Odysseus: The Return

18

I thought, as i entered the hall, that Telemachus must have already arrived and had probably already spoken with his mother. Penelope would surely be in her rooms upstairs, with the other women and with my nurse. The thought of being so close to her took my breath away. My heart, long resigned to the immense distances that had kept us apart, was pounding hard. The bad luck and misadventures that had schemed for so long to push me to the ends of the earth had been vanquished at last.

And there I was, crossing the threshold. There was the door of solid ash. Without letting anyone see I brushed my lips against the fragrant cypress jamb. The house was beautiful and solidly built by the generations of kings that had reigned over Ithaca and extended their rule over all the islands. There was no opulence, no lavish display of wealth, but it showed strength, dignity and simplicity, the virtues that I had learned from my father.

At the end of the great hall was a door in solid oak, bolted shut: the Hall of the Argonauts! It was there that we had received wanax Menelaus, lord of Sparta, who had come to decry Helen’s abduction. The walls celebrated the glory of my father, Argonaut and hero, and all of his comrades in arms. Penelope had been wise to make it inaccessible, or Telemachus, if it had been he who made the decision.

But when I’d finally made my way in and looked around me, I wanted badly to close my eyes. Scores of men of different ages, richly garbed, were seated on carved wooden thrones draped with bright woollen cloth and sheepskins. Tables were set in front of them, crowded with trays and cups of bronze and silver, or even gold, and the hearth at the centre of the room crackled under spits laden with big chunks of beef and pork. There was a terrible din. The guests were speaking loudly, boasting, quarrelling, drinking. They must have been armed when they entered, but all their weapons were lined up against the wall at the entrance. Another sign of Penelope’s or Telemachus’ authority. These were the suitors of the queen of Ithaca, my bride, those who wanted to take my place next to her in our wedding bed!

In a corner, sitting on a bench, I recognized Phemius. He had changed greatly. His hair was thinning and going white at the temples and his beard was turning white as well. He was dressed modestly and his head was bowed as if he were slumbering. Between his knees was the same lyre that he’d had when I’d left for Troy.

He didn’t see me then, but Telemachus did, as he descended the stairs from the women’s quarters. We exchanged a look and he gave me an imperceptible nod. Then I went to sit at the threshold of the main door while a carver took the spits from the fire and passed among the princes of Ithaca and the islands so they could choose the pieces they liked best. He was followed by a steward who was filling their cups with wine. They were hungry and there were so many of them! So this was what went on every day, this invasion of my home and the devouring of my herds.

Telemachus walked towards me. He called out to Eumeus: ‘Give our guest a piece of bread, and give him permission to ask for alms in this house.’

Eumeus obeyed. As he handed me the bread, he asked me softly if I’d heard and then, in a loud voice that could be heard by all, said: ‘Telemachus, son of glorious Odysseus and head of this house, gives you permission to ask the princes for something to eat with the bread of hospitality he offers you. Don’t be ashamed to ask. When a man is forced to beg, he has to put his pride aside.’

‘I thank your generous master, good man, and the gods who protect him,’ I replied.

‘Who is this scrounger? What hole did he crawl out of?’ shouted one of the suitors. They were all wolfing down my meat and guzzling my best wine, but I had to take this, and suppress the rage in my heart.

‘I know,’ spoke up Melanthius. ‘He was brought in by the swineherd, Eumeus, the one who just gave him the bread. I saw them coming up this way.’

‘You see?’ said another, the finest-looking among them. ‘We don’t have enough ragged beggars around here. Even the swineherd brings along his own!’

I didn’t say a word, but Eumeus walked up to him and spoke without fear: ‘Does it surprise you, noble Antinous, that I’ve invited a mendicant here? Everyone is eager to host great lords, singers or artists, as long as it’s not some poor wretch, someone who destiny has reduced to penury. No one wants them. And yet they’re the ones who are most needy. What trouble is he causing you anyway? What’s more, I don’t have to account to you for my actions. Only the queen and Prince Telemachus can tell me what I can or can’t do. You’re no one to me.’

Antinous. . so he was the one at their head. He obviously thought he could act the master in my house. There was Telemachus, trying to patch up the quarrel between them; he didn’t want it to degenerate into something worse. I understood him, my boy. He was alone, without the support of anyone but his two herdsmen. So this is what the son of Odysseus — famous the world over for the feats he’d achieved! — was reduced to. My heart swelled with bitterness, but I couldn’t let anything out. I addressed Antinous, the chief suitor, the one who was sure he had the vigour and the means to win over the reluctance of my Penelope.

‘You truly seem better to me than any of the other men here, more noble and handsome by far. Set an example to the others, then, I pray you: give me the best morsel! Be as benevolent as your kingly appearance would suggest and let me taste for once what a king enjoys. I’ll tell everyone how generous and magnanimous you are. Look at me. I may be penniless, but I can teach you a precious lesson. One day, not so long ago, I was like you. I lived in a palace, I had servants and women, but that wasn’t enough for me, I wanted more. And in the end I lost everything, even myself. I was sold as a slave to the lord of Cyprus. I escaped and since then I’ve been drifting from land to land, from village to village, until my wanderings brought me here to you. All I’m begging for is a meal fit for a man and not for a dog.

‘You know something, great prince? You are like I once was and one day you could end up like I am now. Or even worse. . By doing good to me, you do good to yourself. Can’t you understand that?’

I stared into his eyes and he could feel that I was the stronger. I, the beggar, the derelict, was the hunter and he was the prey. I could smell his fear, sense it coursing under his skin.

He rankled at my words, and couldn’t bear up under my gaze. ‘Get out of my sight, you lousy tramp, there are plenty of others here to beg from. See if they’ll feed you. You disgust me!’

All at once silence settled over the hall like a black cloud. ‘So be it,’ I answered him. ‘That’s your kind, the kind that won’t part with a crumb, won’t give up a grain of salt. You’ve refused to give me even a piece of the bread that isn’t yours and that you haven’t earned. With all the abundance spilling here before you!’ I turned my back to him and went off to carry on my begging somewhere else.

‘How dare you!’ he shouted. He grabbed a stool and hurled it at me. It hit me hard on the back just under my neck. Pain shot through me but I didn’t move, not a hair’s breadth. The young braggart must have realized that it wasn’t a decrepit old man he’d hit, but a rock.

When the stool had fallen to the ground, I turned and looked straight into his eyes. ‘You are nothing but a coward, noble prince. If a man is struck down while he’s trying to rob livestock or precious objects from another’s home, he can well expect it, but you hit me because I’m hungry. If among the gods there is one who protects the poor and needful, you will pay dearly for what you have done.’

I said nothing else, but went over to sit down at the threshold.

I looked up at Telemachus. He was overwhelmed at what he had seen: his father smitten and humiliated on the day of his return. But he didn’t say a word. All he did was shake his head in disapproval. He was waiting, too. Waiting for the day of vengeance.

I stayed at my place at the threshold and watched everything that was going on, including Eumeus and his movements. Every now and then I’d turn to look out at the still body of my poor Argus. He’d finished his suffering! How I longed to pick up his sad remains and give them a proper burial in the woods, under an oak tree. . but I couldn’t let anyone see me doing such a thing, it would have aroused suspicion. Instead I ate the bread my son had given me, the bread that Eumeus had brought to court in his basket. Melanthius, the goatherd who had cast a stone at me while I walked up the trail, passed very close to me on his way out and it was all I could do not to jump to my feet and tear him to shreds. I repressed the ire in my heart. . the time would come. His time would come.

I watched the princes. They were arrogant, noisy, disrespectful and reckless. There were a lot of them and they were all quite vigorous. I looked at their weapons lined up against the wall at the entrance: swords, spears, polished shields. I was almost certain that they were ornamental, a mark of prestige rather than truly offensive arms. I didn’t think they’d ever been used in battle. It was the killing, running a man through from side to side, that made you different, forever. The ferociousness of that act never left your gaze, your heart.

My Telemachus had never killed a man, either. I knew that he would soon take part in the bloody fray to be fought here, in the palace, and I feared for him. It’s too easy for a man who has never known combat to die.

I watched Phemius, our court poet. He ate alone, without speaking to the princes; there was no mingling with them. What songs would they bid him to sing? The sad story of the kings’ return from the war? I wondered if he still remembered me. Did he remember how he would tell me stories when I was a little boy tucked into my bed, or outdoors, in the fruit orchard, sitting under a tree? Had he agreed to submit to this travesty? Did he still remember how my father had treated him? Did he ever go to visit him? Did he ever rise up to defend the queen’s honour? I thought not. Singers have other talents, but rarely the gift of courage.

I’d lost Eumeus from sight. Where had he gone?

I still hadn’t seen mai, my nurse. Nor Penelope. . did she ever come down to the great hall? Knowing that she was so close and not being able to see her created a huge sense of anxiety in me. At the same time, I never would have wanted her to see me in the state I was in.

I had never asked myself so many questions in so short a time. I was afraid of confusing the dreams I’d had over twenty years of separation with a reality that I no longer knew anything about.

Eumeus appeared as suddenly as he had disappeared. He walked through the hall towards me. The princes were no longer interested in us.

He crouched at my side. ‘I’ve seen the queen.’

‘How is she?’

‘Much better, since Telemachus has returned. I haven’t seen her so light-hearted in a very long time. She even ate one of the figs I brought her.’

‘That hasn’t changed. She’s always liked figs.’

‘I told her there was a newcomer to the palace. .’

‘And?’ I asked in alarm.

‘She wanted to know where you come from, if you had news that might interest her. I told her yes, our guest brings news of Odysseus your husband. He has heard that Odysseus has landed in Thesprotia and that he travels with great riches.’

‘Well? What did she say to that?’ I asked at once, agitated as a young boy hoping to meet a girl for the first time.

‘She answered: “Tell the guest I’d like to talk with him.” And she promised that if you told her the truth about what you know and have seen, she will give you a new tunic and a cloak so you can walk among other people without feeling ashamed. I’d mentioned how badly off you were. What shall I tell her?’

I was confused, suddenly struck by doubts and fears. I replied: ‘After sunset, as soon as it starts to get dark.’

‘You may have to wait much longer than that. She can’t receive you in the women’s quarters. She has to wait until the suitors go home and the house is empty.’

‘I have nothing else to do. I can wait.’

‘Good. I’ll tell the queen. You’ll see her come down as soon as the hall is empty and quiet. She’ll sit next to the fire. At that point you can approach her and she’ll speak to you. Wanax, I must ask you something. If you can, don’t hurt her. She has suffered so much.’

I nodded.

‘Good. I have to return to my pigs, to make sure everything is as it should be. You can never depend on the stable boys, not unless you keep a close eye on them. I’ll let Telemachus know I’m going. I’ll come back tomorrow morning as soon as I can. I can see you are controlling your actions and your words, wanax, so I leave with an easy mind.’

‘Don’t use that word — what if someone heard you?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He gave me a slight nod and left.

I watched as he approached Telemachus, who had appeared at the other end of the hall. He moved his lips to the boy’s ear and whispered something. He went out of the rear door and I hunkered down at the threshold. The suitors were still feasting and the clamour was only increasing. They had no worries. But I was the king of Ithaca and I’d already passed sentence on them. They were laughing but soon they would be crying and begging. They were shouting but soon they would be silenced forever. I turned towards the atrium and noticed the figure of a tall, thin man who was gripping a stick as though it were a spear. Behind him a black shadow fluttered in the air.

A voice sounded in my heart: ‘Theoclymenus!’

The fugitive who Telemachus had offered to protect, a man who had the gift, like Calchas before him. What was hidden to others was clear to him; the future was present. But I didn’t want to know anything more than I already knew. I trained my gaze on the hall again, on what was going on there.

I was so absorbed in my thoughts that at first I barely heard the voice that was screeching something at me. A foot planted in my back caused me to turn. The man who had kicked me was fat, with light, watery eyes. The rolls on his stomach swelled and rippled with every move he made. His arms were as thickset and pink as the haunches of a pig, his hair greasy and yellow.

‘Who are you? What are you doing here, you revolting beggar?’ he cawed. ‘Don’t you know that I’m the only one here who can ask for alms? Any leftovers belong to me! Get out of here now before I lose my temper.’

I don’t know why I remember this episode so well, maybe because of all the things that ever happened to me, nothing was so humiliating or shameful. I, the king of Ithaca and the surrounding islands, destroyer of the greatest city in the world, I who had measured myself against the mightiest champions under the walls of Troy and at the head of my army. . I accepted to fight a buffoon, a blood-sucking parasite.

I thought it was necessary. I thought that before I could rise out of the utter abjection that I had embraced, I had to touch bottom. I had to make a spectacle of my wretchedness. Only then would the arrogant suitors be convinced that I was nothing to them, certainly not the son of Laertes who, having destroyed sacred Troy, had returned after all these long years. They had to feel sure of themselves, so numerous and well armed, sure that no one would dare stand against them.

At first I tried to beseech my adversary to forgo a quarrel. We were companions in misfortune, after all, and there was surely enough to go around for both of us. But my sorry appearance must have made him cocky and sure that he would get the better of me. The suitors had noticed and they began goading me into taking him on, obviously looking forward to a lively little diversion. They’d begun to come out into the courtyard, one by one, to urge us on. They promised a prize to the winner: a nice chunk of goat-blood sausage already roasting on the embers. They didn’t realize that the mud they were throwing was landing on themselves and their families.

I saw clearly how a glorious race had degenerated in just three generations: the Argonauts had journeyed to the ends of the sea and to the rocky walls of the remotest mountains, to extreme limits for mortal men. I and my men had destroyed and plundered the greatest and most powerful city of the world. Our sons had conquered only the stores and the kitchens of an undefended house where they ate and drank themselves silly, taking advantage of an empty throne, of a woman and a boy. I could also see how these were the consequences of the war: these spoiled young men had never learned respect or humility, for they had grown up without their fathers. But then I thought that my own son had grown up without a father but he was judicious and courageous, and had remained devoted to a memory whose face and voice he could not recall. I couldn’t feel sorry for the rest of them. After all, they had plotted and attempted to kill him. Each one of them sought to rest on my bed, the one I’d built in the arms of an olive tree, next to my blameless wife. To make love to her. They had to die.

For now all they wanted was a little fun watching two poor unfortunates shoving each other around. Instead, I made sure they didn’t enjoy what they saw. I took off my rags and fought bare-chested against my fat, flaccid adversary. I slaughtered him. I broke his jaw with my first punch and made him spit out his teeth; the second one smashed his nose. He was bleeding like a stuck pig. I grabbed him by the foot and dragged him out of the courtyard, propped him up against the boundary wall and gave him a cane to ward off stray dogs or pigs. I put my rags on again and returned to my place at the threshold, my back to the door jamb. The princes’ jeering had been cut short. They wandered back into the hall. I’d ruined their fun.

I was waiting for the sun to set. Waiting for them to sate themselves on wine and food and to leave. I saw Telemachus arguing with them more than once. My boy knew that I was watching and listening and he wanted to prove to his father what he was worth.

The shouting and swearing of my violent guests went on and on, inflamed by the wine. The midday meal became dinner. No one was paying me any mind any more, but nothing of what they did escaped me. I saw the looks and the lascivious caresses they exchanged with the maidservants. There was one in particular, who Antinous shamelessly called Mélantho, referring, I was sure, to the dark flower between her legs. She was the object of his ardent desire.

I saw which girls responded with laughs, kisses and immodest gestures and those who obstinately turned away, loyal to their queen and to their master.

I chose one of these, and addressed her with humility: ‘Pardon me, dear. It would be a great privilege for me to gaze upon the queen. Her fame is widespread through every nation, and if tomorrow I find myself in another house on the continent I would like to give praise where it is due. I hear she is wise and beautiful and. . faithful. Does she never come down into the hall? Has she nothing to say to these insolent princes?’

She looked at me curiously, with a note of doubt. Perhaps she’d seen me laying into the beggar who’d been insulting me and dragging him out of the courtyard half-dead. Perhaps she had a question for me. But she abruptly turned instead and pointed to the stair that descended from the women’s quarters. She said: ‘Take a look, then. There is the queen of Ithaca!’

My heart jumped in my chest; it was beating so hard I thought it would suffocate me. There was my bride descending the steps. Her bearing was proud, and she was beautiful, dressed in a gown the colour of ripe wheat that hugged her waist and her full breasts. It seemed that time had not passed for her. But as she entered the hall and drew closer, I could see that the light she’d always had in her eyes, the light that had once illuminated my life, was dimmed by a veil of sadness.

I looked down at my worn, ragged clothing, the greasy bag slung on my shoulder, my dusty feet and dry, cracked hands and I was deeply ashamed. Tears sprang to my eyes. It was certainly not how I wanted to appear to my wife after such a long time, but this was what my goddess had decided and this was how it had to be. At least I had the sun at my back, so she wouldn’t be able to make out my features. I must have looked like nothing more than a dark heap of smelly rags.

The commotion in the room ceased entirely when she appeared, as if a goddess had descended from the sky and suddenly entered the hall. A hush fell over the room, and everyone’s eyes were on her. My queen spoke then, in a full, melodious voice. It was the same voice she’d had as a girl and it touched my heart and made me tremble.

‘Proud suitors, imperious princes! You’ve long occupied this house, taking advantage of a woman alone and a youth who doesn’t have the power to oust you. You know well that if Odysseus, glorious king of this island, were to suddenly appear on that threshold. .’

A shiver ran down my spine. The queen had unwittingly revealed a truth she couldn’t know. I admired the fire in her gaze.

‘. . I believe that your arrogance would instantly be replaced with fear and dismay. And this means that you are violating all our laws and our traditions. It’s not enough for you to consume the chattels of a man who is absent and cannot defend himself, you have gone so far as to insult the guest that Telemachus himself has brought to this house. Nothing has escaped me; none of your insults, your blows.

‘You have no right! You should be ashamed of your behaviour! Since when has it become customary to devour the wealth of the bride you hope to win over, instead of offering her gifts?’

She was still trying to gain time for herself; she didn’t want to give in to their demands. She wanted to shame them into changing their ways. Antinous did not respond. On the contrary, he took the queen’s admonishment as a sign that she had had a change of heart and might entertain the idea of marrying again. Each of the men hastily sent a herald to his house to fetch gifts for the queen. But when they returned, Penelope had retired once again to her rooms.

The handmaids began to prepare supper. I turned towards the hearth, adding wood to the flames and turning the spits. It was a way to earn my keep but also to overhear what my wife’s suitors were saying. There was nothing they said or did that slipped my attention. I watched Antinous’ hands stealing under Mélantho’s gown, up her thighs, seeking her black flower. The slut! She might have sensed me watching her, for she turned and rudely snapped at me: ‘Piss off, you filthy beggar! The princes don’t need you, they have us and their own pages as well. Go back to your corner and don’t come near us again. You stink like a pig!’

Eurymachus, second in standing only to Antinous, saw his opportunity. ‘Don’t you see?’ he cried out. ‘He managed to beat up some poor sod out in the courtyard and now it’s gone to his head. He thinks he’s some kind of athlete, or maybe even a hero, the sort that wins battles. What you are, instead,’ he continued, turning to me, ‘is a good-for-nothing old man! It’s an easy life lolling here by the fire and filling your stomach with the scraps of meat you steal, isn’t it? If you wanted to work, you’d be out in the fields cutting hay or harvesting the wheat, or at least taking the sheep to pasture, now that’s not a hard job, is it? That’s all we needed here, this louse. . Telemachus is always complaining as it is that there are too many mouths to feed in the palace! Let’s start by throwing out this dirt ball.’

Following his example, more of his fellow suitors started insulting me, poking and pushing at me.

How little had Penelope’s words counted! I continued to suffer offence. I bit my lip so as not to lash out and repeated to myself: ‘Resist, heart of mine! The time has not yet come. .’

And thus I managed to endure their taunts the whole evening. Every now and then my gaze would meet Phemius’ and I could see a glimmer of torturous doubt in the poet’s eyes. Then he would lower his head again as if absorbed in thought, unmoving and hunched over, waiting for someone to bid him to sing. But no one did. They were all too busy eating and making fun of me. I could feel Telemachus suffering in silence, but he would not leave the hall, wouldn’t leave me alone. I had to signal for him to go — it was better that way.

Antinous finally proposed the last libation before going to bed and the others all followed his counsel. As if he were the master of the house, he had the stewards pour a cup of red wine for each of the princes. They drank to the gods, and then left, picking up the weapons they’d left outside leaning against the wall. They headed off down the road that led to the city. Phemius was the last to go. He was a permanent guest at the palace, as he had been in my time, and the entrance to his room was off the main courtyard. I was sitting on a stool next to the door and he had to pass directly in front of me to go out. He held his lyre in one hand and a night lamp in the other. He stopped before me for a moment and lifted the lamp to get a better look at me. Strange that he should do so now, when I’d been in the hall all day.

He said: ‘I see everything, I hear everything and I forget nothing.’

‘I believe it,’ I replied, altering the natural tone of my voice so he wouldn’t recognize it, ‘you’re a poet.’

He walked away and I watched as his lamp crossed the courtyard. I could still hear the voices of the princes as they trailed off across the countryside. When I could hear nothing I went back in.

Silence reigned over my house.