The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel

by Nikos Kazantzakis

  and slithered in the darkness, flashed once more in light

  as their blood spouted, sizzling, on the courtyard tiles.

  A hoarse cry suddenly tore through stricken Rala’s throat

  as the tall stranger crashed and fell, and from his skull

  a bronze sword, deeply thrust, gleamed in the somber air. 235

  At once the guards rushed on the wounded boar like dogs,

  called out for torches, knelt and stared with marveling eyes.

  He did not move, but his eyes blinked like smothering wells

  and gazed a moment sweetly like a grieving snake’s,

  then he growled deeply, flung his hand up toward his head 240

  and from his blood-drenched skull pulled out the deep-wedged blade

  so that his spurting blood splashed Rala from head to heel.

  She took the warm blood, quivering, then snatched up her headband,

  soaked it in the black flow and cursed with bitterness:

  “May I not die till on the temple’s roof one day 245

  I plant this blood-soaked kerchief as our freedom’s flag!”

  She spoke, then from her red lips licked the soft warm blood.

  The guards then bound the wounded bodies tight with belts,

  cast them upon their shields, and with swift, stealthy strides

  sneaked into town along the riverbank at night. 250

  Stars in the sky pulsed joyfully like throbbing hearts

  and Rala kept her doe-eyes open all night long;

  waters flowed past them, tall sharp-pointed date trees, ships,

  high towers, hanging gardens, brazen castle gates,

  and a damp dungeon finally, dim-lit smoldering lamps, 255

  as three pale workers round her moved their calloused hands:

  “Welcome, O comrade Rala, welcome bloodhound, fierce and brave!”

  Thus the two eagles of rebellion now lay stretched

  with blood-soaked wings within the castle dungeon’s keep

  while on the face of earth the mystic veils of life 260

  continued to be woven with myriad skilled adornments,

  with white moon-billowing threads upon a sandy warp.

  The cry of the night raven dripped into night’s entrails,

  men, animals, and waters slept, earth crossed her hands,

  and only Love and Death, those two nightwalkers, roamed, 265

  Lord Charon bolts the doors until the neighbors shriek,

  but the fierce butcher tightly belts his heavy keys,

  drags off the lords unshackled, and the poor in chains.

  Then Eros, Aphrodites lad with wingèd feet,

  clutches the magic iron herb that bursts all doors: 270

  half-naked bosoms gleam, long painted fingers beckon,

  sly lovers glide in courts, beds sing like nightingales,

  and lo! again the cobwebbed thresholds brim with children!

  In the mute courtyards of the king, in the full moonlight,

  his grandsire glows in jet-black marble, monstrous, cruel; 275

  about his stone base, groveling at his feet, carved slaves

  are lassoed neck to neck, bend low and kiss his knees,

  but he looks far off toward the desert, and on his head,

  on his huge skull, he feels a stone hawk swoop with rage,

  wrap him with binding, wings, then plunge his brittle beak 280

  and suck the brains and blood of the world-conquering king.

  His crowns lie scattered now, his kingdom plunged in ruin,

  for his weak wastrel grandson, that false poetaster,

  shames his great race by wielding a sad, idle reed;

  this was a tradesman, not a king; a wretched scrivener! 285

  Midnight had passed, and on the headless vessel still

  the comrades waited for their leader sleeplessly:

  “The fox leaps once too often, and the trap snaps shut!”

  thus thought the piper as a lean worm gnawed his heart.

  Dawn broke at last; they climbed the bank and searched the streets; 290

  ah, if his pointed cap would loom and the sea shine!

  No one confessed to dark foreboding, though all trembled,

  and pain coursed secretly through each like bleeding wounds.

  Day rose and dragged toward evening, night pressed stifling down,

  midnight weighed on them once again, a new dawn broke, 295

  their eyes turned glassy from long gazing, the crew quaked;

  three days went by, three nights, and still no captain came.

  Then Granite mutely climbed the riverbank in stealth,

  a faithful hound, and sniffed and poked through empty air,

  but earth seemed lopped off, wrecked, no pointed cap appeared. 300

  The mountain chieftain’s eyes then blazed, for in his heart

  he felt man’s freedom like a secret shudder rise;

  he gazed and broke in sweat, stared, broke in sweat once more,

  despaired, then lightfoot took the mountain slopes, and vanished.

  As Orpheus’ choked lament broke on the anchored skiff, 305

  Kentaur sat up and writhed till the poor vessel sloped:

  “By God, if he’s been harmed, I’ll grab the columns here

  by which this town rests on the waters, and root them up!

  Oho, don’t cry, you whiner! The heart is weak, it breaks!”

  But the distressed crybaby whimpered, and soft sobs 310

  quavered along the spring air like an orphaned hive.

  Poor Rocky, struggling with his pain to find relief,

  dragged bucketfuls of water and busily scrubbed the deck,

  spliced all the ropes, wedged the tholes tight, and softly sang

  a mountain song, but still he could not cheat his pain. 315

  He suddenly buckled on his sword and tightened his belt:

  “Don’t pine away, my lads. To weep is a great shame.

  That lone man taught us freedom; it’s a good thing, curse it!

  I’m off on a long trek, and if it’s true the world

  is a round floating disk, were sure to meet one day.” 320

  He spoke, then clambered swiftly overboard, and vanished southward.

  Meanwhile, far off, Odysseus manfully fought with death,

  pale faces drifted round him, and from the narrow sill

  a dim light dripped upon the old damp-smelling walls.

  All day and night Rala had stooped and held his head, 325

  mute comrades hovered near and tended him with care,

  mixed him smooth pastes and smeared his heavy wounds with balm.

  He tripped death up, for he’d been bred on magic herbs,

  his flesh surged upward once again, his blood flowed on

  until his heart once more resumed its daily task. 330

  Only his mind, rebellious still, hovered in air;

  his azure island drifted past like a pale cloud,

  day broke, and then the star of dawn paled in the sky.

  On a far mound he saw his son dash to the hunt,

  then stand stock-still, for his lean hounds had sniffed a hare. 335

  How fragrant the blue heather, how the fernbrake rustled,

  how partridges awoke until the whole world cackled!

  Then a thrice-noble woman walked the terraced roof

  nor looked toward the dark waves, but on the mountain gazed

  till her old nurse approached with puckered hands that brimmed 340

  with dark and dew-drenched figs wrapped up in broad vine leaves,

  and the queen turned and chose the ripest fig with joy:

  “This is a good year, nurse, my lips will sweeten soon

  with luscious figs and grapes, my breasts with sons and daughters.”

  She cooled her white throat with the honeyed fig, then laughed, 345

  and the small island turned to mist, unraveled strand

  by strand and
slowly faded from the archer’s mind.

  At last on the sixth night Odysseus raised his eyes,

  and when his cunning glance on Rala fell, he blinked,

  then tried to recall her till his body broke in sweat: 350

  tumult of voices, setting sun, mad surging workers,

  a spacious courtyard and stone gods and glittering swords,

  and this same girl sprawled at his feet, bloodstained and broken.

  All flashed like lightning in the suffering man’s dim mind

  so that he placed his aching hand on the maid’s head, 355

  and she, who for six days and nights kept sleepless vigil,

  cried as in birth-pangs, fell in an exhausted faint,

  till kind flesh-healing sleep poured out and wrapped her round.

  When she awoke she turned her large black eyes and saw

  the three great hunters, whom she’d followed like a hound, 360

  bending above the stranger’s bed in whispered talk.

  They asked from where he’d come, for what well-hidden goal,

  and if ships followed after, filled with iron arms.

  But Death’s sly wrestler only smiled at them in silence;

  earth’s lukewarm odors slowly sank deep in his heart, 365

  he heard with pleasure how his blood pulsed in his brow,

  how men once more flowed in and out his staring eyes,

  but he could not distinguish words nor his mind grasp them.

  At length when his ears opened and his eyes worked well,

  earth once more swayed like a tall tree, till joy and grief 370

  fell once more lightly on his head like almond blossoms.

  What were they murmuring over him, of what great goals?

  He felt his huge bruised body come alive once more

  with joy so great he felt his heart could never hold it.

  Once more his flesh began to weave skies, shores, and gods, 375

  the shuttle sped from head to heel in constant toil

  to embellish all things seen, unseen, in the empty air,

  to open new roads in the void, to set up signs,

  to rise, to know where it might walk, what cliffs to take.

  For the first time he spoke most gently to his body: 380

  “You are the seas through which I’ve passed, you are the vessel,

  you are my captain and the crew and the dread wind,

  you hold the whole world like a mirror in your palm

  and if you fall, it breaks, and heaven and earth die with you.”

  Then he felt weary and closed his eyes, his loud ears rang, 385

  and he slid headlong in sleep’s deep sea-weeded waters.

  The guards shot back the bolts, cast the men hogwash, scraps,

  dry brittle bones to lick and stone-hard bread to crunch.

  The three companions crawled and shared food fit for dogs,

  then spread their hardened hands on earth and said their prayer: 390

  “Cursed be all those on land and sea who eat their fill,

  cursed be all those who starve yet raise no hand in protest,

  cursed be the bread, the wine, the meat which day by day

  descends deep in the entrails of the exploited man

  and turns not into freedom’s cry, the murderer’s ruthless knife!” 395

  For three more nights Odysseus lay in silent thought

  delighting deeply in the holy quiet, and calmly plucked

  from the damp air and light his scattered reveries.

  And as he struggled manfully with master Charon,

  the river seethed with all its branches, rose with muck 400

  to find his old wife, earth, and mount her with his slime.

  Nor prayers nor tears had ever moved him, for God’s ears

  are arrogant, nor will they hear or pity mankinds hunger,

  but simply snow had fallen twelve feet high on the far mountains

  then melted in the Negroid sun’s fierce glare. The river moved, 405

  knocked down the mud-brick walls that frightened landlords raised

  to mark their farmlands and protect them from encroachment,

  but he claimed all and flowed in silence and smashed all walls.

  He plodded like a ram and tupped the earth, his ewe,

  and earth spread out her loins and thighs, her damp flesh creaked, 410

  the sown seed moved deep in her guts, awoke and danced,

  lambs frisked with joy on the moist ground, the date trees glowed,

  and sterile women rolled themselves in the warm slime

  so that their sandy hips might spread to cast a son.

  Even the gods hung over earth and rubbed their bellies, 415

  for wheat once more would swell now and the man-herds eat

  and grain remain to ballast God’s deep guts again.

  But the deaf river mutely rolled his mud-green waters

  nor gave a thought to men or beasts, nor pitied gods;

  simply he squandered freely an overflowing strength. 420

  Stretched on his bulrush mat, Odysseus heard no waters,

  but munched the sodden bread of mud, and made it blood;

  and as his flesh got well and his dim mind grew firm

  he pushed against the ground and leant against the wall:

  “It seems I’m not of male seed nor of woman born. 425

  When I look back, I see my proud soul like a frigate

  leaping from wave to wave, bypassing my own country.

  I look ahead: gods squirm like scorpions, castles burn,

  and these two fists of mine with ears and earrings brim.”

  Rala was startled, but caressed his feet with joy, 430

  and his three jail-companions gathered near to talk.

  Hawkeye, the leanest, seized the archer’s savage hand

  and writhed with wrath like torch-smoke struck by a wild wind:

  “Fate is not all perverse, my friend! See, she has grabbed you

  and cast you in our cave; welcome a thousand times! 435

  Strike at the anvil, friend, and we shall feed the flame!

  Earth brims with hunger and injustice; that day shall dawn

  when our full hearts and lips shall brim with bread and love;

  indeed, that day has dawned now in our herald hearts.”

  The castle-wrecker’s soul then leapt and shook with joy: 440

  “Rise, O my soul!” You’ve fallen in a tiger’s den!

  These scorching flames must surely be your three lost brothers!”

  Hawkeye still burned and flickered like a restless flame;

  Scarab sat by himself apart, somber, like earth,

  knelt on the ground and tried in silence to scratch through 445

  the stranger, for his murky mind, that shifty peasant,

  stung with suspicion, kicked its scales toward yes, toward no;

  but Nile stood up, erect, and flashed against the wall

  like smokeless light, unmoving in the thickening air.

  Odysseus grasped his new companions in his glance 450

  and weighed these souls that plowed and tilled at the world’s roots.

  The first held flame to scorch the sterile earth with wrath,

  the second cut a furrow through the earth, his feet all mud,

  the third and best held in his hand the seed for sowing,

  and Rala fluttered like a glowworm, all flame and light 455

  that flits and glows in darkness through the dew-drenched air

  while God licks her refulgent belly, a blue-green flame.

  The enduring man admired intently her black eyes,

  her thin-boned body, her lean sword-sharp lips, and thought:

  “How often have I not seen maids, like poor night-moths, 460

  leap in the flames to burn when new fires sweep the world!

  In that strong spiral they forget a woman’s duty,

  disdain to bear earth children, cut their rig
ht breasts off

  to their milk roots to shoot their arrows unimpeded

  and thus rush free into God’s armies, bold, one-breasted.” 465

  Rala smiled gently and approached the wounded man:

  “Stranger, you’re tired and your eyes burn; sleep yet a while,

  there’s time for souls to know each other and flames to meet.”

  She placed her cooling hand then on his sea-swept brow

  and his mind grew serene, his flaming eyelids closed, 470

  though his lips quivered still, still hooked by brimming words,

  but Rala tenderly placed her fingers on his lips,

  and then he heard her murmur gently: “Be silent, child,”

  and the ferocious killer shook before a woman’s sweetness.

  He shut his mind’s five gates, trembled, and thought how even 475

  the smallest virgin maiden cradles each grown man

  tight in her arms like her own son, even though he were a god.

  Meanwhile the three companions in a corner quarreled,

  and Scarab, with a glowering face, put Hawkeye straight:

  “Many’s the time I’ve warned you, but to no good end, 480

  for you’ve no patience, you make all our secrets plain.

  I’ve often wondered how your scissor-tongue finds time

  to blab of flames, loves, hungers, vengeances, and fleets!

  I’ve always had my doubts about this stranger here;

  he’s not a worker, but a sly ship-owning thief 485

  who sells and then resells the world like his cheap wares

  nor cares a straw for vengeance or the starving poor.

  I know this man’s perverse and two-faced kind too well:

  he moves so fast that in his hearth no ash may stay.”

  But Hawkeye grabbed his comrade by his ruthless knees: 490

  “Brother, I feel this stranger has some mighty power,

  he seems like a far-traveled man, a flame, a Cretan.

  Let’s let him cast his fire on earth with us a moment.”

  Nile burst out laughing till his bald head gleamed with sweat:

  “Stop brawling, friends! I think that you’ve both spoken well. 495

  He’s a shipmaster, a great lord who plays with fire

  and now drifts by this blaze we’ve fed on desert sands.

  Let him be welcome with his torch, welcome his leaving!”

  In silence Rala gazed on the strange vagrant’s form,

  his towering neck, his rough-hewn forehead, his gray beard, 500

  his rugged adamantine chest bristling with hair.

  Suddenly in his sleep his lips broke in a smile

  and she, too, softly smiled and sighed unconsciously.