Odysseus: The Return

14

The few days that separated me from departure filled my heart with melancholy. I should have been serene, even happy. I was finally returning home at the head of an expert crew made up of the best sailors in the entire world, under the auspices of a king who descended from Poseidon himself. But every time I saw the look of dismay in Nausicaa’s eyes, my heart plummeted in my chest. I knew that look. I’d seen it in Penelope’s eyes every time I’d been about to leave; her counting every instant until we’d finally part. A sense of inconsolable desolation, of dread.

We would walk along the bank of the river for hours, even for days at a time, stopping every now and then in the shade of a palm or willow tree. Plants and trees of every type shared that wondrous land; those from warm climes and cold. We talked together about a great number of things, like the adventures I’d experienced and the wild lands I’d visited. Other times, instead, long silences fell between us, filled only by the remote, mysterious messages whispered in the sigh of the sea.

In the evenings I continued to tell my story at the palace: how I’d met up with the red-flower eaters and then the cyclops, how I had blinded him and then mocked him with ill-conceived words. I was uncertain whether to tell them about the curse he’d hurled at me, how he had called upon his father Poseidon, lord of the sea and the Ocean, to revenge him. I feared that the king might regret giving hospitality to a man who had earned the rancour of a god who was their ancestor. It had already happened once, with Aeolus, the tamer of the winds. He had thrown me out and refused to help me after he’d understood that a powerful god was enraged with me. But the king and his people had been generous and they deserved my sincerity, and so I decided not to hide the terrible words that had come out of the monster’s mouth after I had forever deprived him of the light of day.

I watched as Alcinous’ face darkened. The Phaeacians knew many things about the cyclopes, since they had once inhabited the land of Hypereia, which bordered the giants’ territory. They had often had to defend themselves from that despicable race. But instead of fighting them off as enemies, they had chosen to set off for a new homeland, and thus had remained dear to the blue god, who often manifested himself to them openly, not covered by the clouds which always hide the gods from mortal men.

And I told, barely managing to hold back tears, of how the savage Laestrygonians, eaters of human flesh, had massacred my men, and how they had smashed and sunk all our ships by pitching huge boulders at them. All of them except one.

I was unable to tell them what the Sirens’ song had revealed. So greatly had it wounded my heart that I still suffer now. Not a day or a night passes without me trying to unravel that enigmatic revelation.

The men who would be accompanying me by ship to Ithaca were among my listeners. They heard me out with fixed expressions, never asking or objecting. Perhaps they didn’t understand. I couldn’t help but wonder at times: they had sailed all the seas in the world, why hadn’t they seen the things that I’d seen? Was their silence due to amazement or disbelief? Where had they been? Which seas had they navigated, which waves? On which lands had they set ashore? I wanted to ask whether they had ever passed the wall of fog. . did that gloomy barrier truly separate reality from dream or nightmare? I didn’t dare. It was better not to lift the veils of that mystery when I was so close to returning to my own world. Even if I found that my world had changed greatly, I would still recognize it, surely. The circle would close. At least until I received the sign that would force me to leave again.

The night I told the story of Circe there was a new moon. The sky was covered with black clouds and a sighing wind was drifting in from distant lands. I told of how she had urged me to seek out the gateway of Hades, to summon up the shade of Tiresias and to ask him what my destiny held in store for me. A profound silence fell over the hall from my very first words: ‘I crossed the sea and entered the deep, boundless Ocean. I set ashore where a white cliff of smooth rock rose as high as the sky, piercing the clouds. The coast was bristling with jagged rocks above the surface and treacherous reefs below and the waves were boiling with white foam.’

I saw the sailors who would be on my ship murmuring something to one another. Had they seen it, perhaps? Had they boldly navigated as well beyond the extreme limits of the land and sea? I did not interrupt my story, I asked them nothing. There would be plenty of time during the long voyage that awaited us to talk about those places. I told the assembly about the fallen comrades I found there, mere shadows of what they had once been. I spoke of their desolation and the infinite sadness that enveloped them. And finally of Tiresias’ prophecy: that I would return late, a broken man, that I would find my home violated and invaded. That I would restore order and justice, but not for always. Another long, endless journey awaited me, no longer over the sea, but through mud, snow, ice; a journey of silence and screams.

Even the wind fell still and my words reverberated off the shocked walls. The twelve elders watched me, their faces placid and smooth as wax. A blade of cold air froze my breath. I saw it condense as I can see it now.

Reliving these adventures, my misfortunes and my grief, were like opening up wounds that had never scarred over. The loss of my comrades, their bodies mangled, buried in the stinking bowels of cruel savages, unworthy exequies, unworthy burial! I felt it all.

I told my whole story dry-eyed. I didn’t want to sadden the king and the assembly. It is thus that a guest reciprocates the kindness of his hosts, who have taken him in and fed him at their table. I ended my story with the night I was washed ashore on their island and it felt like I was still a prisoner of the swells that had flung me against the reefs and sharp rocks. I held up my hands, which still hadn’t healed. And, looking Nausicaa in the eyes, I told of our encounter, the scattering of her friends and handmaids as soon as they saw me, the help that she offered without asking for anything in return.

One still afternoon, some time after I had finished telling my story, Nausicaa led me to the sanctuary. Deep in the most secret penetralia of that sacred place was a large painting that represented the gulf, the city and the huge boulder that loomed over it. At the centre of the bay a ship was setting out to sea. Underneath the painting were painted marks, all of the same colour, that stood for words. They looked much like the ones I’d seen long ago on the rim of the shield wielded by wanax Idomeneus, king of Crete and Knossos: a perfect weapon that had belonged to King Minos, Lord of the Labyrinth, before him.

‘Do you want to know what the marks say?’ Nausicaa asked me.

‘Yes, I do,’ I replied.

‘They say that one day a man will show up on the beach and ask for our help to return to his homeland. A man hated by Poseidon, our god and protector. If the Phaeacians decide to take him to his destination, they may do so, but upon their return, their ship will be turned into a rock at the entry to the port, blocking all access, and the boulder will fall from the mountain and crush the city under its enormous weight, destroying its houses and killing its inhabitants.’

Tears streamed from my eyes. ‘So there’s no escape for me. I’m that man. And this curse has been lying in wait here for me from time immemorial. As has this atrocious dilemma: I can either accept your help and condemn you to annihilation, or forever give up my island, my family, my people.’

My heart rejected this cruel sentence. I even hoped that Nausicaa had invented it all to convince me to stay and forget about returning. But she saw the expression on my face, the tears streaming down my face, and perhaps she took pity on me. She said: ‘There’s one last phrase. It says: “If the god so wishes.” So it may not happen.’

‘Your father knows of this prophecy, doesn’t he?’

‘Certainly, as do my mother, my brothers and the elders.’

‘Why would they do this for me?’

‘Wouldn’t you do the same thing? We are a great people, with a great heart.’

‘I would do the same.’

‘So you can surely understand the choice of the valiant Phaeacians, uncontested masters of the sea.’

My eyes ran over the painting, poring over every detail, every corner, and then stopping in the middle. ‘That ship. .’

‘What about that ship?’

‘It has no means for steering.’

‘You saw ships like this one down at the port, didn’t you?’

‘I thought the oars had been stowed away.’

‘No. None of our ships have steering oars. They always know the route. The sailors will ask you where your island is and the ship will know how to take you there.’

I was dumbfounded. I realized that mortals could become like the gods and perhaps even better, if we could live according to fair laws and were led by the highest minds. But my heart ached at the thought that by accepting such a generous gift, I would be exposing those people that I had learned to love — that wondrously wise king and queen, and golden Nausicaa herself — to mortal danger. To the possible extermination of their whole people.

How could I accept? Alcinous, who was aware of the threatening prophecy, had offered me his daughter, certainly his most precious treasure, in the hope of binding me to this land. So that I would stay, forget about returning. After all my stories, he was surer than ever that I was the fatal man, he who gives rise to hatred, and he was just as sure that I had nothing to go back to. He knew that my world didn’t exist any more, or was dying. We had been away too long. Many kings had died or had gone missing. Others, like me, had been given up for dead. Too many young men in the bloom of their years had left their lives on the fields of Troy.

But I could not give up Ithaca and I already knew in my heart what I would say. I asked Nausicaa if her mother and father would receive me. Nothing penetrated from outside, neither sounds nor voices. Only the light of midday poured in from above like molten bronze, along with the twittering of sparrows.

‘They will hear you today,’ she replied. That was all I needed to know.

King Alcinous and Queen Arete received me in their chambers before sunset. A golden light streamed in through the window that looked out on the garden. The singing of youthful voices, a girls’ choir perhaps, wafted in gently as if carried by the breeze from a distant land.

‘You’ve asked to speak with us,’ said the king. ‘Why is that? Is something worrying you? Aren’t you pleased with what we’ve promised you? Do you doubt our word, perhaps? The ship that will take you home is ready, the strongest and most seasoned of our young men have been chosen as sailors. And you won’t be going home empty-handed. Let no one say you’ve lost all your ships and men and that you return wretched and poor.’ As he spoke, the queen nodded in assent at every phrase.

This is how far they were willing to go! They would cover me with gifts so my dignity would not be called into question.

‘Great king,’ I said, ‘splendid queen, no doubts could arise in my mind regarding your promises. I have had endless proof of your magnanimity. You are like gods for me. You are greater than they — the gods have often been cruel and relentless with me and they continue to be so, despite my sacrifices and prayers. If I acted as I did, it was only to save myself and my comrades from horrible deaths. But today, in your sanctuary, I learned of the woeful prophecy that threatens the destruction of your people and city if you help a man who has come from afar to return to his homeland. A man that the sea has tossed up onto your shores.

‘I won’t be the cause of your ruin. I beg of you, all I need is a solid boat that I can handle myself. I’ll use a steering oar made with my own hands. I have experience in woodworking. In this way, you will not be punished by a god who hates me and who heaps suffering upon me. I will sail alone towards my homeland and if it is my destiny to perish in the attempt, so be it. I don’t want others to suffer. I won’t let the enormous mass looming over you tear free of its moorings and come crashing down on your beautiful city and the people living here.’

‘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.

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. .’

‘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.

‘Why were you so hard to recognize?’

‘Because you were almost always on the sea or on islands surrounded by the sea, where Poseidon, my father’s brother, has immeasurable power. I didn’t want him to see me or hear me. Who would have been left to help you if he found me out?’

‘But we’re in the middle of the sea here and you’ve never appeared to me like now. You’ve never spoken to me so clearly.’

‘It’s different here,’ she said, flashing her green eyes at me. ‘Here we’re behind the wall of fog. Here everything returns to how it was before the storm carried you away. That’s not saying it’s better.’

‘Why?’

I was talking to my goddess, after such a long time, as if I were talking to a friend and I couldn’t really believe it. Was I still asleep, and dreaming?

But she continued: ‘You can’t go home looking like that. Your house has been occupied by arrogant young men who are devouring all that is yours. There are many of them, and they are well armed. They want to oblige Penelope, who has remained faithful to you, to marry one of them and they plot to murder your son.’ I was shaking with rage. ‘Easy, I’m protecting your boy. And now. . off with this opulent garment that makes you look similar to a god. .’

I found myself covered in rags like a beggar. The sack I carried was soiled and greasy and hung off my shoulder on a piece of worn rope.

‘We’ll have to hide those warrior’s arms and those powerful thighs. . and let’s add a few wrinkles to that face of yours and more white to that head of hair; it’s too dark.’

I felt myself aging as her hand swept over me.

‘There,’ said my goddess, satisfied. ‘That’s much better. You can’t stay here, too much coming and going. Take that path up that way, it’ll lead you to crow’s rock and to the shack where Eumeus the swineherd still lives. He’s never stopped awaiting your return; you can trust him. Farewell.’

She disappeared.

She’d left me a walking stick.

I reached the path and started climbing the steep slope. The sun had risen high in the sky and was causing me to sweat profusely. When I was high enough I turned to contemplate my homeland. I could see where I had disembarked: it was the secret port, hidden between two tall promontories. There was Same, directly in front of me with her beautiful cliffs and woodland. At one side, the cave of the Naiads where I used to go to make sacrifice. So many things were returning to mind! At the end of the channel I could see tiny Asteria, little more than a rocky outcropping. I started to climb again, using the stick to help myself along. When I was nearly at the mountain’s top I turned again. On the horizon, I thought I saw a tiny white sail. Could that be the ship that had brought me home? No, it couldn’t be. By this time it would have travelled much further away and wouldn’t be visible from here.

If Scheria were to be found at just a single night’s voyage from Ithaca, my father and I would have gone ashore there on many occasions. Alcinous would have been our neighbour and guest and we his. So that was impossible, as were many other events that I’d experienced on the other side of the wall of fog. Had my helmsman crossed it in the middle of the night while I was fast asleep? Just how fast could that wondrous vessel travel, a ship that could find its own way without even a steering oar! Perhaps in a single night it had sailed a distance that would have taken a common craft ten or twenty times as long.

I had reached the high plain, which was covered with oaks. I could see how much they’d grown in my absence! If I had any doubts that I’d truly landed on Ithaca, that vision alone would have dispelled them. And there was crow’s rock. . how often I’d climbed it as a boy! I’d been ordered to by Damastes, to strengthen my arms and toughen my hands. Now I had to find Eumeus’ house. Would he recognize me? No, not in the state I found myself in, not even my mother would have recognized me, not even my nurse, mai. I walked along the path, which had narrowed into a goat track, up the final incline, and found myself at a short distance from the stables and pigsties.

As I was approaching, I remembered how one day long ago Eumeus had shown me how a boar mounted a sow and that helped me to understand a lot of things in life. Great gods, I was little more than a child and my father was a hero at the peak of his strength. I’d been away so long! My whole world had changed in the meantime, and I doubted that I’d be able to recognize it.

I was very close now and I prepared to enter the pen. It was well made, a wall of stones topped with bundles of thorns to keep the wolves out. All at once I heard furious barking and two dogs ran out at me. I backed up against the trunk of an oak tree and raised the stick, but I didn’t need to fight them off. The swineherd came and, shouting at them and throwing stones, managed to call them off. He called out to me:

‘You’re lucky, old man. If I hadn’t been here they would have ripped you to shreds. Come on, come inside, I’ll get you something to eat. Where are you from? I’ve never seen you around these parts.’

Eumeus. . my heart leapt in my chest. My old servant! He hadn’t changed so much. I could still see that it was him. His hair was thinner and he’d lost a tooth, but he still had those enormous hands, those wide shoulders and big dark eyes. And those bushy eyebrows!

I made up another story. I was used to it by now. ‘I come from the continent. I found passage on a ferry. I hear say that there are many princes at the palace and a banquet to be had every day. I was hoping to pick up some alms.’

‘Then I wish you good luck! Those aren’t there to give, only to take. They eat a whole pig every day and they drink as much wine as they can get poured for them. And when they leave at night, my master’s house looks worse than this pigsty. I hardly ever go there myself. I always send one of the hands, I can’t stand to see such havoc. It’s a terrible shame.’

I entered the pen as he went on grumbling and complaining. The dogs had come back in the meantime but, at seeing me talking to their master, they sniffed at me and went on their way.

‘Why does your master allow such a thing? Why doesn’t he throw them out of his house?’

‘Because he’s not there. He’s dead.’

‘He’s dead? Did you see him die yourself? How did it happen?’

His voice seemed to tremble. ‘No, although I wish I had. To close his eyes, render the honours he deserved and raise a great mound over his tomb. You see, he left many many years ago for the war, and he never came back. By now he’s on the bottom of the sea, if the fish haven’t finished eating him yet, or dead in some foreign land, slaughtered by a tribe of savages. He left with a whole army and none of them ever came back. Damned war. Damned war took my master.’

‘He was good to you?’

‘Good to me? He treated me like one of the family. I would have died for him. Once I had finished as his swineherd and trained another to take my place, he would have given me a fine woman for a wife, tall and shapely, and a house where I would have raised a family. .’ he sighed. ‘But I’m happy you’ve shown up, old man, I’m happy to have your company. Know what we’ll do now? We’ll take a couple of little piglets and put them on a spit. We’ll toast some bread over the embers, down a glass or two of good wine and to hell with these sad thoughts.’

His eyes were bright with tears. Good old Eumeus. .

‘Oh, don’t go expecting the best though, that goes to the princes. We’ll take a couple of runts, two of the skinny ones that got the last teats, but once they’ve been nicely seasoned and roasted they’ll do just fine.’

‘That’s even too much for me, my friend. When I’m lucky I get thrown a chunk of dry bread.’

Eumeus tossed some wood onto the fire. ‘It’s starting to get cold at night,’ he said, ‘and we’ll need the embers to roast our pigs.’ He treated me like an old friend and we had just met. At least, that’s what he had reason to believe.

I helped him to place the piglets under the sows for suckling and to herd the hogs and the barrows into their separate pens, while he began to cook a couple of small piglets. They looked scrawny, but soon the fragrance of their meat roasting made my mouth water. At least I felt that I had earned my keep.

We sat near the fire and waited for the meat to be done and the bread to toast. The wine was ready and Eumeus poured it into two cups, and then took the spits from the embers and cut off portions for both of us, without skimping. It tasted delicious. I hadn’t eaten since I’d woken up under the olive tree. When we’d finished we took the bones out to the dogs, so they could enjoy it as we had. The evening was still young; we poured more wine and went on talking.

‘But who was your master?’ I asked. ‘And what was that damned war you were talking about earlier?’

‘Everyone around here knows about the war,’ replied Eumeus. ‘It’s the war that Agamemnon of Mycenae and Menelaus of Sparta declared against Troy. It was all because of Helen. My master had just married, he had an infant son and he didn’t want to go, but he was forced to. His name was Odysseus.’

‘Why do you keep saying “was”? Couldn’t he still be alive?’ Eumeus pulled his stool up close, leaned over and looked me straight in the eye. ‘Listen up, old man. My master is dead. Hear that? Dead! And even if he isn’t, it’s as if he was. Twenty years have gone by. That’s too many. Don’t get it in your head to go to the queen up at the palace and start telling her stories: that you’ve seen him, that you’ve heard he’s still alive. She’s already heard it from every beggar or tramp who happens by here, hoping to get himself something to eat or to cover himself. Everyone knows that the queen refuses to marry because she hopes that Odysseus is coming back and so these vagabonds take advantage of that and tell her what she wants to hear. I have the feeling that for some new clothes or even a cloak a bit better than that rag on your shoulders you’d do the same.’ His eyes shone as he repeated in a tired voice: ‘My master is dead. . dead.’

I had no words in the face of those tears.

‘I loved him more than I ever loved my own parents. Not that I ever knew them. Phoenician merchants carried me off when I was just a child and sold me on the slave market.’

At that point I couldn’t stay quiet. His loyalty deserved some consolation. ‘Now you listen to me,’ I said, without moving my eyes from his. ‘Odysseus is coming back. Soon. I can promise you that. He’ll return before the new moon. At the end of this month or the beginning of the next.’

He regarded me even more suspiciously.

‘Listen, we’ll make a bet,’ I told him. ‘I’m willing to wager a new tunic and cloak that I’m telling you the truth. To prove that I’m sincere I don’t want them now. You’ll give them to me when you see your master back here at home.’

Eumeus shook his head. It had become dark and the only light in the house came from the hearth. He threw another piece of wood onto the fire.

‘That won’t work with me, old man,’ he said. ‘You can’t play games with me. You’ll never earn that tunic and cloak. You’ll have to find some other way to get what you need. You aren’t bad with the pigs and I could use a helper. . I have too many problems of my own to sort out. Telemachus, my master’s son — a lovely boy, as good-hearted and generous as his father — has got it into his head to go off looking for him. By now he should have arrived in Pylos, Nestor’s kingdom.’

‘King Nestor is famous for being a just and generous sovereign. I’m sure the boy will be treated well.’

‘It’s not him I’m worried about — it’s these wretched bastards who are occupying the palace. They want Penelope to choose one of them as a husband. They’re plotting to ambush Telemachus in the channel as he’s returning home. He’s the last heir of the house that reigns over Ithaca and the islands and they mean to murder him. His mother suspects as much and is desperate. But there’s nothing you and I can do about it, is there? Let us set such sad thoughts aside and trust that Zeus will protect him. We can’t always allow anxiety and grief to rule our lives. Tell me about yourself, old man. Where are you from? And how did you fall so low?’

He poured me another cup of wine. The north wind whipped the cloths covering the windows like sails in a storm. My loyal old servant was yearning for a good story, a long one, full of adventures, and I was happy to satisfy him. It wasn’t hard to do. All I had to do was weave together bits and pieces of the events I had experienced myself. A difficult return from the war, no more than a month with my wife and son, the impossibility of staying put in a place that may have been my own country but one I didn’t recognize any more. An adventure in Egypt, a defeat, a long absence, seven whole years! An escape, a shipwreck, days and nights hanging on to the ship’s mast for dear life before being cast ashore in Thesprotia, where the king himself swore that he’d seen Odysseus with his own eyes and that he still had all the treasure he’d piled up in Troy. The king had given him a ship and directed him towards Ithaca. And that was that and here was I, nothing but a sorry beggar at the end of it all, but happy to be warmed by the fire with a cup of good wine, resting at last after fleeing cruel persecutors and plain bad luck. The stars outside followed their courses in the night sky, where a thin sickle moon glittered low on the horizon, casting its pale light on crow’s rock.

Eumeus was moved by my retelling of these fictitious events, so similar to what I’d gone through. He was a good-hearted soul. He said: ‘You’ve certainly seen suffering, much more than I! But why try to make me believe that Odysseus will return soon? No, my friend, I know what happened to him. It isn’t hard to imagine. We’ve heard rumours over the years. He was the one who found the way to end the war, but he didn’t die in combat. Had it only been so! He would have died a hero, the Achaians would have raised an enormous mound, as they have for all the heroes who fell so far from their homeland, and his glory would have illuminated his son as well. No, he’s not coming back. He died because the gods didn’t love him enough. The ghosts of the tempest spirited him away and carried him off to some dark death, robbing him of glory.

‘And me? Here I remain, among my pigs. If guests arrive, the queen never summons me to the palace. She’s tired of hearing me warn her about swindlers and beggars like you. She’d rather be deceived into believing that her husband is still alive, even if it’s just for a moment. But when she does invite me I’m happy to go and speak with her, or just look at her, beautiful as she is, so noble and proud. I understand that you’re miserable, old man, but you can lay off with your tall tales now. There’s no tricking me. And that’s not why I’ve welcomed you under my roof, or why you’re warming yourself by my fire, drinking my wine or eating my bread. I’ve taken you in because I pity you and because I know that any poor man in tatters seeking shelter may be a god in disguise, putting us mortals to the test.’

The wind picked up and it started to rain hard. We could hear it pelting down on the roof. I asked him for a cloak to cover myself, because I’d be cold with the rags I was wearing.

‘Here,’ he replied, tossing me his own, ‘but you’ll have to give it back tomorrow, I don’t have another.’ Then he threw a cape made of sheepskins over his shoulders, girded on a sword and picked up a spear.

‘It’s nights like these that robbers go roaming under the cover of darkness. They imagine that we’re slumbering peacefully alongside the fire, but they’re wrong. I’m going to sleep out by the pigsty, with the dogs. There’s a spot that’s sheltered from the rain. I’ll see you in the morning.’

I watched as he left, pulling the sheepskin tight. The wind slammed the door against the jamb several times before he secured the latch. I was alone, in the silence of the hut, with the crackling of the dying flames and the patter of the rain on the roof for company.

Then, in the middle of the night, a shepherd’s flute warbled its solitary tune. My goddess was letting me hear her voice.