He shut his eyes. I expect that saying so much had been hard work. I went outside with Theas. The custodian came fawning up. I silenced Theas with a look—he had just got a buffet ready—and whispered, “You had better give him something. I came just as I was.” The man spat on the copper piece and looked at me with scorn. The lame boy, who had stayed not for gain but because he had missed the festival, sat bright-eyed on a clump of sea-grass.
Theas and I looked at each other. Men from anywhere but Keos would have found much more to say. “No ship will leave Delos before tomorrow,” he said. “But if that is too late, he will have had his wish.”
“But now, today? He is lying here like a dog.”
“That creature asked five drachmas for a bedstead. None of us had enough. He won’t give credit. He charges for water, too.”
“I’ll go get my money from the lodge. Dressed like this, I expect some boatman will trust me.”
“They burn the bed after, or so he claims … Yes, go, Sim.” As I was turning, he added, “And don’t take what Father said to heart. His mind’s half gone, or he’d have known you couldn’t do it.”
“I know. Shall I see him first? No, tell him where I’ve gone, if he can understand.”
I began to walk back along the foot-track towards the harbor. I was nearly there, when I heard a call, and saw the boy behind me, waving his arm. From pity for his deformity, I paused to let him come up. “Sir,” he called, “I think your dad has died. I just heard the ladies wailing.”
As he spoke, I saw Theas running to overtake me. The boy waited and watched. He had missed the feast, but in the end he had had his moment. As Aischylos told me, in most tragedies the Messenger is a much-sought role.
After a while, I remembered to take off my festal wreath. I wore one so often that I could forget it like my clothes. The boy picked it up from the ground, and, sitting down, teased out the braid from among the laurel.
We had not gone far before we could hear the women. I said, “After I left, did he speak again?”
“Not to make it out. I think once he said, ‘Sim,’ and I told him where you were. I don’t know if he understood. Soon after that his breath rattled, and then he died.”
The child was sitting where the boy had been. His eyes were great with terror; he looked at us without a word. Theas picked him up and held him firmly, saying, “We are all going home soon. Be good now, and I’ll tell you about it later. Granddad is with the shades, where the heroes go.” The child was still silent, but I saw his face was soothed. Theas ruffled his hair, and set him down. Then we went on towards the wailing.
They had closed his eyes, and bound up his jaw with Philomache’s hair-ribbon. He looked his own man once more. His mouth was straight again, keeping its own counsel. Whether he judged the gods, or us, or himself, was a thing he did not confide. I remembered Pythagoras, and wondered what life he would choose next time, if a choice was offered him.
My mother and sister were beating their breasts as women do. Their wailing throbbed with the blows. I envied them. Had I been a barbarian, I too could have had my part. Women can float away upon lamentation, like birds upon the air, or fish in rivers. Later they must return and know their grief; but for a while they are freed, as the poet is by the song.
If I had gone back before I left for the ferry, I would have seen his death. He named me; perhaps it would have told me something. As it is, I ask myself, even now, why it was not until I came that he asked for hemlock. Was it just that I knew Delos, and might be able to find it? Or did he think I would give it more willingly than the rest? Or to be humbled before me, was that the last stroke, too much to bear?
We burned him at evening, on a platform near the death-house, whose stone is blackened with old fires. Shipmasters will not balk at carrying a funeral urn; but not even Laertes would have taken a corpse on board, his crew would have refused to sail. I went back to Delos to take off my choral robe, and put on what I had come in. We sheared our hair; even our traveling clothes were too gay for mourning, and we sprinkled them with dust.
I had brought oil and incense for the pyre; its driftwood and flotsam crackled and sparked with salt. The flames turned blue, and did not hide the blackening body; but they were fierce and quick. Before long the core of the pyre fell in, and he fell with it, sticks of bone among sticks of wood.
Something offended my nose, more than the burning. The warden of the death-house stood at my elbow. “If you have business to attend to, sirs, I can collect the ashes, and put them up for you nicely. The mourners before have always been very satisfied.”
I must have whipped round on him like a snake, for he cringed away; then he yelped, as Theas got him in a wrestler’s lock. “You carrion crow! If you lay one claw upon our father’s pyre, I swear I’ll rekindle it and throw you on.” “With a rock on your belly,” I put in, “to hold you down.” As he went off, I divined that Theas had been as glad as I to drive out this scapegoat laden with our guilt. Theas had lived a blameless son, and his father’s pride. I expect that his need was no less than mine, and maybe more.
When I went back to the Kean lodge, evening was falling, and the rocks of Delos glittered with sparks like fire. Theas was seeing to the urn, Midylos to the women and the child. Laertes would sail at first light, and I only went to gather my things together. I meant to sleep on board, rather than deal with scores of polite condolences. My boys would not know what to say, and my presence would spoil their holiday. The flute-player would look after them.
No one was about; Delian evenings are merry. I had found my kithara safe, and was on my way out with my things, when a man came up dressed for a party. Having heard the news, he apologized for this unseemliness. When all that was proper had been said, he told me that after the dithyrambs were over, he had been sent to look for me by Hipparchos, to ask me to supper at the Athenian lodge. He and Hippias had expressed great pleasure with my ode, and with its praise of their honored father.
“Please thank them for their kindness. Who won the contest?” He looked surprised. I said, “I have been on Rhenaia.”
“Of course, of course; forgive me. As I heard, it would have been yourself; but you sent the judges word that you were obliged by piety to incur pollution. So they gave the prize to that young man, Lasos.”
“They did well; he has a gift. I heard part of his piece and would have liked to hear it all. Wish him well from me, if I should not see him.”
As I learned later, he got the message and was pleased. Nothing looks more foolish than a petulant loser.
The man went back to his party. He must have had a friend among the judges, to hear that I could have won. I said in my heart, “He has wronged me, even in his death.”
I walked towards Laertes’ ship, thinking how I might have gone home in the state galley, crowned with victory. As I walked along the jetty towards the mooring, an oldish man approached me. I thought, Another fool with whom I must exchange civilities; but I put on a good face, and waited for him.
“My dear Sim!” I recognized the Kean accent. “I hear the good Leoprepes is dead. Give my sorrowful respects to your excellent mother, and all the family. You have lost an upright man, as I can myself bear witness. It was ten years ago, or maybe fifteen; at any rate, it was the year of the sheep-sickness. Before the start, I had bought fifty from your father; and when some thirty died, I was at my wits’ end. I had counted on the lambs, to pay off a loan; it seemed I would have to pledge myself in bondage. Then your father’s steward came. He brought word that fifty of your father’s flock had died, and he had no doubt that those he had sold me must have had the sickness on them. He would take back those that were left, and return me the price of them all. Then and there, his man paid it me. He did not even demand to see the hides of the dead beasts. Just the silver, paid in full. My luck turned soon after, and now we do pretty well. But I have often thought that but for your father, I should be a thrall today … Did he never tell you this?”