The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel

by Nikos Kazantzakis

  and skimmed the azure seashore, trod on foaming waves,

  while on the elephant the maidens shrieked to watch

  the two slim bodies vanish in the distant sea

  and leave them, wretched and alone, on the long ruined road.

  Far by a cooling river’s rhododendron blooms 485

  the body of arch-eyebrowed Helen now lay dying

  at dusk, her lily feet stretched toward the warbling stream.

  Her daughters, sons, and great-grandsons, a siren’s brood,

  wove her white hair, then with rose water washed her face

  that her long lids might open, her throat breathe awhile, 490

  to say a few good words and give them all her blessing.

  Two days and nights she breathed upon the sands in pain

  nor would earth eat her or the sky sweep her aloft,

  but like a white spring cloud she hung midway in air. 495

  Then from her heavy coffers of carved cedar wood

  they lifted her funereal veil, her rich-embroidered shroud

  which the old lover of fine clothes, bent by her loom,

  had woven skillfully with myriad rich adornments:

  a deep green field spread in the midst with scarlet tents,

  around the hem a blue sea broke with foaming fringe, 500

  and upright in four corners four tall towers burned.

  Gently above her body, blond granddaughters stooped

  and washed her with rose-vinegar and cooling scents,

  and bared her neck, her much-kissed but now fallen breasts,

  sails which no soft erotic wind might swell with love. 505

  She opened almond eyes, which now crow’s feet had trod,

  and watched the gurgling waters mutely through the reeds

  as they flowed swiftly, joyously, to meet the sea.

  She strained her ears and heard the river running deep,

  she heard her life like warbling water dwindling far 510

  and her mind running down the waves like a frail mist

  or muffled rustle that now swept in murmuring wash

  all the brave lads slain for her sake, the burning towers

  and the swift ships that sailed and sank in her black eyes.

  All hung on her thick lashes now for the last time, 515

  all earth’s embracements, its glad sorrows, its bitter joys;

  ah, in the living world she’d finished her hard duty!

  But suddenly, as she brought to mind far-distant seas

  and said farewell to all old archons in her mind,

  she shrieked, and her notorious body broke in sweat, 520

  for she had seen the archer’s savage cap, his beard,

  his slightly smiling lips that softly cried out, “Helen!”

  Her lily cheeks flushed red, her bosom rose and swelled;

  dear God, if only she could wreck her home once more,

  stand upright on the prow, be blown by all four winds, 525

  close her sweet eyes and let fate take what course it would!

  As by the flowering riverbank she lay expiring,

  her mind with a soft flutter cast its last faint rays,

  and a young girl but twelve years old, with swinging braids,

  rushed to Eurotas’s green bank, cut a fresh reed, 530

  then rode it like a horse and ran along the sands.

  Her virgin girdle flapped like an embattled flag,

  her body was a field where the white lilies bloomed,

  and in her large black eyes the whole world sailed and drowned.

  For a brief moment the old hermit in his grave 535

  smelled the girl pass above him and tossed off his tombstone,

  then hatched out like a crow, leapt on the ground once more,

  though in his hand he still held tight a lump of earth.

  Although the burning sun had set, the earth still boiled

  and the old man leant against his cave to keep from falling, 540

  gazed on the girl, then sighed as his throat brimmed with sound:

  “Where are you going, O cool body, O twelve-year maid?

  Tell me, O deathless water, and I shall come with you!” 543

  When Helen turned and laughed, the earth swayed like a rose,

  the old man broke in a swift dance, the earth’s dust swirled, 545

  her girlish laughter seethed like mad waves in his heart,

  till, mounting his oak staff, he hopped along her side.

  As the two forms ran side by side, spurred by desire,

  a bitter yearning brimmed within the old man’s heart:

  Dear God, if only he could take earth’s lanes once more, 550

  he’d not chase kingdoms then nor empty ghosts of air,

  for these are empty smoke that fades and leaves no trace—

  he’d found a simple home, a cool and humble hut,

  he’d be but a poor worker, an unbearded youth;

  and this blithe maiden, mounted on her supple reed, 555

  with her twin towering breasts that ripened on the cliffs,

  he’d choose for his small wife to breed him stalwart sons,

  for she, dear God, was all ghosts, all earth’s burning towns.

  The maiden glanced at the old man and slyly smiled:

  “You seem like a great magician, the watchdog of Fate! 560

  Bend down and read my palm, reveal my written doom;

  ah, could I only know my fate, what man I’ll marry!”

  But as the old ascetic seized her lily hand

  and touched her firm-fleshed body, he sank in a deep sea

  and his mind leapt from wave to wave and disappeared. 565

  As the coquetting wanton laughed, her hand sprang up

  like cooling water in the ascetic’s shriveled fist:

  “It’s no use scowling so, old man, I’m not afraid.

  Fate blossoms on my bosom like a double rose.”

  Bent over the open hand he held, the shrunk old man 570

  felt a sweet dizziness and fragrance strike his brain;

  in her small palm he could discern huge suns and moons,

  tall lilies filled with honeybees, and a deep hull

  that sailed up rivers, floating through the lily-blooms.

  “Dear girl, your life will flow serenely like calm water, 575

  you’ll stand like a pure lily in your husband’s home,

  your womb shall breed a horde of babes and clustered stars.”

  But the girl fingered her small lips with stubbornness:

  “Old man, I don’t want hordes of children, household cares,

  untouched pure lilies, wretched husbands, peaceful hearths; 580

  I’ll cut another road, my heart seeks other skies!”

  She spoke, then beat her horse-reed, dashed down toward the waves

  and her shrill laughter swept the bank like gurgling water.

  The old man sighed, stooped down, and let his dark tears fall

  like downy eyes, warm, thick, and blurred, on the hard stones, 585

  but the girl rushed ahead astride her lucky reed

  and her braids flapped in the fresh breeze like leaping flames.

  All things, both Life and Death, blew like a strong wind,

  and the old ascetic leant toward earth in soft complaint:

  “Aye, archer, cruel ascetic, you’ve still not left me alone 590

  but clasp me in your brain so I won’t rot in earth;

  once more, as the sun warms and my bones burst in bloom,

  you send me here, alas, a decoy girl to tempt me!

  Dear God, when shall I ever find repose in the deep ground?”

  Good are the crimson apples on the apple tree, 595

  good the clasped couples kissing all their bodies’ length, 596

  but like good sisters strolling in each other’s arms

  earth has no greater or much sweeter joy to give:

  they swept by swiftly arm in arm
with rippling laughter,

  flowing like fresh cool springs where travelers quench their thirst. 600

  Oho, see how the grave’s loam reconciles all foes

  and wipes away all wretched cares and tames all hearts,

  for Diktena, that easy whore with skillful hands,

  clasped her snow-virgin sister, Krino, longingly.

  Mounted astride a jet-black bull with flaming eyes, 605

  they swiftly plunged and rushed on toward the azure waves;

  their black and curly locks were twined with jasmine flowers

  to hide the moldy stench of their half-rotted flesh,

  and a small bit of mold lay on their nostrils still;

  but both their minds were fixed now on each other’s love, 610

  and they rushed on, nor saw the mold nor death’s white worms.

  Krino bent down and gently stroked the frenzied bull

  that once on the earth’s face, within a sun-drenched ring,

  had tossed his horns in furious rage and snatched her life;

  now she’d forgotten all her pain, lost all her wrath, 615

  made friends with foes, and to her sister turned and said:

  “If we in truth shall ever return to flowering earth,

  I’ll take another road, find other joys in youth,

  for if I had firm arms and thighs once more, dear sister,

  I, too, should love to clasp a cluster of young lads 620

  and take my fill of kisses and of night assaults

  so that my flesh won’t sink to earth still unconsoled.

  Dear God, I’ve lost my youth, my apple tree bore flowers 623

  but not one single fruit, I’ve seen not one red apple!” 624

  Then Diktena of the much-kissed and glutted breasts, 625

  of the curved mouth, a golden ring that dripped with honey,

  clasped tenderly her sister’s body, still unkissed:

  “Ah, don’t lament, dear sister, for life is not enough,

  nor are earth’s cooling springs enough to quench our thirst;

  dear God, a maid’s small body is a bottomless well, 630

  no matter how much we kiss on earth, our lips want more,

  and only Death, my dear, will ever glut our mouths.

  I know this now at last: all roads on earth are good,

  but ah, we’re given time to take but one with haste,

  then yearn for others vainly, and no cure exists! 635

  If I, dear sister, could return to flowering earth,

  I’d long to take, O Krino, your own virgin road.

  Ah, I’d shine proudly with great scorn, glow like a star,

  no man’s breath ever would soil the lily of my heart,

  I’d hunt wild mountain game, then in arenas fall 640

  and fight with bulls, my thighs still cool with mountain frost,

  my twin breasts towering and untouched, like the sharp double-ax!”

  Thus did the two curled Cretan sisters sigh and speak,

  mounted upon the bull, clasped in each other’s arms,

  while far behind them, two war comrades who had lain 645

  in loam together, walked the earth but cast no shade:

  old Captain Clam, that sea-wolf with his folded sea-cap,

  and that lean, still untamed and ragged princess, Phida.

  They’d heard together the choked cry of their great leader,

  together tossed their tombstones off, tore from their shrouds, 650

  picked up their fallen teeth, gathered their molding flesh,

  and rushed together swiftly as their bare bones clacked.

  When Captain Clam first sniffed a salty seaside breeze,

  he placed both hands above his eyes, but saw no sea,

  yet his broad nostrils flared and played like Venus’ shells: 655

  “Comrade, can this be the sea’s brine and the sea’s wind?

  Will the waves rise in truth to wash me with their spray?”

  His mind was parched with thirst like a wide-nostriled sponge,

  a worthless fish left by the fishermen on shore,

  expiring and convulsed, but now, God, suddenly 660

  his gills were filled with water and his mind with salt.

  He turned his guileless head then to his slender friend:

  “Phida, I count again and again, and my wits spin—

  wasn’t it we who died on the dark shores of Crete?

  But even now my black breath smells of burning wood, 665

  I see a sharp lance piercing through your bosom’s cleft!

  Phida, was that a dream that vanished when we woke,

  and now that our great master’s called, has dawn set out,

  will the vast light, the true light, leap out of the tomb?

  What joy, dear friend! We’ve wakened now, the waves will come, 670

  the sails will rise on the blue sea and fill the air!

  Don’t weep, I swear to you I’ve never felt my heart

  pulse with such joy on earth or my feet leap so lightly!”

  Captain Clam broke in smiles and strode over the earth

  scattering his Cretan ashes right and left in wind, 675

  and sea-chants sailed like vessels in his stormy brain,

  large fishes tore through his blue mind, triremes set sail,

  and his burnt hands beat through the air like flashing oars:

  “Phida, I think our captain has built a new flagship

  then tossed his cap on high and yelled for us to come; 680

  his crew will rush at once and spread from stern to prow,

  step up the masts, haul up the sails, grab at the oars,

  and a strong wind will blow us wherever Death directs.

  I feel that my burnt chest already swells like sails.”

  But pallid Phida groaned and with great terror strove 685

  to wipe her father’s sticky blood from her red hands:

  “Ah, Captain Clam, will the sea ever cleanse this blood?

  Since dawn when we set out I’ve stopped at every spring,

  washed and rewashed my hands but still the blood remains!”

  The sea-wolf’s pitying heart ached for the girl; he placed 690

  on her rough shoulder blade a burnt and gentle hand:

  “The vast sea blots out all, it sweeps and cleanses all

  our sullied bodies till like foam they leap on waves

  and all our memories fade and melt like lumps of salt.

  When at long length our eyes catch sight of our great captain 695

  standing erect in the sea’s midst, waving his cap,

  ah, Phida, we’ll be stripped of souls and bodies both!”

  The snake-haired maiden sighed, washed and rewashed the blood,

  but other thick blood clots sprang up like monstrous eyes

  and glowered at her darkly, scarlet, moveless, mute. 700

  “Ah, Captain Clam, will the sea ever cleanse this blood?”

  Then the old sailor scowled and scolded the poor maid:

  “What shame that now in such a gallant soul as yours

  the blood we spilled once long ago should rear its head;

  have you forgotten we fought for freedom in the world?” 705

  Phida turned fierce at once, her regal blood veins swelled:

  “Yes, Captain Clam, I know it, but I’m killed by pain!

  If we had brought bold freedom to the trampled slaves,

  bread to the starved, then let the black crows take my father!

  We fought for freedom in the world and plunged toward Hades, 710

  but now I see slaves stooped to the hard yoke again

  and bowing to their lords, and all our strife in vain!

  Ah, though I’ve spilled my father’s blood, where’s freedom now?”

  Captain Clam sighed in secret, but he spoke with force:

  “Phida, don’t worry whether your dear blood and care 715

  bore fruit to a rich earth or died in
sterile ground;

  now that my earthen brains are cleansed of heavy fog

  I know well what our captain meant when once he said:

  ‘I fight and ache for freedom, but I scorn rewards!’“

  A bitter green foam stained the patricide’s thin mouth: 720

  “All women love to feel their wombs heavy with fruit;

  the heart’s a woman, too, and longs to achieve her passion.”

  Then the old sea-wolf stooped, cut a fresh blade of grass

  and hung it from his pale lips like an emerald sword,

  and his voice stopped, his words piled up behind his teeth. 725

  Deep in his wretched heart old Captain Clam knew well

  there’s nothing sweeter in all earth than to sit down

  at dusk by your own door, a common worker drenched

  with the day’s sweat, the hard day’s wage held in your hand.

  A strong soul can’t be fed with shadows, it wants meat, 730

  it’s a lean wolf, its hunger can’t be fed with hope.

  Captain Clam brooded long, then in a sudden glow

  his grandson flashed within his mind, leant on his chest,

  but the waves crashed once more, his master’s mounting roar

  drowned his loved grandson, swept him like a fish to sea; 735

  then the fierce sea-wolf cocked his cap against his ear

  and rushed along the azure seashore’s husky susurration.

  The far-off guests all reached the cooling sea at last,

  merged with the foam and sailed, flew with the seaward gulls,

  and when the shores had emptied, a lean wrinkled dog 740

  rushed up with longing yelps and sniffed the seaside air.

  He had set out from the far shores of his cool isle

  where his old bones had rotted long in pits of dung,

  for when he’d heard his master’s cry and mighty need

  he’d leapt up, wagged his tail, and rushed along the air. 745

  His pale neck was still bloody where his master’s nails 746

  had seized him ruthlessly so that his joyous barks

  might not forewarn the reveling youths of his lord’s coming. 748

  His bleary eyes had recognized his master well,

  he’d crawled and quivered, rushed with whimpering whines, then twined 750

  and tangled with his master’s feet, licked at his heels,

  but the dread hunter, forcing his tears back with stealth,

  had quickly seized the grimy neck that throbbed with joy

  and squeezed until the faithful hound rolled over, dead,

  though his tail’s naked tip still quivered with delight. 755