Sappho's Journal

by Paul Alexander Bartlett

  I sent them food but I could not go to them.

  Later, I changed my mind; I wanted to see them, to see what theirfailure had done to them, what their fight had cost. I decided I mightbe able to encourage them, so I brought Atthis and we asked Libus tolet us in and we talked to two of them, giving them food and helpingthem eat and drink, and everything went well till the mad fellow heardus and hurled himself against the bedroom door and burst in, tocollapse in a heap, jabbering, writhing, eyes rolled back.

  Atthis jumped from her chair and cried:

  “Uh...how terrible...like a worm!”

  Libus knelt by the young man and his hands quieted him. Not a wordwas said: then he turned to Atthis:

  “He’s been through a lot. Exposure...heat...no food... We can helphim. He’ll be all right, in time.”

  With a few reassuring words, he got the fellow up and led him away.

  Later, I learned that one of the older men is a cousin of Phaon’s.Phaon has heard the details of their days on the raft, and I am pleasedby his kindness, the hours he gives to stay with the pair.

  He and Libus are restoring them: food and encouragement arecancelling horror. Even the mad fellow is mending, eating and drinkingnormally, talking rationally much of the time. Phaon’s cousin claims hefought with Alcaeus, but Alcaeus can’t identify his bearded soldier: isit lapse of memory?

  Or was it, as the cousin says, the period when Alcaeus lay injured,the spear wound in his skull healing, those weeks of pain that broughtabout his blindness?

  ?

 

  Sappho and Phaon, in a small boat,

  drift seaward, oars dragging:

  shimmering light seems to tow the boat seaward.

  Stripping, bronze, Phaon dives

  expertly and brings Sappho a handsome conch:

  listening to the shell they lie in the boat

  and begin to make love,

  a bronze gull sculptured on the sky,

  the sound of waves.

  P

  haon’s crew is loading his ship with pottery for Byzantium, a cargothat has to be delivered soon. This realization sharpens our love,though he thinks too little of distant voyages and I trouble him toomuch with warnings.

  Summer is upon us and I accept the lethargy of eating, sleeping,dreaming. He likes summer heat, our damp bodies, my sticky perfume andsticky fingers... cool drinks. He enjoys fruit mixed with coconut andhas had my girl prepare mixed salads...

  “Fruit. In hot weather, nothing’s so good. And there’s never anyfruit at sea.”

  “Not for long.”

  “You know...when I come back, Kleis may be married. Your family willbe bigger, you know.” He talked languidly, with his cheek against mine,as we sat on the beach.

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  The thought troubled me—fixing time around me: Kleis could not bethis old!

  Baskets and dishes cluttered the sand around us, wind puffing, lightebbing to lavender, fog on the water, floating above the surface, aboat creeping, its mast slicing misty layers, moving between floors.

  What shall I give him for luck—a charm? A coin?

  Why not my mother’s drachma? She was lucky: there was no war in hertime: she had lovers and then a husband to whom she was faithful. Shedid not have to endure an island without young men and know what it wasto live among women for ten years.

  Yes, the old initialed drachma of hers...

  The loading of the amphorae was delayed and we sailed in his smallerboat, with a crew of three, to the bay where the wreck lies, oursailing so smooth the hem of my skirt hardly swayed. Phaon equipped usfor diving and since the ocean lay incredibly calm, we located thewreck easily by tacking in circles. Kelp had snared the masts—giantlegs of brown. Her masts struck fists against us, as greenish fishcrossed and recrossed her deck. Splinters of light sank straws, fidg-eting straws that reached the dragon’s gold and red.

  I worried, afraid of kelp and fish.

  Phaon disappeared beyond our bow: his brown arms yanked at the kelp;he bobbed and swam toward me, treading water, puffing.

  “Let me help you.”

  “No. It’s too deep,” I refused.

  He and his crewmen dove by holding rocks meshed in pieces of net;they coaxed me until I had to try, sliding down rapidly, too fast forme: I knew I could let go of the rock or jerk the line attached to itand be towed upward; I wanted to be brave and gulped and oozed outbubbles, peering up. I wanted to put my feet on the wreck but I neverreached her. Lungs bursting, I swam upward, soared, unable to seeclearly. My lungs hurt a long time afterward, as I lay on deck, amazedat the crew’s folly and strength: there was no end to their enthusiasm,their plunges from deck and rigging: by sunset, they had hacked throughthe wreck, entering the dead cabin: when we raised anchor and swung forshore I was glad, and hungry.

  That night, I dreamed of gaping fish that carried coral fans: oursail became a net that filled with fish of reddish hue, then sank, tobe towed to sea: all night a gentle sea rocked us, the dipper above ourrocky shore.

  In the morning, while the bay lay limpid, before I could finisheating, our men dove and chopped. As I lazed, birds spiraling, someonehollered and floundered toward our boat and I rushed to the side to seea sailor with a green cup, treading water, offering me his prize.

  So the men had not been excited for nothing.

  Phaon was as pleased as his men. Hunkered on the deck beside me, henicked the green of the cup’s rim and uncovered gold, the goldgleaming. I’ll remember his hands as he passed the cup to me.

  Who made it, how old is it, how long was it below? we asked eachother, as I held the cup, our deck swaying.

  The crew’s crazy conjectures and laughter went on, as they went ondiving.

  It was hard for them to give up and sail for home: stars pegged ourrigging and flipped over glassy combers: fish leaped: we watched asgreat white crests rose: we slept and woke, our deck slanting, boomgroaning.

  Phaon woke and we talked, of our separation and reunion.

  “You will be gone a long time!”

  “Perhaps my trip won’t be so long.”

  “Let’s come back to the old wreck.”

  “Will you dive?”

  “I tried...”

  We whispered and saw the dawn, a dawn that had streamers of rainsplotching the horizon, pelicans one after the other in long files, ourisland in the offing, quite black.

  ?

  I was sleepless most of the night, getting out of bed, restlessbecause of the warmth, standing by my window, waiting for a breeze, thestars out, Mercury but no moon, the stars and the crickets and anightingale and the sea, and someone, somewhere in the house, moving,then silence. I was thinking of him, wanting him, and I began a poem,changed it, rephrased it, thinking, my body needing his body:

  Slick with slime to satiety he shoots forward

  playing such music upon those strings,

  wearing a phallus of leather,

  such a thing as this enviously,

  twirls, quivering masterfully,

  and has for odor the hollow mysteries,

  orgies for leaving, orgies for coming;

  the oracle comes, comes with companions,

  comes with mysteries, lover of mine,

  displays this randy madness I joyfully proclaim.

  I started the poem once more...such a thing as this enviously, that’ssuitable... twirls, quivering masterfully...hollow mysteries...thereare good things...

  Dawn came and there were the sounds of pigeons, gulls, servantscoming and going, girls whispering...the laughter of girls.

  ?

  The bay lay almost black and Phaon’s ship was quiet, its mahoganyrails shining, someone leaning over, utterly motionless. I looked aboutfor a moving bird or a boat. Huddled on the wharf near me, a man slept,toothless mouth open, nets over his legs and thighs. A similar meshcovered the wa
ter, as far as I could see.

  Wanting to say good-bye, I stood to one side beside Atthis andGyrinno, chilled, afraid. The slow unwrapping of the clouds irked me: anumber of men arrived and carried bundles aboard, their motions slow,their laughter irritating. Was man always oblivious?

  Then, from at sea, voices came, shifting uneasily, an oar creakingbetween unintelligible words, a dog whining, a girl coughing.Loneliness filtered from the sky and depths.

  The man still leaned over the rail...

  “Off with the ropes.”

  “Everyone’s aboard.”

  “Let’s sail.”

  It was Phaon’s voice: “let’s sail”: and he called to me, called toall of us: I heard Libus and Alcaeus: I heard the oars: as the shipheaded seaward, Atthis hugged me and my loss was in that recedingfigure at the stern, sail climbing the mast behind him: had I shoutedgood-bye?

  Bitterness struck me: again I knew I had no right to such a mood.Better to have a fling at Charaxos, there on the wharf, in his whiteclothes, sullen, bellicose, his friends snubbing me as we walked past.

  Home seemed meaningless.

  Had Alcaeus felt this way, on his return?

  I knew he had and knew he had had ample reason and threw back myhead, as I opened my door, and walked to my room alone, determined tothink clearly: but it was no more than a resolve and the loneliness ofthose sea voices came and that voice, saying: “Let’s sail.”

  My ocean window called me.

  Was that his ship, that mere dot, that point of wood under banks ofcloud?

  I couldn’t keep back my tears: what was it, his spirit, his dignity,his thoroughbred body? No, it was the conjunction of these and the verythought, this summary, increased my sense of loss. He was warmth,impulse, reason for living. Words! And he was more than words!

  By now the dot had disappeared and against the clouds, birds wheeledand drifted and scattered raindrops fell, scenting the air. I went outand let them wet my face and take away the sting and then closed theshutters of my room and lay down.

  Rain has such music.

  I let it lull me to sleep, sleep, in the morning, warm, in my bed, aday or a year...sleep...was it from the depth of the sea?

  That night a storm engulfed us, ransacking our trees, banging ourshutters, moaning over the roof until Atthis got into bed with me,thoroughly scared.

  “Don’t be afraid, darling.”

  “I am...I am...Aren’t you?”

  “No...maybe a little.”

  “What about Phaon?”

  “He’s far at sea by this time.”

  “But isn’t that bad, to be far at sea?”

  “I don’t know...hush.”

  I resented her pliant body and scented arms and hair: yes, at sea,Phaon must be battling gigantic combers: his cargo might shift...hissail might... When Atthis hugged me, I felt stifled and yet, as shequieted and the storm continued, I was grateful I could comfort her. IfI could not have Phaon, I, at least, had someone who loved and neededme.

  Rain and wind knocked open the shutters and I rose and closed themand dried my feet and got into bed again.

  Floor tiles had chilled me.

  Rain cuffed roof and sides of the house... I heard the surf growingwilder, sloshing over rocks, climbing the lower cliffs, rising andfalling onto itself with a hiss.

  I straightened my hair on my pillow, knowing I had hours to wait: Isaid, you’ve seen a lot of storms, sleep. Your island isn’t in danger.But, nothing could keep me from thinking of his boat and its struggle.I named off members of his crew. I named their families.

  Phaon’s cousin was with him—a wretched re-initiation, after thosehideous days on the raft.

  I heard Anaktoria and Gyrinno talking in the next room.

  I thought of the madman, living with Alcaeus, walking about with him:I’ll make something of him, Alcaeus had said to me, the face revealingthat his madness had not left him.

  Joy and exaltation are the triumphs...

  today is the imminence...

  even shadows have their fire...

  the stars burn...

  O, sea rover, fight...

  ?

  The storm split roofs and hurled boats ashore, uprooting trees,damaging walls.

  Slowly, the old town pulls itself together.

  Old town—you have seen many storms during your centuries. Is it true,you let this one slip past you and sent it to sea? You should have keptit! You can withstand battering better than a small ship! Is it true,what the fishermen say, that many were drowned?

  Men and boys go about town, picking up tiles to load their baskets.

  Driftwood clutters the beach.

  ?

  Men were hurling stones, grabbing them off the beach and throwingthem. I heard them hit Pittakos and saw him stagger, his flapping ragsjerking, his arm flung over his eyes. Silent, feet wide apart, hestayed his ground.

  Alcaeus, facing the sea, lidless-eyed, roared and lunged about, armsextended, yelling:

  “Kill him...kill him...let me wring his neck!”

  Beside him, the madman off the raft, howled and hurled stones.

  About a dozen men were circling Pittakos, most of them blabbingdefiance, closing in.

  I rushed to Alcaeus and squeezed past him, to cry out... I told themto stop, asking them to stop in the name of our island, our town.

  “Get back,” Alcaeus warned.

  I faced them, feeling their hate: it bubbled through me, seemed toooze from the sand, from the sea, from antiquity: the hates of myancestors, hatred of tyranny and unfairness.

  No one threw: they watched me, as I walked toward Pittakos: maybethey thought I had a stone.

  “You get back,” I cried. “Go home, before they kill you, Pittakos.Get back everyone...go home.”

  Nervously folding and unfolding his robe, Pittakos backed away. Ahand went to a spot where a stone must have struck. I felt no pity butstepped closer.

  “I don’t know what caused these men to turn on you... I don’t want toknow...go home, before it’s too late.”

  Without replying, he shuffled away, a sandal off.

  “Is he going?” asked Alcaeus, finding me, hand on my shoulder.

  “Let him go,” I said, facing the others.

  Grasping Alcaeus, I forced him to walk with me, muttering to him,seeing Thasos, dropping his stones with a guilty grin.

  I wanted to forget the faces but I knew most of the men: young,bearded faces, most of them friends of Alcaeus, some of them hissoldiers.

  “Don’t lead me,” Alcaeus protested.

  “You need to be led.”

  “You came at the wrong time.”

  “What’s to become of you?”

  “Let me go,” he said.

  “I’ll see you home. Here, Thasos, take his arm. Thasos, were youmad?”

  “We should have stoned him.”

  “Why?”

  “He quarreled with Alcaeus—spat on him.”

  ?

  Alcaeus leaned on me and I sensed his weariness as if it were mine:he was breathing hard and had to rest, stopping again and again. Behindus, his madman wandered, his Pamphilus.

  “I’m too old for this kind of horseplay, it seems.”

  Thasos and I were saddened by his tragic features; we frowned; minutewrinkles had enlarged and deepened; his hands trembled; his mouth wasopen. He seemed in the past, with his men, galled, waiting: What ismemory for, I asked myself, to crucify? Shut off from the day, is thisthe best memory can do?

  When I sat with him at home, I said:

  “What was the quarrel about?”

  “First, some water.”

  Thasos brought us water. The cool of his gourd helped.

  “Pittakos has stolen from the city...again...I came at him with thefacts...I know the truth...many of us know.”
<
br />   We remained silent a while, my hand in his.

  “It’s an old truth—for us,” I said.

  “Very old,” he said.

  Presently, the madman entered, carrying himself stiffly, chalk faced,chastised. Oblivious of us, appearing more normal than any time I hadseen him, he talked with Thasos, regretting the incident.

  Soft-talking men, inside an inner room, brought home to me the.innocence of our own lives, how based on impulse, how like kelp,twisting, sinking, headed for shore, dragged to sea: we are mad, we aresane, or between: we exert ourselves and the world seeks revenge; weaccept and earn ridicule and belittlement: we affirm ourselves andalter our lives and the lives of others: war is such an affirmation.

  Innocence? Why not call all life innocent because dependability cannot be assured. And, if life is innocent, then what is there butcompassion and patience and kindness and beauty and love?

  “It would have been better if they had killed him,” Alcaeus said,rubbing his hands over his face.

  I said nothing.

  “I could have him murdered,” he said.

  “Alcaeus...wait...”