The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel

by Nikos Kazantzakis

—go to it, man!—distill their poison to pure honey!”

  All day they rowed until at last, toward fall of day, 1040

  the monstrous city slowly loomed, a swollen rose

  that in the slothful sunset swarmed on gleaming sands.

  The crew then slid into the harbor’s slim canals,

  and as lights fell on the thick waters, the river smiled

  as when the sky puts on its stars and then goes strolling. 1045

  Then they all cocked their ears to catch the slightest sound

  but the poor piper’s shriveled flanks began to shiver:

  “Fellows, our stupid jokes, our filching, our fat words

  will not pass current in this mighty city now;

  my heart sniffs out great evil in this noisy fort” 1050

  But Orpheus suddenly ceased, swallowed his twaddling tongue,

  and felt the killer’s eyes above him eat him whole.

  Odysseus sat in silence on his quiet prow

  and listened to the half-choked tumult, shouts of men

  distinct from women’s giggling and the yelps of dogs, 1055

  then turned and spoke with quiet calm to his companions:

  “Great ships are wrecked here; what then may a small skiff do?

  If any of you now want to save your hides, then leave,

  for my heart sniffs great evil in this monstrous fort.”

  The insulted friends felt as though knives had pierced their hearts, 1060

  and Granite, born of noble stock, as brave as he,

  scorned now to let even a small fly light on his sword:

  “We also are free souls, so don’t insult us here!

  He who sets out for sure possessions shames his soul!”

  “Now here’s a strong trap, lads,” the glutton cried, “let’s bite! 1065

  We’ll need our wits and superwits to snatch that bait

  with skill, then scurry off before the trap door slams down tight!”

  While the brave pirates talked, within the city streets

  night softly fell and opened her refreshing arms,

  shopkeepers tied their keys three times about their waists, 1070

  and young men swarmed down toward the river to promenade

  where the kiss-workers and seductresses of love

  spread out their thighs like sweet lime traps in the cool dusk.

  Their Pharaoh stretched and yawned upon his golden sheets

  and felt the full moon weighing on his fragile chest, 1075

  a marble tombstone that now crushed and pinned him down.

  Sallow and sad, he sighed with boredom, reached his hand

  and took his waxen tablets and his ivory reed

  to etch a panegyric for his great grandsire:

  how many castles he had wrecked, how many kings 1080

  he’d lassoed tightly noose by noose and then strung out

  in straggling rows, tied to his horse’s golden reins.

  Ah, he still lived to haunt the palace and stalk through

  his grandson’s dreams and beat upon the palace doors!

  The young king picked his reed to write a fitting song 1085

  and exorcise that evil, that great savage soul,

  that it might flit from sign to sign and fade in air.

  His sweet tongue strove to charm the snake out of its hole

  and agonized to wrench his thought in proper words;

  the letters danced in light like butterflies, then vanished, 1090

  and but one verse fell into place on the soft wax:

  “I perch in your huge fist, grandsire, a small, small parrot . . .”

  That night when the moon fell and stifled him with dread,

  the grandson stooped, kept time, wrote and erased and mumbled:

  “I perch in your huge fist, grandsire, a small, small parrot, 1095

  my wings are azure smoke, my belly a red rose . . .”

  But soon his reed grew weary and his painted eyes

  grew drowsy with their thick cosmetics, and the song faded.

  Midnight: the golden prows skimmed on the glittering waves,

  slim necks were raised up toward the sky, and the moon fell 1100

  like a white rose, full-blossomed, on the women’s hair.

  Odysseus groaned, for his clay body seemed too small:

  “Ah, both my eyes are not enough, nor both my ears,

  my nose and hands are few, too few, and both my lips,

  to enjoy you fully, glittering-eyed, seductive lands!” 1105

  Fragrance of jasmine rose from the locks of rutting night,

  like peacock tails the women strolled along the streets,

  and almond eyes serenely swam in the moon’s glow.

  Behind thick lattices, shrill laughter leapt like springs,

  the teeth of maidens gleamed, gold bracelets flashed and clinked, 1110

  and clogs beat on the narrow streets till the stones cackled.

  Behind their master in the foreign city streets

  the four friends walked and cast blue shadows in the moon.

  One, in his hairy chest, thought long of poverty—

  ah, how the grain rots uselessly, how small birds die! 1115

  Beside him, the light-headed songster took delight

  in the rich-colored world, beguiling towers of air,

  a huge cock-pheasant strutting slowly, late at night.

  Behind them, hand in hand, the two slim comrades talked

  of cold springs in the mountains, feasts on holy days 1120

  when they had danced so dashingly that girls had swooned.

  “Life then was good, dear friend, most good, most true, and now

  let Death come to our dance with his resounding lyre!”

  Thus each one with his shadow passed through narrow lanes,

  and thus the sun at daybreak found them, upright still 1125

  “Ah, friends, bold nightbirds, see, the sun at dayspring brims,

  it’s time we lay now in our coffin-skiff to rest

  that all we’ve seen this white night may distill to blood.”

  Thus spoke the knowing man, then stretched lengthwise on deck.

  Pharaoh had also fallen asleep on his gold bed 1130

  but his unfinished song still straggled in his mind,

  a honeybee’s frail wing that flicked in wax, and stuck.

  Exhausted roisterers and brothel dames turned home,

  till night-moth love grew weary too, and shut his wings;

  all the red lamps went out at last and in dawn’s glow 1135

  the green moon swooned and fell into the desert’s arms.

  Sprawled on the deck, supine, the dragon-crew slept on,

  and dreams like roguish pageboys softly came and brought

  trays heaped with food, full wineskins, ovens of warm bread,

  and as their jawbones clacked, they strengthened with dream-food. 1140

  But when they knew they dreamt, they woke and chased away

  night’s sweet chicanery, combed their straggling hair until

  Odysseus turned to his wolf-pack with a wry smile:

  “An ancient proverb says wolves are not fed with words

  but set their savage scent against the traitorous wind, 1145

  then slowly padding on their paws, thrust in the fold.

  This city’s pen is fine, my friends, but hounds surround it

  and myriad winds blow round us and snatch up our scent.

  But cock your caps and seize your swords! We won’t lack bread!”

  Yet Rocky, who a thousand times had plundered flocks, 1150

  then pricked his booty toward his cave, unharmed and whole,

  now tossed his olive locks and made a sour face:

  “Here everything’s in shipshape order, my fine friends!

  Wherever you turn are guards and the harsh clang of keys.

  Last night my eyes in vain sought everywhere to steal 1155

  but saw no door unlatche
d or a low wall to leap!”

  Devious Odysseus placed his hand on the young blade:

  “All true, light-footed thief, yet let’s track down the prey!

  Let each man forage for himself, let Craft and Hunger,

  our two lean bloodhounds, aid us in our sacred chase.” 1160

  He spoke, and then all five dispersed throughout the human hive.

  What joy when twilight falls and the day’s heat declines

  and servants splash with water the still-burning sills

  and doors are opened wide and girls come out to sit

  and stitch by beds of marigold, and mothers gossip! 1165

  And you, new-washed, new-combed, without a single care,

  your table strewn with food, your wine in the cool shade,

  your dainty wife awaiting you with sweet submission,

  stroll leisurely, as from your garden plot you hold

  a jasmine flower, an apple from your apple tree. 1170

  And then your faithful friends pass by and hold your arm

  and you exchange sagacious words, or joke or laugh

  and with intriguing gossip’s lure refresh your hearts.

  Then your old sweethearts amble by, old loves long past,

  and your heart whines no longer, for your mind is calm, 1175

  and sudden sweetness falls, as though you were already

  a shade on the other shore, and flesh a dim remembrance.

  The earth is good for those well born, the lords and ladies

  with well-filled barrel bellies and gold money-belts;

  but the poor famished crew dispersed in the rich town 1180

  and neither friends awaited them nor laden tables.

  A thousand glances pierced them through, a thousand spears;

  all hid in food like scarabs in manure, and chewed:

  the big-wage earners sprawled in shade and drank cool drinks,

  the stout big-buttocked gods choked in their own lard, 1185

  divinity grew coarse, and the soul drowned in meat.

  As the two mountain lads slunk through the streets, they searched

  with gripping glance to find unguarded food to steal,

  poked here and there, got tired, and gave up hope at last:

  “Brother, they’ve stowed their things so well that my brains spin! 1190

  The soul has here no sprinting ground to gather speed,

  for all things, anger, wrath, or tears, are sold to measure.

  Dear God, seize staid decorum here and shout it down!”

  Thus Rocky spoke to his blood brother as night fell

  When the moon drenched the streets and the river blazed with lights, 1195

  the piper lingered by a crossroads, on his last legs,

  and leant against a baker’s shop to play his flute.

  He played the sad and bitter tune of wretched hunger,

  of orphanage and exile till even the branches shrank,

  but the ant-swarm of scurrying men had other cares 1200

  nor turned their eyes to pity that poor shoddy trash,

  and hunger, like a long-legged centipede, crawled through his guts.

  At midnight when the silver-rinded moon had reached

  mid-heaven, Kentaur found himself where three roads crossed,

  where hoarse nightwalkers with their thick cosmetics roamed, 1205

  opened their arms and sweetly called to hastening men;

  and there, in heavy darkness, a young maiden called:

  “Come to my house, my sweet, come taste my cooling flesh,”

  Broad-buttocked Kentaur sighed and tried to laugh it off:

  “Keep quiet, child, there’s not a hungry bear can dance!” 1210

  With awe the young girl circled his three-storied rump

  and all at once her soft heart pitied the shaggy beast:

  “It’s a great crime, my God, when such huge hairy flanks

  as yours stay idle and don’t join in dance with mine.

  Come, follow me, my bear, and share my scanty bread.” 1215

  At once the famished man’s dull eyes lit up with flame:

  “Lead on, my dear, my noble maid! All in your cupboard,

  fish, wine, dry crusts of bread, I’ll crush to a fine paste!

  Don’t scratch your dainty feet on these sharp stones, my love—

  ahoy! I’ll hoist you high! Don’t tire yourself, my dear!” 1220

  He heaved the light bale on his back and with stout strides

  his shadow stalked the narrow lanes, and the girl giggled.

  Before a low door decked with shameless signs of lust,

  they stopped, and Kentaur followed the dismounted girl

  and rubbed his flabby half-drained bellies with delight. 1225

  When in her humble hut she lit her small oil-lamp,

  some corn and onions glowed in corners, rags on pegs,

  and a small pot of clay on a few dying embers,

  and when she stooped to raise the pot, her bracelets smiled

  so that poor glutton’s hanging lips smiled in response, 1230

  Soon she had emptied her poor pot in a wood bowl,

  Egyptian black-eyed beans with a few drops of oil,

  and spread the dirt floor with a mat of woven rush.

  Then glutton and the young girl squatted, face to face:

  “The food is scant, my dragon, it’ll only brush your teeth, 1235

  how could I know my guest would be a man like you?”

  The maiden laughed, then struggled to insert her hand,

  tender and small, between the dragon’s gripping claws.

  Two or three bites, and the bottom of the poor bowl shone!

  The dragon cast his eyes about, searching for food, 1240

  then picked a few crumbs fallen on his twisted beard

  and turned full-bodied toward the girl, his voice half-choked:

  “I’ve roamed this whole rich town and not a single mouth

  opened to say good day with sweetness or compassion;

  only you pitied me, my dear, and fed me well. 1245

  May your lean body be forever blessed, my love,

  may rich lads wait in droves outside your painted door,

  may wealthy merchantmen dismount from laden camels

  as you throw open your tall casements’ crimson shutters:

  ‘Be off, lads, I’ve no time now! The king lies in my arms!’ 1250

  May your warped ceiling and these barren walls of mud

  be studded full of golden nails from which shall hang

  your fragrant garments, golden-woven, crimson, blue,

  your silver slippers and your neck-rings, works of wonder.

  And may I stand outside your door, zoned with your keys, 1255

  and hold in my coarse hands the delicate scales of love

  to sell your famous kisses one by one for gold.

  May rich lads wait in droves to fall at my crude feet:

  ‘Open for us the Elysian fields, the young girl’s thighs!

  Ah, may we drink the deathless spring before we die!’ 1260

  Then from the yard I’ll mock and goad those wretched youths:

  ‘Now scram, my lads! Go chase yourselves! You’ve chewed my ears!

  Five kings and fifteen captains wait in line today!

  Come back in forty days or so, and then we’ll see!’ ”

  The young whore listened, and her simple brain spun round 1265

  as in her black eyes, rimmed with blue, there flashed already

  those precious gold-stitched garments on her reed-mud walls.

  When she had perched at length on the sot’s hairy thighs,

  it seemed to her she’d climbed a great god’s wooded knees,

  and now, in truth, if rich lads knocked on her poor door, 1270

  dear God, she’d scorn to clamber down and open, the dear things!

  At dawn the comrades gathered by the riverbank;

  hunger, alas, breaks knees and
wrecks the strongest castles,

  and only lucky Kentaur rubbed his bellies now

  and teased his friends and picked the food from his buck teeth. 1275

  Cunning Odysseus pierced him with a sidelong glance:

  “You’ve swollen your potbellies till they mock and jeer!

  A shameless man’s flushed face is worth a pair of oxen!”

  The piper dragged his weary feet, and his short sword

  hung down between his legs like a dog’s beaten tail; 1280

  he laughed to think now of that bakery where he’d begged:

  “Does God want me to burn with thirst while wells brim over?

  Three hours I stood before a bakery! Not a crumb, lads!”

  Then the broad-shouldered guzzler teased his piping friend:

  “Ah, you poor crumb, if only I knew some magic tricks 1285

  to make the murals come alive, give souls to paints,

  I’d paint the deck for you with herds of hogs and ox

  and flood the hold with wells and fountainheads of wine

  that you might eat and float like a wineskin, you whiner!

  I’d even dare to draw—now take this in good faith— 1290

  a buxom and obliging girl I once saw somewhere

  and somewhere touched—ah, my crude paws still smell of her!”

  He spoke, then rubbed his fist into the piper’s face.

  The tunester raised his thin voice in a sad complaint:

  “Five friskers, five sneak chicken-thieves set out one day 1295

  with empty bellies over land and sea to hunt

  the whole world, more or less, and eat it on a skewer!”

  The quick-brained archer poked his hare-brained friend with scorn:

  “Your feedbag’s fallen flat and all your strength has spilled!

  The soul you bragged about has burst like a windbag!” 1300

  Enraged by hunger, squint-eyes lashed out like a hook:

  “Have you forgotten for what great goal, and why, we sailed?—

  Three men once vowed to row their life long toward the south . . .’ ”

  But the archer cut the piper off with scornful jeers:

  “Hey ho! The fly’s puffed out his ass and shits the world! 1305

  I’ve never promised you wine, women, lard, or bread

  but only Hunger, Thirst, and God—these three great joys!

  I chose lone men that stank like beasts for my companions,

  but now I see but pricked balloons and bleating bellies!”

  The master’s words hit Granite hard between the eyes: 1310

  “We, too, have worthy bodies hunger cannot break!

  The river is long, and we’d be shamed now to dismount

  our bodies even before the trek has well begun.”