by Homer
He stopped and gave his War-God’s tools to the two slaves
who walked in the house at once. However Odysseus
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♦ walked in the fruit-filled orchard to test his father.
Moving down through the spreading orchard he came on
no one: Dolios’s sons and all of his own slaves
had gone by chance to gather stones for the vineyard
wall and Dolios, an elderly man, was their leader.
A Ragged Old Man
Then he found his father. Alone in a well-tilled
orchard and breaking ground for a shrub, he was wearing
a patched, dirty and ragged tunic with bull’s-hide
greaves bound to his legs to guard against scratches.
His hands had gloves, what with the thorns, and a goatskin
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capped his head. The man’s pain was increasing.
When long-suffering, godlike Odysseus saw him,
worn with age and his heart bearing a vast grief,
he stood beneath a tall pear-tree and shed tears.
He pondered a while. In heart and mind he was doubtful
whether to hug and kiss the man, telling him each thing—
how he was home at last in the land of his fathers—
or question the old one first and test him on each point.
So as he mulled it soon struck him as better
first to question the old man, even to bait him.
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He walked up straight to him. Thoughtful and godlike Odysseus
watched him rooting the shrub, holding his head down.
The shining son came close to his father and told him,
“Old man, no lack of knowledge in caring for gardens
restrains you. You care so well that nothing at all here—
none of the fig-trees, grapevines, hardly an olive,
pear-tree or bed of leek—lacks care in the garden.
But I’ll say too, and don’t put pique in your heart now,
you lack good care for yourself. Together with sorry
old age you are badly grimed and your clothing is wretched.
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It’s not because you’re lazy your master has not cared
surely and not because your looks are lowly and slavelike
in size or shape. In fact you look like a ruler,
the kind of man who, after he’s washed and had dinner,
sleeps on a soft bed. That’s right for an old man.
Who’s Lord of Ithaka?
“Come on now, tell me something, answer me truly.
What man do you serve? Whose orchard here do you care for?
Tell me another truth, help me to know well:
have I arrived in Ithaka? So I was told by
a man just now who met me traveling this way.
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The man was not so clever or bold when he answered
on each point. He failed to hear me out when I asked him
about my friend who somehow might be alive still,
or maybe he’s dead by now in the household of Aides.
So I’ll tell you—take it inside you and listen—
I welcomed that man in the well-loved land of my Fathers
once when he came to our house. No other person,
no far-off guest who came to our home was so welcome.
He claimed he was born on Ithaka, saying his father
there was the son of Arkeisios, known as Laertes.
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I led the man in my house myself as a good host,
enthused and friendly. Inside the house there was plenty;
I gave him a stranger’s presents, all that was due him.
I gave him seven talents of gold that were well-formed.
I gave him a wine-bowl of silver with blossoming artwork,
twelve single-folding cloaks, twelve of our blankets,
twelve gorgeous mantles, the same number of tunics,
and four shapely women besides with their knowing
and flawless hand-work. He alone wanted to choose them.”
Not Even Death-Rites
His father answered him then, shedding a few tears.
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“Stranger, it’s true: you came to the land that you asked of.
But prideful and reckless men have taken it over.
Those countless presents you gladly gave him are pointless.
If only you’d found him alive in Ithakan country!
He’d surely have sent you off as richly, present for present,
with grand entertainment due to the man who began things.
“Come on though, tell me something, answer me truly:
how many years have passed since you welcomed that stranger,
your sorry guest, my son? If the man was alive once—
doomed so far from his friends and the land of his fathers—
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no doubt sharks ate him at sea or vultures and wild beasts
made him their prey on land. The mother and father
who gave him birth never shrouded and mourned him.
His wife with all her bride-gifts, mind-full Penelopeia,
never wailed on her husband’s bier in the right way
or closed his eyes. Those are the rights of a dead man.
“Tell me another truth: help me to know well
what man you are. Where are your parents and city?
Where did you stand the race-fast vessel that brought you
here with your godlike friends? Or maybe you came here riding
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a ship of others—they left you and sailed off?”
The Son Must Reveal Himself at Last
Full of designs Odysseus answered by saying,
“I’ll answer you now myself—I’ll tell you the whole truth.
♦ I’m from Alubas. The house I live in is well known.
Lord Polupemon’s son is my Father, Alpheidas.
My own name is Eperitos. Somehow a Power
drove me against my will from Sikanie right here.
My ship lies to by a farm, away from the city.
“But now five years have passed since Odysseus left us,
sailing away that day from the land of my Fathers.
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Doomed? But the signs were good when he set out,
seabirds to starboard, making me glad when I sent him
and making him glad he left. Our hearts had been hoping
we’d meet as friends and exchange wonderful presents.”
He spoke that way but a dark sadness was clouding
the old one. Gathering sooty dust in his two hands,
he dumped it onto his gray head and moaned without stopping.
Odysseus’s heart was moved at last and a sharp sting
rose through his nostrils, watching the father he so loved.
He ran up, kissed and embraced the man as he told him,
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“I am that man, Father, the one you have asked of.
I’m back in the twentieth year in the land of my Fathers.
Hold off grief now, all this moaning and weeping.
I’ll tell you why—we need to be gone from here quite soon—
I’ve killed the last of the suitors now in our own house,
taking revenge for all their evil, heart-stinging actions.”
A Call for Proof
Then Laertes promptly answered by asking,
“If my own child Odysseus truly has come here,
show me the plainest sign to make me believe it.”
Odysseus, full of designs, answered him promptly,
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“First look at the wound. See with your own eyes
the scar that a boar’s white tusk caused on Parnesos.
You and my honored Mother had sent me to Mother’s
well-loved father, Autolukos, helping me take on
presents he’d p
romised the time he came here and said so.
Yes and I’ll also name those trees in your well-tilled
orchard you gave me once when I asked about each one,
trailing along as a boy. We walked through this very
grove and you named them all, you spoke about each one.
You gave me thirteen pear-trees and forty fig-trees,
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ten of apple and then you named rows in the vineyard:
you gave me fifty rows that trailed each other in bearing
fruit—so many kinds of clusters that ripened
whenever Zeus weighed them down in their season.”
Sure Signs, Great Joy
He stopped as the knees and heart went slack in the old man.
Knowing the signs were sure that Odysseus gave him,
he threw both arms around the son he had so loved
then fainted. Long-suffering, godlike Odysseus held him.
Then when he breathed and spirits regathered inside him,
words came back to the man and he answered by praying:
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“Fatherly Zeus, you Gods are still on the heights of Olumpos
if suitors have paid for their pride and recklessness truly.
But now great fear’s in my breast: their Ithakan people
may come in a mass here soon and they also could send off
messengers fast to every Kephallenian city.”
The Goddess Helps an Old Warrior
Full of designs, Odysseus answered by saying,
“Take heart: don’t let your thoughts be anxious about that.
Let’s go to the house that lies close to the orchard.
I sent Telemakhos there, the swineherd and cattle
herder to make a meal for us all in a hurry.”
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They spoke that way and walked to the handsome farmhouse.
After they entered the home where people had lived well
they found Telemakhos helping the swineherd and cowherd
slicing meat into piles and mixing the bright wine.
Great-hearted Laertes meanwhile washed in the farmhouse,
helped by the Sicily woman who rubbed him with good oil
and threw a graceful mantle around him. Moreover Athene
came up close and enlarged that shepherd of people:
she made him taller now than before and stronger to look at.
He left the bathroom, amazing the son he had so loved:
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his father looked like a deathless God as he faced him.
Odysseus told him, the words with a feathery swiftness,
“Father, surely one of the Gods born to be always
made your form and face much better to look at.”
A Need for the Old Strength
Wise Laertes promptly answered by praying,
“Fatherly Zeus, Athene, Apollo, if only
I felt that strength when I mastered Nerikon’s well-built
fort on the mainland’s coast and ruled Kephallenians!
My son, if only I felt so yesterday too in our own house!
My shoulders clapped in armor, standing beside you
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battling suitors, I would have loosened a number
of knees in our hall. The heart would have gladdened inside you.”
So the two of them spoke that way with each other.
The Lord Has Come Home!
The slaves had now stopped working: dinner was ready.
All in order, they took their seats or a tall chair.
Their hands went out to the food as Dolios came in,
their old helper, with all six sons of the old man,
tired from fieldwork. Their mother had gone to call them—
the old Sicilian woman—she fed them and fondly
cared for the old one now that age overtook him.
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They saw Odysseus, they knew the man in their own hearts
and stood amazed in the big room. However Odysseus
promptly spoke to Dolios, telling him mildly,
“Sit down to your food, old man. Let no one be awe-struck.
We’ve wanted our own hands on this bread for a long time
waiting here in this room, expecting you always!”
He spoke that way but Dolios ran at him stretching
both his hands out, taking Odysseus’s right hand
and kissing his wrist. His words had a feathery swiftness,
“Dear man, you’ve come back home to those with such longing!
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We thought we’d never see you—the Gods must have brought you.
I hail you, I wish you well, may Gods make you happy.
Tell me this other truth, help me to know well:
♦ does mind-full Penelopeia know it for certain,
your coming home right here? Do we send her a message?”
An answer came from Odysseus, full of his own plans:
“Old man, she knows it already. Why should you bother?”
Soon as he’d spoken the old man sat on a well-shined