Alone with only Astyanax, who remains poignantly silent, to consider the obvious: of what comes next, for if the devil is in the details, especially those omitted, then the most glaring of omissions remains hidden. Mother’s intuitive suppositions, at least those remembered, are mildly gratifying but the salient question remains unanswered. If she really loved me, why did she do the things she did: especially to me, repeatedly? Oh sure I know, sometimes things don’t turn out all that well but damn it not all the time. It’s not supposed to be like that is it? Maybe I’m just not ready to listen to what Herr Maximillian was trying to tell me…about forgiving and forgetting…but then again…if I don’t listen…no one is going to be any better off and all of this’ll start again and I really don’t want to do this anymore. All I really want is just to…
Listen as Mother interrupts and asks, “Christopher, are you now so lost in thought.” I merely nod not wishing to speak…I need to wait for “him” to appear; of the two, he’s really the only one left who has the missing pieces and who can …
“Please me,” she continues, may we begin anew? I would inquire most respectfully of your thoughts on this matter. I acknowledge my failings and realize the suffering I have caused. Would it be otherwise, I would in some manner, have already made it so. However, that moment is past and I cannot.
“That I would hide you from greater harm, for a time as a girl, is no fault of my own. It is the course, which, for some time, you yourself have moved towards and have agreed to take. I ask, that if possible, that you allow the moments found in that disquise to pass without rancor and learn. It would appear that we both have secrets, which remain concealed. Nevertheless, as a mother, I understand the perplexed look on your face is in part fueled by circ-umstances of which you too are yet unaware. I would caution patience as such matters tend to eventually resolve themselves.
“Is it irony that by your standard, with cause, you all but loathed me but still came and asked of me to decide upon a course that would determine our fates; and, would seek comfort from me as troubled as I was then, but not now? I think not. Have you learned nothing from all of this? Unfortunately, it would appear that your antipathy of me is in contradiction to what you have sought, if not actually desire. Moreover, that you constantly refer to yourself in the third person is evident and that Maximillians observation is correct; by your own actions, you have in part lost your identity.
“Consequently, you search not only for what remains of it but also for something you consider more important though far less tangible: the security found in constant reassurance; especially mine. Otherwise, we would not be discussing this matter; therefore, I must draw the obvious conclusion that you still do not trust me; and we are once again at an impasse.
“Regrettably, it would appear that my trust remains predicated upon an act; very well. Perhaps that too shall be made evident. Therefore, I concede the moment and will explain what I find, not only significant in your name; but then come to a decision, the result of which, you so caution, could be catastrophic. I would surmise that…”
That thought will be held and unvoiced for a moment longer as…“he”… has finally chosen to appear. At first, his harsh voice interrupts her; and is in stark contradiction to that of Father’s familiar manner. It is neither gentle nor mannerly; but it is unmistakably, “him.” It is the voice accustomed to command, which draws our attention and is declarative, though raspy, at the onset.
“Athena, silence, do not reflect aloud for you have not fully grasped the scope of his deception. For the moment, your calm is the course better served to all. Consider now, from what I have gleaned, if only from listening from a distant haze, that his relentless and unremitting expedition has surpassed even that spoken of by Homer. The child is a master of deceit, infinite guile and of ultimate ruin: incredible attributes for an eternal youth to whom I proudly voice and would claim yet again as my own.”
He looks down at me and continues with, “Is that not what you expect of me; my confirmation? As always, you wait and watch me. Athena, the boy awaits a conclusion, in many respects as fateful as that day when I first cast him from the cliffs overlooking the Hellspont to fall and lie shattered upon the rocks below. Of all else, only for that, am I regretful. But now, I am moved to speak with cause otherwise all this will end; and not well.
“Consider, that among all mortals who then ventured upon sea or land, that except for Herakles, it was I alone, who dared venture into Hades and return alive. Moreover, while there did I speak with the mighty Achilles as well as Tiresias.* It was at Tiresias’ suggestion, that I, Odysseus, instigated the accord now before us, struck in that moment of desperation, otherwise; all would be lost to us forever.
“But first, Brisa, descendant of my ghostly compatriot, sharp-tongued woman that you have become, value this, that I once wore what previously belonged to your vaunted ancestor: his armor, it now lies where I buried it; beneath the barren shores beyond the Pillars of Hercules. There, until such time that I so deem, will it remain. That you are here now is by my design though it is his armor, which is the basis through which this has transpired. I will explain this first and as I do consider, that your continued silence will be of benefit to us all.”
I muse that Brisa has moved backwards with his words not wishing to provoke a man whose eyes now glare in the anticipation of a coming moment. I have seen both looks before. Hers is the look of realization of what ruin would come her way. While his is is not only the ravenous glare of a warrior, released, who would advance upon his hapless foe, feeding upon his fear as he draws near, and then dispatching him with delight; but also that of the warrior king, who, without question, will speak and be heard. If the entire world is a stage, it is his moment upon it and with a regal look about the room, that speaks volumes, he silently commands it and Heaven to order.
Above it all, the Gallery of the Gods looks down and titters in nervous anticipation.
I must remember, that for all intent and purpose that it really is someone else, more fearful, if not once more powerful, who occupies the moment. Even Christina has taken notice of the aura, which now moves to surround him, that the personage who emerges from its haze to stand before us is an ancestor, unlike any of which we have recently known: beyond formidable, undeniably shrewd and except for one occasion, able to kill upon impulse without regret. Cautiously, Aeron moves first, to stand at the side of Brisa to watch in silence. Yet, with her movement, the disgruntled look on his face at her motion, prompts Melina to cower beside Christina. While Mother, for her part, now simply smiles and waits. The symbiotic relationship between the two is obvious; they have long adored each other and still do.
I have long waited for the cue. Without fear, I turn to face him and look once more into the eyes that have obsessed my waking lives with a promise and as I do, remove what vestige of modesty remains upon me and proudly stand before him as the day I was born; except for the stupid clip on earrings, that Christine put on me. I seek an end and will have it one way or another. I muse in the moment that history repeats itself repeatedly and those who are oblivious to such are eternally useless if not pathetic fools; however, if I am to be cast off again then I too shall fall forever. It would appear that I have rhetorically all but addressed my previous misgivings and further consider; are we not all at times useful idiots born of the moment? I curse the moment and myself and consider that Voltaire’s observation of my situation has now born the fruit of his labor that “all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds.”** I make a note: “Herr Maximillian you are correct but so is Mother.”
The cool gentle breeze, which falls from above, serves as a reminder that under other circ-umstances even the most benign of affective conditions may well kindle the memory that it is the precursor to oblivion. And as on that day, the warrior-king once again kneels to face up with me and in a gravely voice begins to speak as he stares straight into my eyes. As he moves closer, I do not cry out nor do I shed a tear though his breath has turned stale and cold, smelling of the rot born of the ages. Even the color of his skin has changed. No longer a warm rosey pink and full of life; it is dead, a pallid grey, cracked and peeling. Moreover, what I would recognize of his face is little for even his beard is drained of color and what ears remain appears to be merely hairy knobs that lay beneath his long matted hair.
His withered sword hand moves to rest lightly upon my right shoulder and there it rests until he grasps it and under his breath gutturally mutters, “Firm, young flesh, so alive and pleasurable to the touch.” He glances about and continues, “Much has changed but so much more remains the same.
“But you are as I constantly remember.” His boney hand rises from my shoulder, cups my ear, then moves along my face, downward, to caress my still smooth cheeks and chin. Hoarsely we hear, “The ever beautiful boy. You died by my hands any number of times and still you stand before me, a tearless youth. But I would know this before I continue, tell me true, despite my promise, do you still fear me?”
We remain silent nod twice but answer “Used to but no, not now. Except, except that you don’t look…good?”
“Hmmm,” he surmises, and then proceeds, “Though truthful, you remain either very brave or quite stupid; consider, that it is a foolish reply. Look at what has become of me, for candidly, I am in no mood for mirth; I feel rotten. Even so, it does not lessen what I remember. Over and over again as a coc-kroach, you stood before me and scurried about in the dark of night to flee my initial grasp and in each encounter reached out to touch me, softly: as if searching. Little did I know then of what you sought.
“And afterwards, unthinkably, you, a boy repeatedly accepted his fate, and would always dare come to face me when I called; when grown men would piss themselves as they cried to me for mercy while they ran to escape my judgement. All others died but once, but you, did not. I treasured one such as you but still, I have no fond memories of this. For each has been uniquely distasteful, especially when at last I understood; that you would be my own. Often, I had questioned myself, how is that you knew what I did not until later? Why would you not speak of it, if only, as warrior to warrior, was it not your right?
“You were too much like your father and far too much like me: stubborn, proud, and relentless; and still but a child. In victory, I willingly took what was yours. Look at yourself, then look at what I have been reduced too and what I have become. I am more repulsive now than then and understand that I too now share Achilles’ passion that “I would choose to serve as the serf of another, rather than be lord over the dead.”*** Despite what you would hear, in Elysium, there is no honor among the dead only regret and the numbed spirits of sorrow. I have learned that even to the honorable, there are limits and have grown bitter. I feel far less honor than remorse.
“All these years I have waited for you to voice the anwer and still you stand before me as silent as the grateful dead do. I ask would you now repay me in kind and tell me when I might leave. Why will you not speak to me “now;” for is that the only word I shall remember from you? How many times did I suffer it in your presence from your lips to my ears.
“Still, even before the last tone, I could not bear to watch you, a child, fall to the rocks below and unashamedly felt no need to dry the tears I cried; thus, I turned away only to watch my tears fall from my eyes. There, to dry where they fell upon the earth with the suns light. In that moment, those few who wagered, correctly, and did not mock my tears, I allowed to pass without regret; thirteen others were not as fortunate. Though I could not save you from death, I could avenge it and did so, repeatedly.
“Of course, I sought to reason well with each; but none matched your resolve. Rightfully challenged, I left the boy lovers to rot on the rocks where they fell below. I felt nothing for them but did in turn mourn you. Then, as I walked alone from the summit, even those who would call themselves friends would not dare face my rage.
“But that is the past is it not…now meaningless?”
“Hmmpf. So summoned here, by your leave, where am I to begin except at the beginning of course, with Achilles and his great armor?” I am told by Tiresius that even on this matter, you would remain silent; it is my my burden to speak.” He pauses for a moment looks about and continues. “Proudly, once, long ago I commanded thousands who listened to my every word and was told that when I spoke, it was not only for myself but for them: and in that instance, not only they, but even the gods themselves listened from on high; but now, look at what stands circled before me and of what I have become. Well, if there were any left above let them gather, I bid them draw near, for it would appear my listeners too, here, are limited. Perhaps it is a fitting end and all too late; too late for many things, especially those many missed in life. Little one, you would do well to remember that there is no future in certain death.
“Now,” it is but one word that I too spitefully remember, and would begin with the armor of Achilles: forged by the god of fire himself, Hephaestus and presented to the beast by his mother Thetis. Thetis, of the Nereids, saviour of Zeus, understood prophesy, that her son would either lead a long and tedious life or one short-lived but glorious. She sought to protect him from the latter, thus she immersed him into the river Styx, holding him fast by his heels. Neither Homer nor I knew of this nor that did it offer him divine protection. But there is more which is not known that I shall reveal.
“Of course, as any mother would protect her child: so it was with Thetis; who asked the Darkener of the Skies, “A gift for my son, deny prophesy and grant both long life and glory.” She would plead for more. But Zeus himself, even after having moved his member to her own lips, pulled her closer as she knelt before him. There he sat upon his throne; though so pleasured; still feared her son and denied her. Haplessly she turned away from Olympus’ heights to mourn in solitude then fled to the hollow caves beneath Lemnos to meet with the smith of the gods: Hephaestus. There she asked for both shield and armor to protect her son, “That would withstand the blows of mortal men.” Therefore, he did for even Zues himself banished him from Olympus for transgression.
“Thus, the first set of armor went to war but was lost in battle to Hector when he slew Achilles’ Patroclus. Enraged, Achilles would return to the battlefield, at his mother’s insistence, to avenge his friends’ death, even though both understood that he would forfeit his life. But left without armor he could not fight; thus again, Thetis went to Lemnos. Once more she would press Hephaestus for yet another set, far greater than the first, so that Achilles might wear as he battled the both the Trojans and Hector. What she did not know was that another from Olympus had also witnessed her pleas; but was not so content. Thetis had asked for one thing, yet Achilles, through another, would receive far more.
“Hear the words of Tiresias, “That Hephaestus, by design, slyly endowed it with those godly powers held by but a few on Olympus itself. Yet, of all the gods and goddesses, only three in all of Olympus knew of this: Hephaestus, Apollo and Athena for it were at her urging that Hephaestus should so endow it, for she favored the Greeks but more so Achilles; and of the three but two were of like mind. Her brother, rebellious Apollo, was not so inclined and the doubts between both were great. For in mistrust, he had followed her at a distance to spy upon her and there, nearby, in the darkness, silently listened to the echos of her plan as they rang throughout the caves. So content he left.
“So it was then at the hearth that The Shield of Achilles was fashioned first. Its massive girth stood to the shoulders of most men and so embossed with richly decorated figures of gold, silver and bronze lain upon layers of a forged metal stronger than iron; then known only to the gods. At its outermost edge was the River Ocean, which encircled it completely. The next ring placed upon its face was divided into thirds were of Cattle, Dance and Sheep; and then, within it, the three provences of Vintage, Ploughing and of Reaping. There closest to the heart above the center of the shield was a city halved; one a City at Peace while below it, in ruin, lay a besieged City at War. Now my little one the heart of matter is where it begins: at it’s center, upon it for all to see, the god of fire placed the earth, the sea, the moon, the constellations above, and finally at its core, was the all seeing sun. Only then,
“When he'd created that great and sturdy shield,
he fashioned body armour brighter than blazing fire,
a heavy helmet shaped to fit Achilles' temples,
beautiful and finely worked, with a gold crest on top.
Then he made him leg guards of finely hammered tin.”****
“Armor and shield shield and armor; each was empowered by Hephestus; but of the two The Shield was the greater. For, unbeknownst except to those who carried it, it not only spoke, as if alive, but could also, in a moment, devine the fate of those who approached to face it or of who would dare come touch it. In spite of the numbers that would press him in battle, those who dared face him could never defeat Achilles: as both armor and Shield worked as one to protect him. Thus, when Hector turned to face Achilles wearing the armor he had taken from Patroclus, Achilles understood in an instant where the weakest point to attack would lie. It was then he hurled his massive spear which neither armor nor sword could stop.
“You understand my conjecture, the star-shooter himself understood that Achilles could only be defeated if the shield was unaware of what approached; what it could not see it could not turn and defend against. Then, high upon the battlements of Illium, Apollo stood with Paris. In victory, when Achilles turned his chariot away, Apollo spurred him loose the shaft that he may guide it with his breath, to find the heel of my friend.”
“That he did, sealed his fate and those of the gods themselves. Need I say more?
“Athena, you smile at me; good then my insinuation is obvious. When one is blinded as well as deaf, words are useless: it is the act, which merits response. Your revenge is complete. Thus, it is now the heart of the matter. The last touch is what was sought and that which was taken.
“Only after the last did it finally speak out to me; claiming I was not only in error but had killed what would be mine. Little one you are truly a master of persistence if not deceit. I am humbled. One day, both shield and armor will once again see the light of the sun. Then, both will be yours.”
Christina’s “Wait a second, I don’t…” prompts a snap quick glare back at her which shuts her up quicker than a stopper stuffed in a sink drain. She still hasn’t connected the dots; its not really dad, its him, who she thinks she’s going to get the best of, like she normally does, but, it doesn’t take her long to figure that out when he barks out, “Silence! Women are best heard when moaning in bed beneath the thrusts of their lovers.”
Stunned red-faced exasperation would be the look on my sisters’ face until he started to laugh and I have to admit, I could have walked over to Melina, naked, and lifted her jaw up so at least it wouldn’t be hitting the floor like it is now; but didn’t. He went on with, “Women, I tell you, are no longer to be trusted.” ***** Except for mother, he studies each, as one would assess a herd of cows, then all but sneers at them.
Well I guess I was waiting for a showstopper and that had to be it as I too look at him with questioning eyes. Instead of what I thought would happen he drops the hammer on me and just as soon as I start to say something, he starts to laugh and goes on with, “Forgive me. It has been a long time and Agamemnons thoughts from Hades still echo in my mind. His wife didn’t think much of them either; killed him over that and a few more things at dinner with her lover one evening. He did leave me some parting words of advice “Never be to gentle with your wife, nor show her all that is in your mind.”
“You would do well Astyanax to heed those words, except, that you are not yet again Astyanax are you? You are the other, his mentor, the one spoken of by Tiresias: the specter of dread incarnate. Nevertheless, for either, the advice remains sound counsel.
“Look, your future consort, the witch, grows anxious, I smell her growing fear, none-the-less it is understandable. After all, who would believe the words of a lunatic except for a small trusting boy, but more so, who alone then of mortals could know the mind of the gods? I would answer none, save the temple favorite, the ever truthfull liar who quakes besides the little church mouse who exclaimed her ignorance. She grows restive as well; I smell that too. To your credit, however, yours remain true.”
“I would linger further, as their forgotten scents are pleasing, but cannot as my time is short.”
The ghost from Elysium turns his attention to, “Athena, countless times we had relived the moment; consider that the boy has touched the heart of the matter which lay upon the Shield of Achilles; the sun. The boy would press you to decide, do so, but listen closely, upon the River Ocean there are always three ships; sometimes many more and those who sail upon them do so continuously, most never to set foot on lands unknown. However, neither vessel is ever without crew, nor food, nor drink; nor without sky or night; nor the stars above; yet neither vessel will accept from any other additional provisions or crew. Side by side, they sail for time eternal until such time that all but three shall cease to exist. That time approaches yet again. Tiresias claims what you have thoughtfully fashioned stands before the highest of magistrates and is so favored and empowered by him. Of my compatriots, only Achilles and I now remain upon the Elysian Fields and in want of release. To choose one above the other is certain death.
*Tiresias...the blind seer of Thebes who also counseled Oedipus.
**Candide by Voltaire.
***Quote of Achilles to Odysesseus in Hades as written by Homer.
****Description of Achilles armor as Attributed by Homer in the Iliad.
*****Quote of Agamemnon to Odysesseus when they met in Hades.
� Betty Pearl's Sissy Stories 20.1
Topic: Promises, Obligations and Consequences (Read 144320 times)
