“ ‘ “ ‘ “Hecatombs to Athena!” Odysseus cried after us.
“ ‘ “ ‘ “Cushion your thwarts with Troy-girls!” Agamemnon called, dragging pale Cassandra—’ ”
“ ‘ “Bitch! Bitch!”
“ ‘ “ ‘—by her long black hair. To forestall a mutiny I hollered back, they could keep half my loot for themselves if they’d ship the rest home for me to emprince my loyal crew with. As for me, all my concubines and treasure waited below, tapping her foot. Wise Nestor alone sailed with me, who as Supervisor of Spoils had loaded first; last thing I saw astern was shrewd Odysseus scratching his head, my brother crotch; then Troy sank in the purpled east; with a shake-plain shout, I’m good at those, I dived below to reclaim my wife.
“ ‘ “ ‘Call it weakness if you dare: unlike the generality of men I take small joy in lording women. Helen’s epic heat had charcoaled Troy and sent ten thousand down to Hades; I ought to’ve spitted her like a heifer on her Trojan hearth. But I hadn’t, and the hour was gone to poll horns with the vengeful sword. I thought therefore to knock her about a bit and then take at last what had cost such a fearful price, perhaps vilifying her, within measure, the while. But when I beheld her — sitting cross-legged in the stern, cleaning long fingernails with a bodkin and pouting at the frames and strakes — I forebore, resolved to accept in lieu of her death a modest portion of heartfelt grovel. Further, once she’d flung herself at my knees and kissed my hem I would order her supine and mount more as one who loves than one who conquers; not impossibly, should she acquit herself well and often, I would even entertain a plea for her eventual forgiveness and restoration to the Atrean house. Accordingly I drew myself up to discharge her abjection — whereupon she gave over cleaning her nails and set to drumming them on one knee.
“ ‘ “ ‘ “Let your repentance salt my shoeleather,” I said presently, “and then, as I lately sheathed my blade of anger, so sheathe you my blade of love.”
“ ‘ “ ‘ “I only just came aboard,” she replied. “I haven’t unpacked yet.”
“ ‘ “ ‘With a roar I went up the companionway, dashed stern to stem, close-hauled the main, flogged the smile from my navigator, and clove us through the pastures of the squid. Leagues thereafter, when the moon changed phase, I overtook myself, determined shrewdly that her Troy-chests were secured, and vowing this time to grant the trull no quarter, at the second watch of night burst into her cubby and forgave her straight out. “Of the unspeakable we’ll speak no further,” I declared. “I here extend to you what no other in my position would: my outright pardon.” To which, some moments after, I briskly appended: “Disrobe and receive it, for the sake of pity! This offer won’t stand forever.” There I had her; she yawned and responded: “It’s late. I’m tired.”
“ ‘ “ ‘Up the mast half a dozen times I stormed and shinnied, took oar to my navigator, lost sight of Nestor, thundered and lightninged through Poseidon’s finny fief. When next I came to season, I stood a night slyly by while she dusk-to-dawned it, then saluted with this challenge her opening eyes: “Man born of woman is imperfect. On the three thousand two hundred eighty-seventh night of your Parisian affair, as I lay in Simoismud picking vermin off the wound I’d got that day from cunning Pandarus, exhaustion closed my eyes. I dreamed myself was pretty Paris, plucked by Aphrodite from the field and dropped into Helen’s naked lap. There we committed sweet adultery; I woke wet, wept …”
“ ‘ “ ‘Here I paused in my fiction to shield my eyes and stanch the arrow-straight tracks clawed down my cheek. Then, as one who’d waited precisely for her maledict voice to hoarsen, I outshouted her in these terms: “Therefore come to bed my equal, uncursing, uncursed!”
“ ‘ “ ‘The victory was mine, I still believe, but when I made to take trophy, winded Helen shook her head, declaring: “I have the curse.”
“ ‘ “ ‘My taffrail oaths shook Triton’s stamp-ground; I fed to the fish my navigator, knocked my head against the mast and others; hollered up a gale that blew us from Laconic Malea to Egypt. My crew grew restive; when the storm was spent and I had done flogging me with halyards, I chose a moment somewhere off snakèd Libya, slipped my cloak, rapped at Helen’s cabin, and in measured tones declared: “Forgive me.” Adding firmly: “Are you there?”
“ ‘ “ ‘ “Seasick,” she admitted. “Throwing up.” To my just query, why she repaid in so close-kneed coin my failure to butcher her in Troy, she answered—’
“ ‘ “ ‘Let me guess,’ requested Proteus.”
“ ‘ “What I said in Troy,” said offshore Helen. “What I say to you now.” ’
“ ‘Whatever was that?’ pressed Peisistratus.”
“Hold on, hold on yet awhile, Menelaus,” I advise.
I’m not the man I used to be.
“ ‘ “ ‘Thus inspired I went a-princing and a-pirate. Seven years the north wind nailed us to Africa, while Helen held fast the door of love. We sailed no plotted course, but supped random in the courts of kings, sacked and sight-saw, ballasted our tender keel with bullion. The crew chose wives from among themselves, give me a woman anytime, had affairs with ewes, committed crimes of passion over fids and tholes. None of us grew younger. The eighth year fetched us here to Pharos, rich sea-quirks, mutinous, strange. How much does a man need? We commenced to starve. Yesterday I strolled up the beach to fish, my head full of north-wind; I squatted on a rushy dune, fetched out my knife, considered whether to slice my parchèd throat or ditto cod. Then before me in the surf, a sudden skinny-dipper! Cock and gullet paused on edge; Beauty stepped from the sea-foam; long time I regarded hairless limb, odd globy breast, uncalloused ham. Where was the fellow’s sex? A fairer yeoman I’d not beheld; who’d untooled him? As as his king and skipper I decided to have at him before myself, it occurred to me he was a woman.
“ ‘ “ ‘Memory, easy-weakened, dies hard. From its laxy clutch I fetched my bride’s dim image. True, her hair was gold, the one before me’s green, and this was finned where that was toed; but the equal number and like placement of their breasts, congruence of their shames’ geometry — too miraculous for chance! She was Helen gone a-surfing, or Aphrodite in Helen’s form. With a clench-tooth wrench I recollected what a man was for, vowed to take her without preamble or petition, then open my throat. Better, as I knew my wife no weakling, but accurate of foot and sharp of toe, I hit upon a ruse to have her without loss of face or testicle, and cursed me I hadn’t dreamed it up years past: as Zeus is wont to take mortal women in semblance of their husbands, I would feign Zeus in Menelaus’ guise! Up tunic, down I sprang, aflop with recommissioned maleship. “Is it Helen’s spouse about to prince me,” my victim inquired, “or some god in his fair-haired form? A lady wants to know her undoer. My own name,” she went on, and I couldn’t.
“ ‘ “ ‘ “Eidothea’s the name,” she went on: “daughter of Proteus, he whose salt hands hold the key to wind and wife. You won’t reach your goals till you’ve mastered Dad. My role in your suspended tale is merely to offer seven pieces of advice. Don’t ask why. Let go of my sleeve, please. Don’t mistake the key for the treasure. But before I go on,” she went on,’ ” ’ ” and I can’t.
“ ‘ “ ‘ “But before I go on,” she went on, “say first how it was at the last in Troy, what passed between you and Helen as the city fell.…” ’ ” ’
“Come on, ‘Come on. “Come on. ‘Come on. “Come on,” Eidothea urged: “In the horse’s woody bowel we groaned and grunt … Why do you weep?” ’ ” ’ ”