Odysseus: The Return

13

The day following my arrival, the king and queen announced their intention to give a reception in my honour. I was already a respected guest; I had already slept in the palace. They could have asked me at that point who I was, but they did not do so. The king asked me only how I had reached the palace. I replied: ‘As I’ve already told you, wanax, your daughter allowed me to speak to her and she helped me. My raft had shattered to pieces and I had to swim far and long to avoid being crushed against the reefs. I came ashore at the mouth of your river, miserable and stripped of all my belongings.’

‘But it was not she,’ said Alcinous, ‘who offered you protection. It was you who asked for it.’

Nausicaa clearly kept no secrets from her parents. Alcinous had asked me a question that he already knew the answer to, to show me that nothing happened in his kingdom without him knowing it.

‘That’s true,’ I replied. ‘What else could I have done?’

‘And the garments you were wearing,’ asked the queen, ‘where did you get them?’ She was perfectly informed about this as well, but she wanted me to know that nothing escaped her.

I bowed my head. ‘Your daughter gave them to me, splendid wanaxa. I had no choice but to ask her. I had nothing left, not even a rag to wrap around my loins. She showed me where I could wash and she gave me fine oil to rub on my tortured body and the robe that I still wear now.’

The queen smiled with her eyes, for I had told her the truth, and the king spoke again: ‘You are welcome under our roof. You have the looks of a strong, courageous, noble man. It is our custom to help those in need and you have shown that you deserve the help you have requested.’

And thus I stayed on at the palace of King Alcinous, Nausicaa’s father. There was truly something godlike in that man and in his wife Arete, a woman majestic in her beauty. They reigned over an industrious — and one would say happy — people in a land distant from all others, blessed by nature and by the gods. The inhabitants were long-lived, and for the entire time that I remained on the island, I never saw anyone who was crippled or deformed, no one hunched or limping. They seemed like a race born perfect, or perhaps it was the absence of war and conflict that saved them from ever being injured or maimed.

All five sons lived in the palace and emanated the same tranquil strength as their parents. At times I sensed that Nausicaa’s brothers were a bit diffident towards me, but that was natural since they couldn’t help but notice how she looked at me and hung on my words. For them I was still a stranger without a name or a homeland.

The sovereign was assisted in his governing duties by twelve elders, the wisest and most venerable in the entire kingdom; each one of them carried a sceptre and was called king. They were the first to be invited to the reception, summoned by the king’s herald along with other distinguished guests. Alcinous had also sent for the city’s — and indeed the island’s — most famous singer: Demodocus, who was blind but gifted with a divine voice and the art of storytelling, accompanying his words with a lyre. He was the only person I ever met on Scheria who had been struck by infirmity, but in this case the gods had been just because he had been compensated by the harmony of his voice and his song. The gods always demand a high price for their gifts. This had been the case with wanax Admetus in Pherai and with Cassandra in Troy, and it was thus with Demodocus.

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.

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 from 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.

We returned to the palace where the king had laid an enormous banquet for his people. As well as the animal that had been sacrificed, there were sheep and goats and even two white long-horned oxen. The meat had been skewered on spits and roasted and basketfuls of bread were served by the palace baker. Red wine as bright as pomegranate seeds was poured into cups and good cheer began to spread among the guests again. Nothing so terrible had happened, after all. The boy would heal from his wounds, get over his fright and have learned some common sense. Don’t challenge a stranger before you know who he really is.

The king spoke again: ‘Now I understand your tears when Demodocus sang of the trickery that led to the fall of Troy and the terrible night of the massacre.’

‘I thank you, wanax, shepherd of the glorious Phaeacian people,’ I answered. ‘Yes. The poet’s song brought me back to the bloodshed and pain that all we Achaians had to bear during the long, endless years of our siege of Troy. We lost our way on our return voyage and since then I’ve suffered everything that a man can suffer. I saw all the comrades who survived the war perish, even my brave Cephalonians. Devoured by monsters and savage flesh-eaters, strung up like fish by the dreadful Laestrygonians. I lost all my ships, everything. And arrived here beseeching pity at the knees of glorious Arete.’

‘Your suffering is over,’ replied the king. ‘I’ll give you a ship that will take you home and this time nothing will happen. We are descendants of Poseidon and we are capable of navigating towards any land in the world, be it the most distant and remote.’ He motioned to one of his guests, a robust man with greying temples: ‘Prepare a ship, the sturdiest we have, for fifty-two rowers, twenty-six on each side. Have the hull, the oarlocks, the mast and its housing all inspected. Do you see this man here beside me? You must be prepared to take him to his homeland, to Ithaca.’

I tried to thank him, as my heart commanded, for such great generosity, but he cut me short with a gesture of his hand.

‘Now that I know who you are, I feel even more strongly that you should stay and become my son-in-law. How long have you been away from home?’

‘In my time,’ I said, ‘twenty years.’

‘There is no other time,’ said the king. ‘Twenty years. . I don’t think you’ll find anyone waiting for you. You’ll be returning without your ships, without your comrades. What is left for you there? Here you could generate a new race. The echo of your deeds will live on in the stories of the poets and the songs of the court minstrels and street singers. I’m sure there are many more adventures that you yourself can tell us about. The nights are starting to get longer, a most propitious time for telling tales with a cup of strong wine to fortify your heart.’

‘Great king,’ I replied, ‘every man on this earth would be honoured and fortunate to receive such a proposal from you. Your daughter Nausicaa is a fragrant flower, pure enchantment. But all I desire is to return. I want to see my home, the young bride I left with a child in her arms when I went off to the war.’

‘As you wish,’ said the king with seeming reluctance. ‘As soon as the ship is ready you can leave. But until then, linger here with us, cheer your heart with my wine. Later, if you are willing to indulge us, the queen and my daughter and all of us who rule the Phaeacians, tell us your story. Your name was unknown to us until now and we could not imagine who you were.’

‘I will,’ I replied, ‘even if it saddens me. Every comrade that I lost torments me still. But it is only right for me to repay your hospitality and, perhaps, speaking of all that happened with men and women who have welcomed and comforted me will help me make sense of things that I have not understood.’

Every evening after that day, when the tables had been cleared, I told of my misfortunes. The unfamiliar lands, the comrades who died but were never forgotten, the ghosts plaguing both my dreams and my sleepless nights, ghosts who still appear to me as the groaning wind whips through these vast empty spaces, swirling the snow over the icy expanse.

And yet, somehow, I felt relief in telling such stories in a safe, tranquil place, protected by powerful, wise people who lived like gods on their wondrous island.

When my evening of storytelling was over and everyone had gone to bed, I would often walk out onto the balcony. Sitting on the hard stone I would curl into myself, hugging my knees to my chest, and think, or sometimes weep.

‘Why don’t you wait for the good weather?’ Nausicaa would ask me. ‘The nights are longer than the days now; put off your departure until the return of the warm winds. It’s only a few months. You’ve waited so long, can’t you wait a little longer?’

‘I’ve made my decision, my lady. I don’t want to wait any longer.’

‘Are you in such a hurry to leave me?’

I couldn’t speak. How could I explain to this young woman in the bloom of her youth what lies in the heart of a man with so much pain, blood, despair behind him? But she’d look at me, expecting an answer.

‘You are the sweetest and loveliest person I’ve ever met throughout all these long years. You are beautiful, charming, as fresh as the first rose of spring: how could I ever wish to leave you? But it’s because you’ve entered into my heart that I want the best for you. You must be free to meet the partner that destiny has in mind for you. You’ll meet a man who will give you boundless love, and children as handsome and strong as sprouting palms.

‘I’ll never forget the day when you stood unwavering before me, seaweed-smeared and brine-encrusted as I was, naked and filled with shame, while your friends ran off to hide. You smiled and the sun started to shine again for me. But I’m tired now, exhausted by all the trials that I have gone through, by the ache of memory, by the nightmares that jolt me awake in the middle of the night. You have to forget me, Nausicaa. Leave me only the music of your name and the light of your eyes. You are young, and bound for life. I can only hope to face my decline with serenity.’

She turned to look at me: in her eyes, tears, on her cheeks, pearls of regret.