by Laurie Gray
“I’m talking about your future, Myrto,” said Plato. A future for you and for Sophroniscus and Menexenus.”
A chill ran up my spine. “I … I don’t understand,” I stammered. For the first time in weeks I could hear the silent scream burst out within me.
“I have asked Socrates for your hand in marriage,” Plato said. “Not right away, of course.” He rushed on. “There would need to be a proper period of mourning. But after that, he has given us his blessing to marry.”
My heart pounded and my mind raced. I could hear and feel the roar. I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said finally.
“I know.” Plato replied. “That is why I wanted to talk to you now, so that you could ask Socrates yourself.” He raised his eyebrows and gave me a hopeful look. He reached for my hand and his eyes filled with tears. “I love you, Myrto. From the first moment I saw you, I’ve loved you.” He held both of my hands in his. “We are young. Our whole lives lie ahead.”
I felt so bewildered. I could not respond. “Sophroniscus,” I whispered. “Menexenus.”
“I would love them and raise them like my own sons,” Plato promised. “I’m not asking you to be my servant, Myrto. I’m asking you to be my partner.” Plato stood and began to pace as he talked.
“Together we could rebuild Athens. We would be like Pericles and Aspasia, only we would both be citizens and equal partners. Forget democracy and tyrants and kings. Athens needs a republic, and we could build it together. We would rule justly and with integrity.”
He came back and sat beside me. “I know I’m rambling,” he said. “I know now is not the time to discuss details, and I’m not asking for your answer now either. I’m only asking that you think about your future and the future of your sons. If you have any doubts, talk to Socrates.”
“Socrates,” I said. “Yes, I must go to Socrates.”
Plato stood and lifted me gently to my feet. “Go,” he said quietly. “Go to Socrates.”
When I arrived at the prison cell, a small crowd remained. Everyone sensed that the end drew near, and many did not know how to let go. Faced with Plato’s proposal, I felt myself wanting to cling to Socrates as well. I left the group in the cell, walked down the corridor and seated myself in the large courtyard at the far end of the prison.
A young prison guard followed me down the corridor. The number of jailers increased with the number of passing days and the growing crowds. All of them treated me kindly. “Is there anything I can get for you, ma’am?” asked the guard.
“No, thank you,” I replied. I walked around the courtyard until I came upon a patch of myrtle.
“Would you like me to let you know when all of the men have gone?” the guard asked.
“You are very thoughtful,” I said. “Yes, please let me know once Socrates is alone.” He nodded and returned to his post by Socrates’ cell.
As the last rays of daylight disappeared from the sky, a crescent moon shone brightly overhead. I sat on the edge of the courtroom fountain and tried to think of nothing. I breathed deeply and felt the roar within me subside a bit. What am I feeling? Anger. Why am I angry? Plato! He thinks he can replace Socrates!
I dipped my hand in the fountain, dispelling the reflection of my image into the moon’s shimmering light. If the gods had asked me to choose between Plato and Socrates on my wedding night, there would have been no contest.
Plato is so much younger and more physically attractive. And he is charming. He is the one who awakened my first true desire—the desire to read.
Plato’s wife would never have to worry about having her and her children’s daily needs provided. She would have many slaves and servants.
I can choose to love Plato. I do love Plato. I will always love him as a friend and brother, but I can never love him as I have loved Socrates.
“Hello, my love,” Socrates’ voice interrupted my thoughts.
I turned and ran to his arms. “You are out of your cell!” I exclaimed. I realized I was crying and blotted my eyes with the sleeve of my tunic.
Socrates nodded. “Crito has paid all of the jailers handsomely. They’ve given me ample opportunities to escape.”
“And will you?” I asked. At that moment I wanted only to walk out together, find Sophroniscus and Menexenus, and leave Athens forever.
“You know I cannot,” replied Socrates. “I am an Athenian. Crito can pay to open the prison cell, but he cannot purchase my freedom as a citizen of Athens.”
Socrates took my hand, and we walked around the courtyard together. “It does feel good to walk, even if we are going nowhere,” Socrates commented as we continued to walk the circle.
“Plato stopped me on my way here tonight,” I said. “He told me he had talked to you about your wishes once you are gone.”
“Once I am gone, I will have no wishes,” Socrates said.
“But Plato said that you wish for him to marry me and raise your sons after you are gone,” I told him.
“Those are Plato’s wishes, not mine,” replied Socrates.
I sighed loudly in exasperation. “So you do not want me to marry Plato?” I asked. I found myself walking more abruptly and pulling Socrates along with me.
“All I want is for you to be happy,” said Socrates.
“And you think your dying and my marrying Plato will make me happy?” I stepped in front of him, blocking his path and placing my closed fists on his chest between us.
“Plato is not happy about my dying.” Socrates covered my fists with his hands and bent down to kiss each one individually. “But if I must die, then Plato does want to marry you.”
“I am not happy about your dying!” I cried. I drummed my fists on his chest, not wanting to hurt him, yet wanting him to feel my pain. Socrates put his arms around me and pulled me close.
“I cannot live in this body forever, Myrto,” Socrates whispered in my ear. “When I am gone, I want you to find your own happiness.”
“By marrying Plato?” I asked. My voice trembled. Tears ran down my cheeks and onto Socrates’ prison garb.
“If that is what you want, then you have my blessing,” he said. “Your life is entirely up to you.”
“But it’s not!” I argued. “A woman born in Athens has no legal standing apart from a man. It seems marrying Plato would solve all of my problems.”
“Marriage is never the answer to anyone’s problems.” Socrates took my hand and led me back to his prison cell. “You know, Aspasia seemed to do just fine even after the death of Pericles and the death of Lysicles.” He motioned for me to sit on a couch beside him.
“But she was a foreigner, not a woman born in Athens,” I countered, moving to the far end of the couch and keeping some distance between us.
“Yes,” agreed Socrates, “but she was confronted with the same customs you are, and the same issues of propriety that seek to restrain us all.”
I sat in silence, recalling the fear I felt when Father died, wondering what would become of me. “When Father died, you and my brother Aristides made arrangements for me according to custom. You never said I had a choice.”
Socrates reached out to give me comfort. “You never asked.”
My frustration drove me to my feet, and I began pacing before my husband. He dropped his hands in his lap. “And now that you know you have a choice, you seem angry that you must decide for yourself.”
“I am angry!” I cried. “I’m angry at you for dying. I’m angry at Plato for wanting to marry me. I am angry at all of Athens for condemning you unjustly.”
Socrates nodded. “Anger is a most appropriate response to injustice.”
I waited for him to say more, but he did not. His simple acknowledgment and acceptance of my anger somehow worked to assuage it. I sat down right next to him and laid my head in his lap. “What am I going to do? It’s not just me. I have to do what’s best for Sophroniscus and Menexenus.”
Socrates stroked the hair around my ear. “What’s best for you will be best for our s
ons. You must be true to yourself, Myrto.”
“I’m afraid,” I whispered.
“I understand that fear.” Socrates leaned down and kissed my head. “The courage it takes to be true to oneself is greater even than that of a man in combat or a woman in childbirth.”
36
EVEN BEFORE DAWN the following morning, one of the jailers rapped lightly on the prison door. “The ship has been sighted just off the coast,” he announced. Grief filled his voice. “It will surely dock today.” He left us in silence.
We lay together, holding each other, full of life and love, for the last time. As dawn broke, my heart broke with it. I kissed my husband goodbye and wandered home, a lost soul.
Lamprocles saw me approaching and rushed to meet me. “I can see the sorrow in your every step,” he cried.
I nodded. “The ship has returned.” We held each other and cried shamelessly until there were no more tears inside either of us.
“I will not go back,” I told Lamprocles.
He nodded. “I will take my mother and brothers to say our goodbyes.”
In the days that followed, Sophroniscus and Menexenus were my salvation. They were too young to understand, and they needed me in the most ordinary ways. I viewed each moment through their eyes, gratefully partaking of their innocence and wonder. If what was best for me was best for them, then perhaps also what was best for them was best for me.
Xanthippe and Lamprocles fulfilled all the duties of a wife and son from burial rituals to public lamentations. I mourned privately in silence. I neither cut my hair nor tore my garments. When the children slept, I found myself contemplating nothing for long periods of time. There were no silent screams, no roaring tides of emotion. Instead, I discovered great healing in absolute nothingness.
After an appropriate passage of time, Plato came to call. Lamprocles greeted him coolly, and Xanthippe’s invitation to pass through our front gate was less than welcoming.
“Let’s go for a walk so that we may talk privately,” Plato suggested.
I nodded and reached for my cloak.
Xanthippe nudged Lamprocles. “You will accompany them. Walk far enough behind them so that you cannot hear what they are saying, but do not let her out of your sight.”
Plato looked offended, but I found myself smiling warmly.
We walked toward the River Illisus. At first we walked in silence with Plato looking back over his shoulder to keep Lamprocles at a distance.
“You look beautiful, Myrto,” Plato said at last. I said nothing. Plato talked of all the goings on in the city since Socrates’ death. “Most Athenians regret the execution of Socrates,” he said. “They’ve commissioned a sculptor to set up a statue in his memory.”
I laughed. “A cold, hard statue that will never question anyone,” I said. “That is not how I would choose to honor his memory.”
“But don’t you see?” asked Plato. “You and I can do more than honor his memory. We can build his legacy.”
“How?” I asked.
“The fields are ripe and ready for harvest,” Plato said earnestly. Then he lowered his voice. “I have friends who can arrange for a small uprising. They will gladly assist us in establishing a truly just society in Athens.”
“What is a truly just society?” I asked. “What does that even mean?”
“It means a republic, ruled by philosophers, men and women alike who understand political organization and how to educate young people on the precise nature of justice and virtue.” Plato’s voice grew louder as he attempted to persuade me. “Surely you agree that all people will have a better, happier life with just rulers than with unjust rulers.”
“And where will Athens find such wise and just rulers?” I asked.
“I’m talking about us, Myrto. You and me together.”
“Why us?” I asked.
“There is no one else!” Plato exclaimed. “No one loved Socrates like we did. Athens will embrace us, if only to absolve itself of Socrates’ death.”
“What about Lamprocles?” I asked. “Surely they would embrace Socrates’ son over us.”
Plato shook his head. “He’s just now begun training as an ephebe.” Plato looked back over his shoulder at Lamprocles. “It will be two years before he’s a full citizen. The time to build a republic is now. Two years may be too late.”
“No,” I replied. “Talk to Lamprocles. I need to take care of my sons. My duty is to them, not to the Athenians who killed their father.”
Plato took a deep breath. “Do you really think that Lamprocles is interested in government? I’ve heard he aspires to become a physician. I’m quite certain that we could arrange for him to become an apprentice to Hippocrates.” He looked back at Lamprocles again and smiled. “Lamprocles could learn a lot from Hippocrates.”
“Hippocrates could learn a lot from Lamprocles,” I said.
Plato groaned. We were approaching the river. Plato motioned for us to have a seat on the bank.
“It’s too soon, isn’t it?” he said finally. “You’re just not ready.”
I shook my head. “It’s not about timing,” I told him. “I have no desire to rule anyone. That’s your dream, not mine.”
“No, Myrto,” said Plato. “My dream is not to rule anyone. I saw how that kind of power turned my Uncle Charmides and my cousin Critias into tyrants.” He leaned in toward me, and I caught a glimpse of the hope that had lighted his eyes the day I first met him. “My dream is for a just society. When our rulers fail to love wisdom, then it’s time for those who love wisdom to become rulers.”
I turned to watch the water running its course in the riverbed. So much had changed. I was not the same Myrto and he was not the same Plato that met in the marketplace years ago. Still, I recalled Socrates words from that day: “Is there anyone who loves wisdom and justice more than Plato?”
I looked again at Plato. He did love wisdom and justice. And Socrates. But loving the same things did not mean that we shared the same duty. “My duty is to my family,” I told him again.
Plato reached out and gently lifted my chin to look me squarely in the eyes. “We could be family,” he said. “Forget everything I said about governing and rulers. Just marry me. Marry me because I love you.”
I could feel tears welling in the back of my eyes, so I lowered my head and closed them.
When I finally looked up, Plato said, “You do at least have some feelings for me, don’t you, Myrto?” His eyes held mine, searching for the truth behind my tears. “I’m not asking you to love me the way you loved Socrates. I’m asking you to love me as a friend. Let’s continue together in our pursuit of wisdom. In honor of Socrates.”
I lay back on the bank and looked up into the sky. White fleecy clouds floated serenely above us, completely free from the world of problems far below them. They glided smoothly onward like a herd of winged rams. It was in this moment that I felt it for the first time: the courage to be myself, the desire to dream my own dreams and live my own life.
“I do have feeling for you, Plato,” I confessed. “I love you as a friend and a brother.”
“Then marry me,” he replied. “Be my companion and my partner. I’ll never bring up politics again.”
“But what would you do with yourself all day?” I asked.
“We could build a school and educate young men and women alike,” he replied.
I shook my head.
“What?” asked Plato.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Tell me,” Plato urged.
“I know nothing,” I said. “How can I teach anyone anything?” I stood to leave. “I am content raising my sons and teaching young orphans to read. They will learn for themselves.”
Plato jumped up and caught my hand. “We don’t have to get married. Just be with me. I will take an oath of chastity for you and only you.”
I looked past Plato and saw Lamprocles off in the distance. I wanted nothing but to go home.
“Myrto,” Plato whispere
d. “I would never force myself upon you.” He turned me so that we were facing the river together. After several moments of silence, he smiled. “I would, however, allow you to seduce me any time you desire.”
That smile had once brought warmth to my cheeks and stirring in my chest, but not today. There was none of that. My life was my own, and I would keep it that way. “No,” I said softly. “It’s time for me to go home.”
Plato brushed the grass from his tunic and looked across the river to the wall surrounding Athens. I walked with him up the embankment and over to the bridge. We stood silently on the bridge, staring at our reflections in the water below.
“I’ll walk you home,” he said.
“No,” I replied. “I’ll walk back with Lamprocles.”
“I’ll return tomorrow and ask you again,” he said. “And the day after that and the day after that. I’ll come back every day until you agree to marry me,” he insisted.
“No,” I said again. “You will live your life and let me live mine. There is no greater gift we could offer in memory of Socrates than to know and to be ourselves.”
Plato’s shoulders slumped and his head hung low. When he finally looked up at me I could see tears streaming down his face. “That’s it? Can I offer you nothing?”
I could feel the tears on my cheeks as well. I forced a smile. “For me, nothing is the beginning of everything.”
Plato shook his head. “You are even more puzzling than Socrates. And now I’ve lost you both.” He kissed me on the cheek and walked sadly across the bridge alone.
I turned and walked back to where Lamprocles was waiting. “You’re not going to marry him?” he asked anxiously.
“No,” I replied. “I cannot be who he wants me to be.”
Lamprocles leaped into the air with a shout. When he landed, he threw his arms around me and hugged me.
“Let’s go home,” Lamprocles said.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Let’s go home.”