Odysseus: The Return

  ‘Glorious Odysseus,’ replied the king, ‘far be it from us to abandon you after all you have suffered on sea and land! No one can stave off his destiny; if the gods wish to strike us they will find other ways to do so. What I have decided will be.’

  ‘You’ve made the heart of our Nausicaa beat for you,’ the queen continued, ‘but you have respected her. It would have been easy for you to revel in a young girl’s love, but you have been sincere with her, you’ve spoken to her using true words and you have guided her towards her future life. This is a great joy for a mother, the greatest of gifts . . .’

  ‘You mustn’t feel that you are to blame . . .’ continued the king – they spoke like a single person with two different voices, the first deep and resonant, the second gentle. ‘No one is obliging us to do what we do. I trust that our father Poseidon will not unleash his anger on us who are his descendants. We always honour him with sacrifices and, when he honours us with his presence, we see his face in the billowing sea. The ship will be loaded by tomorrow, with plenty of water and food and many gifts. My sailors will take you home.’

  I was tremendously moved by those words and I wept hot tears as I stood before them: out of gratitude, admiration, at the thought that I might never see them again. I kissed their hands. There were so many things I wanted to say, but the words would not leave the circle of my teeth. A knot closed my throat. I said only: ‘You will be always in my heart, great king, sacred force, and you, luminous queen. If there is a god who listens to me, I would beg him to grant you every blessing. May your progeny flourish and may you one day be transported to a blissful land where there is neither cold nor frost, where drought never strikes, where a brilliant light always shines and the soil produces fruit spontaneously without any call for hard labour, for you have had pity on a man forsaken by all.’

  ‘There’s no need, Odysseus,’ said the king with a smile. ‘We’re already here.’

  ‘Now go,’ said the queen, ‘go to Nausicaa. There’s not much time left for you to be with her.’

  I followed her advice. Before leaving the room, I turned to take a look at them: handsome on their thrones and imperturbable. They looked like gods, and yet they were as mortal as I was, and one day they would have to die, abandoning everything they loved.

  I found Nausicaa where I had left her, on the wide colonnaded porch up on the palace facade. I leaned on the parapet next to her, my elbow nearly touching her own, so close I could smell the fragrance she wore, a blend of the mysterious blossoms cultivated in the secret gardens of the queen.

  ‘Nausicaa . . .’

  ‘Has the time come to say farewell?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘See? The prophecy doesn’t worry the Phaeacians, nor does the unfavourable weather.’

  ‘I didn’t want this. I asked your father for a boat I could sail on my own. I would have added an oar for steering. He wouldn’t listen to me. He wants to give me a ship and oarsmen and rich gifts that I do not deserve. Your parents are like the immortal gods when they sit on their thrones, and when they speak they show all the affection and warmth of simple men.’

  ‘Nice words. Few people know as many as you do, Odysseus, son of Laertes. You’ve readied such nice words just to say goodbye! Words for me to remember when I’m lying in bed watching the sea grow grey in the winter.’

  ‘There are no words for this, wanaxa. There’s nothing but sorrow for me, nothing but heartache.’

  ‘But do you remember what you said to me that day you appeared dirty and naked on the beach, covering your groin with a laurel branch?’

  ‘I do remember. “Pray, my lady, be you mortal or one of the gods who possess the infinite sky? You are so beautiful that only Artemis could resemble you . . .”’ Here my voice broke.

  ‘I believed you, do you know that?’

  ‘You were right to believe me. I was saying the truth. You can’t imagine what it means to spend days and nights in the dark, in the cold, wholly desperate, on the edge of the abyss, and then to wake up and hear girls laughing and to find an apparition before you . . . like you were, radiant, amber eyes and lips like lotus petals, your voice an enchantment. I really did think you were a goddess, because you didn’t run off like the others.’

  ‘Maybe I should have. You’re leaving now and I’ll never see you again.’

  ‘That is the only truth. I won’t tell you honeyed words – they would only hurt you.’

  ‘So you know what would hurt me. But do you know what would be good for me?’

  I bowed my head in confusion. Where was my brilliant mind, where was the ingenious Odysseus of old? I couldn’t manage to answer a girl who could have been my daughter.

  ‘I’ll tell you then, glorious Odysseus, son of Laertes, king of Ithaca, destroyer of cities. I took you in, alone among my companions who had all scattered away. I gave you food and drink, I washed and dressed you, I welcomed you to my home, I implored my parents to help you.’

  ‘It’s all true and you will be forever in my heart for this, as long as I live.’ How could she not see in my eyes how my soul was trembling?

  ‘Would you do something for me, then?’

  The sun was descending just then into the purple sea and the song of the birds among the cypress and myrtle boughs was softly silenced.

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Then give me a kiss. The first and the last, the only one. And then go. I don’t want you to see me crying.’

  She turned and threw her arms around my neck. I kissed her.

  ‘There are moments that are worth a whole lifetime,’ she said. ‘This is worth everything I did for you. Farewell.’

  ‘Farewell, my adored princess. May the gods grant you happiness for all the days of your life.’

  It was she who ran off, and I could hear the sound of her weeping until she disappeared into the dark rooms.

  It was time to turn on the lamps. The last flash of fire had gone out on the waves.

  15

  I DIDN’T SEE NAUSICAA AGAIN. She wasn’t present at the final banquet that the king and queen gave in my honour, inviting the elders and the counsellors, but it was better that way. Neither she nor I would have been able to face the evening without distress because every instant would have had us longing to be alone, to talk, or not to talk at all, just to look into one another’s eyes. And if my heart was already practised at losing or separating from a loved one, hers was not. It was the first time she’d fallen in love, with a nameless man who appeared out of nowhere on the shores of the island so far away from all other places, and who proved to be none other than the victor of the war that was already on the lips of all the poets.

  Despite all that abundant food, between one libation of red wine from the king’s own jugs and the next, all I could think of was leaving. The uncertainty of how I would find my wife again, my son, the father who was like a god for me, was agonizing. And an acute sense of melancholy was welling up inside me at the thought that Nausicaa would be sad and alone for who knows how long . . . until a new, real love drew her thoughts to a husband and a family, children to watch grow and to love. My face would fade, then; my features would dissolve into the mist of time. She would forget me.

  The rich gifts that Alcinous had heaped upon me were already stowed under the benches on the ship, and he’d asked the elders to add more of their own: urns and craters, cups and jewellery, treasure which put the plunder I had been carrying back from Troy to shame.

  The banqueting mercifully drew to a close and the time for my departure finally arrived.

  I approached the king and queen for our final farewells: ‘Wanax Alcinous, wanaxa Arete, rulers of this magnificent land, perhaps there is nothing that I can wish for you that you don’t already have, but I want to say that no matter where I may be, whether I have returned to the homeland I yearn for or whether my destiny has thrust me back again to the ends of the earth, you will always be in my heart. From the moment I leave these shores until the last instant of my life. May
the gods protect you and make everything your hearts desire come true.’ I kissed the queen’s hand as, I think, a tear fell upon it.

  The king accompanied me in person to the threshold. Before parting for the last time I said to him: ‘There’s something I’ve never dared to ask you, great king, but since I’ll never see you again I’ll do so now. Tell me, how does it feel to sit alongside a god in his true being?’

  Alcinous shook his head slightly and the curls of his long hair danced around his face. ‘Your heart groans as if a weight were pressed upon it, your breath quickens, some part of you evaporates like dew when the sun rises. Any number of things seem clear and evident and then they don’t. If he looks at you, you perceive innumerable visions in his eyes, some are recognizable, others are not. Truth is revealed in fragments. Many of the things which have astonished you on this island have emerged from these visions and these visits.’

  ‘And when he leaves?’

  ‘Relief, as if an enormous weight had been lifted from you. Mortals are no longer accustomed to the presence of the gods.’

  ‘Farewell, great king,’ I said. There was nothing more to add.

  ‘Farewell, glorious Odysseus, great king.’

  Eight warriors in bright armour escorted me from the palace to the port where the commander and the oarsmen of the ship that would take me home were waiting. I went aboard and greeted the captain, a dark-skinned, powerfully built young man, and I observed the other members of the crew, the fifty-two rowers sitting at the oarlocks. Under their benches my treasure glittered in the torchlight. The moon was a thin sliver.

  We cast off the moorings and the oars dipped into the water. The sail swelled and the ship majestically ploughed the tranquil waters of the port. We soon reached the outlet, leaving a path of foam in our wake.

  I turned towards the city and the palace. The door was open and lit from inside. I could see two figures standing next to each other who appeared to be looking in my direction. On the porch above them, under the overhanging roof, lamps lit the painting of their exodus. The balcony was deserted.

  THE SHIP swiftly picked up speed and the rowers were able to pull the oars on board. A couple of them laid out sheepskins on the aft deck, topping them with linen covers and an amaranth blanket in woven wool and a pillow. The captain approached me: ‘This is your bed, wanax, where you’ll sleep tonight.’ He smiled. ‘We have orders to make sure you’re comfortable.’

  ‘I don’t think I will sleep tonight,’ I said, ‘I’m too agitated by my thoughts and I’m not tired yet.’

  ‘As you prefer,’ was his answer.

  ‘What course have you decided upon?’

  ‘Wanax Alcinous our king told us where your island is. The ship will choose its direction.’ He raised his eyes to the sky: ‘For now, as you can see, we’re holding an easterly course, slightly south as well.’

  I didn’t know how to respond. How could a ship steer itself? I wondered, but I asked nothing. If he had wanted to explain it to me, he would have. I did see the yard rotating around the mast at times, and the sail picking up the wind in a different way, although the hull maintained its direction and speed. Could my long agony truly be ending? Was this the last stretch of sea I’d have to cross before arriving home?

  ‘How many days and how many nights of sailing will be needed to reach my island?’

  ‘That is something I’m not allowed to tell you, wanax, forgive me. Our counsellors fear that someone may calculate the course in reverse and manage to sail back to our island from the opposite direction.’

  ‘It’s only fair for you to defend yourselves and your freedom. But you’ll have to trust me in the end. I can recognize a route and I can count the days and nights.’

  ‘Perhaps, wanax. Try to rest now. The voyage will be long. Very long.’ He stared at me with his light, piercing eyes and he smiled again.

  They had prepared such a cosy and comfortable place for me to sleep that I suddenly felt myself becoming drowsy. It was right for me to show them I appreciated their kindness and I lay down on the bed to contemplate the sky: it was a clear and cloudless night and I could see an infinite number of stars in the dark vault. Brighter and bigger than I’d ever seen them before. I felt flooded by a sense of deep peace and mysterious joy. I had never in my life sailed in such a way, free of responsibilities and exempted from hard toil, stretched out on the deck beholding the myriad stars.

  I wanted to keep my eyes open to see if we would pass the wall of fog that I had crossed after the storm on Cape Malea. It had kept me from returning all these long years. But my lids were becoming heavier and the sound of the sail in the wind and the rustling of the sea that never rests brought on slumber.

  A RAY OF SUN woke me and I stretched out my hand. The soft sheepskin, still; I was in my own bed. But then I heard a tinkling of bells, like the ones that goats and sheep wear so the stray ones can be found. Could we have already arrived?

  I jumped to my feet and I found myself standing on the pebbles lining the seashore, under the boughs of an olive tree. How much time had gone by? Just one night, no longer than that. Had they abandoned me on the first bit of land they’d run into? ‘Why? Why?’ I shouted out loud. They’d given me a drug to make me sleep and then they’d robbed me of all the treasure Alcinous had given me. Curse the greed that contaminates everyone in the end, even a fair and happy race like the Phaeacians.

  But I was soon to regret having thought badly of them, for behind me, next to the olive trunk, was heaped the treasure of Alcinous, shining in the sun. I couldn’t understand. I looked around me and I had no idea of where I was. Anxiety gripped me: whose country was this, who lived here? Would the curse against me never let up? Could I never escape it?

  The one thing I knew was that I was not prepared to give up. I would never give up the idea of returning home. Never! Firstly I had to find a hiding place for my valuables. I might be able to trade them for food, or even a ship and crew. I soon came upon a little cave and, one piece at a time, I brought all my treasure there and buried it under the sand. Then I went back to the olive tree.

  The bells started ringing again and from behind a hill appeared a herd of goats in the care of a young shepherd boy. At least this time my appearance would not scare him off, I reasoned, so I approached him. ‘Hail, young man,’ I said, ‘can you tell me where we are?’

  The shepherd wore a leather tunic and sandals with leather laces and carried a reed flute around his neck.

  ‘Do you mean you don’t know where you are? Everyone knows this little island! We grow a bit of wheat but otherwise it’s all forests. The pigs are happy with the acorns. There’s not much grazing land, but it’s good enough for my goats. Even people in Asia, which is so far away, have heard of this island. It’s Ithaca!’

  Ithaca . . . Ithaca! I wanted to fall to my knees and kiss my soil. My heart was bursting with joy. I was back. I was home! Those pebbles, the little waves caressing them, the sparkling olive leaves, the olives that were ripening to make good, fine oil, the wild flowers, the smells! How could I not have recognized this fragrance? It was my own land, so often on my lips, so intensely desired in all those bitter, bitter hours . . . But I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t shout, or weep, or dance around the olive tree, or run to Penelope and throw my arms around her. I couldn’t shout out for my son: ‘Telemachus, I’m home, my boy!’ I had to hide my feelings, my joy, my memories. I couldn’t make a slip. I knew that thanks to Agamemnon’s shade, from his words of warning when I’d called him up from Hades. But I was feeling something different as well, a strange uneasiness, a cold wind creeping between my clothing and my skin.

  The shepherd smiled: ‘If you know nothing of this island that’s so famous, where do you come from? Who are you?’

  I made up a story. It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last. I thanked the bloody shade of Agamemnon, who had put me on my guard when he said: ‘Trust no one, not even your wife; say one thing and think another . . .’

&nb
sp; ‘Oh, it’s a tale of woe like no other,’ I began, inventing each word as I went along. ‘I had stopped in Crete with the army of wanax Idomeneus, lord of that great island and of the Labyrinth. We were returning from the war, and his son tried to rob me of part of my share of the plunder. Can you believe it? With all that it cost me – sacrifice, wounds, sleepless nights . . . understand? He wanted to take it. And he did! I couldn’t stand the man and . . .’ The shepherd smiled, he never stopped smiling. What did he have to smile about? ‘. . . and so I decided to ambush him one night. I found him on a lonely road. It was pitch-black and I killed the scoundrel with my sword. He had it coming! Then . . . I escaped to the port and found passage on a Phoenician ship, the same that dropped me off here on the shore just last night . . .’ I broke off, distracted. What was that smile?

  ‘What an incurable liar you are! Do you never tire of spinning those yarns of yours? You’ve come up with so many! You’re so good at it you’d even manage to fool a god. But . . . don’t you recognize me?’ She touched my cheek. That had never happened. Had she missed me?

  Her amber eyes changed to green, then blue, a shade so intense it hurt. I prostrated myself with my face to the ground, tears welling up, and then lifted my gaze to hers again: ‘Where had you gone to? You abandoned me. I’ve suffered so much. Why didn’t you ever come to my aid? What did I do for you to leave me so alone?’ I was reproaching her like a betrayed lover. How did I dare? But there she was, sitting under the olive tree next to me. I couldn’t believe it: what a wondrous thing!

  She answered with the same tone: ‘Alone? It was you who no longer saw me, no longer listened to my voice. Who do you think sent the youth with the sun in his hair to Circe’s island, and Calypso’s? Who do you think the toad hobbling along next to you in the icy mud of the land of the dead was? And the seagull with its feathers all ruffled on top of the mast? The coot that shot out of the sea to guide you? The same one who flew out of the river waters and gave you the courage to leave the forest and appeal to Nausicaa for help. Who do you think made you look so handsome to the princess? You aren’t as good-looking as all that, you know . . .’ She wasn’t above teasing me.