The Etruscan (16 page)

“A long life is by no means a desirable gift from the gods,” said Mikon pensively. “Rather does it indicate that a person is slow and stubborn and needs a longer time to fulfill his mission than some faster person. A long life is usually also accompanied by a dimming of the eyes and a tendency to believe former times were better than the present. If I were wiser, I would perhaps throw myself on Aura’s pyre and follow her on her journey, but a binding omen would be needed for that. In all that has happened, however, I can see no other binding sign but that this marriage was a mistake. That realization enables me to bear my deep sorrow manfully.”

But all the time my mind was troubled by the unresolved question of Aura’s death. Would she really have died from the touch of any other man or was I unwittingly the sole cause of her death? I looked at my nails and assured myself that as a person I was like everyone else. But the diet of the goddess and the wine that I had been drinking for three days at the request of the priests were dulling my powers of reasoning. I was haunted by the memory of the storm on the road to Delphi and the sea which had foamed at my call. I had also recognized the sacred places of the Siculi and with the black Etruscan cup in my hand I had soared to the ceiling. Perhaps that was why Aura had died of my touch when I had thoughtlessly and in sheer curiosity extended my finger to touch her.

With the setting of the sun the funeral pyre crumbled and the sea turned amethyst. Mikon was inviting the people to the funerary feast when one of the priests came to me and said, “The time has come for you to prepare for the goddess.”

I had thought that the unexpected death would postpone my turn in the temple. But as the priest touched me I realized that this was how it should be. With the heat of the funeral pyre, the smell of the incense in my nostrils, the darkening sea and the lighting of the first star, I was overcome by a conviction that at some time in the past I had lived that same moment. So buoyant did I feel myself that my feet barely touched the ground as I followed the priest to his lodging.

There he asked me to take off my clothes, after which he studied me, looked at the whites of my eyes, blew into my mouth and asked what had caused the white blemishes on my arms. I explained truthfully that they were burns, but did not consider it necessary to say that they had been caused by the burning reeds blown off the roofs at Sardis. When he had examined me, he anointed my armpits, chest and groin with a pungent salve and extended a handful of fragrant grass with which I was to rub my palms and the soles of my feet. With his every touch I felt increasingly buoyant until my body was like air. Joy bubbled within me and I felt that at any moment I could have burst into laughter.

Finally he helped me don a woolen mantle decorated with a design of doves and myrtle leaves. Then he conducted me indifferently to the steps of the temple and said, “Enter.”

“What must I do?” I asked.

“That is your own affair,” he replied. “Do what you wish, but after a moment you will feel drowsy and then ever more drowsy. The drowsiness will creep into your limbs, your eyelids will close and you will be unable to open them. You will rest more deeply than you ever have, but you will not sleep. Then something will happen, you will open your eyes and meet the goddess.”

He pushed me on my way and returned to his lodging. I walked into the silent darkness of the temple and waited until my eyes became accustomed to the glimmer of night that shone faintly through an opening in the roof. Then I distinguished the empty pedestal of the goddess and before it a lion-legged couch, the very sight of which made me sleepy. As soon as I had stretched out on it I began to feel so heavy that I marveled how a light couch could support my weight and why I did not plunge through the stone floor to the depths of the earth. My eyes closed. I knew that I did not sleep, but I felt myself sinking, endlessly sinking.

Suddenly I opened my eyes to bright sunlight and saw that I was seated on a stone bench in a market place. The shadows of passing people glided over the worn flagstones. When I raised my head I did not recognize the place. People were busy selling their wares, peasants led donkeys laden with baskets of vegetables, and beside me a wrinkled old woman had placed a few cheeses on display.

I roamed through the city and knew then that I had, after all, once walked those same streets. The houses were ornamented with painted tiles, the paving was worn from much use and as I turned a corner I saw before me a temple with its colonnade. I entered and a sleepy doorkeeper sprinkled a few drops of holy water on me. At that moment I heard a tiny sound, a tinkle.

I opened my eyes to the darkness of the temple of Aphrodite of Eryx and knew that my vision had been only a dream although I had not slept.

Another tinkle brought me to my feet. Never before had I felt so rested, so alert and so sensitive. In the dim light I saw that a veiled woman had seated herself on the edge of the goddess’s pedestal. From neck to heels she was swathed in a glittering robe heavy with embroidery. A gleaming wreath on her head held in place the veil that concealed her face. She moved, and again I heard the same tinkle of her bracelets. She moved, she lived and was real.

“If you are the goddess,” I said tremblingly, “show me your face.”

I heard a laugh behind the veil. The woman assumed a more comfortable position and said in understandable Greek, “The goddess has no face of her own. Whose face do you wish to see, Turms, you temple-burner?”

Suspicion seized me, for her laugh was a human laugh, her voice a human voice, and no one in Eryx could know that I had once set fire to the temple of Cybele at Sardis. Only Dorieus or Mikon could have gossiped about it to this unknown person.

I said sharply, “Be your face what it may, it is too dark here to see it.”

“You skeptic!” she laughed. “Do you think that the goddess fears light?” Her bracelets tinkled as she struck a flame and lighted the lamp beside her. Blinking after the darkness, I was able to distinguish the pearl design on her robe and smelled the faint fragrance of amber.

“You are a mortal like me,” I said in disappointment. “You are a woman like other women. I expected to meet the goddess.”

“Isn’t the goddess a woman?” she asked. “More a woman than any mortal woman. What do you want of me?”

“Show me your face,” I demanded and took a step toward her.

She stiffened and her voice changed. “Don’t touch me. It isn’t permitted.”

“Would I turn to ashes?” I asked mockingly. “Would I drop lifeless to the ground if I were to touch you?”

Her voice was warning. “Don’t jest about such a thing. Remember what happened to you today when you sacrificed a human to the goddess.”

I remembered Aura and no longer felt like jesting. “Show me your face,” I asked again, “that I may know you.”

“As you wish,” she said. “But remember that the goddess has no face of her own.” She took the shining wreath from her head and removed the veil. Lifting her face to the light she cried out, “Turms, Turms, don’t you remember me?”

Shaken to the bottom of my heart I recognized the merry voice, die laughing eyes and the round youthful chin.

“Dione!” I exclaimed. “How have you come here?” For a moment I actually thought that Dione had fled westward to escape the Persians threatening lonia, and that some miraculous whim of fate had led her to the temple of Aphrodite of Eryx. Then I realized that unreturnable years had passed since Dione had tossed me the apple. She could no longer be the same young girl nor was I the same dazzled youth.

The woman covered her face with the veil and said, “So you recognized me, Turms.”

I replied petulantly, “The shadows and the flickering light of the lamp blurred my eyes. I thought I recognized in you a girl whom I knew in my youth in Ephesus. But you are not she. You are not a young girl.”

“The goddess has no age. She is ageless and timeless, and her face changes with the beholder. What do you want of me?”

“If you were the goddess,” I said in disappointment, “you would know without my saying why I came here.”

She swung the shining wreath in her hand so that my eyes were compelled to follow it. Holding the veil over her face with her other hand she urged, “Lie down again. You are drowsy. Rest.”

Lightly she stepped to the foot of the couch, still swinging the wreath. My alertness disappeared and a feeling of drowsy security came over me.

Suddenly she straightened, revealed her face and demanded, “Turms, where are you?”

Her face grew black and shiny before my eyes, her mantle was ornamented with the breasts of Amazons, the moon was her headdress, and lions lay at her feet. I felt the sacred woolen bonds of Artemis binding my limbs. Artemis herself stood before me, no longer a statue toppled from the sky, but alive and threatening and with a merciless smile on her face.

“Where are you?” repeated the voice.

With a tremendous effort I could move my tongue. “Artemis, Artemis!” I cried. -

A merciful hand was laid over my eyes, my whole body sighed and I was freed of the oppression. The moon no longer had me in its power.

“I will liberate you from the hold of the strange goddess if you wish and promise to serve only me. Reject the melancholy of the moon and I will give you joy and sunshine.”

I whispered, or at least think I did, “You foam-born, I consecrated myself to you long before Artemis had me in her power. Never again forsake me.”

I heard a roaring in my ears, the couch swayed beneath me and a voice repeated over and over again, “Where are you, Turms? Awaken. Open your eyes.”

I opened my eyes and said in amazement, “I see a lovely valley above which rise snowcapped mountains. I smell the fragrance of herbs, and the slope of the valley is warm to lie upon. I have never seen a more beautiful valley, but I am alone. I see no houses, no path, not a single person.”

From a vast distance I heard a voice whisper, “Return, Turms. Come back. Where are you?”

Once again I opened my eyes. It was night and I stood in a strange room. With a catch of my breath I recognized Kydippe lying in bed. She was sleeping with her lips parted, and she sighed as she slept. Suddenly she awakened, saw me and attempted to cover her nakedness. But upon recognizing my face she began to smile and her hand paused. I ran to her and embraced her. She started to scream, then relaxed in my arms and let me do as I wished. But her girl’s lips were cold under my mouth, her heart did not pound against my own, and when I released her and she covered her eyes in shame I knew that I had nothing in common with her.

A groan of disappointment escaped me, and when I opened my eyes again I was lying on the couch in the temple of Aphrodite of Eryx with my arms stiffly upraised. On the edge of the couch sat that strange woman who had talked to me and who was trying to hold my arms down.

“What has happened, Turms?” she asked and bowed her head to look at my face in the lamplight.

I saw that she had removed the stiffly-embroidered robe, the necklace and the armbands. They lay on the floor, as did the veil and the wreath. She was wearing only a thin shift and her fair hair was combed to the top of her head. The shape of her high, thin brows made her eyes appear slanting. As she leaned toward me I knew that I had never before seen her, yet I felt that she was familiar.

My arms slackened and fell to my sides. My limbs were exhausted as after hard labor. She touched my brows, chest and mouth with her fingertips and absently began to draw a, circle on my bare chest. Her face suddenly paled and I noticed to my surprise that she was weeping.

Frightened, I asked, “What has happened?”

“Nothing,” she snapped and abruptly withdrew her hand.

“Why are you weeping?”

She shook her head so sharply that a tear dropped onto my chest. “I am not weeping.” Then she slapped my cheek and demanded angrily, “Who is that Kydippe whose name you repeated so ecstatically?”

“Kydippe? It was because of her that I came here. She is the granddaughter of the tyrant of Himera. But I no longer have any desire for her. I took what I wanted and the goddess freed me of her.”

“That is good,” she said capriciously. “That is very good. Why don’t you go your way if you got what you wanted?” She raised her hand as though to strike me once more, but I caught her wrist. It was narrow and beautiful in my hand.

“Why do you strike me?” I asked. “I have not harmed you.”

“Haven’t you! No man has hurt me as you have. Why don’t you leave and never return to Eryx?”

“I can’t, for you are sitting on me. Besides, you are clutching my robe.”

She had in truth wrapped a corner of my robe around her knees as though she were cold.

“Who are you?” I asked, touching her white neck.

She started and cried out, “Don’t touch me! I hate those hands of yours!”

When I tried to rise she pushed me back, bent over me and hotly kissed my mouth. She did it so unexpectedly that I did not realize what had happened until she had straightened again and was sitting on the edge of the couch with chin haughtily upraised.

I caught her hand. “Let us talk sensibly like human beings, for you are a human and my kind. What has happened? Why have you wept and struck me?”

She curled her hand into a fist but permitted me to hold it. “It was useless for you to come here for aid, for you know more about the goddess than 1.1 am but the body in which the goddess manifests herself, but your power has entered into me and I can do nothing. I don’t understand what has happened. I should have taken my clothes and left, and upon awakening you would have considered your vision the answer to your problem. I don’t know why I remained here. Tell me, are you really awake?”

I felt my head and body. “I think so. Yet a moment ago I could have sworn that I also was awake. I have never experienced anything like this.”

“Probably not. And I suppose that women have never cared for you since you have to seek the goddess’s aid.”

Holding her little fist in my hand I stared at her. “Your lips arc beautiful. I know the curve of your brows and also your eyes and cheeks. Are you one of the returned? I seem to recognize you.”