Voices from the Past
Alcaeus is in his element, determined to help these derelicts: he’s captainagain, in command: he’s kinder and more resolute with this trio, which he be-lieves he understands: oh, I sympathize with these sun-blackened wanderers,these lovers of freedom who defied jailers. I, too, know what it is to defy, andwhat it costs.
I sent them food but I could not go to them.
Later, I changed my mind; I wanted to see them, to see what their failure haddone to them, what their fight had cost. I decided I might be able to encouragethem, so I brought Atthis and we asked Libus to let us in and we talked to twoof them, giving them food and helping them eat and drink, and everything wentwell till the mad fellow heard us and hurled himself against the bedroom doorand burst in, to collapse in a heap, jabbering, writhing, eyes rolled back.
Atthis jumped from her chair and cried:
“Uh...how terrible...like a worm!”
Libus knelt by the young man and his hands quieted him. Not a word wassaid: then he turned to Atthis:
“He’s been through a lot. Exposure...heat...no food... We can help him. He’llbe all right, in time.”
With a few reassuring words, he got the fellow up and led him away.
Later, I learned that one of the older men is a cousin of Phaon’s. Phaon hasheard the details of their days on the raft, and I am pleased by his kindness, thehours he gives to stay with the pair.
He and Libus are restoring them: food and encouragement are cancellinghorror. Even the mad fellow is mending, eating and drinking normally, talkingrationally much of the time. Phaon’s cousin claims he fought with Alcaeus, butAlcaeus can’t identify his bearded soldier: is it lapse of memory?
Or was it, as the cousin says, the period when Alcaeus lay injured, the spearwound in his skull healing, those weeks of pain that brought about his blindness?
(
Sappho and Phaon, in a small boat,
drift seaward, oars dragging:
shimmering light seems to tow the boat seaward.
Stripping, bronze, Phaon dives
expertly and brings Sappho a handsome conch:
listening to the shell they lie in the boat
and begin to make love,
a bronze gull sculptured on the sky,
the sound of waves.
P
haon’s crew is loading his ship with pottery for Byzantium, a cargo that has to bedelivered soon. This realization sharpens our love, though he thinks too little ofdistant voyages and I trouble him too much with warnings.
Summer is upon us and I accept the lethargy of eating, sleeping, dreaming.He likes summer heat, our damp bodies, my sticky perfume and sticky fingers...cool drinks. He enjoys fruit mixed with coconut and has had my girl preparemixed salads...
“Fruit. In hot weather, nothing’s so good. And there’s never any fruit at sea.”
“Not for long.”
“You know...when I come back, Kleis may be married. Your family will bebigger, you know.” He talked languidly, with his cheek against mine, as we sat onthe beach.
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
The thought troubled me—fixing time around me: Kleis could not be thisold!
Baskets and dishes cluttered the sand around us, wind puffing, light ebbing tolavender, fog on the water, floating above the surface, a boat creeping, its mastslicing misty layers, moving between floors.
What shall I give him for luck—a charm? A coin?
Why not my mother’s drachma? She was lucky: there was no war in her time:she had lovers and then a husband to whom she was faithful. She did not haveto endure an island without young men and know what it was to live amongwomen for ten years.
Yes, the old initialed drachma of hers...
The loading of the amphorae was delayed and we sailed in his smaller boat,with a crew of three, to the bay where the wreck lies, our sailing so smooth thehem of my skirt hardly swayed. Phaon equipped us for diving and since theocean lay incredibly calm, we located the wreck easily by tacking in circles. Kelphad snared the masts—giant legs of brown. Her masts struck fists against us, asgreenish fish crossed and recrossed her deck. Splinters of light sank straws, fidg-eting straws that reached the dragon’s gold and red.
I worried, afraid of kelp and fish.
Phaon disappeared beyond our bow: his brown arms yanked at the kelp; hebobbed and swam toward me, treading water, puffing.
“Let me help you.”
“No. It’s too deep,” I refused.
He and his crewmen dove by holding rocks meshed in pieces of net; theycoaxed me until I had to try, sliding down rapidly, too fast for me: I knew Icould let go of the rock or jerk the line attached to it and be towed upward; Iwanted to be brave and gulped and oozed out bubbles, peering up. I wanted toput my feet on the wreck but I never reached her. Lungs bursting, I swam up-ward, soared, unable to see clearly. My lungs hurt a long time afterward, as I layon deck, amazed at the crew’s folly and strength: there was no end to their en-thusiasm, their plunges from deck and rigging: by sunset, they had hackedthrough the wreck, entering the dead cabin: when we raised anchor and swungfor shore I was glad, and hungry.
That night, I dreamed of gaping fish that carried coral fans: our sail became anet that filled with fish of reddish hue, then sank, to be towed to sea: all night agentle sea rocked us, the dipper above our rocky shore.
In the morning, while the bay lay limpid, before I could finish eating, ourmen dove and chopped. As I lazed, birds spiraling, someone hollered and floun-dered toward our boat and I rushed to the side to see a sailor with a green cup,treading water, offering me his prize.
So the men had not been excited for nothing.
Phaon was as pleased as his men. Hunkered on the deck beside me, he nickedthe green of the cup’s rim and uncovered gold, the gold gleaming. I’ll rememberhis hands as he passed the cup to me.
Who made it, how old is it, how long was it below? we asked each other, as Iheld the cup, our deck swaying.
The crew’s crazy conjectures and laughter went on, as they went on diving.
It was hard for them to give up and sail for home: stars pegged our riggingand flipped over glassy combers: fish leaped: we watched as great white crestsrose: we slept and woke, our deck slanting, boom groaning.
Phaon woke and we talked, of our separation and reunion.
“You will be gone a long time!”
“Perhaps my trip won’t be so long.”
“Let’s come back to the old wreck.”
“Will you dive?”
“I tried...”
We whispered and saw the dawn, a dawn that had streamers of rain splotch-ing the horizon, pelicans one after the other in long files, our island in the offing,quite black.
(
I was sleepless most of the night, getting out of bed, restless because of thewarmth, standing by my window, waiting for a breeze, the stars out, Mercury butno moon, the stars and the crickets and a nightingale and the sea, and someone,somewhere in the house, moving, then silence. I was thinking of him, wantinghim, and I began a poem, changed it, rephrased it, thinking, my body needing hisbody:
Slick with slime to satiety he shoots forward
playing such music upon those strings,
wearing a phallus of leather,
such a thing as this enviously,
twirls, quivering masterfully,
and has for odor the hollow mysteries,
orgies for leaving, orgies for coming;
the oracle comes, comes with companions,
comes with mysteries, lover of mine,
displays this randy madness I joyfully proclaim.
I started the poem once more...such a thing as this enviously, that’s suitable...twirls, quivering masterfully...hollow mysteries...there are good things...
Dawn came and there were the sounds of pigeons, gulls, servants coming andgoing, girls wh
ispering...the laughter of girls.
(
The bay lay almost black and Phaon’s ship was quiet, its mahogany railsshining, someone leaning over, utterly motionless. I looked about for a movingbird or a boat. Huddled on the wharf near me, a man slept, toothless mouthopen, nets over his legs and thighs. A similar mesh covered the water, as far as Icould see.
Wanting to say good-bye, I stood to one side beside Atthis and Gyrinno,chilled, afraid. The slow unwrapping of the clouds irked me: a number of menarrived and carried bundles aboard, their motions slow, their laughter irritating.Was man always oblivious?
Then, from at sea, voices came, shifting uneasily, an oar creaking betweenunintelligible words, a dog whining, a girl coughing. Loneliness filtered from thesky and depths.
The man still leaned over the rail...
“Off with the ropes.”
“Everyone’s aboard.”
“Let’s sail.”
It was Phaon’s voice: “let’s sail”: and he called to me, called to all of us: Iheard Libus and Alcaeus: I heard the oars: as the ship headed seaward, Atthishugged me and my loss was in that receding figure at the stern, sail climbing themast behind him: had I shouted good-bye?
Bitterness struck me: again I knew I had no right to such a mood. Better tohave a fling at Charaxos, there on the wharf, in his white clothes, sullen, belli-cose, his friends snubbing me as we walked past.
Home seemed meaningless.
Had Alcaeus felt this way, on his return?
I knew he had and knew he had had ample reason and threw back my head,as I opened my door, and walked to my room alone, determined to think clearly:but it was no more than a resolve and the loneliness of those sea voices cameand that voice, saying: “Let’s sail.”
My ocean window called me.
Was that his ship, that mere dot, that point of wood under banks of cloud?
I couldn’t keep back my tears: what was it, his spirit, his dignity, his thor-oughbred body? No, it was the conjunction of these and the very thought, thissummary, increased my sense of loss. He was warmth, impulse, reason for living.Words! And he was more than words!
By now the dot had disappeared and against the clouds, birds wheeled anddrifted and scattered raindrops fell, scenting the air. I went out and let them wetmy face and take away the sting and then closed the shutters of my room and laydown.
Rain has such music.
I let it lull me to sleep, sleep, in the morning, warm, in my bed, a day or ayear...sleep...was it from the depth of the sea?
That night a storm engulfed us, ransacking our trees, banging our shutters,moaning over the roof until Atthis got into bed with me, thoroughly scared.
“Don’t be afraid, darling.”
“I am...I am...Aren’t you?”
“No...maybe a little.”
“What about Phaon?”
“He’s far at sea by this time.”
“But isn’t that bad, to be far at sea?”
“I don’t know...hush.”
I resented her pliant body and scented arms and hair: yes, at sea, Phaon mustbe battling gigantic combers: his cargo might shift...his sail might... When Atthishugged me, I felt stifled and yet, as she quieted and the storm continued, I wasgrateful I could comfort her. If I could not have Phaon, I, at least, had someonewho loved and needed me.
Rain and wind knocked open the shutters and I rose and closed them anddried my feet and got into bed again.
Floor tiles had chilled me.
Rain cuffed roof and sides of the house... I heard the surf growing wilder,sloshing over rocks, climbing the lower cliffs, rising and falling onto itself with ahiss.
I straightened my hair on my pillow, knowing I had hours to wait: I said,you’ve seen a lot of storms, sleep. Your island isn’t in danger. But, nothing couldkeep me from thinking of his boat and its struggle. I named off members of hiscrew. I named their families.
Phaon’s cousin was with him—a wretched re-initiation, after those hideousdays on the raft.
I heard Anaktoria and Gyrinno talking in the next room.
I thought of the madman, living with Alcaeus, walking about with him: I’llmake something of him, Alcaeus had said to me, the face revealing that his mad-ness had not left him.
Joy and exaltation are the triumphs...
today is the imminence...
even shadows have their fire...
the stars burn...
O, sea rover, fight...
(
THE STORM SPLIT ROOFS AND HURLED BOATS ASHORE, UPROOTING TREES,DAMAGING WALLS.
Slowly, the old town pulls itself together.
Old town—you have seen many storms during your centuries. Is it true, youlet this one slip past you and sent it to sea? You should have kept it! You canwithstand battering better than a small ship! Is it true, what the fishermen say,that many were drowned?
Men and boys go about town, picking up tiles to load their baskets.
Driftwood clutters the beach.
(
Men were hurling stones, grabbing them off the beach and throwing them. Iheard them hit Pittakos and saw him stagger, his flapping rags jerking, his armflung over his eyes. Silent, feet wide apart, he stayed his ground.
Alcaeus, facing the sea, lidless-eyed, roared and lunged about, arms extended,yelling:
“Kill him...kill him...let me wring his neck!”
Beside him, the madman off the raft, howled and hurled stones.
About a dozen men were circling Pittakos, most of them blabbing defiance,closing in.
I rushed to Alcaeus and squeezed past him, to cry out... I told them to stop,asking them to stop in the name of our island, our town.
“Get back,” Alcaeus warned.
I faced them, feeling their hate: it bubbled through me, seemed to ooze fromthe sand, from the sea, from antiquity: the hates of my ancestors, hatred of tyr-anny and unfairness.
No one threw: they watched me, as I walked toward Pittakos: maybe theythought I had a stone.
“You get back,” I cried. “Go home, before they kill you, Pittakos. Get backeveryone...go home.”
Nervously folding and unfolding his robe, Pittakos backed away. A handwent to a spot where a stone must have struck. I felt no pity but stepped closer.
“I don’t know what caused these men to turn on you... I don’t want toknow...go home, before it’s too late.”
Without replying, he shuffled away, a sandal off.
“Is he going?” asked Alcaeus, finding me, hand on my shoulder.
“Let him go,” I said, facing the others.
Grasping Alcaeus, I forced him to walk with me, muttering to him, seeingThasos, dropping his stones with a guilty grin.
I wanted to forget the faces but I knew most of the men: young, beardedfaces, most of them friends of Alcaeus, some of them his soldiers.
“Don’t lead me,” Alcaeus protested.
“You need to be led.”
“You came at the wrong time.”
“What’s to become of you?”
“Let me go,” he said.
“I’ll see you home. Here, Thasos, take his arm. Thasos, were you mad?”
“We should have stoned him.”
“Why?”
“He quarreled with Alcaeus—spat on him.”
(
Alcaeus leaned on me and I sensed his weariness as if it were mine: he wasbreathing hard and had to rest, stopping again and again. Behind us, his madmanwandered, his Pamphilus.
“I’m too old for this kind of horseplay, it seems.”
Thasos and I were saddened by his tragic features; we frowned; minute wrin-kles had enlarged and deepened; his hands trembled; his mouth was open. Heseemed in the past, with his men, galled, waiting: What is memory for, I askedmyself, to crucify? Shut off from the day, is this the best memory can d
o?
When I sat with him at home, I said:
“What was the quarrel about?”
“First, some water.”
Thasos brought us water. The cool of his gourd helped.
“Pittakos has stolen from the city...again...I came at him with the facts...Iknow the truth...many of us know.”
We remained silent a while, my hand in his.
“It’s an old truth—for us,” I said.
“Very old,” he said.
Presently, the madman entered, carrying himself stiffly, chalk faced, chastised.Oblivious of us, appearing more normal than any time I had seen him, he talkedwith Thasos, regretting the incident.
Soft-talking men, inside an inner room, brought home to me the. innocenceof our own lives, how based on impulse, how like kelp, twisting, sinking, headedfor shore, dragged to sea: we are mad, we are sane, or between: we exert our-selves and the world seeks revenge; we accept and earn ridicule and belittlement:we affirm ourselves and alter our lives and the lives of others: war is such anaffirmation.
Innocence? Why not call all life innocent because dependability can not beassured. And, if life is innocent, then what is there but compassion and patienceand kindness and beauty and love?