Odysseus: The Return

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  Just a day ago, as I was climbing up the promontory with my men, it almost seemed as if we could have been on Ithaca and now, instead, it felt like each step I took was distancing me from reality, from the things that had a familiar meaning, from the shapes and sounds I’d learned to recognize on my island since I was a child. I thought of the years of war, of all that blood. I had endured privations, wounds, horrible losses, but I recognized the places I found myself in, the voices around me. I laughed and I cried. But since I had passed the wall of fog and reached the land of the flower-eaters I had lost my mind, and my heart was prey to wild imaginings. Events seemed to hang between doubt and unreality. As I crossed the clearing, I felt those same strange sensations again, but I was beginning to understand (or was it vain hope instead?) that my journey had a destination, albeit an unfamiliar one, and that it was about to be revealed to me.

  After I’d crossed another stretch of forest, I found myself at last in front of the house with the smoke rising from its roof. It was close to sunset, the hour in which the sun enflames the sea. There were the animals whose cries I’d heard, locked up in big cages made of thick reeds or bronze bars. I saw the lion, pacing back and forth, incessantly roaring, an enormous grey-green lizard with a pointed tongue, a snake I’d never seen before, as thick as a man’s neck and all coiled up on itself. I could also hear the grunting of pigs and the deep bellow of a wild bull.

  How could I go forward? How could I find my companions? I suddenly heard the voice of one of them in my ear, like a breath: ‘Wanax . . .’

  ‘Where are you?’ I cried out. ‘Speak up, where are you?’

  I shouted, more loudly: ‘Where are you all?’

  The animals calmed, fell silent. The snake pulled in its pointed tongue and laid its head down on the bottom of its cage.

  A woman’s voice startled me, coming from behind me: ‘Who are you looking for, foreigner?’ I spun around.

  It was difficult to believe what I was seeing: her hair was violet and her eyes shone with a changing light whenever she shifted her head. The eyes of a dragon, of a quivering deer, of a greedy hawk . . . Her gown hung luminous from her shoulders in a myriad of tiny pleats, whispering of the wind, of the foam of the sea. From her stomach down, it divided into infinite filaments and with every step slipped between her perfect thighs, revealing smooth, ivory skin.

  I replied: ‘Who are you who speak my language?’

  ‘We all speak the same language, haven’t you noticed?’

  ‘I’m looking for my men. Have you seen them?’

  She moved in front of me. ‘Men? No. I’ve seen no one. But come, there’s a shady garden inside the house, the sun won’t burn us there. Many flowers grow within, and their scent is inebriating. You must be hungry, foreigner, you look like you’ve been walking a long time.’

  She turned and I followed her towards the house. We entered. Her feet seemed to barely skim the floor made of marble as blue as the waves of the sea, with black and gold streaks. Ceiling beams of cedar wood rested on top of tall columns. From each hung a wicker cage with intensely coloured songbirds inside. Their eyes were bright, curious. ‘Foreigner foreigner foreigner,’ they sighed.

  A garden opened in the middle of the house, a fountain gurgling softly at its centre. Plants bowed over the water, flowers, flowers everywhere, of every marvellous colour, releasing a sublime scent made up of infinite fragrances.

  She offered me a chair and sat down opposite me. Sitting on the lush green grass was a large bowl of embossed gold, with a thin alabaster cover. She opened it and, using a silver ladle, filled a smaller cup for me. ‘Take this,’ she said. ‘With this you’ll eat, with this you’ll drink. I prepare it only for my most honoured guests.’

  ‘There’s no reason to honour me.’

  ‘For me there is, foreigner of the smiling eyes.’

  My gaze was unwavering. I brought the cup to my lips and drank slowly, in small sips, without ever hiding my eyes behind the rim of the cup.

  ‘What is your name?’ I asked her. She regarded me as if I were an alien creature, who eluded her understanding. She took a stick and tapped it on my shoulder.

  ‘Won’t you tell me?’ I insisted.

  She touched me again and now I saw incredulity on her face.

  ‘Nothing is going to happen,’ I said firmly.

  She seemed dismayed, but then instantly gave me an enchanting smile. ‘Now that you’ve had some nourishment, won’t you come upstairs with me? That’s where my bedroom is.’

  I smiled back, as I swiftly drew my sword from the sheath at my side and pointed it at her throat. ‘No more smiles, lovely wanaxa?’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re missing. You would slay a body that could give you infinite pleasures never experienced by any man on this earth?’

  ‘Without a moment’s hesitation.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I want my men back. That’s why I came. What have you done with them?’

  ‘They entered my house. They surrounded me and looked at me greedily, like pigs, full of obscene lust, ready to lay their hands on me. Now they’re out with the pigs. Didn’t you hear them grunting out there?’

  I pushed the blade against her throat. A tiny pressure and her blood would spurt out to stain her white breasts and beautiful gown. I gave the golden cup a kick, and the liquid inside spilled out onto the ground. ‘My men!’ I shouted.

  She understood that she had no choice. ‘Follow me,’ she said, and walked towards the door. We reached a pig enclosure. There were my men, naked, in the mud and excrement, snorting and rolling around with the swine. Tear filled my eyes, so great was the compassion I felt for them.

  ‘Free them,’ I said, and then the tone of my voice changed: ‘I beg you.’

  She listened to me. She took her stick and touched their filth-smeared backs, one by one. One after another they got up, realized what had happened, what they had become and, overcome with shame, they wept.

  ‘Go to the stream and wash,’ I ordered. ‘You’re repugnant. Look for your clothes and run to the ship. Tell Elpenor that you’ve seen me and that I’m in no danger.’

  The lady of the island approached me and said gently: ‘My name is Circe. I’ve always lived in this place, so distant from any other. Who are you? What is your name? I don’t know you, and yet I’ve always known that a man immune to my spell would come here one day.’

  ‘I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, and I reign over the island of Ithaca. As we were returning from war, a howling gale drove us far off our route and dragged us into a world unknown to us. I could not have imagined that such a world existed. But now, wanaxa, know that I come in peace and that I respect your house and your person. The stick you hold did not turn me into an animal because I’ve always been a man, at every hour of the day and night, before other men and before women. You see, I trust in my mind and in the thoughts, versatile and complex, which the gods have graced me with.’

  ‘Tell your men they can all come here. There will be abundant food for them, pure water and wine. You can all stay as long as you like.’

  I followed her and a big dog with long fangs lay down at her feet and licked them.

  ‘Was he a man as well?’ I asked her.

  ‘Yes, as faithful as a dog. Too much so. You’re seeing him now as I see him, but he’s still a man, look closer.’

  The dog had disappeared. The dark-skinned man standing in front of me had downcast eyes and his arms crossed over his chest.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Here nothing is what it seems. But even Odysseus needed help in order to face me.’

  ‘I just needed to believe in myself. A youth in the woods gave me the roots of a plant to eat, as a defence against your spells. But I was sure, from the moment I set off, that nothing would be able to bend me. It was that belief, not the plant, that made me resistant.’

  ‘You have the gift, Odysseus. Like me . . . and very few others.’

  I thought of C
alchas. He too had used the very same words under the wild fig tree. I still remembered him whispering into my ear and what I, at the same moment, told him.

  It was quite dark when the men I’d sent to the ship returned, including Eurylochus. They wouldn’t come close to the house; they hung back, at the edge of the clearing, watchful and uneasy. The animals’ cries and the memory of what they’d just gone through were still too fresh in their minds. I went out to them and tried to convince them to come in with me, but they insisted on staying where they were, at least for the night, and I didn’t want to force them. I stayed with them for some time and even had food brought to them, which they didn’t touch.

  ‘You needn’t worry,’ I said to them. ‘No ill will befall you now. You can post armed sentries all night, sleep with your swords at your sides, and tomorrow, when the sun rises, you’ll see that I was right. I’ll come back here unharmed and perhaps then you’ll follow me to the house of Circe, the lady of this place.’ Some of them looked away, confused, but not Eurylochus. I embraced him and whispered into his ear: ‘Yours is the command. Make any decision you feel necessary, but do not fear. Tomorrow you’ll see me back here at first light.’

  He exchanged my embrace, vigorously, and stood watching me from the edge of the clearing until I turned and raised my hand when I reached the house of Circe.

  When I entered it was lit by lanterns, but empty. Only the scent of unfamiliar flowers wafted between the columned hall and the secret inner garden. I heard a sound coming from the upstairs chamber, a song as light as a morning breeze. I went up the stairs, following the voice, until I found myself at the door to a room: the space inside seemed infinitely big and the melody hung in the air like the scent I was breathing. Circe lay on a purple bed, which rested on a tree that came up from the garden below. There was no floor. The branches were decked with big red leaves and dozens and dozens of fleshy white flowers that gave off the gentle scent I’d smelled. Circe was naked: only her long hair veiled her breasts.

  ‘Isn’t this the bed you’ve been desiring for so long?’ she asked me.

  ‘This tree didn’t exist when I entered the garden.’

  ‘True. It grew while you were talking to your men.’

  I nodded. ‘I see. Nothing on this island is what it seems. Not even you, I imagine.’

  ‘Not even me,’ she replied, ‘but what does it matter?’ She held out her arms to me. ‘Come, son of Laertes. I’ve been waiting for you for such a long time. I knew that you would come, and that my spell would not break you. Don’t be afraid. Walk on the branches of the tree; any one of them leads to my bed. Choose any one you like.’

  I hesitated. The flowers made me wary and so did Circe; I couldn’t believe that she had given up. But I was tired. I’d suffered too much pain, too much loss and I longed to abandon myself to a woman’s caress. High-waisted Circe with her proud breasts and long hair that swayed around her body. I pulled off the baldric that held my sword and hung it from one of the branches. Her arms drew me in. Her love was like pure wine. I lost myself in the dark magic of her eyes.

  When I awoke, she was sleeping next to me on a bed of carved wood with sheets of white linen. My sheathed sword lay on a floor made of a semi-precious, ochre-coloured stone. I looked at her: a young maiden, immersed in serene sleep. Dawn was lightening the horizon and I went to seek my comrades. They greeted me with joy. The sentries were toasting bread over a fire, topped with cheese they’d cut with their swords.

  ‘Eat with us, wanax,’ they said, smiling. I took my place next to them as the others began to awaken. The birds saluted the rising sun with their song, the sea curled lazily along the long golden beach; the island woke up with us and everything seemed familiar to our eyes.

  ‘See, Eurylochus? Nothing happened. We’re all well and we’ve found a marvellous place to rest in.’

  Circe welcomed them graciously and accepted them all as her guests. The place was as beautiful as any we had ever seen and as one day turned into the next, we felt at ease, at home, almost. Time passed without any of us really noticing. My men fished, hunted, inspected the hull of the ship, replaced the parts harmed by the storms and the lashing waves, mended the sail. But I felt uncomfortable with them, because I was the only one among them enjoying something they could only dream about: the graces of a woman of stupendous beauty . . . if she was a woman at all.

  One day, near the end of autumn, I was stretched out in the shade of a palm tree when she came up and sat on the sand next to me. ‘Time has flown. It seems like yesterday that you arrived.’

  ‘Nothing is what it seems on this island. That’s what you told me, remember?’

  ‘That’s right,’ she replied, and she ran her fingers through my hair, slowly. ‘You’ll leave, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I have to take my men home, as I promised them when we left for Troy so many years ago. They yearn for their homeland and they are sad at heart.’

  I realized for all that time I’d been able to forget the words of Polyphemus, and that I was able to remember fondly the men I’d lost to the Laestrygonians; no longer were they bloody, restless spirits in my mind.

  ‘I imagined as much. I’ve always feared this day. I’ll remain here alone. I’ll walk the beach endlessly by day or toss sleeplessly in my bed at night . . .’

  ‘Perhaps other ships will arrive, attracted by the plume of smoke that always rises into the sky from this island . . .’ I said. ‘But why must you stay in this house?’

  Her eyes were shaded with melancholy when she answered: ‘Each one of us has a debt to pay. Even you . . .’

  ‘Even me,’ I replied, ‘and I can’t wait to see the end of it.’

  ‘I know. . . Can’t you forget?’

  ‘How can I? I’m responsible for my men. I’ve already lost too many of them. But you, my divine friend, you who have a greater gift than anyone I have ever met, can’t you tell me what you see in my future? Will I ever get back? Will I see my island again and my family, will I take my men home with me?’

  Circe touched my lips with her fingers. ‘Is knowing the future what you really want? Isn’t it better not to know what awaits us?’

  ‘No, I have to know. I’m tired of living in doubt, in uncertainty.’

  ‘What you want to know is a secret guarded by the Moirai. They are cruel, vindictive divinities, and I can’t help you. There’s only one man who could, but he’s not among the living.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Tiresias, the seer. He could tell you, but he is imprisoned in implacable Hades, and if you want to consult him you’ll have to go to where he is. You’ll have to call up the shades of the dead.’ She looked away from me, as if trying to hide the feelings in her heart.

  ‘Can’t you teach me how?’

  ‘Oh, king of Ithaca, what terrible things you ask of me on this luminous afternoon! But if you really want me to, I will teach you.’

  ‘I do. And if you do this for me, you’ll always have a place in my heart.’

  She sighed. ‘Push your agile ship into the sea and sail due west until you reach the shore of the deep Ocean. You will see a cliff as white as silver with a cave beneath it, and there you will go ashore. Use your sword to dig a ditch one cubit wide by one cubit long. Cut the throats of black-coated victims, and collect their blood in the ditch. Scatter handfuls of flour, the best, and honey, to attract the idle ghosts . . . and then you may invoke the pale-headed dead. Call them again and again, and they will come to you . . . in great number.’

  The sun was hot and radiant in the centre of the sky and I felt cold chills. Lovable Circe, her long hair like waves of the sea, continued: ‘Hold them off with your sword. They’ll still be afraid of it, even if they can’t die twice, and allow only Tiresias to drink the black blood of the victims. Then he will speak to you, and tell you the whole truth.’ She fell still and her head dropped as if succumbing to a mysterious weariness.

  ‘Thank you,’ I replied, ‘for not being deaf to my pleas. I will
always hold your memory dear in my heart.’

  ‘Remember,’ she said, ‘it is a terrible thing to meet the shadows of the dead.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Can’t you stay a little longer? The autumn is almost over. The force of the wind will build, and churn up foamy waves on the sea.’

  I lowered my head without answering.

  ‘You cannot. I see. Then, if thus it must be, if I will have to mourn forever, alone, the days and nights I have spent with you, make me never forget this last night that we’ll be together. I’ll pray for the sun to remain as long as he can in the land of the Ethiopians and keep the night darker and longer for us so we can have our fill of love.’ Her eyes shone, damp, the colour of deep water.

  7

  THE MEN EXULTED WHEN I announced that we would return to the sea. The life we’d been living was a great relief after what we had seen and suffered on our last voyage, but they were already bored with it and were ready to set off. I, instead, was thinking of how I would tell them about the change in our destination and how they would react to my words.

  They started to work vigorously on preparing the ship. The lady of the island was very generous with us: she gave us food in great quantity, wheat and barley as well, jars filled with strong, heady wine, smoked meat and baked breads. We drew pure water from the stream, filling more jars and loading them on the ship.

  They were all happy, but my eyes were on the beautiful wanaxa of this strange, mysterious island who had been feeding us for almost a year. I watched her, a silent shadow, as she walked down the low hill that rose over the port. She observed us as we bustled around the robust hull that had faced so many adventures and would perhaps face many more. She was suffering, I think, imagining the solitude that awaited her for long days or months or years.