(She sits down before the breakfast tray.)
I’ll eat some breakfast if you’ll tell me quietly just what is the trouble now.
(She pours some wine in a goblet, waters it, and begins to sip. Slowly, though. And she eats very little. She is only making the pretence to please CLIA.)
Well?
CLIA
(Recovering herself, wiping her eyes, shaking her head in amazement)
Are you never afraid of them, Penelope?
PENELOPE
Constantly. Does that make you feel any better?
CLIA
I couldn’t feel worse. We’ve got to do something, Penelope.
PENELOPE
Do? What can we do, except play for time and use our wits?
CLIA
Do you know how much food we have left? Enough for two days. The fields haven’t been ploughed. The barns are empty. Summer is here, but there’s nothing growing—except grass and weeds.
PENELOPE
Last spring, we ploughed the fields. And last fall, we harvested. What did we get?—Another winter of these men.
CLIA
They’re drunk from morning till night.
PENELOPE
Then the cellars will soon be as empty as the barns. Good.
CLIA
You mean—you planned it this way? But you’ve left us with nothing. Our cattle and sheep have been killed and eaten. There’s hardly a deer left in all our forests, we’ve nothing, I tell you, nothing!
PENELOPE
Except ourselves. You are still alive, Clia. So is Telemachus, so is the rest of the household. Once the men have gone, we can work. We can restore everything. We can live on fish from the sea, if necessary. But meanwhile, the important thing is that we are intact.
CLIA
Intact? You weren’t referring to the maids, were you? You should go down into the Hall more often instead of sitting up here, and see how the girls are behaving.
PENELOPE
It’s wiser to stay here, Clia. The less I’m seen, the better.
CLIA
There’s no decency left. No discipline. I warned you when you gave the girls their freedom—
PENELOPE
I’ll have no slaves in my house!
CLIA
(Bitterly)
That’s right, give them their freedom, give them a home, and what do you get? Loyalty? Huh! Collaborators, that’s what they are. A whipping, that’s what they need; and their heads shaved. Perhaps that would put some morals into their manners.
PENELOPE
Clia, when you were young, very young, did you never do foolish, thoughtless—no, I don’t suppose you ever did.
(She smiles, affectionately, sadly.)
But put the blame where it first belongs. Put it on the men.
CLIA
If they’d only leave! I’d starve with pleasure, and work with fury, if only they’d leave and take the girls with them.
PENELOPE
And what would happen to the girls?
(She pushes away the breakfast tray, and rises to walk slowly over to the embroidery frame.)
Abandoned in some filthy brothel in a harbour slum. Besides—
(She looks at the embroidery.)
the men are playing for higher stakes than just a pretty girl. They want land, and the title to this house. They want power over all the island of Ithaca. If they can persuade me to marry one of them, they will have that power. Forever. Legally.
CLIA
Legally! Since when have they paid any attention to the law?
PENELOPE
(Sitting down at the frame, and beginning to thread a needle with wool)
But they know that other men pay heed to the law.
CLIA
Twisters, liars, cheats! They say they’re in love with you, they only want to protect you.
(PENELOPE bends her head, pretending to be absorbed in her work.)
Huh! Just look at the way they play around with your maids!
PENELOPE
That’s to punish me, Clia, for taking so little notice of them. Don’t you think I hear the laughter and singing when I’m up here at night, alone?
(She points to the bedroom door, almost angrily.)
CLIA
(Shocked)
Penelope! You can’t envy that kind of laughing and singing? Penelope—answer me!
PENELOPE
Don’t be silly.
CLIA
That’s no answer.
PENELOPE
(Suddenly angry)
Clia, I’ve done my best to get rid of these men. When they came here first—
CLIA
I knew they were up to no good, the moment I saw them.
PENELOPE
We don’t all have your brilliant hindsight, Clia... I’m sorry... We’ve plenty of troubles without bickering like this between ourselves. You’ll just have to believe me, Clia! I’ve done my best.
(She sighs and her head droops.)
CLIA
Oh, you haven’t done too badly, considering.
PENELOPE
(Looking up quickly)
Considering what?
CLIA
Now, don’t go taking offence again! I’m not criticising you. You’ve done remarkably well. Considering.
(PENELOPE looks at her indignantly.)
Considering you were young, and lonely. It was good, wasn’t it, to hear a man’s voice, a man’s footsteps once more?
PENELOPE
You didn’t object, either, did you?
CLIA
I’m not blaming you. Of course they were only a bit of a nuisance at first. Yes, a pleasant, flattering kind of nuisance.
PENELOPE
Flattering?
CLIA
All that talk of wanting to marry you! Stuff and nonsense!
PENELOPE
(Sarcastically)
Ridiculous! No man could ever possibly want to marry me!
CLIA
Ah-hah! Did I throw some salt on a small wound? Then good! It’ll heal more cleanly. An open wound’s a dangerous thing with so much infection around.
(She suddenly touches PENELOPE on the shoulder and speaks gently.)
Keep on fighting those men, Penelope. You’ve done better than most.
PENELOPE
(Covers her eyes with her hands for a moment)
Clia, have you ever watched a fox being chased by a pack of wild dogs?... It twists and turns, it uses all its cunning, all its speed, all its strength. And then suddenly it stops. It stops and faces them. Do you know what the fox is thinking then, Clia?
CLIA
It’s just out of breath, that’s all.
PENELOPE
It suddenly knows that courage is not enough.
CLIA
Nonsense! What does anyone need except courage?
PENELOPE
My fox needs twenty other foxes standing beside it—with teeth twice as long as any dog’s.
(She tries to laugh.)
CLIA
(Moving to the window)
Just wait! Just wait until Ulysses comes home!
(She stares out of the window.)
He’ll show those parasites what it’s like to deal with a man for a change. That’s the whole trouble with this house—
PENELOPE
Come away from the window, Clia. Stop thinking about ships.
CLIA
—we’re nothing but a handful of women, and a young boy, and Philetius, who can’t even talk, and old Eumaeus, who’s good for nothing except pig-keeping.
(She sees something outside.)
Why, he isn’t even doing that! There he is, dawdling about. Eumaeus!
(She raises her voice.)
What are you doing here? Get back to your meadow and look after the chickens—don’t you know we’ve got thieves around?
(She turns away from the window, and derisive catcalls come from the distance.)
The thieves didn
’t like my frankness. They must be getting up. It’s early for them, isn’t it?
PENELOPE
Perhaps they—
(She shrugs her shoulders.)
Perhaps—if—but—maybe... I’ve lived too long with these words.
(She breaks a strand of wool angrily.)
CLIA
(Coming to pick up a fallen skein of wool)
You’re getting awfully near the end of that embroidery. Better rip some more out again. Here!
(She lifts a knife lying beside the wools on the side table, and hands it to PENELOPE, who takes it, but looks at CLIA and hesitates.)
Go on! Now’s a good time, when none of the maids can watch.
PENELOPE
I’ve been ripping it out for weeks. Oh, Clia, I just can’t rip out much more, without the whole thing coming to pieces.
CLIA
Rip it out! You mustn’t finish that embroidery.
PENELOPE
But I pledged my word.
(She sighs and begins to unpick the stitches carefully.)
CLIA
Whatever made you give the men such a stupid promise?
PENELOPE
Stupid? It was your idea. Promise them anything, you told me, as long as you keep them quiet until Ulysses gets home. Tell them you need time to make up your mind which one you’ll choose for a husband—that’s what you said. All right. I told them. I told them I’d choose one of them when I finished embroidering a set of seven chair covers. Wasn’t that your idea?
CLIA
But why did you ever have to take a solemn oath—and in Athena’s temple, too? A promise is one thing but an oath is something else. I never told you to do that. And why choose Athena? Of all the gods, she gets maddest when her name is taken in vain. She’ll follow a perjurer right to his grave, and beyond that, too.
PENELOPE
I know that. So do the men downstairs. They’d have broken their bargain long ago, if they weren’t afraid of Athena.
(She begins to rip out some more stitches, and jabs her finger. She exclaims and puts it to her mouth; she looks in dismay at the embroidery.)
Heavens! This is an awful mess... If anyone who knows a thing about embroidery ever sees this—then I’m going to be found out.
(She sighs.)
If the men realise I’ve been tricking them—
CLIA
Amaryllis—this morning—she was looking at it.
PENELOPE
Amaryllis? Oh no, Clia. Amaryllis wouldn’t betray me.
CLIA
Wouldn’t she?
PENELOPE
But she has no reason to betray—
CLIA
And wouldn’t she like to become mistress of this house? That’s reason enough.
PENELOPE
(Shocked)
I don’t believe you trust anyone in this world! Except Ulysses. He can do no wrong in your eyes. All right, let me ask you a question: why isn’t he here? Why isn’t he here to take charge and free us from all these dangers and troubles and fears? Why? Why?
CLIA
Here we go again. You have had a bad night.
(There’s the sound of horsemen in the distance. CLIA moves quickly over to the window. Men’s voices come faintly, then die away. So does the sound of the horses’ hoofs.)
Are they going out hunting, d’you think? They must have taken the back road.
(She suddenly looks down into the courtyard, plants her hands on her hips.)
Well!—And who do you think is still around? Eumaeus. Wasting time, as usual.
PENELOPE
(Snipping carefully)
Who isn’t?
CLIA
And he’s got hold of your son. Talking like conspirators, they are. Eumaeus!
(PENELOPE looks up, quickly.)
CLIA
(Shouting now)
Eumaeus! Get back to your work, do you hear me?
(To PENELOPE)
My, he looked up at me as if he were scared.
PENELOPE
(Rising)
Is something wrong?
CLIA
(Turning away from the window, as PENELOPE starts toward her and then stops)
They are out of sight now. He pulled Telemachus around the corner of the house. What are they hiding, I’d like to know?
(The two women stare at each other.)
I’ve warned you before about Eumaeus—
PENELOPE
Go down to them, Clia. And send Eumaeus here.
CLIA
Send that pig-keeper up here—into your room?
PENELOPE
I want to see him.
CLIA
Why?
PENELOPE
...Just a sudden fear... That’s all.
CLIA
Yes, I’ve warned you. Eumaeus has some very odd ideas. Why, the girls won’t even go near his hut. You’ve let Telemachus visit him too often.
PENELOPE
Eumaeus wouldn’t harm any son of Ulysses. And the boy has to have some man to talk to. We can’t hold on to him, Clia. If we do—we lose him forever.
CLIA
Is that what’s been troubling you this morning? No Ulysses, and soon, no Telemachus. Is that what’s worrying you?
(She comes forward and puts her arm around PENELOPE.)
PENELOPE
(Slowly)
I’m not worried... I’m frightened.
(She starts to pace around the room.)
If Ulysses ever does come home, will it be too late? Too late for Telemachus? Too late for me? And if he comes home, shall I know him? Will he know me? Or have I been waiting for a stranger, for someone so altered that he won’t be in love with me any more?
(She halts and faces a very silent CLIA.)
I’m frightened, Clia!
CLIA
(Gathering her words slowly)
Now that’s stupid... Of course you’ll know him. Ulysses is
Ulysses. He’s strong, clever, brave—
PENELOPE
Stop it! You aren’t Homer. Leave the adjectives to him. Now, go and find Eumaeus. And you can send Telemachus here, too. He hasn’t paid me a visit for three whole days.
CLIA
Don’t be hard on the boy. He’s only angry because the men have been behaving worse and worse. And he feels helpless—he knows he’s too young to fight even one of them. But that may not stop him from trying. One thing is certain, if the men don’t leave here soon, there will be trouble. There will be red blood flowing all over this house.
PENELOPE
Is that what he is plotting with old Eumaeus? Oh, no! In Heaven’s name, go and get them—
(As CLIA opens the door, there are sounds of men arguing; laughter; and a delighted squeal from a girl. PENELOPE covers her ears, and turns her back on the door. A boy of about seventeen passes CLIA as she is just about to leave. This is TELEMACHUS; he is thin and gangling, white-faced, not very handsome as yet. He is dressed in a simple tunic and wears a large knife at his waist which he fingers proudly from time to time. CLIA whispers a quick warning to him and points to PENELOPE’s back. Then she goes out.)
TELEMACHUS
Hello, Mother. I was just coming to see you.
(He tries to hide his cheerfulness, but there is repressed excitement in his voice as he rushes on. PENELOPE turns to look at him with surprise.)
It’s a grand day, isn’t it? I think I’ll go fishing down by the meadows. Eumaeus has made me a new rod. It’s waiting for me in his hut. I’ll go and get it, if you don’t mind.
(PENELOPE is now staring at him.)
Just didn’t want to worry you about where I was. Well—see you later!
(He hesitates nervously, grins, and turns to leave.)
PENELOPE
Telemachus! I want to see you now.
TELEMACHUS
(Turning back to PENELOPE, slowly, unwillingly)
But I’m going fishing—
PENELOPE
I want to talk to you.
TELEMACHUS
Couldn’t it wait? I mean, this is kind of important. If I don’t start before the sun is bright, then I’ll never catch anything.
PENELOPE
The sun only rose three hours ago. It has a long way to travel before it’s too bright for fishing. What’s wrong, Telemachus?
TELEMACHUS
Wrong?
PENELOPE
You heard me.
TELEMACHUS
Nothing’s wrong.
PENELOPE
Then stop hovering around that door. And sit down. No— that’s your father’s chair. You know the rule.
TELEMACHUS
Couldn’t I sit in it once, before he gets home?
PENELOPE
(Smiling as she shakes her head and gestures him away from ULYSSES’ chair)
You’re just like Clia, aren’t you?
TELEMACHUS
(Indignant)
Me? Like Clia?
PENELOPE
You are both so sure that Ulysses will come home.
TELEMACHUS
He will.
PENELOPE
(Watching him carefully)
Have you heard any news? Do you know something that I don’t know?
TELEMACHUS
Now, Mother, what gave you that idea?
PENELOPE
You’re looking so annoyingly cheerful, that’s why.
TELEMACHUS
Well—you see—I just thought you wanted me to be more cheerful. Last time I saw you, you tore into me because I was sulking. That’s the word you used.
PENELOPE
Perhaps it was. But I never “tore into you” in my whole life.
TELEMACHUS
(Appeasingly)
All right.
PENELOPE
It seems to me I’m getting my own way awfully easily, this morning.
TELEMACHUS
I’m just trying to please you. Oh, Jupiter!
PENELOPE