The sea sent out its horses to gallop that night. The pounding of the waves echoed all the way to the alleys of the Great Castle, which had been sprinkled for hours by the fine rain, kneading the mud with the help of the footsteps of people and animals. The notebook of time wrote: October 15, 1937. Diravenas, passing by the ancient building that housed the Heraklion Pedagogical Academy, turned right onto Xopatera Street. They had given him the nickname "Diravenas" because he boasted that his great-grandfather came from Ravenna, Italy. His baptismal name was Frangios, but by now no one remembered it. He walked without a hood, without an umbrella, barely able to see, as he was lit only faintly by the windows of the houses. He turned left at the next narrow street and stopped. He looked back, opened his huge jaw toward the sky, and yawned loudly. Not a soul was around. It was nearing nine o'clock, and the neighborhood's householders, drained of strength and endurance, were huddled in their homes.
He walked a little further, planted himself under a small window, and began to sing, admittedly, in a tolerable manner: "Open the window to see and be seen / by the eyes that desire you and long for you. You are the blossom of the blossoms and the apple of the apple tree / you are the one who was born together with the sun..." But he stopped abruptly, something startled him and scared him. He darted his gaze around, pricked up his ears, and sniffed the air like a hound. "What the devil..." he muttered, placing his palm as a visor on his forehead, trying to make out something in the darkness toward Xopatera Street. At first, he could only distinguish a blurry outline. Until he widened his eyes and started braying like a beaten donkey.
