by Brian Aldiss
It was not so. The gods would cause her to be the instrument of Oedipus’ final undoing. And of her mother’s fate.
16
An unimportant young woman, thrice a slave – for her mother and her mother’s mother before her had been slaves since the days of King Labdacus – walked behind Jocasta. She carried a burden of green foliage, boughs of the pungent shrub choisya, brushes of sweet rosemary, bouquets of many herbs, basil and feverfew among them. These pleasant plants had been gathered to make an offering to Apollo.
Jocasta looked calm and fresh, presenting an air of peace she did not entirely feel.
‘No, not to Apollo!’ said she, stopping suddenly. She was carrying a jar of incense. ‘I had it in mind to visit Apollo’s temple. We carry gifts of incense and votive offerings, O great god. The king is assailed by woe. Despite his intelligence, he sees no way out from a maze of ill fortune.
‘He has spoken to the crowd beyond our gates, but there he finds only empty stomachs and empty heads. Why should we turn to you, O great Apollo, who has so often caused us only further misery? We shall seek no more deliverance from your shrine.’ She added thoughtfully, ‘At least, I will not …’
To the little slave woman she said that they would take the supplicatory foliage instead to her grandmother, to see what magic might be done there on her behalf.
Semele received them with a bad grace.
‘You’re always pestering me, Jocasta dear. This green stuff is all very well, but why not bring me a fat hare or a piglet? You will starve me to death! That’s your plan, isn’t it? Don’t think I can’t see through you, you cruel hussy!’
‘Hush, Gran dear. You are in a bad mood today! But you shall have a piglet tomorrow if you help me now.’
‘Today? What do you mean, today? I was in a bad mood all yesterday too, and no one came to see me.’ She indicated the slave woman. ‘Make this young woman strip off her clothes, that the sight and feel of some tender sexual quarters may cheer me.’
‘Oh, stop it, Grandmother,’ said Jocasta, with a laugh. She turned playfully to the slave woman, and asked her if she felt inclined to do as Semele suggested.
‘I will do whatever you command me to do, dread queen.’ She hung her head as she spoke.
‘There! You see – no shame!’ said Semele.
‘She is ashamed, as you can see. Now please drop the subject. You cannot feel her. Bear in mind instead the promised piglet. We come to ask you to make a little magic for me, since the times are so grave. Why are you being difficult?’
The slave woman laid her green burden on the ground with a sigh, to stand meekly, unspeaking, her arms across her breast. She was named Perse.
The old woman opened her fist. She had been holding it clenched. In it lay a yellow and blackened fang, green at its root. She held it under Jocasta’s nose.
‘Difficult? Why? Why, you ask! Because my teeth are falling out, one by one, like the days of the week. That’s why I am being difficult. Because things are being difficult to me. Do you think I enjoy being two hundred years old, with no one but idiots and granddaughters to talk to? I will soon have nothing to chew with. My stomach will collapse and that will be the end of me …’
Jocasta said how sorry she was.
‘Sorry? Little you care …’
Jocasta ordered the slave woman to pile the green offering on Semele’s altar, on which embers already smouldered. After which, she ordered her off at a run to procure some easily manageable food for the old lady.
After a while, the slave reappeared with a bowl of giant white beans on which lay strips of duck, crisply cooked. Semele ate without great complaint.
As she scoured the platter for the last morsel, the foliage on her altar suddenly took and burst into flame. The fire flared up, sending clouds of smoke all about. Dropping her bowl, Semele raised her arms and began to chant.
Her chant rose to a scream.
Among the billows of smoke, an indistinct face appeared. The coils of smoke about it formed locks of hair. Fire formed its eyes. Semele flung her rotten tooth into the heart of the fire. An explosion sounded, sparks flew.
‘Ah ha! The smell of green things summons it back from the dead!’ shrieked Semele.
Jocasta gasped in alarm. As the face gained in clarity, she perceived that it was the face of the dead Sphinx.
Its mouth opened and closed, but never a word was heard.
‘Quick, quick,’ cried Semele. ‘Fling your incense to the flames to sweeten the creature!’
Venturing closer to the blaze, Jocasta did as she was bid.
The face disappeared. Something hissed like a snake at the heart of the blaze. Then the Sphinx’s face was back. It reappeared much enlarged, so that Jocasta started back. The slave girl took fright and fell to her knees. The giant face spoke in a roaring voice.
‘I am seeking out Oedipus. Where am I now? Is this the house of Oedipus? Fetch Oedipus, for I have news to impart to him.’
‘Here stands his lady, Queen Jocasta. Tell her your news.’
‘You are but a woman. Fetch King Oedipus. I have news for him.’
The slave was sent running into the palace. She emerged again with the king, accompanied by Ismene and Eteocles. Oedipus stared with astonishment at the smoking face. After a moment he found his voice and bestowed blessings on the face, be it that of demon or god.
Smoke wrapped them all around. Ismene began to cough. They stood in a world made of smoke. Taking no notice of the king’s words, the terrible face addressed them. It seemed to stare as it spoke at a point far above their heads.
‘I bring good news for you, Oedipus, and for your Jocasta and your children. That good news is tinged with sorrow. You will be pleased, yet you will grieve. Hearken to what I say. I am but an ember, born of fire. My time is short.
‘Though I am merely a mythical creature, yet I am a mother and have my sorrows. In my sorrow I scour the underworld for my dear child, newly hatched. In vain I seek it. The branches of the tree wither. There is no relief from my pain until I find it.
‘But for you, O cruel Oedipus, there is relief, embattled here in Thebes. Your fortunes may yet take a turn for the better, little though you deserve it.’
‘How the phantom moralises!’ exclaimed Eteocles.
The spectre continued speaking without pause. ‘From far away help comes. The common folk of Corinth now think to call on Oedipus as their king.’
‘What’s this? Is Polybus my father then no longer King of Corinth?’ asked Oedipus, astonished.
The roaring voice continued remorselessly as if the apparition had not heard a word. Smoke poured from its throat as it spoke. Its eyes blazed.
‘A cortege in Corinth is preparing even now to bring you the coveted crown. Some come on foot, some harness up chariots.’
‘What of my father?’
‘Some weep, some dance, as always in mortal life. King Polybus has yielded up his last breath and now lies in his grave. All mourn the good old man, including Merope, his wife, the now black-costumed Merope. Grey her head, black her costume. He was brought to nothingness by old age and misfortune. Not by the hand of Oedipus.’
Ismene gave a scream. ‘So much for your fears, Papa! The oracle is defeated. Your royal father whom you avoided all these years – he has met with death by nature and not by any act of yours!’
Eteocles asked the giant face what kind of misfortune had struck his grandfather.
The face was speaking continuously. It roared out, ‘Grief has no avail against mortality. Polybus acquired an illness when the story of his long years was all but told.’
‘Did he speak of me?’ demanded Oedipus. ‘What were his last words?’
‘On his deathbed, he—’ But the roar died abruptly to a whisper. Then it was gone, soundless. The terrible face mouthed on. The ember eyes flickered out. The mouth alone existed, obscured by smoke. Then it too faded. The smoke rolled back snakelike into the flames. The flames died. The blaze went out.
�
�That conjuration deserves another helping of duck and beans,’ said Semele, with immense satisfaction. ‘I’m clever, aren’t I – even in my old age?’
She sat down on a stool and panted. Between breaths, she ordered the slave girl to bring her water.
Jocasta called for more foliage to be piled on the altar, but there was no more.
Ismene was embracing her father.
‘There! Now what of the silly old Pythian house of oracles?’ said Ismene.
‘And what of Apollo? You can forget that wretched curse now!’ shouted Eteocles. ‘You did not murder your father!’ He dared to slap his father on the back.
But Jocasta stood apart and spoke soothingly to her grandmother, her face turned from the others who rejoiced.
Oedipus hardly knew how to express his relief. Embracing both son and daughter, he repeated in a kind of amazement that the prophecy had claimed he would kill his father; but he had done Polybus no harm. The oracle had been buried with the old man. Now he breathed more freely.
‘But can we trust the words of a phantom Sphinx? Perhaps a demon spoke through the likeness of the Sphinx.’
‘No. For sure it was the Sphinx.’
‘We can go to Corinth now,’ Ismene said. ‘No famine stalks those golden streets. You can rule there, Father, and we can all be happy again.’
‘There’s such comfort in your father’s death,’ said her brother. ‘You’ll be King of Corinth! I shall be a Prince of Corinth!’
‘Is Corinth grander than Thebes?’ asked Ismene.
But Semele came forward, wagging a finger. Her face was ashen and she still panted, yet her voice retained a certain wheezy vigour. ‘Don’t get so excited, children. Remember, Queen Merope still lives. Best not to forget the other part of the prophecy – that Oedipus will marry his mother.’
‘It is a reason to stay away from Corinth,’ Oedipus agreed. ‘I fear a certain bed as if it were full of venomous snakes.’
The old woman laughed. ‘Still, not much chance of you bedding an old hag like Merope, is there? Why, you might as well marry me!’
Jocasta stood some distance away. She stood rigid, as if turned to stone, as she addressed Oedipus. ‘You say you fear. Men and heroes should not fear. They must accept what chance brings, and face it with courage. Let’s live from day to day without all this talk of fear. I hate to hear it. I prefer the stoicism which Creon professes.’
‘But there remains that oracle against marrying my—’
‘Oh, forget your fears, man!’ she broke in. She pointed a finger at Oedipus for emphasis. ‘Why be afraid of marrying your mother? Is that really so terrible a thing? Many a son has dreamed of it. Many a mother has desired it. Many such couples have achieved it. Many find joy in it. Forget these taboos, if life is to be endured.’
‘But the mere idea of it,’ he said, rather taken aback by the passion in her words, ‘is terrible, is it not?’
‘The idea?’ she said. ‘The idea? What about the practice? I defy you to complain about that. Is not a consummation between son and mother the closest, the greatest, the bravest, the dearest—’
She broke off abruptly and hid her face, for her children were staring at her.
In the evening, Oedipus held a modest celebration. His son Eteocles was persuaded to leave his Leyda behind in the taverna and join the party. It was considered tactful to invite Creon, in whose honour the glasses were filled.
‘So, you are doubly great, Oedipus! I drink to your good fortune,’ Creon declared, raising his bumper high. ‘But who will take your place in this palace when you are gone?’
Wine was flowing freely, yet no great spirit of enjoyment was engendered. A Cretan dancer was ushered in. She danced voluptuously, and was applauded. Still gloom prevailed, thick as the earlier smoke.
Ismene moped in the corner of the chamber, sucking her thumb. ‘What is the matter with you, child?’ Semele asked. ‘Enjoy life and youth while you have them, while your teeth aren’t falling out of your head.’
‘I miss the dear Sphinx. She was such a pet. Where can she have gone?’
‘If you start asking awkward questions here, you are bound to make yourself miserable. Cheer up, or I’ll get Phido to bite your arse!’
Oedipus asked Jocasta why she was downcast. She shrugged, saying it was no matter. Then she enquired of him what he would do about the news from Corinth. He said dismissively that his decision must wait until messangers arrived from the distant city.
‘I feel unsettled by a dream I had in the final hours of last night,’ he told her. ‘I cannot rid my mind of it.’
‘More fear, Oedipus?!’ she said, with an attempt at lightness. She made it clear she did not wish to hear his dream. He persisted. In his dream, he declared, he seemed to be two men. The first man had a chest in which he stored precious secret things. The chest had a little lock into which fitted – impossible though it seemed – a large golden key. He had lost the key. He searched for it.
There was a woman. Perhaps she had the key hidden in her robes. She seemed somehow familiar.
The second man, also Oedipus, was searching everywhere for the key. He seemed to be in a foreign city. He was in despair. Eventually, he came to a woman’s bed. His mother seemed to be in the bed. When he looked under the cushions, there was the key but, in some complicated way, it would no longer fit the lock.
‘Why should such nonsense distress me?’ he asked.
‘You were in a foreign place, perhaps this mother person was Merope. It’s not important, surely? Fill up your glass.’
‘But the key in the lock?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Oedipus.’ She spoke with some impatience. ‘Perhaps it means finding an answer to the Sphinx’s riddle. You were reminded of that creature yesterday. Don’t worry about such things. Keep them within these four walls. Pray you will never open that chest you dreamed of.’
He turned his face away, dissatisfied by her answer.
She too was distressed by his account of the dream, and found herself wringing her pale hands.
Creon, having caught a part of this exchange, said, ‘A man should not look for his reflection in puddles or seek for truth in dreams. Truth lies in the rule of law, which enables us to lead sane lives. Dreams, which are disordered, are warnings of what the world would be like without reason and order.’
‘We await a messanger from Corinth,’ said Jocasta. ‘He will prove more substantial than a mere dream.’
‘Of course, there have been famous dreams, denoting great changes,’ said Creon.
He was expatiating on this theme when the doors burst open and Antigone entered. She certainly looked disordered; her dark golden hair flew about her head as if with a life of its own. With her she ushered in a robust-looking old man of tanned countenance. His flourishing white moustache stood in contrast to his ruddy cheeks.
He entered with no trace of nervousness, but bowed profoundly to Oedipus and then to Jocasta. Antigone announced him as the shepherd Eriphus, who would solve a mystery concerning her father’s birth.
Jocasta went to confront him. Eriphus bent a knee and kissed her hand, which she snatched angrily away. ‘What are you doing here, Eriphus? What do I pay you for? Did you not give your word to remain absent from Thebes? What of our agreement?’
Eriphus replied stoutly that Princess Antigone had declared his presence was necessary at the palace, by demand of the king.
‘My dear Jocasta, why are you upset?’ asked Oedipus. ‘If this fellow can assist me, then must I pursue the puzzle to the end. My blood and intellect demand it. I have no fear. You understand that? I thank you, dearest Antigone, for bringing Eriphus to us.’
‘Yes, let us by all means pursue the problem to its end,’ interposed Creon, with a smirk.
‘I see here,’ said Oedipus, ‘not merely the possibility of resolution of my own problems but a glimpse into the mysteries surrounding the origins and destiny of all mankind. Does life begin in the mother’s womb? Or is there something even ear
lier, and darker?’
Jocasta went down on her knees before him. ‘No, I beg you, my dear husband! Do we not wish to live? This inquiry must not proceed. Send our visitor away. Pay him and send him off again. The fear is mine now. Have I not suffered enough?’
He helped her gently to her feet.
‘Please be calm, Jocasta. You are my queen.’ He looked upon her benignly before turning to Eriphus. ‘Greetings, old shepherd! Be at ease. They say that you were present on that evil day when Laius, King of Thebes, was slain where three roads meet. Is it so?’
Eriphus replied that it was so. Made uneasy by the question, he asked what hung upon the occasion. To which Oedipus responded that the gods had uttered a warning which hung over his head like a cloud, and blighted his life.
And might, Eriphus enquired, a mere shepherd ask what form the warning took.
Oedipus said, ‘It’s no secret in these parts. Apollo spoke, saying that I was doomed to slay my own father. How this would come about was never specified. Furthermore, the god declared that I would marry my own mother, and thus become guilty of both parricide and incest. I behaved honourably. To avoid these crimes, I fled from Corinth and my parents, and have been seen there no more.’
‘Such are the reasons why you remain in Thebes?’
‘I must defy the fulfilment of Apollo’s oracle.’
‘Happily, sire, your fears are groundless,’ said Eriphus. He paused before announcing, ‘None of Polybus’ blood runs in your veins.’
At Eriphus’ words, all those present were astonished, and came closer to hear the exchange.
‘How can you claim this?’ Oedipus asked. ‘I know that the good Polybus was my father, and I his only son. Do you deny that?’
‘I know for sure, sir, that Polybus did not beget you. King Polybus had long been plagued by childlessness. He and his queen took you to their hearts when you were a toothless babe.’
Looks of astonishment were all around. Even Creon was silent. In a small voice, Antigone asked, ‘How old was my father when this adoption took place?’