave me a conspiratorial grin. Anthony, on learning that I planned to attend the lecture, suddenly announced that he too would attend. I told them I’d meet them there, and Anthony spread out the map that came with the guidebook and began to give me directions. He also pointed out other sights of interest, all designed by Cassar, of course, including something called Verdala Palace, not too far from the house.
    Then we sat companionably together watching as the late afternoon sun began to turn the yellow stones of the buildings around us to gold.
    As we did so, I got that feeling we all get occasionally, the feeling that we are being watched. I don’t know why or how we know. Perhaps it’s some vestigial remnant of an ability inherited from our earliest ancestors who lived in more dangerous times. But I think we are almost always right when we get this feeling. I scanned the crowd, and caught a glimpse of a now familiar figure near a column in the shade of the arcade that runs down one side of the square.
    “This island sure is a small place,” I said to my companions, trying to hide my unease as I pointed my fellow tourist out to them.
    “Neat outfit!” Anthony said admiringly. Sophia rolled her eyes.
    As we turned our attention to him, the Great White Hunter drew back quickly and vanished into the darkness of the arcade.
    “Skittish too,” Anthony said.
    “Creepy,” Sophia demurred.
    I agreed with her. I also think that in addition to knowing when we’re being watched, we sometimes have a sixth sense when a stranger wishes us ill. I had that feeling now.
    I shook off my apprehension, however, as the sun and the beauty of the surroundings soaked in, and was actually reluctant to leave the square when the three of us headed back. The house looked much the same as it had when I left. Except for a dead cat, strung up and swinging from the branch of a little tree in the backyard.
    FOUR
    From
tyre and sidon they come, the seafarers, children of Melqart, puissant protector of Phoenician sailors. Neither chart nor compass guides them, sights set on distant lands. Is it My temples, long abandoned, that beckon you from the safety of North African shores? Traders, craftsmen, keepers of the color purple, leave us alone. But