The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel

by Nikos Kazantzakis

  Then Captain Clam lowered his voice and hoarsely rasped:

  “My troubles, lads, are vast, three mills can’t grind them all.

  We’ve chewed the rag to find what makes the world go round,

  to find what pirate ship the soul of man might be. 925

  I’ve bound myself with firm ties to those distant pirates

  who’ll ship tonight in secret from this harbor’s claws.

  They’re blond-haired, they wield iron axes, dress in bearskins,

  and two great gods laugh on their sails, the sun and moon,

  and a thick cartwheel nailed with iron whirling hooks. 930

  From their far shores the males once sniffed Crete’s female scent

  and came to spy the island out, to smell it, touch it,

  to gulp it down and glut their cold blue eyes, and then,

  still starved, turn back to their own land with the sweet news.

  Aye, lads, they’ve filled their hold with samples of all kinds: 935

  old wine, new grapes, lambs, goats, a brown-skinned girl, that when

  they reach the dark cliffs of their native coasts, no one

  can say that Crete was but the dream of a warm night

  They’ve stuffed all well within their minds—drydocks and walls,

  lighthouses, guards, reefs, shallow waters, harbor gates; 940

  then—to our health, boys!—they’ll return with flaring torches!

  I swear by the sea, our entrails are but tangled beasts,

  and though you beat the octopus-heart, it won’t grow soft.”

  Thus spoke bush-bearded Captain Clam; he pitied Crete,

  pitied her great flotilla and her bursting holds, 945

  and one small maid who yesterday had poured for him

  the honey of oblivion on the shingled shore.

  He stroked his beard, and all the leaves of his heart sighed:

  “Man’s heart, my brothers, is a heavy, heavy beast,”

  and then he filled his cup again and drowned his cares. 950

  But meanwhile in the cool yet bloody dancing ring

  slaves ran to light the torches and to spread the feast

  as the archons once more ate and drank, laughed and caroused,

  the heavy beast-masks of their gods thrown down their backs;

  Odysseus huddled low, his chin between his knees, 955

  and filled his eyes with their lewd laughter, their loud talk,

  and the wild tambourines which the tall Negroes clashed.

  The Mountain Maidens by the river raised their cries,

  wept for their virgin leader Krino, beat their breasts,

  and their sweet keening dripped into the dewy night. 960

  Meanwhile the prows at sea with sun and moon on sails

  skimmed softly on the waves and vanished, crammed with news.

  Souls of the dead flew past, a row of vagrant gulls,

  widows sat by the shore, unbared their heads, and cried

  to their drowned husbands to come ashore for a brief moment. 965

  The thresher and his wife stretched on their humble cot

  and slept with crossed hands, but their lips curved in a smile:

  they dreamt their supper had been good, that their barns bulged,

  and that they sank up to theft thighs in golden grain.

  And the slave-mother thrust her son in the damp ground, 970

  tied a black kerchief round her hair and then recalled

  what her child’s laughter had been like, once long ago.

  The solitary man sat silent, wrapped in night,

  as still above him hung the thick and clustered stars,

  and Scorpio lashed his tail, squirmed, slithered through the sky, 975

  and with his bloody, fearless eyes allured the earth.

  The mind, like Scorpio too, rejoiced to raise its tail

  and lean on earth to count its dripping venom drop by drop.

  And thus the bronzesmith found him as light broke, sunk deep

  in speechless quiet, and crouched beside him, mute and sullen, 980

  but as Odysseus turned and seized his comrade’s hand,

  the shrill and cackling laugh of Helen suddenly burst

  amid the roused cocks’ crowing like a partridge cry.

  Squeezing his master’s hand, the bronzesmith slowly spoke:

  “Dear captain, do not sigh or claw your chest in vain, 985

  I bring news in my fists held like a blazing torch.”

  The fiery man turned mutely toward his stolid friend,

  then grabbed him by his savage knees, and ground his teeth,

  until the bronzesmith growled but kept his pain in check.

  “Don’t break my knees now, friend! I’ll tell you in good time. 990

  That hour when you lay in the arms of those wide cows,

  I prowled the zigzag halls and etched all in my mind:

  the ins and outs, the sentries, tunnels, the blind alleys.

  Mind-weaver, come, unlid my skull and you shall find

  a heavy copper disk where like a twisting snail 995

  the strong bull-palace squirms in many cunning coils.

  I etched all crooked corridors in my bronze mind,

  groped here and there, pushed open doors and listened long:

  workers and slaves still rolled on tiles with revelry,

  the blond-haired strangers with the sentry guards caroused 1000

  and captive slaves hung down in wells and groaned like bulls.

  In a deep cellar I suddenly saw a lustrous flame

  and groped my way down the dim stairs, holding my breath,

  because I thought I heard an anvil struck with force

  and a huge bellows rasping at the castle’s root. 1005

  My mind shook with great joy, for I’d unearthed, I knew,

  the secret workshop of the palace ironsmith.

  They say the king has kept this foreign craftsman jailed

  in the earth’s roots, a dragon bound with chains of flame.

  No soul has ever drawn near to see the new god’s passion, 1010

  for guards have killed all daring spies sent by their kings

  to ferret out and steal that holy secret skill.

  By God, today I found that magic gate unguarded!”

  Silent Odysseus still grasped Hardihood’s hard knees

  as in strong pincers, but his mind sailed far away. 1015

  “Holding my breath, I crawled to the hid forge with stealth

  then slowly peered above the bronze-barred casement’s sill

  and my heart beat like a sledge hammer and cracked the walls.

  First I made out the chaste eye of that great god, fire,

  and a big-bellied slave who worked the monstrous bellows; 1020

  before him stood a blond-haired strapping man who beat

  a flery-white long sword and strove to pound it straight.

  It was not formed of bronze, but of iron, great be its name!

  He plunged it in cool water, pulled it out, deep-blue,

  then thrust it in the fire to make its heart red-hot. 1025

  I gazed with bulging eyes and was amazed my heart

  with its loud throbbing had not yet smashed the casement bars.

  But my great joy was brief, for when on the dim stairs

  I heard a woman hurrying, panting with heavy gasps,

  I crouched in a dark corner, and saw Phida pass, 1030

  her wild face splattered with thick drops of blackened gore;

  she leant and gasped against the door, then raised her fist

  and pounded its bronze panels twice or thrice with force.

  On hands and knees, I cast my glance in the secret shop

  in time to see bold Phida grasp the blacksmith’s hands 1035

  as the thick blood gleamed on her cheeks, her lips, her hair.

  Throw the slave out,’ she whispered low, and blond-beard laughed,

  but turned and
roughly told the slave to leave, and he

  abandoned the low flame, and fled in the dark night.

  Though I could not see well now in the glimmering forge, 1040

  I could still clearly hear their tense and rasping talk

  as flame-eyed Phida like a viper hissed in dark:

  ‘You promised me your secret weapons for all the slaves

  and the blond tribe, if I should sleep with you one night.

  Blacksmith, that night has come. Give me your hands, and swear!’ 1045

  The blacksmith’s eyes lit up with flames, and his voice rang:

  ‘I swear on this black iron, my god thrice plunged in fire!’

  And then at once the maid replied with stifled voice:

  ‘My virgin body’s fruit shall be your spoil tonight!

  The red god in my entrails shouts, and I obey!’ 1050

  The blacksmith laughed, and swiftly with his calloused heels

  stamped down the smoldering embers smooth, and spread a mat.”

  Then Hardihood fell silent and watched his master’s eyes,

  but he seemed not to hear the bloody news, and gazed

  far off where mountain peaks were bathed in rosy down; 1055

  he watched that expert archer, the great sun, rise up

  and kneel on mountain rims to brood on the king’s halls;

  he could discern already the warped palace roofs

  where fluttering chicory blossomed and wild lettuce sprang,

  where the old crenels gaped with feeble toothless gums. 1060

  He turned his gaze then sluggishly on the bull-ring

  and there the women’s happy throats had turned blood-red

  in the first rays of dawn as though knives stabbed them through.

  Then the mind-killer turned serenely to his rash friend:

  “Bronzesmith, though each has taken his own road, we’ve both 1065

  worked well this holy night, both roads have led us through;

  it’s time we paid some care to our poor bodies now

  Don’t get your gall up, lad; all shall distill in sleep?.”

  He spoke, then set off with his heaving sailor’s stride

  and made for the bull-ring in the early morning light. 1070

  But the bronze-tamer took to heart his friend’s indifference:

  “You must have tired from playing with women all night long;

  you’re savage to the savage, friend, good to the good,

  and yet a girl’s lewd kiss can make you crash in ruin.”

  But the much-wounded athlete scowled at Hardihood 1075

  as he came stumbling after in his master’s steps.

  The orgies had now ended in a tumbled heap,

  medley of women, men and dogs, till slaves appeared,

  tall blond-haired stalwarts from the North, blacks from the South,

  and from the tangled pack unglued their drunken masters. 1080

  The king was shaking his brain-withered moldy head

  as crimson streams of paint ran down his neck like ribbons.

  Then the strong blond-haired gardener, who the day before

  like a small child had placed some grapes in Helen’s hands,

  loomed on the stairhead suddenly, gazed to right and left, 1085

  then quickly swooped and swept the bright bird in his arms,

  and the man-lover, tickled by his thorny beard,

  opened her eyes, laughed low, and clasped his lion’s nape.

  Odysseus paled and then stopped short, with neck outstretched,

  and as he watched the barbarous body tightly twined 1090

  with the now shameless beauty, twitching with low laughter,

  the palace suddenly shook and crashed in his wild head:

  “I praise God, for he leads us well and is most cunning,

  he masks, unmasks, gets staggering drunk, and now, behold,

  he comes before me in the guise of drunken Helen! 1095

  Behind the woman’s face I see his monstrous face!”

  Meanwhile the slaves raised their drunk masters from the ring,

  and lifted the carousers in the dawn’s rose light

  like wounded birds with gaudy and bedraggled wings.

  “Open your eyes, bronzesmith, and in your memory etch 1100

  these drunken overlords, those naked shameless sluts,

  and Krino in their midst impaled, a banner flying.”

  Hardihood turned, aimed well, and shot a piercing dart:

  “Don’t worry, slayer, all are engraved deep in my brain;

  but shouldn’t I etch our beauteous Helen also in bronze? 1105

  Was that her pallid form I saw in a stranger’s arms?”

  The man of seven bowstrings frowned, displeased, and said:

  “Sit on the stone of patience, bronzesmith, speak no more!”

  The smith rejoiced because he’d hit his captain hard:

  “I’ll get the largest sheet of bronze and etch with wrath 1110

  threshing floors, stairs, antheaps of crawling men and maids,

  and in their midst, as mainmast with a crimson sail,

  I’ll raise poor Krino’s brain-besplattered column high,

  and in the foreground a huge man shall carry, laughing,

  the limpid lady of silk eyebrows and rose breasts; 1115

  we two shall be shown crouched in ambush like two hungry crows.”

  As he was speaking, on the river’s edge appeared

  the virgin Mountain Maidens bearing jars of water

  to wash poor Krino and sanctify the harlot earth.

  But when they reached the arena’s edge, they stood still, mute, 1120

  for Phida leapt before them with torn, ash-strewn hair

  grimy with coal dust, filthy blood on her bared bosom.

  And when she saw the maidens bearing the holy water,

  singing slow hymns and spells for the polluted earth,

  she thrust her hands upon her hips and shrilled with laughter: 1125

  “Ho, welcome, mountain ladies, you pure virgin mules,

  lugging your jars of water to wash the harlot earth!

  Root up the river with all its roots, go turn it off

  its course, but there’s no washing pure the whorish earth;

  not water, but flaming blood will cleanse the sullied world!” 1130

  Hidden behind a column, the two friends admired

  the viperish soul that hissed and thrashed with rage on earth.

  Her thighs, her clothes, her hair were thickly smeared with coal dust,

  a lion rolled in embers of a shepherd’s fire.

  She raised her hands, laughed harshly, and approached the maids: 1135

  “You think that with good hearts, virginity, and water

  the lewd earth can be saved and not a knife stabbed through her!

  Fire must fall from all four winds to save our souls!”

  She spoke, and bitter froth now edged her scornful lips,

  her eyes flung streams of fire that licked the palace walls, 1140

  her nostrils flared, but she grew calm and clapped her hands:

  “I smell a honeyed fragrance till my bowels swoon!

  I’m starved! All Crete roasts like a partridge on my hearth!”

  She laughed, then dashed into the courtyards, spread her hands

  and placed them on invisible forms, on shadowy dancers, 1145

  struck up a dance and stamped on earth with naked feet.

  She leapt on stones as though God whipped her with his fire,

  she was a green and frothing branch that squirmed in flame,

  and her red hair burned in the courts in blazing streams.

  High on the cornice eaves the crows began to caw 1150

  for they too smelled the stench and smoke of palace fire;

  a newborn bullock raised its soft hooves high, and stumbled,

  steadied its feet upon the ground, then turned with fear

  and with its long-lash
ed eyes glanced sideways at the maid.

  Then Phida’s trusted troop rushed up, rebellious hordes, 1155

  dull-haired unwedded girls and mothers scorched by death,

  wan workers stooped and warped with sunless daily toil,

  brave hearts that longed for freedom but lacked every freedom—

  all heard their leader shriek, foamed up from cellar vaults

  and struck a swift dance in the courts, screaming like birds. 1160

  A mother first began her small and deathly song:

  “All say they see their faces in a cup of wine,

  but I see Death perched on my hunger-shriveled breasts,

  I see my baby from my bosom slip and rot.”

  A widow snatched the threnody and hoarsely crowed: 1165

  “I stoop above well-water and see hanging gardens,

  the gold court ladies laughing in the world’s delights,

  rejoiced with sun and moonlight, bread and bearded men.

  Alas! I see my husband slaughtered in my lap!”

  All spun with swirling spirals on the dances verge 1170

  and Phida raised her slim neck, wrecked by many ghosts:

  “Why do you whirl about me, sisters, wracked with pain,

  as though I come from Tartarus now and firmly hold

  your babes that fell and rotted, and your slaughtered men?

  My sisters, I’m prepared to breach the lower world! 1175

  I stoop above the flames at midnight and watch my face, 1176

  I watch black Death who comes and holds a pomegranate

  and he is followed by green dogs and blood-red hawks.

  I greet him from far off and speak to him close by:

  ‘Dear Death, you come to give me a cool pomegranate.’ 1180

  ‘It’s not a cooling pomegranate, my sweet maid,

  in my clenched fists I hold your father’s crimson head.’ ” 1182

  A sallow worker beat her calloused hands and shrieked:

  “Sing, comrades, how our wooden clogs will clack and thud

  when we sweep down the palace stairs with double-axes!” 1185

  All laughed and beat on the stone tiles with bony heels,

  as though their reedy legs already rushed the palace.

  The sallow worker laughed and closed her greedy eyes:

  the brazen palace burned and her calm heart rejoiced,

  for court dames shrieked, and honey, wine, and pure oil brimmed 1190

  and warmly laved her hairy limbs. Opening her eyes,

  she flung her words out of her mouth like slinging stones:

  “Oho! How bolts will crack and columns lean and sway,

  how our dear mistresses will burn when gates fly wide 1195