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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