by Mika Waltari
I left the temple and returned to the inn, where the remains of the funerary feast, broken dishes and puddles of wine were on the floor.
Mikon was sleeping off his sorrow so soundly that I could not arouse him. Tanakil, however, was up and having her teeth fitted by the tooth-maker. Blood streamed from her gums but she drank wine to fortify herself and uncomplainingly allowed the tooth-maker to pinch her with his pliers and to thrust the golden bands securely in place. The tooth-maker lauded her bravery and was himself amazed by the beauty of the teeth he had made. When they were in place at last, he rubbed the bloody gums with an herb salve and collected the fee for his work. It was not small, but in order to increase his gains he thrust upon Tanakil tooth cleansers, face ointments, eyebrow darkeners and Carthaginian cheek coloring which made wrinkles invisible.
When he had finally left I seized Tanakil by both hands and said, “We are mature people, both of us. You are familiar with the goddess’s secret rites here in Eryx, but I also have powers that you don’t suspect. Remember what happened to Aura when I touched her. Who is the woman in whom the goddess appears to the suppliants at the temple?”
Tanakil drew back in alarm, glanced about her and said, “Speak softly, although I don’t know what you mean.”
I said firmly, “She is a woman, made of flesh and blood like me. Remember that it is in my power to reveal many things to Dorieus that might turn him from you despite your new teeth. So be frank with me and tell me what you know.”
She pondered the matter for a moment. “What exactly do you want?” she asked. “Let us be friends. Of course I shall help you if I can.”
“I want to meet that woman of the temple again,” I demanded. “As soon as possible and preferably in daylight and by ourselves.”
“That is forbidden,” insisted Tanakil. “Besides, she is but a cheap vessel whom the goddess fills with wine if she so chooses. The vessels change, but the wine of the goddess remains the same. The power is not hers. She is but a slave who has been trained in the goddess’s school.”
“That may be,” I said, “but it is precisely that cheap vessel that I desire, preferably empty and without wine, for I intend to fill her with my own wine.”
Tanakil looked at me thoughtfully, touched her new teeth and admitted, “I am consecrated, as you guessed. I will confess that I have many times helped that woman play pranks on men as they sleep the sleep of the goddess. It was she who helped Dorieus to see me fairer than Helen of Troy and to enjoy unsuspected delights in my embrace.”
“Who is she?” I asked.
“How should I know?” Tanakil shrugged her shoulders. “Such women are bought when they are young girls and are trained in the temple. This one, I think, has been trained in Carthage and has traveled in other lands as well to develop the necessary talents. The temples frequently exchange gifted women, but one who has risen to Eryx can go no farther. She can live like a goddess and experience all the pleasures of such a life until she becomes insane or useless. Don’t think of her, Turms. You are only wasting your time.”
“Tanakil,” I said, “once you told me that you believe in the goddess. I also believe in her, as I must after the many indications she has given to me of herself. She has the power to confuse the selfish calculations of humans, including even her own priests. Her whim brought me to Eryx. Her whim revealed that woman to me, and it is her whim that forces me to meet that woman again. How could I resist her whim? Help me, Tanakil. For your own sake, for my sake and also for the sake of that woman.”
Irritably Tanakil replied, “Why don’t you entrust your problem to the priest? He could prove to you better than I how wrong you are.”
“Why don’t you go to the priest yourself?” I pleaded. “Tell him that you still need the kind of advice that only a woman can give. Surely the woman is not a prisoner. Surely she can leave the temple with a trustworthy companion. After all, she appears to suppliants in many different guises and probably no one but the priests and you and naturally the temple servants even know her true face. Surely she can move as a woman among women even though she serves the goddess by night.”
“Of course she has her own amusements,” conceded Tanakil. “In fact, she is the worst slut I know. In the summer she even appears to the sailors, drovers and shepherds on the mountain slopes. No, Turms, turn your thoughts away from her. If I am an experienced and even a treacherous old woman, she is immeasurably more experienced and treacherous.”
Her cruel words alarmed me but I was sure that she was deliberately speaking unkindly of Arsinoe to lead me astray and to free herself from the predicament. I saw before me those high slanting brows, the vivid face, the beautiful mouth and the white neck. I still felt her womanly warmth on my limbs and everything within me cried out that there could be nothing evil in her.
“Tanakil,” I said, “look me in the eyes. You must obey me. Since it is so easy, go and bring her to me. In the name of the goddess I demand that you fulfill my request. Otherwise she will abandon you.”
The words made Tanakil hesitate. As a woman she knew better than I the capriciousness of the goddess and feared that the goddess really would forsake her.
“Let it happen as you wish,” she said with a sigh. “But only on condition that the woman herself consents to meet you as a person among people and in daylight. It is difficult for me to believe that, for there is not much to see in her face.”
When she had combed her hair, painted her face and donned her jewels she actually left for the temple. With the new teeth in her mouth she walked erect and with her chin up.
Nor did she remain long. Soon she reappeared with a woman dressed from head to feet in Phoenician garb and shielding her face from the sun with a fringe-bordered parasol. They came through the house to the terrace and the orchard under the flowering fruit trees. Hot waves beat through my body at sight of them. Tanakil left the woman sitting on a stone bench and said that she would bring food and drink.
“Turms,” she called, “come and make sure that none of the lowly servants disturb this goddess of the temple. I want to serve her with my own hands.”
As I took those few steps toward Arsinoe my limbs were like water and my lips trembled. Blossoms fell to my feet and the sea at the foot of the mountain was restless. She closed her parasol, raised her head and looked me in the face.
I recognized the high slanting brows but not the eyes or the cruel painted mouth.
“Arsinoe,” I whispered and extended my hand. But I did not dare to touch her.
The woman wrinkled her arched forehead impatiently. “The sunlight makes my temples throb and I have not slept enough. If I did not respect Tanakil so highly I certainly would not have awakened so early and come here to visit her. But I don’t know you. Were you speaking to me? What do you wish?”
The paint made her face look hard. In talking she narrowed her eyes to mere slits, and there were wrinkles at their corners. Her face was more experienced than I had believed in the lamplight, but the longer I looked at her the more clearly I began to discern her other face through the paint.
“Arsinoe,” I repeated in a whisper, “don’t you really remember me?”
The corners of her mouth began to tremble. She opened her eyes and they were no longer furtive but shining with joy.
“Turms, oh Turms!” she cried. “Do you really recognize my face in the daylight and as I am? Do you really fear me, like a little boy at a forbidden gate? Oh, Turms, if you only knew how afraid I myself was.”
She sprang to her feet and ran into my arms. I felt the quivering of; her body through her garment as I wound my arms around her.
“Arsinoe, Arsinoe!” I whispered. “Of course I recognize you.”
Her face began to glow as though I were holding the goddess herself in my arms. The sky above us swelled to a mighty blue and my own blood roared in my ears.
“Arsinoe,” I said, “for this I was born, for this I lived, for this I saw •my restless dreams. The veil no longer covers your
face. You have shown me your face and this moment I am ready to die.”
She placed her palms against my chest. “An arrow has pierced my heart,” she said, “and my blood runs dry whenever you look at me, Turms. Whenever you smile your godlike smile I turn powerless. How strong and beautiful are your manly limbs! Hold me tightly lest I fall. And I thought that I was an invulnerable servant of the goddess!”
She pressed her mouth against my neck, bit my chest and writhed in my lap until the brooch at her shoulder opened and her robe fell to the ground. The wind began to whine and fallen petals blew over us but no power on earth could have separated us. Anyone could have pierced us with the same spear and we would not even have been aware of it. Then her lips turned cold, her eyelids quivered, a cry burst from her throat and she grew completely limp.
Only then did I come to my senses and look around. The wind was tearing at the fruit trees and Tanakil stood beside us with billowing robe, staring at us in horror.
“Are you out of your mind, both of you!” she cried in a voice shrill with fear. “Haven’t you sense enough even to seek the shelter of the bushes like decent people?”
With shaking hands she helped Arsinoe to don her robe. Flowers and broken branches were flying through the air and reeds from the city’s roofs darkened the day. Far below us the sea foamed and mountains of clouds rolled from the horizon toward Eryx.
“You have aroused the wrath of the immortals with your obscene behavior,” Tanakil scolded us, her dark eyes gleaming with envy. “But the goddess had mercy on you and threw her veil over you. She even dimmed my eyes so that you seemed to be covered with mist. How could you have done that?”
“A storm is breaking,” I said, still panting, “a storm from the west. I don’t wonder. The storm in me and my body sweeps over all Eryx.”
Arsinoe looked down like a girl who has been found in mischief, caught Tanakil’s hand and pleaded, “Forgive us, you most blessed of all women. Help me again, for I must wash myself.”
“Let us all go in and seek the shelter of stone walls,” Tanakil suggested.
She led Arsinoe to her room where everything was ready, for that cunning and experienced woman had provided towels and warm water so that when Arsinoe had cleaned herself I also went there to wash. While I did so the three of us began to laugh without further embarrassment.
Tanakil wiped tears of laughter from her eyes and said, “Didn’t I tell you, Turms, that she is the worst slut I know! I actually envied her when I heard her squeal in your embrace just now, although she might have been pretending in order to flatter you and to draw you more easily into her power. Never believe a woman, Turms, for a woman’s body lies as cunningly as her eyes and her tongue.”
Arsinoe smiled radiantly. “Don’t believe this jealous woman, Turms. You yourself felt the mountain beneath us split and the earth tremble.”
She spoke over her shoulder as she peered into Tanakil’s bronze mirror and deftly wiped clean her cheeks and lips. The face which but a moment before had been swollen with passion was again small and childlike, but her eyes still glowed darkly and the blue of the high brows emphasized their gleam.
“Again you have a new face, Arsinoe,” I said. “But to me this is your truest face. Don’t ever mask it from me again.”
She shook her head and her hair, the traditionally fair hair of the foam-born, tumbled down her bare back. As she studied her reflection she wrinkled her nose, every thought rippling visibly across her capriciously changing face. Jealous of the mirror, I put my hand on her bare shoulder to turn her to me. She dropped the mirror and covered her face with both hands.
“In the name of the goddess!” cried Tanakil in honest amazement. “She is blushing at your very touch. Surely you are not seriously in love with each other? This is what your mysterious smiles predicted, Turms. The goddess of Eryx has bewitched you.”
“Tanakil,” I requested, “do go and bring us the refreshments that you promised, for I am unable to understand what you arc saying.”
She bobbed her head like a bird pecking at the ground, laughed to herself and said, “At least bolt the door so that I’ll know enough to knock when I return.”
After she had gone we stood staring at each other. Arsinoc paled slowly and the pupils of her eyes dilated until I was looking into black pools. I extended my arms but she raised a repelling hand.
“Don’t come,” she pleaded.
But my strength rejoiced in me and I did not heed her protests. On the contrary, they stimulated my joy, for I realized that she was compelled to bow to my will. The violence of the storm increased and rattled the shutter as though alien forces were attempting to enter the room. The roof creaked and the wind whistled through the door cracks. The spirits of the air tumbled about us in tumultuous joy while we seemed to sway on a cloud in the midst of the storm.
When we finally lay exhausted on the bed she pressed her cheek against my shoulder and said, “No man has ever made love to me in such a rapturous and fearful way.”
“Arsinoe,” I said, “to me you are fresh and untouched. No matter how many times I lay hands on you, you will always be new and untouched.”
The storm whistled through the cracks and shook the shutters. We heard the cries of people, the weeping of children and the lowing of cattle. But we were completely unmoved by any of it. I held her hands in mine as we stared into each other’s eyes.
“It is as though I had drunk poison,” she said. “I see black shadows before me and my limbs are growing cold. I seem to be slowly dying when you look at me.”
“Arsinoe, never before have I been afraid of the future. I have rushed toward it greedily and impatiently. But now I am afraid. Not for myself but for you.”
“The goddess is in me and of me,” she said. “Otherwise nothing like this could have happened. I listen to myself. Waves of fire ripple through my body and I feel within myself the bliss of the immortals. The goddess must protect us, otherwise I will no longer believe in her.”
At that moment we heard a knock on the door.
When I had unbolted it Tanakil entered with a small wineskin under her arm and some cups.
“Aren’t you even afraid of the storm?” she demanded. “Roofs have blown away, walls have crumbled and many people have been hurt. Poseidon is shaking the mountain and the sea is foaming with rage. I at least must drink some wine for courage.”
She raised the wineskin and aimed a stream into her mouth. When she had swallowed enough she filled the cups and offered them to us, talking the while.
“My hero Dorieus is tossing in bed with his head covered and moaning that the earth is swaying beneath him. Mikon is clutching his head and imagining that he is in the underworld. The day is dark and no one remembers such a sudden and violent storm, although the spring weather in Eryx is always unpredictable. But you two are frolicking mouth to mouth as though intoxicated even without wine.”
Scornfully exultant, I looked at the trembling woman and at Arsinoe whose head was bowed submissively. Some power within me raised my arms and moved my limbs in a dance as though the dance were within me. Around the room I moved in the storm dance, stamping the floor and lifting my arms as though to snatch the clouds. The storm responded to my dance with drums, trumpets and whistles.
I paused to listen, and something made my mouth shout, “Hush, wind; subside, storm, for I no longer need you!”
After only a moment the screaming of the wind through the cracks lowered to an inquisitive whine, the crash and the turmoil receded, the room lightened and everything grew calm. The storm had obeyed me.
My ecstasy vanished and I looked around. Reason assured me that it could not be true. Something in me had merely sensed that the peak of the storm had passed and had prompted my outburst.
But Tanakil stared at me with round eyes and asked fearfully, “Is it you, Turms, or did the storm-subduer enter your body?”
“I am Turms, born of a thunderbolt, and lord of the storm,” I said. “The spirits of the
air obey me. Sometimes,” reason forced me to add, “if the power is in me.”
Tanakil pointed accusingly at Arsinoe. “Already yesterday you killed an innocent girl with a touch of your finger. Today even more people have suffered because of you. If you will not think of human lives, at least consider the economic damage you have caused this innocent city.”
We went outside and saw that the storm was receding along the plain toward Segesta, felling the trees in its path. But above Eryx the sun was already shining, although the sea still seethed and the waves were beating at the cliffs so that the mountain quivered. Roofs had blown away, walls had collapsed and fowl had been killed. The ground was white with petals from fruit trees. But fortunately the people had had time to extinguish their fires so that no flames had spread.
Mikon came toward us on uncertain feet. Tears were streaming down his kindly face as he clutched at us. “Are you also dead and in the underworld? I fear that I have mistakenly drunk from the stream of forgetfulness for I can remember nothing that has occurred. Is that Kore with you, and where is the shade of my unfortunate wife Aura?
But if she is here and still as talkative as in life I don’t want to meet her for the time being.”
Only after he had felt me sufficiently and pulled at Arsinoe’s hair was he convinced.
“So you are still alive and are flesh and blood! Therefore I also am still alive. Be merciful, Turms; take a stone, break open my skull and release this swarm of angry bees that is disturbing my contemplation with its buzzing.”
He tore out a tuft of hair, stamped on it and cursed. “Behold the pig, which is the gentlest of all animals. But when it rages it bares its fangs. I, a gentle man, am no better than a pig and have no defense other than that I drank in sorrow rather than in joy.”
We calmed him after a time and then Dorieus came out with a wrinkled cloth around his shoulders.
“What has happened?” he demanded. “I distinctly dreamed that I was on a ship. It swayed beneath me and the waves crashed against its sides so violently that I thought it best to lie on my belly and grip the sides of my bed.”