The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel

by Nikos Kazantzakis

The comrades talked and held their hearts within their hands 1055

  while that great weaver, the fierce sun, flung shuttles wide

  and in the loom of air wove and unwove all men

  until he hung the crimson tassels of his setting,

  Far off, God’s stream bore downward from the foggy north

  a forest of slim skiffs in which blond bodies gleamed; 1060

  they dragged their dugouts on the banks, seized torches then,

  set fire to rigging, sails, and their black keels and made

  their vessels ashes to prevent all hoped return.

  Good was this earth on which they’d moored, a tray of wheat,

  good was this river and the many-winged clear air 1065

  and sweet dates melting in the mouth, fragrant as honey.

  Their gods and dogs drove on ahead, trudged down the banks,

  and men and women streamed behind till the earth rang;

  they bound long hautboys round their waists, sharp double-axes,

  and from their homeland carried fire in thick reeds. 1070

  They passed, and like a river drowned the earth and dragged

  oxen and maids and horses till loud lamentation

  arose and the king heard in fear and sent them envoys.

  He chose his wiliest elders, his most crafty-tongued,

  to drive those savage raiders from his sacred soil 1075

  with devious clever words, with their deceiving brains.

  They held their speeches painted on long leathern scrolls

  and searched their foxy minds, contriving clever tricks

  to twine the barbarous blockheads in their brains’ strong snares.

  On two humped camels they brought two huge letter-packs; 1080

  like bird tracks on soft clay, the black inscriptions squirmed,

  a swarm of ants on sheepskins, telling of ancient tales

  and gallant deeds and what the soul in Hades suffers.

  They came and stood like hoopoes on a mound of sand,

  unrolled their scrolls, then through their noses with one voice 1085

  they shrilled like cackling hens who’ve spied a hovering hawk.

  Thus they intoned and swayed their bodies back and forth;

  at times their speech dragged on in lulling lullaby,

  at times it roared and threatened like cascading stones,

  at times they pointed to the sky, then to the camels 1090

  that stooped and chewed the grass, burdened with sacred scriptures.

  They spoke, and the barbarians gaped with wondering gaze

  and sniffed the new-washed garments, touched the crimson belts

  and pulled the old men’s ears to see the golden rings.

  Some bent above the magic hides that babbled so, 1095

  then shrieked with laughter to see fires, necks, and heads,

  as though they gazed at their own dens in heavy slaughter.

  The old men read in one long stream, droning and chanting

  of fearful ghouls or the sweet life that follows death.

  They raised their hands on high and swore their gods were great 1100

  and would chastise all foes that trod upon their land

  but that the strangers would rejoice on the road home.

  “Ephemeral bodies made of clay, open your minds!

  The gods cry out for your departure, and in your sleep

  they’ll give you handsome slaves, fat oxen in your dreams, 1105

  and when you die, they’ll give you murals thick with paint

  that shall depict the joys and goods of all mankind!”

  The elders’ haughty tongues were slaked, they rolled their scrolls

  about their richly wrought, carved reeds, fell silent then,

  and steaming, breathing heavily on their mound of sand, 1110

  twiddled their long thin thumbs and waited for reply.

  But the bold raiders jeered, for their minds had no tongues,

  and only few words rattled in their thickset skulls;

  they growled like hungry beasts and gave no clear reply

  Two young barbarians snatched the canny magic scrolls 1115

  and pressed them to their hairy ears, then stooped to listen

  as though the scrolls were seashells where they hoped to hear

  the distant myriad sounds the inscriptions had just made.

  A bearded codger scowled and shook his threatening lance:

  “Damned if we’ve understood your nasal sniffing drones! 1120

  You’ve puffed and heaved and sighed like newborn whining bear-cubs!”

  Enraged to find their spells were all in vain, the elders

  abandoned useless tricks and barked a few short words:

  “The Monarch of the World awaits your quick reply!

  What do you want of our gods? Why tread our sacred soil?” 1125

  But the barbarians laughed and shook their flaming reeds:

  “We want your earth and women and your good rich food,

  we want your beef and steeds, your daughters and your sons;

  all that has feather, scale, or hair, old men, are ours!”

  “But that’s not just! Beware of our great gods in heaven!” 1130

  Then they whipped out their scrolls once more, and once more told

  what’s just, unjust, what’s good, what’s evil, what’s yours, what’s mine,

  and of the twelve old elemental virtues of man.

  But the barbarians, dizzied with the high talk, cried out:

  “You’ve burst our brains with all that rant! Draw back, far back, 1135

  spread far and wide so that your land may hold us all!

  Whatever we have to say we’ll stamp in lively dance!

  Go to it, lads! Uncork your minds in swirling steps!”

  All bound their belts, unsheathed their iron swords, then howled

  and swayed their torsos in a savage northern dance, 1140

  clashing their blades and raising high a virile song:

  “The king gulps down his wine, he drinks it to get drunk,

  he cocks his crown, hangs a carnation on his ear,

  takes ten goatskins of mellow wine, twelve buxom maids

  and twelve blind bards, then makes straight for his royal rooms. 1145

  He drinks, the king drinks wine until his mind grows wild,

  he sees the fields where he has fought, he sees the slain,

  he sees his black steed steeped in blood up to its knees,

  he sees, my lads, his god astride on his steed’s rump!

  He drinks, drinks all the wine until his chamber sways; 1150

  his friends and foes splatter his grain with flesh and blood,

  his friends and foes manure his farms and vineyards well,

  his heart is well manured and needs no other dung!

  He drinks, drinks all his wine until his mind sprouts thorns,

  he laughs, then flings his twelve plump women from the walls, 1155

  seizes his minstrels by their napes and casts them headlong,

  then shouts for his dread god to come and carouse together!

  Trembling magicians bring their god clasped in their arms,

  then in his lap the king sets down the huge carved log

  and slowly with an awl uproots the god’s gold teeth, 1160

  pries out the beaded eyes with a sharp skewer slowly,

  and the king drinks, he drinks his wine, drinks to get drunk,

  and in the dawn they find his god strewn round the room

  and the king sprawled and holding in his hands the god’s

  wild hollow skull from which he slowly sips his wine.” 1165

  Thus the barbarians clashed their swords, danced, howled, and sang

  and gave no other answer for the worlds great king.

  Till the sun set, the elders waited for reply,

  but when night smothered all, they rolled their scripts once more

  on their long reeds, c
limbed on their camels once again, 1170

  and like blind hairy caterpillars crawled homeward on the sands.

  The river hamlets shook with fright at the dread news:

  “Blond ghouls have anchored on our earth and smash our homes!

  Their steeds have but to whinny, and our mares get pregnant,

  they sharpen their black swords afar, and our necks tingle, 1175

  they bring a god like fire, housed in thick round reeds!”

  Magicians cast their incantations, chanted spells,

  and stretched a crimson waxen cord from bank to bank

  to bind the foe with magic and obstruct his way.

  And when the sharp-jawed crocodile heard their heavy tread, 1180

  he rose from his thick mud, and seeing among the reeds

  crisp blond-haired mouthfuls, opened wide his greedy chops

  till from his gluttonous longing green saliva dripped;

  he’d never tasted before such plump red-buttocked bodies!

  The granite grandsire moved, and all the palace shook 1185

  War mounted his black steed until the stones flashed fire,

  he knocked at night on taverns, knocked on doors at dawn,

  till wives and mothers wept and sisters swooned, but he

  grabbed young men by their hair and hung them from his saddle.

  At midnight the jail’s door was opened stealthily 1190

  and the three leaders secretly escaped, hugged walls,

  slunk through deserted courts and melted in the dark.

  Rala kept vigil all night long, tended the lamp,

  waiting to hear their footsteps on the midnight road,

  and huddled on her humble threshold like a dog. 1195

  She listened to her dark heart weeping in the night

  then bit her fevered lips until she made them bleed:

  “Cursed be those two oppressive beasts, a woman’s breasts,

  and three times cursed her spreading, always hungering, loins.”

  She leant her eyes on that old crone, seductive night, 1200

  until night slowly filled with children, and Rala trembled,

  for she saw neither weeping workers, hungry flames,

  nor young men in the slaughter-shed who groaned like bulls,

  nor the three chiefs for whom that very night she waited—

  she only saw babes in their cradles and a tall cap; 1205

  then swore, and with her nails tore at her heart in rage:

  “Cursed be the crimson veins that spoil and turn to milk!”

  She rose and felt her mute forefathers stir within her

  and with full, bloated udders drag her down to earth:

  “Sweet is a babe upon a woman’s breast, O Rala, 1210

  and sweet a man’s embrace within the dark night, Rala.

  Don’t fret for justice now, don’t ache for the sad poor,

  let men get frenzied, for they’ve nothing else to do,

  but you were made a woman, Rala, above such cares

  which on this earth split wasteful men apart like foes; 1215

  you have two breasts that sweetly join both friend and foe;

  be patient, Rala, end your woman’s duty now.”

  Thus ancient voices counseled in her heavy heart

  and Rala wept with shame and cried in the wild night:

  “Dear God, may I die twice before my high flame falls!” 1220

  She spoke, grew calm, and her mind flashed with sudden light,

  for in her tender hands she held her savior, Death.

  She smiled, for never had her heart felt such deep peace

  as now when suddenly she knew that Death was freedom.

  Hearing the crunch of graveled feet, she leapt to the door, 1225

  shot back the bolts and welcomed thrice the weary chiefs.

  They met to plot in her low hut, and all three shared

  like bread the great new danger on which they all fed.

  Hawkeye would raise his shrill voice in the glooming shops:

  “Brothers, refuse to bring supplies to the Egyptian army, 1230

  do not embalm the dead, my brothers—let them rot!

  Refuse to bear arms, don’t march to war’s slaughter-shed!”

  Scarab would rouse the starving peasants in fields and farms

  to burn their masters that all slaves might share the earth:

  “It’s just that he who sows should reap, who works should eat!” 1235

  Nile would thrust slyly through the army, march to war

  and open mutinous doors to freedom in all hearts.

  But Rala heard in silence how the three shared all

  the dangers as though only they were the true heirs,

  and not one reached his hand to slake her hungry heart. 1240

  When Rala once more locked herself in her low hut,

  she put her things in order, quickly lit a fire,

  boiled water, mixed it with fresh laurel-berry scent,

  twice barred her door again, and in the early dawn

  began to bathe her virgin body like a corpse, 1245

  and her tears ran in silent fountains down her cheeks.

  When she had washed, she opened her poor wooden chest

  that held her wretched dowry, chose her finest dress

  and decked herself like a new bride, though her heart broke:

  “Alas, how shameful should they find my body in torn rags!” 1250

  Meanwhile the archer lay upon his deck supine

  and marveled at the embellished sky, night’s holy robe

  hung with gold gleaming brooches and long silver charms.

  The stars above him moved like letters, mystically,

  some squirmed like scorpions on the sky’s rim, others rose 1255

  like swords, eyes, vipers, ships, and flaming waterfalls.

  Mutely the archer searched amid the sand-strewn stars,

  and his bewitched mind quaked to hear their dread appeal:

  “Help me, my only son, set free our souls from sand!”

  The star-eyed archer rose and spoke to his two comrades: 1260

  “To all my questions, friends, two voices answer me.

  The mind, that’s prudent always, prudently replies:

  ‘Now hold your frontiers well, build walls around your wealth,

  don’t starve for foreign hungers or ache for foreign pains,

  erect your tower on desert sands, make solitude 1265

  your scornful fortress, guard her with her famished hounds.

  Smash all my bridges, board my windows, lock my doors,

  give me unbreachable stout walls and narrow slits!

  I am the mind, earth’s threshing-post! I stand and flail!’

  Thus does my lone mind shout, roaming my castle’s skull, 1270

  but my ungirdled, pitying heart leaps from my breast

  and like a beggar runs and knocks from door to door:

  ‘Brothers, dear brothers, give me your pain that I may share it!

  Dear God, there’s nothing yours or mine, nor friend’s nor foe’s,

  I am the workers’ heart of earth that cannot rest!’ ” 1275

  Then he fell silent, spied on his two faithful friends

  and joyed to see his own face shining in their eyes;

  they trembled at his words, but he spoke on and laughed:

  “Don’t pull such long sad faces, friends, for I know how

  to keep my two bad neighbors from each other’s throats. 1280

  Like a great king, I keep my dwarf-mind a court fool,

  adorn his brow with feathers and his cap with bells

  that with his jokes and tricks I may still bear earth’s griefs

  and mock at my poor heart at times to prick her pride.

  And though I loose my heart to knock from door to door, 1285

  I hold her with invisible reins, as blue as air,

  so that the falcon-hunting heart swoops back once more,

&nbs
p; whether she wills or not, and brings the quarry home,

  Thus have I trained those two beasts, jesting fool and falcon,

  and slowly mount the burning desert paths of virtue.” 1290

  As the much-suffering man spoke on, the dayspring smiled,

  glutton got hungry and shared out fish, bread, and dates,

  then gave the wine flask to the man of twin-peaked soul,

  and he, with throat flung back, could hear the holy drink

  rush gurgling down to fill the trenches of his brain. 1295

  He drank, then passed that cackling mistress back to Kentaur

  who felt his veins swell in his flesh like thronging roots

  as his vast body like a plane tree spread in sun.

  When Orpheus sucked the sacred dug, he too grew bold:

  “I’ve often pondered on the world, but my mind quakes! 1300

  The earth’s so wide no man’s embrace can hold her all,

  but if we sip red water or eat a strip of meat,

  earth nestles on our bosoms like a trembling maid.

  If there’s a God in truth, he’s made of meat and wine!”

  Odysseus, who had many brothers, now roared out: 1305

  “Ahoy! Rig all the sails! Let’s make for the north soon!

  At midnight yesterday my new companions said

  that wine-red bearded War has moored among us here;

  the slaves already have caught fire and send us signals.”

  In Orpheus’ loins the wine grew strong and turned to blood: 1310

  “Ahoy, turn new, my flute, for a new tune begins,

  a monstrous new song mounts the sky and knocks me down!

  Only when I’ve drunk deep and my mind’s blazing, archer,

  do I know well toward what and where your onrush sweeps us!

  I’d never seen before a freer, more stable soul; 1315

  we all drove toward the south because our own hearts wished

  to hunt that still uncaught and blue-winged bird in air,

  but as we dashed down toward the south, your spirit stopped,

  free to plunge forward or to take the backward track.

  Your hunting mind sets out at dawn and doesn’t know 1320

  what wild game it will flush or shoot along the way.

  You’ve said: ‘Let’s track the source of deathless water, lads,’

  but when you started and the wide wind struck you, then

  you stopped, for you heard new wells surging in man’s heart,

  and even I, with my dry wineless throat, could mock you: 1325

  That great mind’s now grown maudlin with the wretched poor

  as though the final goal in life were mankind’s comfort!’