by Homer
do as you like. He claims to be needy and lowly.”
At Least Some Help for a Stranger
But now Telemakhos gave him a sensible answer.
“Eumaios, my heart is truly galled by your words here.
How can I welcome a stranger now in my own house?
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I’m still young, I don’t have trust in my hands yet
to fight off someone, an older man who is bridled.
My Mother’s heart and mind have pondered it both ways,
whether to stay with me there and look to the household,
esteeming her husband’s bed and the voice of our people,
or go off now with some man, the best of Akhaian
wooers who offers the most gifts in the great hall.
“As for your guest, because he came to your own house
I’ll dress him in beautiful clothes, a mantle and tunic.
I’ll give him a two-edged sword and sandals for footwear.
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I’ll send him wherever his heart and spirits are calling.
Or if you like, keep and care for him right here.
I’ll send you all the food myself and the clothing.
The man should not be a drain on you or your workmen.
“But I won’t let the stranger walk off and mingle
with suitors. Those men are far too prideful and reckless.
Maybe they’d taunt him, making my agony frightful.
It’s hard for a man to accomplish much against many,
even a strong man: the crowd by far will be stronger.”
Better to Die Fighting the Outrage
Long-suffering, godlike Odysseus answered,
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“My friend, surely now it’s right if I speak out,
for all your words have really torn at my own heart.
You say those men, the suitors, are reckless and planning
against your will? With a man like you in the great hall?
Maybe you want them to rule? Or maybe the country’s
people hate you, heeding the voice of a great God.
Or maybe you blame your brothers, people a man trusts
as fighters and more when great conflict is building.
“If only I were young as the spirit inside me!
A son of blameless Odysseus—even Odysseus,
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home from his wanderings—surely your lot would be hopeful.
Indeed let foreigners cut off my head in a hurry
if I weren’t evil itself for all of those wooers
the hour I arrived in the hall of Odysseus, son of Laertes.
Yet if their numbers downed me, being alone there,
I’d rather go down hacked to death in my own hall
than watch disgusting acts go on without let-up,
pushing and striking of guests, women and handmaids
dragged around in shame through a beautiful household,
wine drawn off and wasted, men who are brashly
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devouring food, no end to it, always the same way.”
An Only Son
♦ Now Telemakhos gave him a sensible answer.
“Well now stranger, I’ll tell you. I’ll answer you truly.
All the people are not so angry or hate-filled.
I don’t have brothers to blame, those who are trusted
as fighters and more when great conflict is building.
No, the son of Kronos made our family one line:
the only son Arkeisios had was Laertes;
he only fathered Odysseus; I was Odysseus’s
only son. He left me in the hall, he never enjoyed me,
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now there are droves of enemies right in our own house.
All of the noblest men around us, rulers of islands
like Same, Doulikhion, densely wooded Zakunthos,
and all those ruling rock-strewn Ithakan country
have tried courting my Mother, wearing the house down.
She won’t say no to a wedding she hates and she cannot
make them stop. They go on eating and wasting
my home and too soon me—they’ll utterly wreck me.
“But all these troubles lie on the knees of the great Gods.
Be quick now, uncle, go to our thought-full Penelopeia,
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tell her I came back home from Pulos safely.
For now I’ll stay here myself. Come back to your own house
after you tell my Mother only: no other Akhaian
should know since many suitors are planning to harm me.”
The Old One
Then Eumaios the swineherd, you answered by saying,
“I know you and mind you: the man you ask understands you.
Come on though, tell me the truth: answer me whether
I go on the same road with news for Laertes,
that doomed man? Though he greatly mourned for Odysseus,
he went on tending the farm. He ate in the house there,
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drinking with slaves when the heart in his chest inclined him.
Ah but after you sailed your vessel to Pulos,
they say he simply stopped, no eating or drinking.
He looks to no fields, he sits there, moaning and sighing,
mourning your loss, bones and muscle wasting.”
More Pain, Little Help
Telemakhos tried to give him a sensible answer.
“More pain. We’ll let him alone, for all of our sorrow.
If people could have by chance all of their wishes,
I’d first have the day of my Father’s return home.
Go with my news and come back. Don’t wander the farmland
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later to look for the old one. Just say to my Mother,
‘Send your maid, the housekeeper, fast and in secret.’
That woman can take the news to aging Laertes.”
Roused that way the swineherd put on some sandals,
tied them under his feet and was gone to the city.
A Tall and Skillful Woman
Athene was not unaware Eumaios the hog-man
had gone from the house. She promptly approached like a woman,
tall and lovely, in crafts outstandingly skillful.
She stood at the farmhouse door, quite clear to Odysseus.
Telemakhos failed to see her before him or notice—
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the Gods do not appear so plainly to all men.
♦ The dogs and Odysseus saw her. The animals whimpered,
not a bark, and ran to the other side of the farmhouse.
She moved her eyebrows, godlike Odysseus nodded
and left the house. He walked by the high wall in the front yard,
stood there and faced her. Athene spoke to him swiftly.
“Son of Laertes, bloodline of Zeus, my wily Odysseus!
Don’t hide it now: tell the news to your own son.
After you plan that doom, the deaths of the suitors,
go to your far-famed city. I’m eager to fight there.
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I won’t be far away myself when you battle.”
Returning Youth
♦ Then he was touched by the golden wand of Athene.
First she made a well-cleaned cloak and a beautiful mantle
cover his chest. She raised his height and his youthful
looks next: he was dark, his cheeks were again full,
the beard on his chin once more growing and dark brown.
With all that done she left him again. Odysseus walked back
toward the farmhouse. His well-loved son was astonished,
he kept on looking aside, afraid of this new God.
He spoke at last and the words had a feathery swiftness,
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“Stranger, you look so utterly changed from a while back—
you wear fine clothes, your color’s no longer an old
man’s—
you’re surely a God ruling broadly in heaven!
Be gracious and help us gladly offer you victims
and well-worked presents of gold. Be kindly and spare us.”
Not a God
Long-suffering, godlike Odysseus told him,
“I’m not a God. Why make me out to be deathless?
I am your father. Because of me you have often
smarted and moaned. You’ve borne with men who are brutal.”
Painful Doubt
He stopped and kissed his son, letting some tears fall
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down to the ground. He’d always firmly checked them before this.
Telemakhos, not yet sure the man was his father,
pressed him with words again. He answered by saying,
“You’re not Odysseus, not my Father: some Power
has fooled me to make me moan still more and bewail him.
No death-bound man could ever cause this to happen,
not by his own wits, unless a God were to come down
himself and make him old or young without effort.
Just now you were old in fact, wearing your poor clothes;
now you look like a god ruling broadly in heaven.”
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An answer came from Odysseus, full of the best plans:
“Telemakhos, don’t be amazed so much if the father
you love is present. Too much awe is unseemly.
In fact no other Odysseus will ever arrive here!—
such as I am. I often suffered and wandered a great deal.
I’m here in the twentieth year in the land of my Fathers.
The work was all Athene’s. The bringer of war-wealth
makes me the way she wants—a Goddess can do that.
First I resembled a poor man, then I regained youth,
all my body adorned with beautiful clothing.
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It’s easy for Gods ruling broadly in heaven
both to raise a death-bound man and deface him.”
Hugs and Tears
He spoke that way, sat down and Telemakhos hugged him.
At last he wailed and wept for his wonderful father.
Both men felt it rise, that longing to vent grief,
they cried aloud, even shriller than sea-birds,
an osprey or sharply taloned vulture whose nestlings
a fieldhand’s wrested away before they are fledglings.
They let the tears as pitifully fall from their eyelids.
But Helios’s light would now have set on their crying
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had not Telemakhos asked his father abruptly,
“So now what kind of a ship, dear Father, has brought you
with sailors to Ithaka? Who did they claim to be sons of?
I hardly think you came to the island by walking.”
How to Attack
Long-suffering, godlike Odysseus told him,
“Well my son, I’ll surely tell you the whole truth.
Phaiakians brought me, sailors known for their sea-craft.
They send off others as well, whoever arrives there.
They led me over the sea as I slept in their fast ship.
They set me down on Ithaka, gave me outstanding
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presents of gold, bronze and clothes with a fine weave.
That treasure lies in a cave, thanks to the great Gods.
“I came here now with Athene’s planning and guidance
in order to plot the deaths of our enemy suitors.
Come on then, count up all those wooers and help me
know what kind of men they are and how many.
My own heart is flawless now, I can ponder
and plan things, whether we two can stand up against them
with no one else or whether we look for some helpers.”
Overwhelming Numbers
But now Telemakhos gave him a sensible answer.
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“Oh my Father, I often heard of your great name,
your spear-man’s hand, the shrewdness of all your counsel.
But now you speak too grandly. I’m taken by wonder:
how can two men fight such powerful numbers?
The suitors are not ten men, frankly, or twice ten—
♦ they’re far, far more. You’ll know of their count in a hurry.
Two and fifty men from Doulikhion came here,
young, well-chosen; six helpers had joined them.
A crowd arrived from Same: twenty and four more.
Twenty sons of Akhaians came from Zakunthos.
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Twelve are from Ithaka too, all of the bravest.
Medon joined them, a herald; a bard with a God’s voice;
and two more helpers, skillful carvers of roast meat.
If all of them face and fight us, crowding inside there,
I fear the revenge you take will be bitter and deadly.
So if you can, ponder gaining some helpers,
those who could guard us both, willing and heart-strong.”