by Brian Aldiss
She gave him a clout on his ears, so that his head rang. ‘Get up, man! Help me if you will, but I cannot understand a word you’re saying.’
Karimov got to his feet. ‘I know you’re a passionate person – sorry, that’s a Freudian slip – I mean to say a compassionate person, keen to do your brother final honours. Run to Haemon’s bed now! Let me cremate Polynices’ body for you. Go! Run!’
He saw in her expression the struggle to trust him. Her dark gaze faltered.
‘Go!’ he repeated. ‘Save yourself. You must understand that Creon will be compelled to obey a law he himself has promulgated. He clings to authority, like many weak men. He will not spare you a second time.’
She had turned, as if to run as he bid. She turned back to retort, ‘It is the destiny of my family to suffer. What is the life of a woman? It’s like a plucked flower. I am merely the fruit of men and women in whom guilt was strong. Do I wish to save myself? Do I not love honour more than Haemon?’
‘Defy your inheritance! You must defy it as you defy Creon. You have strength. Go – live and be happy! Marry Haemon. In time you will become Queen of Thebes. I swear I will set Polynices’ spirit free from this earth – as I trust my own spirit will soon be free …’
Something in the tone of his voice persuaded Antigone that he was sincere. She turned and ran.
He watched with regret and longing her retreating figure, her hair streaming out behind her.
As if in a dream within a dream, Karimov went over to the poor decayed body. Animals had dragged it almost against the city wall. His stomach heaved. The grey light filtered through the overhanging trees allowed him to see only dimly. He hastened, hearing the clang of a prison door. He failed to observe that Polynices’ head had been dragged from its shoulders.
His hands sank into the corrupt flesh as he took hold of the ankles of the corpse. He did not flinch. Dragging the body along, he made for the nearby woods. The body slithered and bumped over parched grass.
Finally he was hidden among trees and bushes. Apricot light suffused the wildwood. High in the trees over his head, topmost branches were lit by the infant rays of sun. Woodpigeons awoke and fled away on clapping wings. There Karimov came on an old woodcutter’s hut, ruinous, with a pile of dried logs stacked against its walls.
Hurrying, he pulled out the wood, to make a pile of it. He flung the decaying body on top of the logs. Only then, as he struck a flint and set light to kindling, blowing on the tiny flame, did he notice that the corpse’s head was missing.
King Creon was up and about with the dawn as usual. He gave but a glance at Eurydice’s nakedness and left her sleeping. After he had bathed himself, and had had his beard curled, he went to his window and looked out. Beyond the city walls, distantly through trees, a pillar of smoke was ascending into the clear air.
As Creon stared, the smoke appeared to him to solidify, as if reluctant to disperse. Within its curling fumes, it seemed a warrior’s face appeared, badly mutilated, teeth bared in a hateful smile.
Creon turned his back on the sight. Summoning a slave, he ordered the man to fetch Tiresias immediately. Very shortly, the tap of a stick announced the old man’s approach.
With a show of courtesy, King Creon motioned the old man to a chair.
‘Tiresias, disaster haunts our royal house. Have we not feasted on trouble enough in our lives? From this window, clear to be seen for those whose eyes yet hold sight, a column of smoke arises from the forest beyond our gates. What means it, do you say?’
Tiresias, in his whining voice, replied, ‘What is the life of man? Is it not like a column of smoke, blown this way or that in the winds of chance?’
‘This specific column, if you please,’ said Creon.
‘Life without joy is no life, life with continuous burden is to live in a prison cell. Today, O mighty Creon, the smoke blows directly into your heart.’
‘Oh, be quiet, you old gasbag! You and your platitudes! Where in Hades is Haemon?’
‘Perhaps Haemon is in Hades.’
Without listening to the seer’s response, Creon marched from his room and past the guard. Hurrying down the corridor, he flung open the door of Haemon’s room.
Haemon lay on his couch, naked, gazing with love upon the face of Antigone, who was curled up next to him. The girl slept peacefully, the fringes of her lashes resting on her cheeks, the lips of her mouth slightly apart. One arm was curled protectively over her head, the index finger of its hand entwining with a lock of her dark gold hair, as if preparing to pluck a flower. With her defiance absent from her, she had never looked more beautiful in her uncle’s eye.
Haemon jumped furiously from his bed, taking up a sword as he did so.
‘Leave this room, Father!’ he ordered. ‘How dare you intrude like this?’
‘What is Antigone doing here?’ asked Creon, taken by surprise and stepping back a pace. ‘She vowed to remain chaste until her nuptials. You have dared to dishonour her?’
‘She remains chaste, damn you and your suspicions!’ The youth kept his sword held ready. ‘She came to my chamber to seek protection and I have not taken her maidenhead.’
Disturbed by their shouts, Antigone stirred and sat up, covering her breasts. She spoke not a word, although she blushed red for shame at being discovered.
Creon’s face was dark with anger. He was shouting at his son when Eurydice appeared, her long hair streaming behind her. She had pulled a silken gown about her shoulders. At sight of his mother, Haemon gathered a rug over his lower body.
‘Why are you two quarrelling?’ the queen asked, adressing her husband. ‘Must generation always interfere with generation? Leave Haemon and Antigone alone!’ She rushed over and kissed Antigone’s forehead. ‘Return to bed with me, Creon. The nest is warm. It’s early yet, and the cocks are still crowing.’
‘Let them crow! – I’ll wring every one of their necks,’ said Creon.
His wife wagged a finger at him. ‘You think your quarrel is with Antigone. Not at all! Your quarrel is with tradition – with the whole tradition of reverence and obedience to unwritten law. What does that law say, husband? Why, that the dead should be decently buried.’
Antigone had tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you, dear Eurydice! You put into words the very words to which my thoughts could not give form.’
Creon huffed and puffed. ‘The only tradition this chit of a girl cares about is troublemaking. You both forget I am the State.’
‘You are not the State,’ said Eurydice sternly. ‘By exceeding your authority you will ruin the State. The State will continue long after we are dead.’
Haemon’s arm was about Antigone’s shoulders as she said to him, almost in a whisper, ‘It is the very problem that my beloved father encountered.’ She was ignored.
Creon affected a swagger. ‘I cannot rule without authority!’ he declared. But he knew better than to argue with Eurydice, and followed her meekly enough down the corridor.
As they passed Tiresias, the old man said, shaking his head at the king, ‘Those who forget the law die on its anvil.’
The words had scarcely left his mouth when a clamour arose downstairs in the hall. A house servant ran up the stairs, where he abased himself before the king. Creon challenged him. The servant spoke hastily, wringing his hands. His message was that the guards at the south gate had discovered the corpse of the king’s nephew was missing. They waited below to report their news.
With an oath, Creon brushed the servant aside and ran down the stairs. In the hall of the palace, Creon’s house dogs prowled growling about the legs of two sentries. The sentries stood hesitantly at the doorway, not daring to enter further. A few citizens, early risers, had gathered behind them, scenting excitement. Soldiers were about, impeding their audience. A hot wind blew dust about in the courtyard beyond.
One of the sentries was an older man, bearded and still upright, although his front teeth had fallen out. He held himself rigidly while reporting. His companion was
a slender youth, with a miniature stubble field on his chin. He had tucked a blue cornflower into his tunic pocket. It was already wilting.
Ordered to explain themselves, the older man declared that, as blessed light returned to the world, they had been able to see that the corpse had gone. They had searched, but it was not to be found. It was not their fault.
‘But you were asleep when the corpse was taken,’ said Creon.
‘Well, great king, there was a moment when this lad here and I snatched a doze. But no one could have got past us. We slept so lightly – it was as good as being awake.’
Here the younger guard broke in. ‘The corpse must have up and walked off of its own accord. Such things are spoken of.’
‘You shall suffer for this laxity,’ said Creon.
‘Two little items remained where the body had lain,’ said the older man, seemingly unmoved by the king’s threat. ‘We bring them here as evidence to set before you.’ As he spoke, he raised his left arm up high. He was holding a decomposing head. Maggots rained from it and twitched at his booted feet.
‘Oh, Polynices!’ cried Eurydice. ‘Disgusting! Throw it out of the door at once!’
‘Polynices!’ exclaimed the crowd at the door, in chorus.
‘The other item?’ enquired Creon, unmoved by the fearful sight. Eurydice gave a shriek and held a corner of her robe to her nose.
The guard set the skull down carefully at his feet in order to present the second item, which the younger sentry had been holding. It was a hoe such as women use in the fields. The split in its shaft was bound together by a ribbon of blue cloth.
Creon took the implement and stared at it as if he had never seen such a thing before. As he did so, a woman called Zenna shouted from the doorway, ‘That hoe belongs to young Antigone. I’m a friend of hers. You’d better give it back. I’ve worked beside her many a day. How many times have I told her, “You want to get another hoe, my dear. That one ain’t no good.” I’ve told her over and over.’
‘Be silent!’ roared the king. He cursed the sentries and drove the crowd from the door. He understood immediately that he could no longer keep his secret; his law had been broken. The chill wind blew into his heart as prophesied. Eurydice also understood immediately, and Tiresias behind her.
Tiresias it was who cried out in his cracked voice, saying, ‘All must unfold as the prophet said. Once the boulder begins to roll downhill, all who stand in its way are crushed. Such is in the nature of things.’
‘Yes, yes, we shall be crushed,’ screamed Eurydice. She grasped the hem of Creon’s robe. He snatched it away as she cried, ‘O Husband, rescind your cruel law at once, I pray you!’
A black bird in the palace grounds was calling, ‘Caught! Caught!’
The king slammed the palm of his hand against his brow. ‘Those who make the law are most subject to its rigor! Guards, go, bring Antigone hither!’
V
Eurydice’s screaming, Creon’s roaring, set the hounds to barking furiously. The general uproar stirred Jon Rahman Karimov as he lay on his bench in the prison. From within his dream, he made a second appearance in Antigone’s life.
Again it seemed to him he lived an Attic life, as Antigone, struggling, was brought before her furious uncle. Following came Haemon, shouting angrily, his shouts adding to the general hubbub. Only Antigone, pale of lip, was silent. As he materialised, he witnessed Haemon strike out at his father, and Creon strike back. Creon then dragged Antigone away, taking her into a small room close to the kitchens. There he intended to deal with her undisturbed.
Only when Karimov made his appearance did he step back, startled.
Karimov addressed him boldly but politely. ‘Mighty Creon, spare a minute from your wrath. Try to understand yourself and your motives before you do harm to your niece Antigone, and so harm yourself and your family. You are striving to act out the male principle. Your compulsion always to seek for domination will bring only misery to all.’
For a second, Creon stared blankly at Karimov. Then he snapped shut his mouth and said, in mingled anger and puzzlement, ‘If I do not dominate my city, you slave, then who will? Thebes is nothing without a strong king, as recent history has shown.’
Diluting his anger was some puzzlement at this unknown challenger. He stood back, clutching his beard, nonplussed by the intrusion.
Snatching at the opportunity, Karimov pressed home his advantage. ‘More clearly than Tiresias, I will tell you what will happen if you proceed with Antigone’s punishment, for in my better days I studied the Classics. By adhering to this law of yours, you will think it legitimate to entomb Antigone – Antigone, your son’s intended bride! She will of course die in the cave.’
‘The sentence for disobedience is death.’
‘There will be deaths enough even for you, O wise king. Here is my prediction, dictated by knowledge of events. Your son Haemon, overwhelmed by sorrow, will thrust his sword into his own breast. And what will your queen Eurydice do then, do you imagine? Hemlock will ease her broken heart. How will you fare then, O king?’
But Creon gathered himself up, to give a roar. ‘I shall be myself, whatever befalls!’
‘And when your will fails, who then will rule Thebes?’
‘My will shall never fail!’
Creon struck out at Karimov. But the first rays of the sun had reached the flag flying above the prison where Karimov lay. His dream faltered. He awoke. His projection faded away from Thebes for ever, as light forsakes the eyes of the dying.
In that ancient month, all happened much as Karimov had foretold. It was a dream, yet not only a dream but a dream of a myth. Its end tailed away in a new fashion, however little the dreamer could perceive alternatives. For in the dream Antigone was indeed the undying female principle, and so remained for ever living, generation after generation. Similarly the lineaments of a family do not fade, as cleft chins or prominent noses see no need to fade.
Creon indeed had Antigone bound and cast into a cave. His soldiers tossed the stinking skull of Polynices in with her. The cave was sealed with a large boulder, and the gaps plastered up with clay, so that no light or air entered.
Haemon, however, was granted a rare visitant.
In the gloom of his chamber, he beheld a female of radiant beauty. Her jet black hair fell to her snowy shoulders. On her wrists she wore serpentine bracelets, and about her ankles similar serpents entwined themselves in pure gold. Her gown, gathered at the waist with a chain of flowers, was so flimsy it scarcely concealed the greater beauties beneath its folds. She had aged not an hour since the time, long distant, when she had spoken to Oedipus in Apollo’s temple, one night in Paralia Avidos.
‘O radiant charmer, are you not the wood nymph Thalia?’ asked Haemon.
‘As nymph of the woods, I know where your bride-to-be Antigone is entombed. Be brave, escape your father, and I will lead you to her.’ So said the gentle nymph.
They left the palace together.
‘Why do you do us this kindness?’ Haemon asked as they went on their way through the wilds.
With her sweetest smile, the little nymph replied that she had no will of her own, but rather blew as the winds blew, first in one direction, then in another. Nevertheless, she cared for those who suffered.
So Haemon was led to the cave where Antigone was confined. He looked to thank his pretty guide, but Thalia had faded and gone, taking her enchantments with her.
Using a branch as lever, Haemon eased away the boulder and unplugged the mouth of the cave. His intended bride was still alive.
Carrying Antigone to a nearby brook, Haemon laved her limbs in the cool water and restored her. At last she spoke, and smiled at him. She put her arms about Haemon’s neck and kissed him. So they lay among the reeds.
As for King Creon in his palace, sorrow was his lot. As predicted, Eurydice fell into uncontrollable gloom, and shrieked at night along the passages. She imagined that both Haemon and Antigone were dead. She cursed her husband who had caused
the deaths. One night, she ignited twelve candles about her throne and drank a bowl of hemlock. Her tormented spirit fled.
Creon lived on in Thebes. He ruled with a heavy hand, a lonely male principle. Law he administered: justice he never understood. Sometimes in the velvet evenings, he saw a faun in his garden. He understood this faun to be the reincarnation of his wife, or perhaps it was his sister Jocasta. He called longingly to it. The faun would not come near; it scampered into the undergrowth and disappeared.
Just as Creon had claimed, his will did not fail him. He remained unbending till the end.
Antigone and Haemon went to live simply on an island in the far Cyclades. There they lived on vegetables and fruit and sun-dried mackerel, which Haemon caught in the mackerel-choked seas that washed the island shores.
It happened that Antigone remained for ever haunted by Polynices’ ghost. The pallid vision of a rotted skull followed her and Haemon at shoulder height, except when they were swimming in the sea. Happily, the skull could not speak, having no vocal cords.
Jon Rahman Karimov was executed at eight in the morning, in a country and a time far from Boeotia. His life-dream was finished, as well as his dream of Antigone. They tied a blindfold about his head so that he should not see the firing squad.
He was able in his last moments to imagine that he was home again, with his country free of the tyrant’s rule, and was staging Sophocles’ two great plays.
Acknowledgements
My thanks go to my son, Clive Aldiss, and his wife, Youla Notia, for their advice on matters Greek.
About the Author
Brian Aldiss, OBE, is a fiction and science fiction writer, poet, playwright, critic, memoirist and artist. He was born in Norfolk in 1925. After leaving the army, Aldiss worked as a bookseller, which provided the setting for his first book, The Brightfount Diaries (1955). His first published science fiction work was the story ‘Criminal Record’, which appeared in Science Fantasy in 1954. Since then he has written nearly 100 books and over 300 short stories, many of which are being reissued as part of The Brian Aldiss Collection.