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‘It can’t have been an accident,’ I began, and then ‘No. Let’s be more careful. Could Ctesias have fallen into the vat by accident between dusk and dawn? Perhaps, if for some reason he climbed the ladder to the top, and fell in. But then, why didn’t he try to climb out? It wouldn’t have been too difficult.’
Philodemus intervened: ‘If he did fall in, he might have been knocked out.’
‘True,’ I said, reasoning the thing through, ‘but if, after falling in, he was still unconscious or asleep when the gaffer checked the vat in the morning, he would have been as obvious on the bed of olives as a dried squid on a fruit sundae. So, by the morning, he or his body must somehow have already been covered over by the original load of olives.’ Samson gagged: ‘This was my friend, you bastard!’ I made a bow and a gesture of apology, sighing as I did so: ‘ Forgive me. Tell us about him.’
Samson spoke warmly, but with hesitations and rushes of enthusiasm. Through his words came a vivid picture of a man, and a patchy impression of the circumstances in which he had lived. I remember a particular phrase:
‘You know, he could be sharp, very sharp. But he loved people. Even if he sometimes made a wound, you saw that it was done with love.’
‘What kind of wound do you mean?’ I asked.
(4/7)