But the shape - a dark pyramid, with a wide base and rounded apex topped by silver-streaked hair - was still motionless. 'Who is it?' he asked. 'Me.'
A young man's voice, possibly an ephebe's. But there was something ... He was sure he'd heard it before. The figure stepped towards him.
'Who's 'me'?'
'Me.'
'Who are you looking for?' 'You.'
'Come closer, let me see you.' 'No.'
He felt uneasy. The stranger seemed afraid, yet not afraid; dangerous, yet harmless. It occurred to him suddenly that such opposing qualities were characteristic of a woman. Who could she be? Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed torches and heard dissonant singing. Perhaps the survivors of one of the last processions of the Lenaea, returning home inspired by the songs heard or sung during the ritual, driven by the anarchic will of the wine.
'Do I know you?'
'Yes. No,' said the figure.
Paradoxically, it was the enigmatic answer that yielded her identity at last. 'Yasintra?'
The figure didn't answer immediately. The torches approached, yet they didn't seem to move.
'Yes.'
'What do you want?' 'Help.'
Heracles decided to come nearer, and his right foot took a step forward. The song of the crickets seemed to subside. The torch flames waved sluggishly, like heavy curtains drawn by an old man with a trembling hand. Heracles' left foot advanced by another Eleatic segment. The crickets resumed their chirruping. The torch flames changed shape imperceptibly, like clouds. Heracles raised his right foot. The crickets fell silent. The flames reared, petrified. The foot descended. Sounds no longer existed. The flames did not move. The foot paused on the grass .. .67
Diagoras felt as if he'd been listening to Heracles for a very long time.
67 I can't go on. The rest of this lengthy paragraph consists of an agonisingly slow description of each step Heracles takes towards Yasintra, though, paradoxically, he never reaches her - putting one in mind of Zeno of Elea's paradox of Achilles and the tortoise (which is where we get the expression 'Eleatic segment'). All this, and the frequent repetition of the words 'slow', 'heavy' and 'clumsy', together with all the ploughing metaphors, suggests the labour of the Oxen of Geryon, the cattle Hercules has to steal from the monster Geryon. The 'shambling gait' mentioned is from Homer for, according to the author of the Iliad, oxen are animals of 'shambling gait' . . . And talking of heavy and slow, I must just mention that I've managed to empty my bowels at last, and it's put me in a good mood. The end of my constipation may be a good omen, a sign that I'm going to speed up and achieve my goals. (T.'s N.)
'I've offered her my hospitality and have promised to help her’ Heracles was explaining. 'She's just been threatened and she's very frightened. She didn't know who to turn to - our laws aren't kind to women of her sort, as you know.' 'Who has threatened her?'
'The same people who threatened her before we found her. That's why she ran away when she saw us. Please don't get impatient, I'll explain everything. We have plenty of time. We now simply have to wait for news ... Ah, the final moments in the solving of an enigma are particularly enjoyable! Would you like a cup of undiluted wine?'
'Yes, today I would,' muttered Diagoras.
Once Ponsica had left, having placed a heavy tray with two cups and a krater of undiluted wine beside him, Heracles said: 'Listen and please don't interrupt, Diagoras. My explanation will take longer if you distract me.'
He began pacing up and down with a slow, shambling gait, addressing first the walls, then the gleaming orchard, as if practising a speech to the Assembly. He accompanied the words with leisurely gestures of his fat hands.68
Tramachus, Antisus and Euneos meet Menaechmus. When? Where? Who knows? It doesn't matter. The fact is, Menaechmus suggests they pose for him and perform in his plays. He falls in love with them and invites them to his licentious gatherings together with other ephebes.69
68 Heracles Pontor's dense explanation of the mystery serves to emphasise the eidesis yet again. Usually so laconic, the Decipherer here goes off on long, bizarre digressions that move forward as slowly as Geryon's oxen. I've decided to summarise the passage, noting some of his original remarks when appropriate. (T.'s N.)
But he lavishes more attention on Antisus than on the other two, and they grow jealous. Tramachus threatens to reveal everything unless Menaechmus spreads his affections more fairly.70 Menaechmus gets scared, and arranges to meet Tramachus in the forest. Tramachus pretends he is going hunting, but in fact goes to the agreed meeting place. He and Menaechmus argue. Either premeditatedly or, in a moment of blind rage, Menaechmus beats him and leaves him dead or unconscious, to be devoured by wild animals. Antisus and Euneos are terrified when they hear what has happened. One night, they confront Menaechmus and demand an explanation. Menaechmus coldly confesses to the crime, possibly in order to intimidate them. Antisus decides to flee Athens under the pretext of joining the army, but Euneos can't break Menaechmus' hold over him. Frightened, he wants to denounce Menaechmus, but the sculptor beats him to death. Antisus witnesses the crime. Menaechmus decides to stab Euneos savagely, pour wine over him and dress him in women's clothing, to make it look like an act of madness by a drunken youth.71 And that's all.72
69 'We can imagine their laughter in the night, the subtle swaying of hips before Menaechmus' slow chisel,' says Heracles. 'Playful, unhurried love, nubile bodies glowing red in the torchlight...' (T.'s N.)
70 'After the enthralling wine of pleasure, come the bitter dregs of
strife,' remarks Heracles. (T.'s N.)
71 'See how cunning Menaechmus is!' says Heracles. 'He's not an
artist for nothing - he knows that impressions, appearances, can be a potent liquour. When we found Euneos stinking of wine and dressed in women's clothes, our first thought was: "A young man who gets drunk and dresses up like this is capable of anything." And therein lay the trap: the habits of our moral judgement negate
the processes of our rational judgement entirely! (T.'s N.)
72'But what about the lily?' Diagoras asks. Annoyed at the interruption, Heracles declares: 'A poetical detail, no more. Menaechmus is an artist.' But what Heracles doesn't know is that the lily isn't 'poetical' but eidetic and is, therefore, inaccessible to him and his reasoning. The lily is a clue for the reader, not for Heracles. I'll proceed with the normal dialogue now. (T.'s N.)
'And this, good Diagoras, is what I had deduced by the end of our meeting with Menaechmus. I was almost certain he was guilty, but how to be absolutely sure? So I thought of Antisus. He was the weakest point of the branch, likely to snap at the slightest pressure ... I devised a simple plan: during dinner at the Academy, while you were all wasting time discussing poetic philosophy, I kept an eye on our handsome cup-bearer. Now, as you know, cup-bearers serve the guests in strict order. So when Antisus was about to approach my couch, I took a small piece of papyrus from under my cloak and handed it to him, without a word but with a meaningful look. It said: "I know all about Euneos' death. If you want me to keep quiet, don't return from the kitchen to serve the next guest. Wait for me there, alone.'"
'How could you be so sure that Antisus witnessed Euneos' murder?'
Heracles looked delighted, as if he'd been hoping for this question. He smiled, narrowing his eyes, and said: 'I wasn't sure! My message was the bait, and Antisus took it. When I saw that he was late serving the next guest . . . that colleague of yours who moves as if his bones were reeds in a river ...'
'Callicles,' said Diagoras. 'Yes, now I remember, he was away for a few minutes.'
'Yes. He came to the kitchen to find out why Antisus hadn't served him. He almost caught us, but luckily we had finished our conversation. So, as I was saying, when I noticed that Antisus hadn't returned to serve the next guest, I got up and went to the kitchen.' Heracles rubbed his hands slowly with relish. He raised a grizzled eyebrow. 'Ah, Diagoras! What can I say about that beautiful cunning creature? I assure you, your student could teach u
s both a thing or two! He was waiting for me in a corner, trembling, with wide, shining eyes. His garland of flowers shook with the heaving of his chest. He motioned quickly for me to follow him, and led me to a small pantry where we could talk undisturbed. The first thing he said was: "I swear by all the sacred household gods, I didn't do it! I didn't kill Euneos! It was him!" I got him to tell me everything, implying that I knew it all already. And it was as I thought - his answers confirmed my theories point by point. When he finished, he asked - begged me, with tears in his eyes - not to reveal anything. He didn't care what happened to Menaechmus, but he didn't want his involvement to become known - he had to think of his family ... and the Academy ... It would be terrible. I said I didn't know if I could do as he asked. Breathless, eyes lowered, he came seductively close and whispered to me, deliberately slowing his words, his sentences. He promised me many favours, for, he said, he knew how to be agreeable to men. I smiled calmly and said: "Antisus, you don't have to do this." His only answer was to tear the fibulae from his chiton in two quick movements, so that the garment dropped to the floor. I said "quick" movements, but they seemed very slow ... I suddenly understood how he could unleash passions and make even the most sensible lose their head. I felt his perfumed breath on my face and moved away. I said: "Antisus, as I see it, we have here two quite distinct matters: on one hand, your incredible beauty; and on the other, my duty to ensure that justice is done. Reason dictates that I admire the former and comply with the latter, not the other way around. So please don't make me confuse your admirable beauty with my duty." He said and did nothing, simply stared. I don't how long he stood looking at me like that, motionless, silent, wearing nothing but his crown of ivy and garland of flowers. The pantry was dimly lit, but I could see mockery in his lovely face. I think he wanted to show that he was aware of his power over me, despite my rejection ... That boy holds men in thrall, and he knows it. Suddenly someone called his name -it was your fellow-tutor. Antisus dressed unhurriedly, as if he relished the prospect of being caught in that state, and left. I then returned to the dining hall myself.'
Heracles sipped his wine. His face was slightly flushed. Diagoras', by contrast, was as pale as quartz. The Decipherer said dispassionately: 'Don't blame yourself. Doubtless, it was Menaechmus who corrupted them.'
Diagoras replied, in a flat voice: 'I don't think it wrong that Antisus should offer himself to you, or even to Menaechmus, or any other man. After all, what could be more delightful than the love of an ephebe? It's the motives for love, rather than love itself, that are evil. Love merely for the purpose of physical pleasure is detestable; and using love to ensure your silence is a crime.'
His eyes filled with tears. His voice as languid as a late afternoon, he added: 'The true lover does not even need to touch his beloved: he is happy simply to gaze at him and appreciate the wisdom and perfection of his soul. I feel sorry for Antisus and Menaechmus. They don't know the incomparable beauty of true love.' He sighed and added: 'But let us change the subject. What do we do now?'
Heracles stared at the philosopher curiously for a moment before answering. 'As jacks players say: "From now on, every throw must be a good one." We have the culprits, Diagoras, but it would be a mistake to rush in. How do we know that Antisus was telling the whole truth? I assure you, that beguiling young man is as cunning as Menaechmus, if not more so. And we still need a public confession or other proof before we can openly accuse Menaechmus, or both of them. But we've taken an important step forward: Antisus is scared now and that's to our advantage. What will he do? The most logical thing would be to warn his friend so that he can escape. I'm sure Menaechmus would rather live in exile than be sentenced to death. But if Menaechmus leaves the City, publicly accusing Antisus will be futile.'
'But then ... Menaechmus will get away!'
Heracles shook his head slowly and smiled astutely. 'No, good Diagoras: I'm having Antisus watched. Eumarchus, his old pedagogue, follows him every night on my orders. Last night, after I left the Academy, I went to give Eumarchus his instructions. If Antisus goes to see Menaechmus, we'll know about it. And, if necessary, I'll arrange for another slave to keep an eye on the workshop. Neither Menaechmus nor Antisus will be able to make a move without us knowing. I want them to feel cornered, to panic. Should one of the two decide to accuse the other publicly in order to save himself, the problem would be resolved in a most convenient manner. If not. ..' Slowly he pointed a thick index finger at the house.
'If they don't give themselves away, we can use the hetaera.'
'Yasintra? How?'
Heracles shook the same finger to emphasise his words. 'The hetaera was Menaechmus' other big mistake! Tramachus fell in love with her and told her about his relationship with the sculptor, adrrutting that he felt both attracted and repulsed by him. Just before his death, your student confessed to her that he would do anything, even tell his family and his tutors about the wild gatherings at the workshop, to free himself of Menaechmus' harmful influence. But he also said he feared the sculptor - Menaechmus had said he'd kill Antisus if he talked. We don't know how Menaechmus found out about Yasintra, but we can conjecture that Tramachus told him in a moment of spite. The sculptor realised immediately that she might cause problems and sent a couple of slaves to Piraeus to threaten her, just in case she thought of talking. But our visit made Menaechmus nervous - he thought the hetaera must have betrayed him, so again he threatened to kill her. That was when Yasintra found out about me. And last night, terrified, she came to ask for help.' 'So she's our only proof . ..'
Heracles nodded, eyes wide, as if Diagoras had said something quite astounding. 'That's right. If our two cunning criminals won't talk, we can make a public accusation based on Yasintra's testimony. I realise that a courtesan's word is worth nothing against a free citizen's, but the accusation might prompt a confession from Antisus, or even Menaechmus.'
Blinking, Diagoras looked out at the brilliantly sunny orchard. An enormous, docile white cow was grazing lazily by the well.73 Heracles said cheerfully: 'Eumarchus will bring news at any moment. Then we'll know what our two rogues intend to do and we can act accordingly'
73 As in previous chapters, the eidesis is emphasised in order to underline the image of the oxen of Geryon. (T.'s N.)
He took another sip of wine, savouring it slowly. Possibly uncomfortable on sensing that Diagoras didn't share his optimism, he went on a little abruptly: 'So, what do you think? Your Decipherer has solved the enigma!'
Still gazing at the orchard beyond the placidly ruminating cow, Diagoras said: 'No.'
'What?'
Diagoras shook his head in the direction of the orchard and appeared to address the cow: 'No, Decipherer, no. I remember clearly what I saw in Tramachus' eyes. He was more than worried - he was terrified. You want me to believe that he was going to tell me about his licentious games with Menaechmus, but... No. The secret was far more horrifying.'
Heracles shook his head lazily, as if summoning the patience to explain something to a small child, and said: 'Tramachus was afraid of Menaechmus! He believed the sculptor would kill him if he denounced him! That's what you saw in his eyes!'
'No,' retorted Diagoras, quite calmly, as if the wine or the languid day were making him drowsy. Very slowly, as if speaking a foreign language and pronouncing every word carefully for it to be translated, he went on: 'Tramachus was terrified . . . But his fear was beyond understanding. It was Terror itself, the Idea of Terror. Something that your reason, Heracles, cannot grasp, because you didn't look into his eyes as I did. Tramachus wasn't afraid of what Menaechmus might do to him but of ... something much more terrifying. I know it.' And he added: 'I'm not quite sure why I know. But I do.'
Heracles asked disdainfully: 'Are you trying to tell me that my explanation is wrong?'
'Your explanation is entirely reasonable.' Diagoras was still gazing at the orchard and the grazing cow. He breathed in deeply. 'But I don't think it's the truth.'
'It's reasonable but it i
sn't true? What on earth do you mean, Diagoras of Mardontes?'
'I don't know. My logic tells me: 'Heracles is right,' but. . . Maybe your friend Crantor could explain it better. Last night at the Academy, we discussed it at length. Perhaps reason cannot be applied to the Truth ... I mean, if I were to say something ridiculous now, such as, "There's a cow grazing in your orchard, Heracles," you'd think I was mad. But for someone other than you or me, might such a statement not be true1.' Diagoras went on before Heracles could reply: 'I know it's not rational to say there's a cow in your orchard because there isn't one, nor could there be. But why does the truth have to be rational, Heracles? Might there not exist... irrational truths?'74
'Is that what Crantor told you all yesterday?' Heracles could scarcely contain his anger. 'Philosophy will drive you insane, Diagoras! I'm talking about logical, coherent things, while you . . . The enigma surrounding your student isn't a philosophical theory, it's a rational chain of events that—' He broke off, for Diagoras, still looking out at the empty orchard,75 was shaking his head. Diagoras said: 'I remember you saying: "There are strange places where you and I have never been." It's true. We live in a strange world, Heracles. A world where nothing can be entirely rationalised or understood. A world that doesn't always behave according to the laws of logic, but to those of dreams or literature . . . Socrates was a great reasoner, but he claimed that a daemon, a spirit, inspired him with the most profound truths. And Plato believes that madness is, in some ways, an arcane method of attaining knowledge. This is what is happening now: my daemon, or my madness, is telling me that your explanation is wrong.'