Jocasta: Wife and Mother

by Brian Aldiss

  ‘Be of a better mind! Let us think of the future, not the past,’ she replied.

  ‘The future is famine, as things stand. Famine and the decline of Thebes.’

  The priest said, ‘Future is a snake that unwinds its coils from the past, dread queen.’ His frail hands circled each other by way of illustration. ‘The coils of the past embrace the future. The coils of the future are the embraces of the past. We here in the present, which is neither past nor future, are but intermediaries between the two embraces. So declares blessed Phoebus. And those two embraces—’

  Again Creon silenced his priest’s disquisition.

  Turning to his queen, Oedipus said quietly, ‘If there is a regicide at large, then he might seek me out as his next target. I see danger from him.’

  ‘So indeed do I, my love.’ She looked strongly at him.

  Something behind her words stirred his spirit. Oedipus then spoke loudly, addressing the crowd.

  ‘All praise to mighty Phoebus and my thanks to Brother Creon for advising me where duty lies. We do indeed have a duty to the dead. No one is more eager than I to see justice done.’

  He advanced as he spoke, so that the crowd fell back before him.

  ‘Think you it is easy to be king? I too have suffered injustice. Four of my good men were slaughtered this very day, or else have disappeared. There is no safety here in Thebes, our beloved Thebes, while the slaying of Laius remains an unsolved mystery. The killer of Laius may turn his hand against every one of us, until fresh blood follows the old.

  ‘Now I shall prepare myself for a considered judgement. Gather you here again at the hour of sunset and I will make my intentions clear. We shall take action, never fear.’

  He gave a curt bow to Creon and Eurydice, not veiling the anger in his gaze. He took Jocasta and Antigone by the hand, and walked at a solemn pace with them back into the palace.

  The priest said piously, ‘Let us pray that Phoebus assists the king, for then the king will assist Phoebus. The king has given us his promise, and we are the beneficiaries of that promise. And as beneficiaries of that promise—’

  ‘What have we but his promise?’ Creon, interrupting, asked. ‘And promises are made of air.’ He directed a scowl at Chrysippus, a disappointing witness, before returning with Eurydice to his house.

  The priest bowed to the crowd, smiling a sickly smile, and followed Creon. And the little black slave boy followed the priest.

  12

  The family members were gathered in a chamber facing the courtyard. Slaves tended them with sherbert and wine and fruits while they talked. Antigone was there, and her sister Ismene with Phoebe. The bear snoozed, her dark muzzle against the cool tiles; Ismene rested her naked feet on the animal for comfort. Jocasta was present in an all-enveloping black velvet gown, and Oedipus in a white robe. Sitting close, Oedipus and his wife presented a striking portrait. For the moment, their differences were in abeyance.

  Semele had also been allowed in to listen to the conference; she held her griffin, Phido, close on a silver chain. The creature sprawled, scratched himself, growled at Phoebe; all told, Phido made more fuss than Semele herself, who had been instructed to remain silent.

  Oedipus had been talking for some while, when Antigone interrupted. ‘Papa, forgive me, but you are arguing falsely. Your whole attitude is old-fashioned, in my opinion. How can the murder of this louse Laius, committed years ago, affect Thebes’ current problems? Why are the crops dying? Isn’t it just because there’s a drought? Why take responsibility for finding the criminal? He’ll be far away, or dead, by now. Perhaps a lion ate him. Better to keep quiet, sit this little problem out, and wait for it to rain, as it must do eventually.’

  He answered his daughter mildly. ‘Though you have some good sense in your pretty head, you are only young as yet, my daughter … I know you don’t believe in the Mysteries, but you must see the error in your reasoning. Yes, famine threatens, yes, the crops are dying because there is a drought. But why is there a drought? The gods have brought it upon us because of a blood debt staining the land.’

  He began to pace the chamber, often pressing his right hand to his forehead. Antigone persisted from where she sat.

  ‘What I have yet to understand is why this death of Laius should afflict Thebes, when the murder took place many miles from here. What has it to do with Thebes?’

  Semele cackled. ‘You won’t like the answer to that when you find it out, Antigone. Your father is talking himself into trouble. Those who stir up the dust choke on it.’

  Jocasta spoke quietly. ‘Oedipus, I think it would be wiser not to address the crowd this evening. I really advise against it. The people seem to be in such a bad mood. Perhaps we should just take them out some food? After all, we have plenty.’

  ‘Famines are for the poor,’ said Semele. ‘The bellies of the rich are fuller and wiser.’ She was ignored, and pulled her hair down over her face.

  ‘I knew you would wish to argue against me,’ Oedipus said to Jocasta. ‘I’ve announced that I will speak, so I shall speak.’ He turned to his other daughter. ‘What have you to say on this matter, Ismene?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Father! It’s nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Those are your words of wisdom?’ he asked sarcastically.

  ‘Oh, ha-ha! I’m sick of all this talk,’ Ismene exclaimed. ‘What’s the fuss about? Why don’t you keep quiet, and the crowd will go away? As for the idea of taking out food to them, that’s just stupid. It would simply show off the fact that we live in luxury and they don’t.’

  Ismene rose, clicking her fingers to her tame bear. As she left the chamber, Semele said, ‘There’s a girl who was badly brought up, if ever I saw one.’

  Jocasta had an idea. ‘Grandmother, why not summon up Sophocles again? Sophocles would know what should be done. He could advise Oedipus. He wrote a play about Oedipus.’

  Semele pulled a face. ‘You can’t keep calling these people back from limbo. This Sophocles is probably sprawling on beds of amaranth and moly. Why should he want to reappear in Thebes, of all places?’

  A gloomy silence fell. Oedipus continued to pace the floor.

  ‘You may all leave me. I will address my people at the hour of sunset, according to my word.’

  Semele took her granddaughter’s arm and began to lead her from the chamber. But Jocasta, pausing, turned back to say, ‘Oedipus, if you will take no heed of a woman’s voice, at least consult a wise counsellor. That ancient sage, Tiresias, is hereabouts. Speak to him. Listen to what he says. Be guided by him, I beg you.’

  Oedipus returned her a cold stare but then, seeming to think better of it, said, ‘I shall be guided by my conscience. I need no stranger’s word. But I thank you for your advice, Jocasta.’

  Despite these proud words, in mid-afternoon, two of Oedipus’ servants brought Tiresias before the king. Tiresias entered, bringing his private trail of dust and flies with him.

  ‘Seat yourself, old man, and be at ease,’ said Oedipus, patting the sage’s shrivelled arm. He saw how nervous Tiresias was. ‘You have the recommendation of my queen Jocasta.’

  A servant settled the old fellow on a couch. Resting his hands on the head of his stick, and his chin on his hands, Tiresias stared ahead with his blind eyes. He mumbled with his gums on his lips, trying to moisten a dry mouth. He said nothing intelligible.

  ‘Bring my visitor water,’ ordered Oedipus. He sat himself down, drawing nearer to Tiresias. He rested his forearms on his knees and clasped his hands together, while surveying the tired ancient features before him. ‘Revered old man, I need a little encouragement to do what I must do. I must hunt down the slayer of King Laius, according to the desires of my citizens. Have you some advice on that subject?’

  When Tiresias hesitated to make answer, Oedipus repeated that it was necessary he hunted down the slayer of King Laius.

  In a faint voice, Tiresias replied that he wished he had not been brought to the palace. Having no wisdom to offer, he w
as best advised to preserve his silence. He added that, since the human race had learnt to talk, talking had become a dangerous hobby.

  ‘Tiresias, I understand that there is nothing you do not know! You have within your grasp all sacred and earthly knowledge. You have counted the stars and charted the minds of men. You are said to be the anatomist of love in all its guises and disguises, while the comprehension even of a woman’s mind is not beyond you. You see further than the vision of the sighted can penetrate. Yet you remain calm and not rancorous.

  ‘I wish you to calm my troubled spirit, and speak to me of justice and the way to justice. You shall not go unrewarded, I promise you. I must find the killers of Laius, if they are within our walls, and kill or banish them, must I not?’

  The old man muttered something to himself, before speaking in his faint voice.

  ‘You talk in grand terms of my discernment, O great Oedipus. This I truly do discern, that wisdom by itself – when it brings no profit, only havoc – means that to be wise is to suffer. Better be silent.’ He coughed, quietly and wheezily.

  ‘Please speak to my point. I need no generalities. I need to find a killer.’

  ‘I hear you say that …’ He coughed.

  A slave brought in water and, at a sign from Oedipus, poured Tiresias a measure before thrusting the cup into the old man’s grasp. Tiresias drank slowly. He gasped for air.

  ‘Clear away all company here but ourselves,’ he said. ‘Then we two will speak entirely alone.’

  Oedipus did as he was bid. Soon he and the ancient Tiresias were the only ones present in the chamber. He was becoming impatient, but sought not to show it.

  ‘You can speak now, good Tiresias. Nobody else is here present.’

  Ancient Tiresias looked nervously over his shoulder. It was an old habit. ‘This world will not stop turning, O king. Permit me to go home.’

  ‘Speak first, I pray you, before I can let you leave!’

  ‘Very well. I will speak, although your burden would be easier to bear had you permitted me to keep silent … No, I cannot speak, good Oedipus. I have changed my mind. I am a coward, I fear your violence, but I can say nothing to you. You must shoulder your own burden. Please let me go.’

  Oedipus walked to the far end of the chamber, fists clenched. He feared he might hit the old man in his frustration. The reluctance to speak increased his anxiety.

  Returning, he thrust his face into Tiresias’ blind countenance. ‘Why must you be so difficult? If you want a reward, you shall have it, I promise. You would madden a stone statue! Your obstinacy could ruin a whole city!’

  ‘Do not lay the blame for that on me, Oedipus! Put your own house in order. A son has been devoured here. What will be is already written.’

  ‘No, that’s not true! What son? The Sphinx’s son, you mean? What matters that? Where is it written? Where is it spoken? Who speaks about it?’

  ‘What is now whispered will soon become a shout.’

  ‘Yes? How’s that? Your clever phrases are as empty as a drum.’

  ‘You think so, great king? Then hear this. What you will tell the crowd at sunset will sink the sun of your rule. The edict you will pronounce will redound upon your own head. It is not that I will witness this terrible thing – it is that I have already seen it. I’ll say no more. Now let me go free. I require no reward for speaking truth. I fear you, Oedipus, and your vile odour. You are the polluter of your own fair land!’

  Slowly the afternoon sunlight left the courtyard. Its shadow climbed the pillars on its eastern side until only the roof above them was lit. A heat haze set in. The tiles became dull. Despite Jocasta’s pleas, Oedipus, when the sunset hour was nigh, went out from the palace. He left behind him the appetising smell of a goat cooking on a spit, and presented himself to the crowd of people who kicked their shabby heels in the streets before the palace.

  Standing on the top step, he addressed them, arms folded over his chest.

  ‘My friends and fellow citizens, I speak to calm your fears and raise your hopes. Trust and obey me and your distress will be remedied.

  ‘We know there has been a foul murder, the murder of a foul king. I am a stranger to what has passed, being originally of Corinth, not of Thebes. That does not mean I will hesitate in any way to root out the evil of which we have heard.’

  ‘You have hesitated, Oedipus!’ came a voice from the crowd.

  ‘No more hesitation. No more indecision. No more mercy. I am no orator, citizens. Nor do I wish, as Creon suggested, to vex you with abstract questions. I will say only that if I have hesitated, if I have appeared indecisive, it is because I value mercy. We have present problems enough without introducing the ugly aspect of an ancient murder.

  ‘However, justice stands above mercy on the human scale. If this ancient murder relates to our present troubles, then I am persuaded we must act. I will act. You too must act. We will have justice done. If any one of you knows who were the brutes that slayed Laius, son of Labdacus, where the three roads meet at distant Triodos, let him stand forth and speak now, speak to me before everyone here.’

  An uneasy silence fell in the street. Men with lowered heads cast glances to left and right. Oedipus waited. No one came forward.

  Adopting a less challenging tone of voice, Oedipus said, ‘So no man speaks. If there are men here sick from a guilty conscience, let them give themselves up. They shall not suffer harm. Banishment merely will be their lot. They shall take their womenfolk with them, and their goods, and be gone. Speak now.’

  Once more no one spoke. The tension was such among the crowd that every tongue was frozen. Oedipus addressed them again.

  ‘Perhaps the assassins we seek were not of Thebes. If one of you knows them, or knows of them, these foreigners, declare it now. You shall not suffer from speaking out. Rather, you shall be rewarded. Not only will I reward you, but all Thebans will praise your name. Come forward. Speak up now, and without fear.’

  A mangy old dog, dragging its tail, came from a side street and sniffed about among humanity’s naked legs. Not a soul in the crowd stirred. No one spoke. The nobility of Oedipus’ utterance was upon them, yet not one among them found a voice.

  Oedipus walked about before the crowd, arms still folded over his chest, awaiting a confession. When it was all too clear that nothing of the sort was forthcoming, he stopped and launched into speech so troubled that he failed to notice Jocasta had left the palace to stand, pale of countenance, behind him, biting one finger, listening to how he committed himself.

  ‘So, no one of you will speak. Although you are threatened with famine, and the disease and death that follow in the wake of empty stomachs, still you say nothing – you who were so vocal against me. Then hear well what else I have to say.

  ‘If any man here is secretly guilty, or knows another to be secretly guilty, and will not tell, I now pronounce sentence on him.

  ‘No matter who he may be, of whatsoever station in life, he is forbidden bread or shelter or voice henceforth, over all the territories over which I reign. That guilty cur is forbidden prayer and sacrifice here, or speech with gods and man. Never again shall he look at any Theban woman with lust or love. He is expelled from house and home, unclean, unwanted and unwept.

  ‘Only when I have weeded this man from among us shall I have fulfilled my sacred duty, to Zeus, to you, to myself, and to the dead. Only on that day will I rest easy.’

  He paused. In that pause, Jocasta tugged gently at his gown, saying, ‘I pray you, say nothing more, Oedipus. This is terrible enough.’

  Pulling his garment free, ignoring her, he continued to address the crowd.

  ‘We must build a just society. Justice must be our lodestar. Yes, not mercy, but justice! These unknown murderers will wear the brand of shame until their lives’ end, for by their vicious act they have brought ruin on our society. The gods punish us for their deed.

  ‘Nor do I exclude even myself from this vow. I tell you all here and now, that if with my knowledge I re
ceive into my palace any man or men associated with this vile regicide, then upon my head be all the curses I have laid upon others.’

  ‘Oh, it’s too extreme!’ cried Jocasta, despite herself.

  He turned towards her then, addressing her as much as the crowd.

  ‘Why was no purification made at the time of Laius’ murder? Surely the death of such a worthy man – your king – should have been investigated immediately. You did nothing! How can he rest in peace?

  ‘Now that I have inherited his throne – and his bed, and you, his wife – I inherit the responsibility to set matters right.’

  He then spoke of the inheritance of thrones, of continuance of the culture despite personal tragedy, of the stability of families, and of a commitment to justice, especially in the case of assassinated kings. Such matters were part of history and ritual.

  So the name of King Laius came again to his lips.

  ‘I will fight for him now, as I would fight for my own father. Mark my words, my vows, I will bring to light the killers of this unhappy victim, Laius, son of Labdacus.’

  Although the crowd, over whom the dusk of evening was already gathering, was cowed by the severity of the king’s speech, a murmur of approval went up. Hands were raised here and there in approbation. Some men clapped.

  Two soldiers emerged from the palace bearing flambeaux.

  Oedipus made as if to leave the scene, but turned back for a final word.

  ‘May Zeus and those gods who rule us curse any who disregard my words. For them, may the earth always be barren at harvest time. May their women turn their faces away from them and become childless. May this present disaster, yes, and worse, pursue them to their unmarked graves!’

  He turned on his heel to march into the palace. Jocasta, with one ghastly look at the mob, followed him.

  13

  In that dusky hour which is neither day nor night, between the dog and the wolf as the saying goes, when outlines blur and regrets accumulate, fruit bats swoop away from their residential trees; in that dusky hour they revive the magical gift of flight and speckle the sky with it. Nor are the bats alone in their winged world. Nastier things are abroad.