Odysseus: The Return

  The banquet was rich: bread and meat were served, with exquisite wine from the palace vineyards. The guests nonetheless showed moderation in eating and drinking and preferred conversation to filling their stomachs. They spoke about their families, the teachers they’d chosen to educate their children, about their dreams and about their adventures in youth. They were unable to count back many generations of ancestors, although they knew that their people had always lived close to the primitive, savage races that Mother Earth and Nature had generated in their attempt to create beings who were more knowing and conscious of their own destiny. The Phaeacians had fled cyclopes and giants and had persevered on their own path to perfection. They spoke of the gods as though they were very familiar with them; they would often notice them participating in sacrifices or catch glimpses of them in the hours when the light of day was most uncertain, in the early morning or at twilight, in the fields or on the sea or along deserted beaches.

  When the tables were cleared a servant brought a cup of red wine and placed it next to the poet. He took a sip and then began his song. Seeing him brought to mind the lonely minstrel who had offered to sing for me that sad evening when I had failed in my mission in Troy with Menelaus, and I was contemplating my melancholy return. My heart had had a premonition, and rightly so, anticipating the terrible, unending sorrows I would have to bear in the bloody fields below the sacred walls of Troy.

  Thoughts of Troy returned, as we listened to Demodocus’ song, with words and a melody so strong and intense that they have remained with me all these long years.

  Allow me, oh Phaeacians, illustrious, glorious race

  To sing to you of how a terrible quarrel was born

  Between swift-footed Achilles and perseverant Odysseus

  On how to bring down the proud city of Troy

  Whether through brute force or by deceit.

  I could barely remember that happening, but the poet brought it back to life for me. I recalled that argument, in wanax Agamemnon’s tent: Achilles believed that only the force of the spear and the sword could win the day. I had told him then: ‘You speak that way because you are so strong; you are invincible. For you the war is a source of everlasting glory, for our companions it is nothing but bitter suffering and obscure death. If my mind can find the way to end this interminable war by bringing down Troy, I will make her fall!’

  Thus the poet recalled that day long ago and my heart melted in my chest. As he went on with his melodious verses I felt hot tears rise to my eyes and I covered my face with my cloak. I wept without restraint. Those memories were too painful. It was painful too to realize how much time had passed since then if such events had reached the very ends of the earth where they inspired the songs of poets. When the tears on my face had dried I lowered my cloak and I saw that Alcinous had been observing me. He was perhaps trying to understand who I might be, if such a tale had brought me to tears. And perhaps even the poet had noticed, blind though he was. Those who are deprived of the light of day reinforce other senses; they can smell pain like a lion scents fear. I didn’t take my leave until much later, although I yearned to retire to my room. I was suffering greatly, but couldn’t be disrespectful to the singer and the illustrious wanax of that supernal home. I wept again when I was alone, wetting the pillow with my tears.

  AS HER BROTHERS had already noticed, it wasn’t long before Nausicaa’s attentions towards me were more doting than dutiful. She was still in the age of dreams, and she thought of the future like a magical place and time where the joys of love and of pure, profound feeling would join to create a golden cloud, a garden of delicious fruits waiting to be picked. I did nothing to stop her from dreaming, but I never encouraged the admiration she had for me after I became aware it was turning into something else. I didn’t want my bitter destiny to contaminate hers and also I knew I wouldn’t be staying on that island any longer than necessary. I yearned to return to my home and my family but I also feared the mysterious equilibrium that was somehow holding Poseidon’s hatred towards me in check. I knew it could break at any time. That was why my name could not be pronounced in the air of Scheria.

  Nausicaa told me stories about her people and her ancestors, and she entertained me with her dulcet voice, accompanied by an instrument I’d never seen before: a small bellows, like the one that a blacksmith uses, which blew air into a dozen small silver pipes. The sounds that issued forth were soft and delicate; it was the closest thing I’d ever heard to a choir of girls singing. I saw that there was a lead weight on the bellows and that the little string that lifted it was tied to my princess’ foot.

  Then one day she asked me the question I could not answer: ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m . . . no one, a man abandoned by all, a beggar without a rag to cover myself. Not even the sea wanted me; she vomited me up onto the beach. It is not ingratitude that prevents me from answering you, nor am I hard-hearted. You are the sweetest and gentlest creature I’ve ever met and I would do anything for you, even at the cost of spilling my own blood . . .’

  ‘Don’t you trust me? What else do I have to do? How can I make you understand that what I feel for you fills my heart and wounds it at the same time?’

  I bit my lip; many words were waiting there but I couldn’t let them out. I didn’t want her to feel that way about me, didn’t want the love of this girl as she blossomed into womanhood. Happy would be the man who covered her with gifts and carried her in his arms to their wedding chamber, a husband in the bloom of youth himself. Not me! He was what she deserved, what her parents deserved, what this people of semi-gods deserved: not me! Not a creature cursed by men and gods, scorched down to the bottom of his heart by war and bloodshed.

  ‘The time will come, my wanaxa, luminous princess, but now I have to protect you. I am a man dogged by heartache and misfortune, and saying my name would bring on more of the same. That’s not what you want, is it?’

  THE POET sang on for another night: of deception this time, of the horse that caused sacred Troy to fall, of the death of Priam and his sons, of little Astyanax thrown over the walls by the savage warrior, flaming Pyrrhus. He sang of the bared breasts of proud Helen, of the weeping of the women taken in slavery along with their children, of the unquenchable flames that devoured the houses and the palace of fifty bedchambers.

  I could not hold back my tears this time either, and the king regarded me enquiringly. When the song of Demodocus was over, utter silence fell over the gathering. Alcinous approached and stood squarely in front of me. Nausicaa watched, her eyes flickering light and dark.

  ‘Who are you?’

  Once again I remained mute. I didn’t say a word and my silence spread over the room, over the guests, the king, queen and princes, lovely Nausicaa, the poet himself. If those white bulbs had been able to see he would have read who I was in my eyes.

  Alcinous finally spoke: ‘If our foreign guest does not want to reveal himself he must have his reasons. Some men suffer unspeakable horrors and cannot bring themselves to trust their fellow men again, for fear of more suffering. The night is already halfway through its course and the time has come for us to seek repose. May sleep restore strength to your limbs after the labours of the day and refresh you, for tomorrow will be a day of great celebration on the island. We remember and honour the voyage of our forebears who left Hypereia, our ancestral homeland, to seek a new home. We celebrate Poseidon, the blue god who embraces every land. It was he who led our people here, sending his dolphins to show us the path that would bring us to our beloved Scheria.

  ‘Our young men will take part in athletic games and the best will receive rich prizes. Many of them will surely hope to attract the attention of our daughter, who has not yet decided whose wedding gifts she will accept. They are all noble, young and brave, but . . . I would like our guest to be the man she chooses.’

  All those present were astonished at the king’s words. Nausicaa blushed. There was no way now of stopping the rumours from flying through the city, and I
would be hated for this. I remember the words my grandfather Autolykos used when he came to give me the name I bear: ‘I have come here today nursing hatred in my heart for many a person . . . So the boy’s name shall be Odysseus.’ I realized, suddenly, that I hadn’t met his shade among the pale heads when I called up Tiresias, the Theban prophet, from Hades. Had he been hiding from me?

  ‘He is a man who has suffered greatly,’ continued the great king. ‘He knows what sorrow is and he cannot desire anything but happy days, for himself and whoever is close to him.’

  I dropped my head in confusion. I couldn’t speak. Before taking my leave and retiring to my room, I turned my gaze to Nausicaa and saw that her eyes were glittering with tears.

  It was difficult for me to fall asleep that night. I kept hearing the automata who guarded the royal palace pacing back and forth, stretching their jaws and barking their metallic warning at the dark presences passing through the night.

  AS SOON as day broke, the bustle of the maids and servants cleaning the floors and staircases reached my ears. Singing and flute playing wafted up from the streets to greet the day of solemn festivities.

  I put on a pure white, freshly washed robe and decided to join the king, queen and other guests of the palace in the procession forming in front of the palace steps. We proceeded to the sanctuary, where Alcinous sacrificed a bull to Poseidon while a choir of young maidens raised their voices in a song that celebrated the long voyage of the Phaeacians from Hypereia to a new homeland far away from every other land. The bull was felled by the axe, the priests burned his thighs in honour of the god and the organs and other parts were roasted in preparation for the magnificent banquet that the king would provide for all his people after the games had been celebrated.

  I glanced around several times to see if there were any gods participating in the ceremony. Nausicaa had told me that sometimes they could be seen at sacrifices. But I didn’t recognize a single one and so was greatly relieved. If the blue god had appeared and laid eyes on me I could not have borne it; it would probably have been the death of me. I never saw my goddess any more. Those few times when I’d felt a hint of her presence were surely just a trick of my own mind; there was no one protecting me any longer.

  The procession continued to the great arena in the city’s main square, which opened onto the sea. There the king announced the start of the games.

  Many young men came forward, shiny with oil, muscular and in high spirits. They seemed like statues sculpted by a god. They competed in bouts of wrestling, jumping, discus- and spear-throwing. Those who were defeated slunk away with heads low. They were ashamed at losing under the gaze of the most noble and lovely maidens of the island, but above all at losing in front of Nausicaa. It was she who shone most brightly, so beautiful, radiant, gentle. The winners filed in front of the spectators to delight in their applause and glory in the looks they got from the girls and, finally, to receive their awards from the hands of Alcinous.

  I was sitting at a distance from Nausicaa so that no one would have any reason to carry on about the two of us. The king and queen would turn towards me now and then, and smile, wanting to put me at ease and make sure that I wasn’t becoming bored with a spectacle that didn’t interest me.

  At a certain moment, the youth who had most greatly distinguished himself, winning all the most difficult contests, approached the place where I was seated and addressed me: ‘Foreign guest!’

  At first I pretended not to have heard him in the general confusion and applause, but the crowd fell utterly silent at his cry, so I could not feign the second time around: ‘Foreign guest, word has it that you are a great warrior who has taken part in great endeavours. We Phaeacians are accustomed to welcoming and appreciating a man of great prowess. Why don’t you join us in our contests?’

  Everyone turned towards me. The king and queen appeared surprised at the invitation, which sounded more like a challenge; Nausicaa could not hide her concern. The games included sword duels, and of course anything could happen in such a match. That proud, lusty young man seemed to know exactly what he wanted and to be just as certain of getting it. It wasn’t hard to understand why he’d chosen me to pick on. Alcinous had declared his intentions and Nausicaa’s feelings towards me were clearly evident to many in the audience.

  I answered: ‘I’m grateful for your invitation, but these are games for young men. I’m weary and my limbs no longer have the vigour they once had. My only thought is returning to my home. I beg you to forgive me if I do not accept.’

  The youth turned towards the king and queen, and the spectators. Cocky with the victories already under his belt, he continued: ‘I understand. So we were wrong about him! We can’t expect the guest to boast of deeds he’s never accomplished. I don’t believe he ever was a warrior, or even a fighter. Perhaps he’s merely a merchant who wanders from port to port, one of those men who live off their cunning and are ready to sell the goods they’ve stolen from shipwrecks or the slaves they’ve captured, if the opportunity presents itself.’

  That was too much. A fierce heat rose from my chest. The flames that had licked at my heart in all those years of savage fighting on the fields of Troy blazed up and set my face on fire. How dare that disrespectful, unseasoned young man insult me thus? How could I sit back and be humiliated in front of the people who had taken me in and honoured me? In front of Nausicaa who had dressed me and fed me and whose heart swelled with a feeling for me that went well beyond respect or esteem? A blind, unrestrainable fury scorched my throat and, hoarsely, I shouted: ‘You are a fool, with no respect for a man older than you with more experience of life. Let’s see what’s bigger: your tongue or your heart. I’ll see you at the sword-duelling ring.’

  I threw off my cloak and leapt from my place onto the playing field. Six or seven discuses were lying there where the athletes had cast them. Instead, I grabbed a heavy bronze shield leaning on the fence and hurled it beyond all the markers. All of a sudden, a man appeared near me. He stared at me with penetrating green-blue eyes and with a wide smile said: ‘Nice throw!’ My heart trembled. He looked just like Damastes, my old weapons trainer, with a few white hairs at his temples. I tried to answer but the figure dissolved. At first it quivered like a mirage in the summer heat and then vanished. I wanted to shout out but I couldn’t take time to think. I had other things on my mind.

  The expression on the face of my young challenger changed at once. I strode across the field and seized a solid bronze weight of the kind used for long-jumping. I swung it around and let fly in his direction as if it were made of wood. It soared up into the air and then rained down, plunging into the earth with a dull thud. Less than half of it was visible. Then I crossed the javelin-throwing field. I grabbed the first one I saw and held its bitter tip up against the streaming sunlight. It shone with a sinister light. How many times, again and again, had I wielded this arm, how many times had my fist closed around the hilt, had my eye pinpointed my target like a falcon does his prey! I launched it with such force that it rammed into the ground just a few steps away from my adversary. He wasn’t laughing any more, nor was he speaking. Green terror gripped him and I could smell his fear as I got closer, until I found myself standing in front of him with a sword in my hand. A deathly silence fell over the arena.

  The youth tried to take me by surprise. He hoped that his youthful vigour might suffice to defeat me, but I was far more expert than one who had perhaps only ever played at fighting. Too often had I inflicted death. I knew only one way of striking: I aimed to kill.

  He attacked me with vigour, but his blows wasted his strength and were wielded with too little precision. I responded to one blow out of ten, but always struck my target. In no time, the boy was spilling blood from any number of wounds and the blood made me even fiercer and more violent. I circled around him like a wolf does to its prey. With my last blow I dodged his lunge and surprised him with a great cleaving swing from above. His already aching hand lost its grip and the sword fell fro
m his hand. I pressed my own against his neck, preparing to cut his throat.

  The face of a woman with her eyes full of tears stopped me. The anguished expression of his white-haired father made me drop my sword. I could not slaughter the son of such a generous, mild-natured people.

  ‘Don’t try it again,’ I told him. ‘Do not offend a guest who has suffered greatly.’ And I led him out of the ring. His head hung as shame welled up inside him. He wept.

  I walked to the centre of the arena and cried out: ‘So that all of you may be sure that I’m no merchant who buys stolen goods and drags slaves away in chains, know that I am Odysseus son of Laertes, king of Ithaca, destroyer of cities. My fame is as high as the sky!’

  A buzz passed through the crowd still seated in the arena. They all exchanged looks, whispered to one another.

  Nausicaa hid her tears in the sleeve of her gown.

  The king walked up to me: ‘That young man insulted you and it was your right to finish him off with your sword, but you showed pity on him, on his parents and on his people. We are all grateful to you for this. Only the greatest men are so magnanimous.’

  Hearing this filled my heart with peace and I felt like weeping myself. Just a few words from a rash young man had been enough to awaken the beast. My name had resounded like thunder in the air of Scheria and the blue god had certainly heard it, if he had not already left the land of the Ethiopians. I hoped ardently that my goddess had heard it as well and might come to my aid, but I couldn’t sense her, couldn’t feel the chill under my skin or hear her voice in the bottom of my heart.