Requiem For Athens

by David Alkek

  Lydia chatted as she brought Phidias his supper. She placed the freshly baked bread on the table and said, "I had to pay two drachmas for a bushel of wheat to be ground into flour for this bread. A year ago it was only one drachma. I'm afraid you'll have to give me more money for the market, Master. Everyone is complaining. We see the rich merchants and landowners getting wealthier, while the poor have to scrape to get enough food to keep going. I think it’s a shame. Demetrius better do something about it or there will be riots."

  "You may be right," replied Phidias between swallows. "I noticed the public unrest since I came back. There always seems to be violence. Not only in Athens but throughout Greece there are power-hungry men, or else wealthy aristocrats or businessmen who have armed gangs. Athens always had a lively political atmosphere, but this is dangerous and degenerate.”

  "The people of the streets are afraid of these armed men," Lydia said as she tore some bread. "Supporters of one or another of these plutonoi, these new rich, often fight each other. I find that I have to go to the market very early before they roam the streets."

  "They frighten me too, Lydia. They have no respect for older men and teachers such as me."

  "Master Phidias, it is shameless that the younger generation flaunts the common morals by living openly with each other. I don't mean the homosexuals who have always been accepted. I mean men and women who live together without the ceremonies of marriage. They often have babies, which they immediately abandon on the temple steps or expose in the hills. What is becoming of Athens?"

  "I call it moral decay, Lydia. Athens is not like it was when I was younger. The old religion is no longer accepted by the educated and wealthy. Money is their god, and they are filled with the cynicism of Pyrrho, who is skeptical of everything. We are inundated with Oriental cults since Alexander's victory over the East has opened our doors to these foreign religions.

  But now I'm tired and I will take the rest of my wine to bed. Thank you for the supper, it was delicious."

  "Thank you, Master. Good night."

  * * *

  One day after he taught a class about the government and the economy of Egypt, Phidias walked over to where Theophrastus was talking with some youths. He listened as they asked him about some of the new plant and animal organization in his book. After the group broke up, Phidias approached and said, "Friend Theophrastus may I have a word with you?"

  "Phidias, my esteemed friend and colleague, I am always happy to talk with you. You know, we must continually learn from nature and from each other, or we might as well be dead."

  Theophrastus became head of the Lyceum on the death of Aristotle, and as a naturalist and scientist, surpassed his teacher. He was an avid gardener and knew every aspect of plants and gardening, having recently written his ninth book on the medicinal properties of plants. Before he died he would write over a hundred books on almost every subject from love to war.

  "If you don't mind, Phidias, walk with me along the path through the Lyceum grounds. I want to show you some of the new plant specimens that I have obtained from Egypt and Asia.” He enthusiastically pointed out plants with exotic aromas, ostentatious blooms, or healing powers. When they reached a bench under an ancient oak, he indicated that they should sit down. "What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

  "Theophrastus, you knew Aristotle almost as long as I. However, I followed Alexander and stayed in Alexandria while you became a teacher here at the Lyceum after Aristotle built it. He told me that you were a very popular lecturer, attracting as many as two thousand students. You were more scientist than philosopher, so it was natural that Aristotle picked you to succeed him."

  "Thank you. Indeed, Aristotle liked me. I suppose he was impressed with the way I lectured. My birth name was Lysander, but Aristotle said I should be called Theophrastus, which means ’he spoke like a god’. Now no one recalls my original name."

  Phidias changed the subject. "Xenocrates died recently. He was the head of Plato's Academy."

  "Yes, for about twenty-five years. I knew him well. He was a true philosopher and wore the mantle of Plato with distinction."

  "I heard that he led a very simple life; he never married," said Phidias.

  "Xenocrates used all fees and became so poor that he was on the verge of being imprisoned for taxes, when Demetrius Phalerum paid them for him. I believe that his only mistress was philosophy. Athens will miss him."

  Phidias shook his head. "It seems that with the passing of Xenocrates, the essential philosophy that Plato espoused is exhausted. Most of Plato's successors are mathematicians or moralists. It also pains me about the trend in Isocrates’ School."

  "Pyrrho, the cynic, teaches there," admitted Theophrastus. "He has quite a following. He is very persuasive in his arguments, although I disagree with him."

  "I knew him in Asia," said Phidias. "He followed Alexander to India and studied there with the gymnosophists, the naked holy men. I'm afraid he came back with his nihilistic view of life. He teaches that certainty is unattainable, and since all theories are probably false, one might as well accept the conventions of his own place and time."

  "That is so completely negative to me," said Theophrastus with exasperation.

  "That is what he believes and practices. What bothers me is that kind of teaching is also undermining our traditional Greek values. He says that the same practice may be moral or immoral, depending on where and when we live, and that everything is opinion and nothing entirely true. How can a person live his life that way? How can Greek civilization survive believing that? This cynicism is replacing traditional values. Foreign cultures are diluting our Greek ways. What is happening to Athens? It troubles me greatly.”

  "I agree with you, my friend, but you cannot turn back time. Since Alexander's conquest, we have a new world, one that is not limited to Greece, but looks outward. Yes, we have intermixed foreign cultures and religions, but I think we are richer for it. Athens is still the center of philosophy. Our Lyceum, Plato's Academy, and even Isocrates' school trains philosophers, mathematicians, and scientists for the world."

  "It has changed so much since I left. I guess I have seen so much of strange lands and peoples, that Athens appears to be another city than the one I knew."

  Theophrastus patted his hand. "It's hard go back to a place. You do when you were young. Remember good times and pleasant memories. You were disappointed when you see how dirty and crude and selfish the people really are. The grass is not as green, the trees are not as large, and the houses are not as pretty as we remembered them."

  Phidias nodded, as he sadly accepted the reality of his friend’s reasoning.

  "Look Phidias, you know so much of the history of Greece and Macedon during those years of Philip and Demosthenes. You followed Alexander and knew him intimately. Why don't you write a history of those times? You're such a good teller of tales. The students tell me how they enjoy your stories of past glory and heroes."

  "Not all was glory and heroes, Theophrastus. There was much ugly slaughter, drunken murders, sinister plots, and self-centered, power-hungry men. I do have a lot of memories and I have many notes that I have collected over the almost seventy-five years of my life. I don't know if I can ever write them down in a book. Perhaps I should. You have written many books. Would you help me?"

  "I will certainly help you in any way I can. It is getting late, however, so let's continue our discussion another time."

  * * *

  That night after Lydia cleared the table of the dishes, Phidias asked that she bring him his scrolls and light the oil lamp. His thoughts began to churn as he passed his fingers caressingly over the papyrus rolls and the straps that bound them, each with dates or places or names written on them.

  He recalled his conversation with Theophrastus and realized how much the schools of Athens had lost in the passing of their founders. The reputation of thens would fall with them. He decided that he must do what he could to ensure their legacy and that of the great men he had know
n.

  At times, he thought, it was difficult for him to put down the subtleties of ideas, the fire of controversy, the complexity of politics, and the agony or exhilaration of battle in his writings. Much more was in his memory than he had noted down, but he must find the energy to rouse himself to the task of putting it down on paper. Sometimes he thought that he was writing in a lucid and informative manner, but read now it came out stale and uninteresting. How was he to transform dry facts, the utterances of dead men, the numbers of slain on battlefields into living, feeling, breathing history, that people would read and want to continue to read long after his stylus as left the papyrus and the book was placed on a shelf? He realized that this was the mystical force that had urged him back to Athens. He had to fulfill a goal, one that gave meaning to his life.

  He opened another scroll, and started to read. Suddenly he choked and grabbed the pain that was squeezing his chest over his heart. He yelled out, as his right hand swept the scrolls from the table and spilled the lamp onto the floor. Pilocrates rushed in and threw a cloth over the scattered oil. Lydia brought a cold wet cloth and placed it on his head. She and Pilocrates gently helped him to his bed.

  Phidias felt as if he was dying. Dark spots and colored flashes swirled through his vision. His mind was numbed by a drumming that didn’t allow him to think. He let them help him to his bed. Someone propped his back up on cushions and he felt himself able to breathe better. His heart, that had been pounding against his chest wall, seemed to settle into a calmer rhythm.

  "The color is coming back to his face," said Pilocrates. "How is the pain, Master?"

  "It is lessening. I think it is passing, old friend."

  "I will sleep on a palette on the floor by your door tonight."

  "No," Lydia said. "The floor is too hard for your old bones. I will put cushions in this large chair, and sleep in Master Phidias’ room tonight. I will keep the lamp burning, and will call you if I need you." Pilocrates reluctantly left, while Lydia made herself as comfortable as she could.

  Phidias lay in his bed, his breathing becoming normal, the sweat drying on his forehead. His thoughts rushed like flashes through his mind. Would he die during the night in his sleep, or tomorrow, or next week? His remaining life was short, he admitted to himself. Would he be able to write down all his experiences and memories before it was too late? He was thinking about all the important people he had known -- -- all dead now -- -- as he drifted into a restless slumber. Plato..., Aristotle..., Philip..., Alexander..., Demosthe...

  Chapter 37

  The next day, Phidias felt as if he had died and been reborn. Although he felt weak in his body, he was renewed in his spirit. He was determined now to become strong and to fulfill the destiny that was driving him. After a week of eating Lydia’s soup, and going through his notes scattered over his room, he became restless. He needed some fresh air to help stir his creativity. He had still been unable to start writing.

  Ignoring the pleas of Pilocrates and Lydia, he dressed and went out. "I promise I will only walk to the market for some fruit, and come back home."

  As he walked slowly to the marketplace, Phidias’ thoughts turned to feelings about his life. He had wanted to be a philosopher, a teacher, and a historian, ever since he had been a student with Aristotle, and these he accomplished. However, as he examined his life more closely, as the great Socrates had admonished, he realized that he also had other feelings and needs that he had ignored. He left the only love that he had known and had tried to cover his broken heart with paper and ink, but the bruises and scars remained. He had survived hardships and near death to finally return to his beloved Athens, but he still had not fulfilled that goal that was eluding him.

  He was paying for some fruit when he noticed an older woman purchasing some vegetables at one of the stalls. His eye was caught by the color and style of her dress. Her body was bent, and gray hair still streaked with light brown peaked from behind her brightly colored scarf wrapped around her head and lower face.

  He stepped up to the stall alongside the woman and started picking out some fruit. Politely he turned to her and said, "I see by your dress that you are of the hetairai. Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

  She lowered her eyes and said, "I was a hetaira, but no longer. What is your question?"

  "Do you know of a hetaira by the name of Thais? Is she still alive? If so, is she still in Athens?"

  "I know a woman named Thais who was a hetaira. She still lives in Athens. Who wants to know?" She examined the baldheaded old man with a white beard and sun-weathered face.

  "Tell her that her old friend, Phidias, asks about her health. We were lovers when we were much younger." Phidias choked down the words that he still loved her.

  The woman slowly lowered the scarf that covered her face and said, "I am Thais, Phidias." They fell into each other's arms, tears of joy falling down their cheeks. The bands of years of repressed feelings suddenly were released, and emotions of rediscovered love burst from their hearts. Completely overcome with happiness, like seeing a loved one thought to be dead, they clung to each other unable to speak.

  Unwilling to let Thais go, Phidias held her at arm's length. He was so overcome with the joy of finding his love, whom he had thought was forever lost, that his mouth could only mumble questions. “Are you well? Where are you living? What are you doing? You must tell me everything.” He didn’t dare ask the question of other lovers, perhaps even one she lived with.

  “Yes, my health is good, although I feel my age.” She seemed to know his unuttered question. "After you left, I never took another lover. My money ran low, and I moved into a small house with another retired hetaira. We live simple lives, just getting by."

  They spoke in excited syllables, as if trying to catch up on a lifetime of memories, both filled with the joy of just being together again. Phidias at last noticed the sack of fruit at his side and remembered that he had told Lydia that he would not be long. He didn’t want them to worry, and yet… he couldn’t bring himself to leave Thais. He felt that he might lose her again.

  "Are you free for tonight," he asked? "I would like you to come to my house for dinner. Lydia, my housekeeper is a wonderful cook. We have much to catch up on. So much has happened to me that I would like to share with you."

  "I would love to have dinner with you. I have no other plans. No one invites an old hetaira to dinners."

  "Tell me where you live and I will send my manservant for you at sundown. I am so excited to see you again."

  They parted and Phidias returned home with a bag full of fresh fruit and vegetables, hardly aware of his feet trodding the hard cobblestones, his head in the clouds drifting across the bright Athenian sky. His heart felt warm and young again, completely healed from his close call with death.

  Phidias’ path home carried him past the Temple of Aphrodite, Goddess of love. Although he did not believe in all the old Greek gods, he had a feeling that there must have been a divine force that brought Thais back to him. He felt he must thank someone or something for his good fortune.

  He entered the temple, his eyes becoming accustomed to the cool dark interior, lit by candles and smelling of incense. Dropping a coin into the poor box, he slowly knelt down, holding onto a pillar. "Thank you," he murmured. "Thank you for saving my life twice. I am indeed a new man. I promise never to let her go. I will protect her and keep her with your help. I will fulfill my destiny."

  He rose with difficulty, unconcerned with his aching knees, renewed in heart and mind.

  Phidias welcomed Thais and ushered her into the small dining room. Lydia had set the table with fresh flowers and candles. Phidias had told her that a lover from his youth was coming for dinner, but he didn't elaborate.

  They talked of his years in Pella and Asia and Egypt. "My life has not been as exciting as yours," she admitted. "After you left, Demosthenes aroused Athens periodically with revolts against Macedon, always with disastrous results. But my life has been without excitement."r />
  "Surely, you have friends. What did you do?"

  "Oh yes, I had many friends, other hetairai. I have met many men, but none as lovers." She looked down, obviously confused in her feelings.

  Phidias broke the awkward silence. He reached for the pitcher. "Would you like some more wine?"

  She nodded, "Please."

  No more was said of lovers past or present. The rest of the evening was spent in remembering pleasant times.

  At last she said, "It's getting late and I have no men to escort me home. The streets become dangerous at night."

  "Pilocrates will escort you home. He carries a heavy staff and can take care of you. When can I see you again?" Phidias was so glad that he had found his woman.

  "I usually go to the food markets in the mornings. Now I must go." She rose and they briefly hugged.

  Phidias escorted her to the door and watched as Pilocrates' lantern outlined their figures until they disappeared around a corner.

  After their dinner together, Phidias felt even more love for the woman he had left so many years before. He longed to be with her every day. He met her frequently in the markets, where he would buy fruits or vegetables for her to take home. She thanked him politely for his generosity.

  "Will you walk with me over to the nearby temple where we can sit and talk?" he asked. They talked of their lives since they had parted. Phidias made a point to meet her every day, when they would take walks in temple porticos, or the gardens of the Academy, or the Lyceum. He told her of his experiences in Asia and Egypt, of Philip and Alexander, and Ptolemy.

  "But enough of me and my life. What about you," he asked?

  "Since you left, my life has been simple. I have a few friends among the hetairai. We get together for dinner and discussions and attend the plays and festivals. My life has not been as exciting as yours. "

  He noticed that she had worn only three or four dresses and the same cloak, at all of their meetings. The sleeves were frayed and there were stains around the hem. She said that she had not taken other lovers, and he could see the signs that she had slipped into near poverty.