Jocasta: Wife and Mother

by Brian Aldiss

  … Our stained lives … Our lives of deceit … Zeus, how I have borne this darkest secret for so long I cannot tell. Far from having no existence, I think I am a genius. If only I could believe in myself.

  Jocasta walked alone while talking to herself in this fashion. The nightingale was silent. No sound disturbed the garden, other than the halitus of growing things, other than the slight patter of her sandals on flagstones. As she moved, the air about her parted, then seemed to follow her scent.

  Tiny particles of light danced up and down before her. She stopped. Minute gnats floated swiftly up and down in their mating ritual.

  ‘Make haste, creatures! You have but little time to live!’

  She avoided them. She flung herself down on a marble bench and wept silently. With a dull surprise, she felt arms come consolingly about her. Yielding to the new embrace, she wept the harder, abandoning self-control.

  ‘Oh, you mustn’t cry like that, my little pet, my thrushling! Hush, hush! There, there. No harm’s going to come to you while your old Hezikiee is looking after you.’

  Jocasta lay back, to gaze into the dark and wrinkled face of her old slave woman.

  ‘Alas, Hezikiee, even you cannot fend off the workings of fate.’

  ‘Pah, fate! What’s fate? Do not give up your will to your gods, my chicken. I am a slave to you – you are a slave to no one.’

  ‘You don’t understand, my dear. And in that you are not alone.’

  As she slowly shook her head, a flicker of dim light in the outer wall caught her attention. Disengaging herself from the embrace of her maidservant, she rose to her feet; taking the old woman by the hand, she walked across to where the tongue of light glowed.

  A small lamp with a guttering flame had been placed at the portal of a shrine. Jocasta herself had caused the shrine to be built in the days when she had had faith in such things. It was dedicated to the goddess Artemis. Jocasta had allowed a season to pass since she had last visited it. Ivy, encroaching, crawled up its sacred stones.

  She called now to the hierophant who had been appointed to attend it. A pause followed until, calling out in response, a woman in a trailing gown, clutching its folds about her breasts, emerged from the interior. She lifted high her lamp to scrutinise her visitor. On recognising Jocasta, she fell on her knees before her, crying apologies and explanations.

  Gently, Jocasta helped the young woman to her feet. Saying nothing, she surveyed the dark face before her. The passing weeks had done little for the freshness which had done duty for beauty. She sighed and passed into the shrine. Hezikiee was left at the entrance, confused but mainly contemptuous.

  Even the uncertain little light was sufficient to reveal that the shrine was much neglected. The floor was filthy. Dead leaves had congregated in corners. A bundle of dead flowers lay on the altarpiece. A scent of cat’s piss assailed her nostrils.

  Self-reproach filled Jocasta. Attracted by a glimmer of light in a side room, she peered round the corner. A naked man sat huddled among dirty bedclothes. He smiled weakly, bowing his head as if in self-absolution.

  Placing a hand on the shoulder of her priestess, Jocasta said gravely, ‘I have neglected your virginity.’ The woman shrank from the hand, muttering excuses.

  Jocasta cut her short. ‘Though I may neglect Artemis, you must not neglect your rituals. You will be happier if you perform them. Men will not make you happier!’

  Having brushed a dead woodlouse from the stones, Jocasta abased herself before the altar. The priestess hurriedly poured a scented concoction into a bowl; setting light to it, she placed it beside the kneeling Jocasta, so that the fumes of it rose to her nostrils.

  There was in Jocasta’s conscious mind no clear idea of what she should say in supplication, but immediately – as if many-breasted Artemis had been lingering here in wait for the moment – the goddess filled her, and without premeditation the queen spoke.

  ‘I have so loved my Oedipus. I know his faults and have complained of them often. Yet now that the hour is upon us when dreadful things will come about, I see clearly that the gods are against him. I see clearly the many torments of his life. I love him for them and for himself. He is the dearest person I know. The sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, the scent of his body … He has all my love, love of a mother, love of a daughter, love of a lover, love of my whole person …

  ‘For all my womanly years with him as a grown man I am thankful – thankful with a whole heart. I found my existence in him – yet I want more. I need more. I need him always close. If it is within your power, great and kindly Artemis, gentle sweet goddess, I pray you not to take my Oedipus away from me, for I will surely die without him. Oh, I’ll die without him. This I say with all my heart and faith. Look into me and see its truth. I cannot live without him. To him I have surrendered my heart …’

  Her tears fell soundlessly to the stones.

  Behind her the priestess, listening, also wept, with empathy and guilt in her tears.

  Jocasta began to speak again, hardly knowing what she said.

  ‘Yet the conscious guilt of my incest stands in the way of my love. Am I too late in repenting, in seeing into myself that that weakness in me – also my desire to make amends to a wounded child – that taste for naughtiness – where did that come from? – has been my undoing. And Oedipus’ … He would have been a great man without me. He is a great man. But I see now – oh, it’s far too late, far too late – that this incestuous bond of son to mother has prevented a man’s proper maturity. What do I mean? That he should have married a younger woman, a stranger? Oh, no. I could not bear that … Yet – and yet, he could not achieve clarity, not when we have lived so long under a deception …

  ‘Why did I not tell him, why did I not break it to him earlier that I was his mother? I could have spoken. Then he could have decided either way. Then at least my sin would have been out in the open, and less a sin. Why not tell him now? Oh, but that would be despicable – now, when he is in such a dilemma. No, no, great Artemis, it was never possible to tell him the plain truth, can’t you see that?’

  The fumes from the bowl curled about her. She stayed silent, kneeling, while the priestess stood by in the shadows, snivelling, terrified by what she had heard.

  At length Jocasta arose, realising that she felt hungry.

  She touched the priestess’s hand in passing. ‘You are a good woman. Do not commit errors, as I have done.’

  She went into the palace, calling for fruit to eat.

  When dawn came, Oedipus was already astir. Leaving Jocasta asleep, lighting no lamp, he performed his ablutions and then abased himself, naked, before Apollo.

  Speaking half-aloud, he said, ‘O great Lord Apollo, I know well how thou hast turned thy glorious face against me. Now I stand guilty of the murder of King Laius, my predecessor. Why am I so confused in my head? I have no more sense than the catamite Chrysippus, who cannot tell truth from lie.’

  He recalled that day of heat, when he was half-insane from wandering and thirst. The sun painted his shadow red and green. There came Laius’ chariot, bearing down upon him. Although he stood aside, the charioteer struck out at him with his whip. Oedipus seized the lash and pulled the man from his perch. He stabbed him to death as he sprawled in the dust.

  Then what had happened?

  ‘Oh, the muddle of it! But of course there were four guards following after the chariot. Did that miserable confused child, Chrysippus, come to remember them as brigands as he ran for his life? But it was me they set upon, not Laius!

  ‘I slew them all in my wrath, for I was harder and quicker than they. The chariot was overturned. Was it? I think so. O great god, that this thing should emerge now … Lastly, the wretch Laius came at me in a rage.

  ‘Him also I slew. That must be the case. I was not to blame for the whole affair. And I slew him openly because he would otherwise have slain me. Is that not self-protection rather than murder?’

  Oedipus fell silent, unsure if he was lying
to the god and to himself. It seemed to him, in that moment as he bowed his head, that suffering had filled his life until it swelled like a belly he had seen on a child suffering from parasitic worms where the child was simply a bag of illness …

  Giving a gesture of disgust, as much against the god to whom he prayed as against himself, he rose.

  He called forth a servant, who came running, to dress him in a white robe. Another servant brought food, a plate of sliced venison, bread and grapes.

  When he had hastily eaten all that and a bowl of yoghurt and honey, Oedipus called for two guards, with whom he went down to the cellar. He ordered the guards to unlock the door.

  Apollodorus, Chrysippus and Tiresias emerged, blinking into the light of day, followed by their two strong men. Apollodorus begged not to be harmed. Chrysippus, looking sulky and downcast, said nothing.

  ‘You see, though you are my enemies, yet I let you go free,’ said Oedipus.

  ‘No, your enemy is yourself,’ Tiresias contradicted.

  ‘You fraudulent old schemer, you have been bribed – all five of you have been bribed – by Creon. For how little was your vaunted evidence bought? Did you ever have a word of deliverance for our Theban folk? Did you solve the riddle the Sphinx posed?’

  Tiresias replied, ‘At that time, master, I was far from Thebes.’

  ‘Would you were far from Thebes now! It was left to me – ignorant wandering Oedipus – to guess the answer to the riddle. It was I who rid Thebes of that curse. Am I not to be respected, revered even? You hope by dispossessing me of the throne to be a favourite of Creon’s. Even Creon will not tolerate a blind old fool near him.

  ‘You will rue the day you speak out against me! Were you not so ancient, I should punish you severely.’

  Tiresias stood at the threshold of the palace, steadying himself with his staff.

  ‘You are content to mock my blindness. You have eyes, yet you cannot see your own damnation, or what kind of company you keep! You have sinned and do not bother to know it. You sin against your own, on the earth and under it – and in bed.

  ‘I can prophesy this, that you will soon be swept away, mighty Oedipus. Then will your eyes be darkened and your voice be lost, for none shall listen to your lamenting, no, not in all Attic lands.

  ‘You may rant and rail against Creon, and against what I tell you, but you are soon to be broken by a scorn more terrible than ever was visited on another man. And that scorn shall carry your name with it, not simply for our age but down to distant ages yet unborn!’

  Oedipus welcomed these prophetic words as he would have done a smack in the face. He growled like a bear.

  ‘Out, you garrulous old hermaphrodite, before I kick you down these steps!’ Turning to the guards, Oedipus ordered them to get the men away from his sight.

  Apollodorus spoke. He seemed to have regained a little courage overnight. ‘We have spent a night in your rathole. What does it avail you, great king? Your mind, like ours, should be set upon carrying out the demands of the gods. I tell you this, O great king – that you are going to pay for your wrongdoing.’

  Oedipus replied, ‘I will pay what is due, as I have for ever paid. I am not like you, you crawling creature, who would prefer a handful of coin over justice. Now get out!’

  Chrysippus, departing, said, ‘I am sorry …’ and nothing more.

  When they had left, hustling each other through the outer door to the street in an undignified manner, Oedipus sent a messenger from the palace to announce that he would address the citizens in one hour’s time.

  Antigone heard this, and begged her father to say nothing.

  Oedipus held his daughter to his breast. ‘I can only do what I must do. My fate demands it, alas.’

  ‘It is not your fate, Father, but your character which demands it. You have courage and a sense of honour – and in this case they betray you.’

  ‘I hope also to cultivate truthfulness – that frankness which is the third great virtue of nobility, after courage and honour.’

  ‘O Father, I fear for you. I will never forsake you, never!’

  He looked down at her bright young face. Antigone’s eyes gleamed, but she shed no tear. He kissed her brow.

  ‘My gentle daughter, be not afraid.

  ‘I was born a Prince of Corinth. How free I was! In my childhood ignorance, I thought there was never a finer city than Corinth anywhere. In our palace, I made no distinction between freeman and slave. When birds sang, I believed they sang for me. The future stretched before me, a tapestry woven with golden thread; perhaps it is the same with all men of good fortune. Only the poor and destitute look to tomorrow with any trace of apprehension.

  ‘Alas, how different all seems to me now. The Furies have found a home on our rooftops. The gods are against me, Antigone, my daughter. You comfort me, you comfort me, my pet.’

  She clung to him, saying nothing, thinking how problematic was her own future, that now she had to be a woman, not a girl.

  While the two of them were together, and Oedipus was talking of his happy boyhood, a messenger was admitted who bowed low before the king. He announced that Creon would be happy to receive Oedipus and his family at that very hour, on a matter of some urgency.

  Oedipus, fearing a trap, went to speak to Jocasta, whom he found attended by Hezikiee and sitting near-naked before her great bronze mirror. She covered her bare breasts immediately her husband entered.

  ‘I am losing my trim figure,’ she said, sighing deeply – and once more masking her real feelings. ‘My hair begins to fill with snow. I feel age coming upon me.’

  ‘You are still attractive enough. Listen, Jocasta, your brother requests our presence. Is this friendliness or cunning?’

  Annoyed by his dismissal of her concerns, Jocasta replied that they could discover Creon’s motives only by going to find out. So it was agreed.

  Jocasta permitted Hezikiee to dress her in a cochineal dress and golden sandals. She piled her still-dark hair on her head. Her lips she made red, as bright as the dress. About her neck she hung a necklace of black pearls.

  Ismene would not come with them to Creon’s house. She sat clutching her bear, whereas her sister meekly complied with the order. The boys, Eteocles and Polynices, were persuaded, slouching sulkily behind their parents. They covered the short distance to the house where Creon and Eurydice lived, escorted by a guard of ten men.

  The door was open. Creon stood there, extending his hands in welcome. He was ceremonially dressed, his hair gleaming with oil. They passed inside, to a courtyard where fruits, milk and jars of wine were arrayed generously on a table. Eurydice was smiling, kissing Antigone’s cheek, hugging the boys, placing a hand on Oedipus’ shoulder, clutching Jocasta’s hand, with every appearance of friendship.

  ‘How prettily you have decorated yourself,’ said she to Jocasta.

  She urged her slaves to press grapes and early clementines upon them, one and all. Close by Eurydice sat her son Haemon, a fair-haired lad of Antigone’s age.

  Pushing aside the proffered wine, Oedipus settled himself in a marble chair. He said, in gentlest tone, ‘Brother Creon, your hospitality is as welcome as it is unexpected. These fruits spread before us, we trust, are auguries of calm social weather.’

  He paused, to caution Eteocles against drinking wine so rapidly. ‘Riches and royalty are often surrounded by envy. Wit has to be matched against wit in the tumult of our life. Even those we once regarded as friends join the ranks of the envious.

  ‘You, Creon, so long my friend, my brother, so long trusted – I feared that you were scheming to dispossess me by stealth. I hope I see by this pleasant occasion that such is not the case, that we may love and trust one another as formerly, without the malice of envy.’

  Creon listened to this gracious speech. While regarding Oedipus closely, he glanced every so often at his wife. Eurydice, however, scrutinised her fingernails, appearing not to listen to anything but her own thoughts.

  Giving a small laugh,
Jocasta followed Oedipus’ speech by saying, lightly, ‘But of course we are all one family, are we not, Brother? In calm weather as in times of adversity?’

  From Creon came a sort of grunting noise, which might have passed for a laugh, as he rubbed his hands together. Nodding his head, he said in suavely agreeable tones, ‘Very pleasing sentiments, Sister dear, yes, yes. Times of adversity, yes. Of course we are friends, you and I, Oedipus, as you say. We keep our secrets in the family, don’t we? – Even the ugly secrets …

  ‘Please drink some wine. Please do not restrain yourselves. Drink away! Do not look nervous, Sister dear! There is just one point I would like to clear up, if we may consider this a convenient moment.’

  ‘Oh? What point is that, then?’

  Creon wrinkled his mouth into a smile. ‘Are you not famed for solving riddles?’

  When Oedipus made no answer, a tense silence fell.

  Oblivious of the argument developing, Haemon made eyes at Antigone. She, pretending not to notice, let her gown slip to reveal something of her thigh.

  ‘Perhaps you too secretly feel uncomfortable, Oedipus,’ continued Creon, ‘because you have made a base accusation against me. Well, never mind that, never mind. It was spoken in the heat of anger. Uncharitable anger. A brotherly indiscretion, eh, hm? Perhaps you feel uncomfortable because you have claimed that I poisoned the mind of Tiresias against you? Well, we don’t mind that. It’s polite not to mind. We have no reproof.

  ‘You may have been drunk at the time, as is your wont. Of course there is still friendship between us, despite all your cowardly lies. Friendship is the quality of a generous heart, and greatly to be prized, even when one-sided.’

  Oedipus answered after a moment, as if restraining himself into speaking quietly.

  ‘Such is the eloquence of an enemy, not a friend. Speak plainly, Creon, or we shall leave! You are treasonous and desire my throne. Is that not so?’

  Jocasta clutched her husband’s hand and by its pressure warned him not to lose his temper.