The Etruscan

by Mika Waltari

  The new teeth were carved from ivory and fastened with gold bands to the remaining teeth.

  “But after that,” he said, “one can eat only food that has already been cut. The Etruscans claim that they can fasten teeth even more securely than the natural teeth, but that is probably just boasting.”

  He was a well-traveled man who said that with his own eyes he had seen in the temple of Baal in Carthage the skins of three completely hairy men which a Phoenician expedition had brought back from a voyage southward from the Pillars of Herakles. Of all the people, he declared, only the Phoenicians knew the secrets of the ocean. They had sailed so far north in it that the waters had turned to ice and so far west that the ships had been caught in a sea of seaweed.

  He told us many other unbelievable things about the Phoenicians of Carthage and we drank so much that the host sent his servant to lead the tooth carver back to his lodgings and Aura tearfully took Mikon to bed with her. I don’t know whether the wine made us more receptive to the goddess but I do know that on the following day all the foods I was permitted to eat tasted like pitch in my mouth.

  When Dorieus and Tanakil returned from the temple in the morning they clung to each other, looked at no one else and did not answer our questions. They went to sleep immediately and slept until evening, when Mikon and Aura in turn went to the temple.

  Dorieus arose and confided to me that he intended to marry Tanakil, whom he called the dove of Aphrodite.

  “In the first place,” he declared, “Tanakil is the most beautiful woman in the world. I have always respected her, but when Aphrodite entered into her in the temple her face began to shine like the sun, her body became as consuming as a pyre and I realized that from now on she would be the only woman in the world for me. Secondly, she is infinitely wealthy. Thirdly, through her earlier marriages and her own birth she has excellent connections with most of the land of Eryx. Heretofore she has not used them to political advantage because she is a woman. But I have succeeded in arousing her ambition.”

  “In the name of the goddess,” I cried, “are you really going to bind yourself to a Phoenician hag who could be your grandmother?”

  But Dorieus was not even angered by my words. With a pitying shake of his head he replied, “You are the one who is crazy, not I. Some witchcraft has blinded your eyes so that you fail to see how fine-featured Tanakil’s face is, how her eyes shine and how full-blown her figure is.”

  His eyes began to gleam like a bull’s; he rose and said, “Why am I wasting time in chattering with you? My dove, my Aphrodite, is undoubtedly waiting for me impatiently after having tried her new teeth.”

  Later that night when the house had grown still Tanakil crept out of her bedchamber, came to me and asked joyously, “Has Dorieus confided our great secret to you? You must have noticed already in Himera that he took advantage of my widowhood. Now, because of the goddess, he has promised to make me an honorable woman once more.

  I said sharply that Dorieus as a Spartan was inexperienced in matters of the heart. She, Tanakil, as a three-time widow should have known better than to seduce a susceptible man.

  But Tanakil replied accusingly, “Dorieus is the one who has been the seducer. When you came to my house I would never even have thought of tempting him, for I am an old woman. Even last night I repulsed him three times but three times he weakened me.”

  She spoke so convincingly that I was compelled to believe. I do not know whether the witchery of the goddess was responsible or whether it was just the wine that dimmed my eyes, but in the light of the torch Tanakil’s features appeared beautiful and her black eyes gleamed compellingly. Dorieus’ behavior suddenly became understandable.

  Noticing that my heart had melted, Tanakil sat beside me, placed her hand on my knee and explained, “Dorieus’ liking for me is not nearly so unnatural as you think. He has hinted at many things that not even he understands, but I who have buried three husbands can read a man’s mind from half a word. He told me that that forefather of his, Herakles, dressed in a woman’s clothes for a year during which he wove cloth and did other womanly tasks although he was usually a most quarrelsome man. Once a part of the herd that he had stolen fled to Sicily by swimming across the straits from Italy. A valuable bull named Europa was among them, and Herakles left his other cattle to search for the escaped animals. In pursuing them he reached Eryx and killed its king but restored the land to the Elymi. Before leaving he said that one of his descendants would some day return to claim the land as his legacy.”

  Tanakil raised her hands to her face in confusion. “Forgive me for prattling so in my joy. But as I understand it Dorieus, as Herakles’ heir, considers himself the only legal king of Eryx and hence also of Segesta. As a woman I am not nearly so interested in this matter as he is. A man has to engage in all kinds of political activities and it helps to pass his time. But I noticed how approvingly Dorieus told me time and again about Herakles’ dressing like a woman. He has also told me that Spartan boys are separated from their mothers at the age of seven to live only among men. It is obvious that poor Dorieus secretly yearns for the motherly care and tenderness that he never enjoyed. This explains his inclination for a woman as old as I. I understand his secret desires better than any other woman could.”

  “But we are bound to our commander Dionysius. As soon as the sailing season begins we must follow him across the sea to Massilia.”

  Into my mind came the senseless thought that with the aid of Aphrodite I could abduct Kydippe and take her with me on the voyage.

  But Tanakil shook her head and said firmly, “Dorieus will remain obediently at home and will no longer sail the uncertain seas. After all, he has been trained for land war. Why should he go to some barbaric country when his legacy matter must be pursued here?”

  “Are you really going to encourage Dorieus in his wild dreams?” I demanded. “Haven^t those altars and monuments to the invaders warned you sufficiently? You have already buried three husbands. Why let the Segestans bury a fourth?”

  Tanakil pondered a moment, chin in hand. “Men have their own pursuits,” she said finally. “In all honesty, I really don’t know what I’ll do. Physically Dorieus is, without a doubt, a regal man and the dog crown of Segesta would become him. But I fear that he is entirely too stupid to be a king in Sicily’s complicated political situation. The rattling of shields and the cleaving of skulls with a sword does not suffice as statesmanship. But if he wants to make me a queen as well as an honorable woman, I must bow to his will.”

  3.

  Mikon and Aura returned from the temple in the morning, both deadly pale and with dark shadows under their eyes from being awake all night. Mikon put Aura to bed, covered her and kissed her forehead. Then he came to me with trembling knees.

  “I promised to tell you about the goddess’s appearance so that you might be prepared,” he said, wiping his forehead, “but it is so bewildering that I can find no words to describe it. I suppose she appears in different ways to different people and to each according to his needs. Besides, I had to swear that I would never reveal the manner of her appearance. You probably noticed that Aura was completely silent upon our return. All this may be similar to the tranquilizing of the sick in Aesculapius’ temple, but I have only to touch Aura with my hand to silence her so that I may contemplate supernatural matters.”

  Late that afternoon Aura awakened and began to call Mikon. He winked at me, sat on the edge of her bed, pulled down the cover and with his fingertip touched the tip of the girl’s breast. A deep sigh escaped her, her face grew even paler, her eyes stared into blankness, her body twitched and became still.

  “You see, Turms,” said Mikon proudly, “what powers Aphrodite has given me. But the person on whom the goddess lavishes such gifts will die young. I don’t mean myself but Aura. I feel no physical enjoyment whatsoever; merely spiritual satisfaction in knowing that I have control over her body.”

  “But how do you know that you and only you affect her like that?
” I asked. “Perhaps any other man could do the same; in which case I truly don’t envy you.”

  Mikon stared at me. “I am the one she has pursued ever since I initiated her into the embrace of Aphrodite of Akraia. Now Aphrodite of Eryx has shown her power by making Aura so susceptible that the mere touch of a finger induces an erotic exaltation. It saves me much trouble and time which I can utilize in the meditation of divine matters. But I can’t understand how anyone else could produce the same effect.”

  Blinded by the goddess, I suggested, “It would be wisest to make sure, if only for scientific reasons. I don’t know why you should be any different from other men if Aura is once so sensitive.”

  Mikon smiled a superior smile. “You don’t know what you are saying, Turms. You are younger than I and less experienced in these matters. But why don’t you test it if you wish? Then we shall see.”

  I assured him that I did not mean myself and suggested that we let someone else, for example the innkeeper, make the experiment. But Mikon said that he was reluctant to let a stranger’s hand touch his wife’s breasts.

  The more I protested, the more anxious he was that I try, swelling like a frog in sheer smugness. Thus, when Aura’s lids began to flicker and she sat up in bed, asking in a weak voice what had happened, Mikon thrust me to her side. I extended my forefinger and hesitantly touched the tip of her breast.

  The result of the unhappy experiment exceeded all expectations. A spark flashed from my finger and I felt the flick of an invisible whip on my arm. Aura’s body twitched, her mouth opened, her face darkened as the blood rushed to her head, and she fell back in the bed, her limbs jerking convulsively. A rattle sounded in her throat as the air was ejected from her lungs. Her eyes became lifeless and then her already weakened heart failed and she passed away before we even realized what had happened.

  But even in death the glassy eyes and open mouth were touched with a smile of such an agonizing ecstasy that I can never forget the sight. Mikon hastened to chafe her hands but soon realized the futility of his effort.

  Our cries of distress brought Tanakil and Dorieus, and the servants fetched the innkeeper. At first he wrung his hands and shouted and cursed, but then came to his senses, indicated Aura’s face and admitted, “No one could hope for a happier death. Her face shows of what she died.”

  While Mikon sat with his head between his hands, crushed by sorrow, Tanakil arranged with the innkeeper to have the body washed and removed and the bed cleaned. Dorieus was so shocked by the event that he again cut a tuft of hair from his head and burned it. He patted Mikon’s shoulder and spoke words of comfort.

  The same night we gathered in the yard of the temple where Aura, clothed in beautiful garments, with her cheeks and lips colored and hair ornamented with pearl combs, lay on the pyre of white poplars fairer than she had ever been in life. The temple sacrificed incense and perfumes for the pyre and Mikon lighted it saying, “To the goddess.”

  At the suggestion of the priests we did not engage wailing women but instead young girls to dance the goddess’s dances around the pyre and to sing her praises with Elymian hymns. So moving was the sight that, as the flames shot up against the limpid sky and the smell of burning flesh was lost in the fragrance of the incense, we wept tears of joy for Aura and wished one another as beautiful and quick a death in as sacred a place.

  “A long life is by no means a desirable gift from the gods,” said Mikon pensively. “Rather does it indicate that a person is slow and stubborn and needs a longer time to fulfill his mission than some faster person. A long life is usually also accompanied by a dimming of the eyes and a tendency to believe former times were better than the present. If I were wiser, I would perhaps throw myself on Aura’s pyre and follow her on her journey, but a binding omen would be needed for that. In all that has happened, however, I can see no other binding sign but that this marriage was a mistake. That realization enables me to bear my deep sorrow manfully.”

  But all the time my mind was troubled by the unresolved question of Aura’s death. Would she really have died from the touch of any other man or was I unwittingly the sole cause of her death? I looked at my nails and assured myself that as a person I was like everyone else. But the diet of the goddess and the wine that I had been drinking for three days at the request of the priests were dulling my powers of reasoning. I was haunted by the memory of the storm on the road to Delphi and the sea which had foamed at my call. I had also recognized the sacred places of the Siculi and with the black Etruscan cup in my hand I had soared to the ceiling. Perhaps that was why Aura had died of my touch when I had thoughtlessly and in sheer curiosity extended my finger to touch her.

  With the setting of the sun the funeral pyre crumbled and the sea turned amethyst. Mikon was inviting the people to the funerary feast when one of the priests came to me and said, “The time has come for you to prepare for the goddess.”

  I had thought that the unexpected death would postpone my turn in the temple. But as the priest touched me I realized that this was how it should be. With the heat of the funeral pyre, the smell of the incense in my nostrils, the darkening sea and the lighting of the first star, I was overcome by a conviction that at some time in the past I had lived that same moment. So buoyant did I feel myself that my feet barely touched the ground as I followed the priest to his lodging.

  There he asked me to take off my clothes, after which he studied me, looked at the whites of my eyes, blew into my mouth and asked what had caused the white blemishes on my arms. I explained truthfully that they were burns, but did not consider it necessary to say that they had been caused by the burning reeds blown off the roofs at Sardis. When he had examined me, he anointed my armpits, chest and groin with a pungent salve and extended a handful of fragrant grass with which I was to rub my palms and the soles of my feet. With his every touch I felt increasingly buoyant until my body was like air. Joy bubbled within me and I felt that at any moment I could have burst into laughter.

  Finally he helped me don a woolen mantle decorated with a design of doves and myrtle leaves. Then he conducted me indifferently to the steps of the temple and said, “Enter.”

  “What must I do?” I asked.

  “That is your own affair,” he replied. “Do what you wish, but after a moment you will feel drowsy and then ever more drowsy. The drowsiness will creep into your limbs, your eyelids will close and you will be unable to open them. You will rest more deeply than you ever have, but you will not sleep. Then something will happen, you will open your eyes and meet the goddess.”

  He pushed me on my way and returned to his lodging. I walked into the silent darkness of the temple and waited until my eyes became accustomed to the glimmer of night that shone faintly through an opening in the roof. Then I distinguished the empty pedestal of the goddess and before it a lion-legged couch, the very sight of which made me sleepy. As soon as I had stretched out on it I began to feel so heavy that I marveled how a light couch could support my weight and why I did not plunge through the stone floor to the depths of the earth. My eyes closed. I knew that I did not sleep, but I felt myself sinking, endlessly sinking.

  Suddenly I opened my eyes to bright sunlight and saw that I was seated on a stone bench in a market place. The shadows of passing people glided over the worn flagstones. When I raised my head I did not recognize the place. People were busy selling their wares, peasants led donkeys laden with baskets of vegetables, and beside me a wrinkled old woman had placed a few cheeses on display.

  I roamed through the city and knew then that I had, after all, once walked those same streets. The houses were ornamented with painted tiles, the paving was worn from much use and as I turned a corner I saw before me a temple with its colonnade. I entered and a sleepy doorkeeper sprinkled a few drops of holy water on me. At that moment I heard a tiny sound, a tinkle.

  I opened my eyes to the darkness of the temple of Aphrodite of Eryx and knew that my vision had been only a dream although I had not slept.

  Anot
her tinkle brought me to my feet. Never before had I felt so rested, so alert and so sensitive. In the dim light I saw that a veiled woman had seated herself on the edge of the goddess’s pedestal. From neck to heels she was swathed in a glittering robe heavy with embroidery. A gleaming wreath on her head held in place the veil that concealed her face. She moved, and again I heard the same tinkle of her bracelets. She moved, she lived and was real.

  “If you are the goddess,” I said tremblingly, “show me your face.”

  I heard a laugh behind the veil. The woman assumed a more comfortable position and said in understandable Greek, “The goddess has no face of her own. Whose face do you wish to see, Turms, you temple-burner?”

  Suspicion seized me, for her laugh was a human laugh, her voice a human voice, and no one in Eryx could know that I had once set fire to the temple of Cybele at Sardis. Only Dorieus or Mikon could have gossiped about it to this unknown person.

  I said sharply, “Be your face what it may, it is too dark here to see it.”

  “You skeptic!” she laughed. “Do you think that the goddess fears light?” Her bracelets tinkled as she struck a flame and lighted the lamp beside her. Blinking after the darkness, I was able to distinguish the pearl design on her robe and smelled the faint fragrance of amber.

  “You are a mortal like me,” I said in disappointment. “You are a woman like other women. I expected to meet the goddess.”

  “Isn’t the goddess a woman?” she asked. “More a woman than any mortal woman. What do you want of me?”

  “Show me your face,” I demanded and took a step toward her.

  She stiffened and her voice changed. “Don’t touch me. It isn’t permitted.”

  “Would I turn to ashes?” I asked mockingly. “Would I drop lifeless to the ground if I were to touch you?”

  Her voice was warning. “Don’t jest about such a thing. Remember what happened to you today when you sacrificed a human to the goddess.”