sound them. He might
have buried his mother with his own hands — that
much at least
he might have stayed to do for her, having sea-dogged
half
his life, far out of her sight, carousing with strangers,
fighting
all men’s wars but his father’s, and his poor old
mother worried
sick! She stood as high in her time as any woman in Akhaia. But now she’s left like a servant in an
empty house,
widowed, pining in misery after her only son who cares no more for his mother than he would for
a dying dog,
care for nothing and nobody, only for Jason, apple of her eye — and apple of his own! Dear gods, I wish
you could see
how slyly that boy consoles her — and believes every
word of it
himself, as if Jason could do no wrong! “Dear mother,”
says he,
all piety, “do not be grieved that I leave you alone. We’re all alone, we mortals, whether we’re near to
each other
or far apart. Locked inside ourselves, foolishly, blindly struggling to do what’s right.” He moons out the
window, sad
as a priest, and she’s impressed by it. — Oh my but
that boy
can be pretty, when he likes! He kisses her hand and
tells her, “Do not
be afraid, Mother. I’m doing what the gods demand.
The omens
show it. We used to be rich, Mother. Now that
we’re poor,
we ought to have learned that nothing counts but the
gods’ friendship.
Let me serve them; then when you die, you’ll die in
peace,
whether I’m near or not. You’ve told me yourself,
Mother,
that all there is in the world, at last, is the war or peace of dying men and the old undying gods. The omens favor the trip. I must go.” And he kisses her cheeks.
Ah, Jason!
Cunning burled so deep he can’t see it himself! Omens! Did he ask his friends the augurers what omens they see for his mother? Or Pelias? Or the city? Would that the
birdsongs sang
his death!’
And then she was gone; her black shawl
vanished in the crowd.
My throat was dry with shame. I was numb. I stood
too stunned
to think. If I could have summoned speech that instant,
I might
have called it off on the spot, to hell with the
consequences.
But then, from nowhere, a man appeared at my side,
a man—
or god, who knows? — hooded till only his beard
peeked out.
I thought by the mad-dog hunch of his shoulders, the
growl in his throat,
it was crazy Idas, Lynkeus’ brother. He touched my arm. ‘She never liked you, did she, man.’ The words
confused me.
I remembered the old woman’s slapping me once, and
calling out sharply,
another time — I was only a child, and I wasn’t to
blame for
whatever it was she charged me with. My mind grew
clouded.
“I moved in a kind of daze toward the boat, the streets of the city behind me, and I racked my brains over
whether or not
the woman was right. When I came down to the
beach, my friends
were waiting, waving. They raised a shout so loud
the gulls
flew higher in sudden alarm. The crew was grinning,
their armor
blazing like the sun at noon. They pointed, and I looked
behind me,
and lo and behold, Akastos himself was running toward
me,
Pelias’ son! He’d slipped away from the house while
the king
was sleeping, bound to go out with us, whether
the old man liked
or not. I seized my cousin in my arms and laughed,
and we ran
to the ship. And so I forgot what the old crone said,
or forgot
till later, miles from shore.
“The wind was right, the ship
and the Argonauts both eager to go, and the sooner
the better.
I stood on a barrel and waved my arms for attention.
I shouted,
and the Argonauts grew quiet. Three last details,’ I said. The sea-wind whipped my words away. I shouted louder. The first is this. We’re all partners in the voyage to
Kolchis,
the land where Aietes guards the golden fleece, and
we’re partners
bringing it home — we hope. So it’s up to you to choose the best man here as our leader. And let me warn you,
choose
with care, as if our lives depended on it. ’ When I had spoken, they turned like one man toward Herakles, where he sat in the center of the crowd, and with one
voice they called out,
‘Herakles!’ But the hero scowled and shook his head, and without stirring from his seat, raising his right
hand
like a pillar, he said, ‘No, friends, I must refuse.
And I must
refuse, also, to let any other man stand up. The man who wears the pelt of a panther has shown
good sense
so far — Jason, Aison’s son. Let Jason lead.’
“They clapped at his generosity and slapped my back, praising my cunning, swearing that I was the man
for the job,
no doubt of it! What can I say? I was flattered, excited. — But no, the thing’s more complicated. I was a boy,
remember,
and beloved of the goddess of will, as many things since
have proved.
It had never crossed my mind that the crew would
turn like that,
as if they’d planned it, and all choose Herakles. — And
now
when the giant handed it back to me, and led the
clapping
himself, grinning, white teeth flashing, his muscular
face
all innocence, so open and boyish that we all smiled too, what I secretly felt was jealousy, almost rage. It makes me laugh now. What a donzel I was! But ah, at the
time,
how my heart smarted, hearing them praise me like
a god! He was
their leader, whatever they pretended. And rightly, of
course, he was better,
as plainly superior to me as the sun to a mill wheel.
And yet
I resented him, and I burned like a coal at their
feigned delight,
their self-delusion, in choosing me. I had half a mind to quit, sulking, and crawl away to some forest and live like a hermit. Screw them all! At the same time,
however,
I wanted to lead them, whether or not I was worthy—
I was,
God knew (and I knew), ambitious. All my life I’ve hated standing in somebody’s shadow. So, with as good a grace as possible, I blinded myself to the obvious.
I accepted. Orpheus smiled, studying his fingernails.
“ ‘Second detail,’ I shouted, and cleared my throat—
looking
guilty as sin, no doubt. ‘If you do indeed trust me with this honorable charge—’ It came to me I was
putting it on
a trifle thick, and I hastily dropped the orbicular style. “We’ve two things left, and we may as well start on
both of them
at once. The first is the sacrifice to the gods — a feast to Phoibus, for warm, clear days, to Poseidon for
gentle seas,
and to Hera, who’s been my special friend — thanks to
Pelias’
scorn of her. Also an altar on the shore to Apollo, the god of embarkation. And while we’re waiting for
the slaves
to pick out oxen from the herd and drive them down
to us,
I suggest that we drag the Argo down into the water