THREISSA
Who’s there at the door?
(He ventriloquizes the answer.)
GYLLIS
It’s me who’s here!
THREISSA
Who’s me? You’re afraid
To come on in, aren’t you?
(Horrified by the way she has put the question, covers her mouth with both hands.)
GYLLIS
I’m as in
As I can get till you open the door.
THREISSA
Yes, but who are you?
GYLLIS
It’s Gyllis is who.
Philainion’s mother. Tell Metrikhé
I’ve come to pay her sweet self a visit.
(Switches wigs, stole for apron.)
METRIKHÉ
Who is it, pray, at the door?
GYLLIS
It’s Gyllis!
Mother Gyllis as ever was!
METRIKHÉ
Gyllis!
(To Threissa, with shooing hands.)
Malee yourself scarce, slave. Off with you now, scat.
Gyllis! What stroke of good luck brings you by?
Like a god dropping down on us mortals!
It has been months, five or six, I’ll swear,
Since I’ve had so much as a glimpse of you,
Not even in a dream. And here you are.
(Jumps into the empty space to which she was talking, catching a tackier stole and an old woman’s out-of-date bonnet on the way. Stoops at the shoulders, sucks in mouth, draws in on himself, losing height. Voice shaky but chirpy.)
GYLLIS
I don’t live near, child, and as for the road
You can sink into the mud past your knees.
I’m as weak as a housefly, anyway.
I’m old, girl. Old age is my shadow now.
METRIKHÉ
Such talk. Exaggeration, all of it.
You wouldn’t turn down a nudge, you know it.
GYLLIS
(Cackles.)
Make fun! You young women think we’re all
Just like you.
METRIKHÉ
(Pats hair, rolls eyes.)
Well, don’t include me, I’m sure!
GYLLIS
What I’ve come to see you about, my chit,
Is a word to the wise.
(Grins horribly.)
For how long now
Have you been deprived of a husband, dear?
How long alone in your bed? In Egypt,
On a business trip, is he, your Mandris?
It’s five months he has been away and not
A letter of the alphabet from him.
(Lets this sink in.)
Hasn’t he found another cup to sip?
Hasn’t he forgotten you, don’t you think?
(Wide-eyed.)
What I’ve heard of Egypt! Her very home,
The Goddess.
(Pats her groin.)
They’ve got everything there is,
Everything that grows, everything that’s made.
Rich families, gymnasiums, money,
Peace, famous places and philosophers,
Grand sights, army, charming boys, the altar
Of their god who married his own sister.
They have a good king.
(Thinks hard for more.)
A museum. Wine.
Every wonderful thing you might want!
Also, by Koré the bride of Hades,
More women than there are stars in the sky,
And every one of them, dear Metrikhé,
As pretty as the lady goddesses
Who stood naked before Paris that time
To be sized up, forgive the expression.
God forbid they hear me put it like that.
(Averts bad luck with a pious gesture.)
Whatever then can you be thinking of,
My poor girl, to sit here doing nothing?
Bird on an empty nest! All fires go out,
Leaving ashes. Old age is for certain.
Perk up, look about, have a little fun.
Does a ship have only the one anchor?
It has two! When you’re dead, you’re dead.
Why should this one life be grey and dreary?
(Quietly, reflectively.)
It’s uncertain enough for us women.
(Brightens.)
Perhaps you have somebody on the sly?
METRIKHÉ
Of course not!
GYLLIS
Then listen well to me, dear.
I’ve come here with a jolly little plan.
There is a nice young man, name of Gryllos,
Pataikos’ daughter Mataliné’s son.
Five prizes in athletics has he won.
One in the Pythian Games at Delphi
When he was a mere stripling of a boy,
Two at Korinthos, the down on his cheeks,
Two at the Olympics, men’s boxing match.
(Warms to her subject.)
And he is very well to do, sweetheart.
What’s more, he has never mashed the grass down
In that way.
(Proud of her delicacy.)
That is, he is a virgin.
He has yet to press his seal in the wax.
He is still a stranger to Kythera.
(Huddling closer.)
And Metrikhé, he has fallen for you!
At the festival parade of Misa.
He is turned around, his insides stirred up.
Knowing my skill as a good matchmaker,
He came to me, tears in his handsome eyes,
Pestered me day and night, pitifully,
Near death, and said that love has laid him low.
(Throws her arms wide, and stands hovering.)
Metrikhé, poppet, give Aphrodite
Half a chance, one lovely sweet naughty fling.
We get old, all of us, quite soon enough.
You stand to gain two ways: you’ll be loved,
And the boy is both rich and generous.
Look here, think what I am doing for you
And I’m doing it because I love you.
METRIKHÉ
(Sternly, after a longish, shocked silence with downcast eyes.)
You’re as blind, Gyllis, as your hair’s white.
By Demeter! By my faith in Mandris,
I would not so calmly have abided
Such cheek as this from anybody but you,
And that only because of your years.
I would have given such limping twaddle
Good reason to be lame. Better reason,
Still, to keep away from my door. Make sure,
Old woman, that you don’t come here again
With rigmarole not fit for decent ears.
And do let me sit here doing nothing,
As you put it. Nobody gets away
With insulting my Mandris to my face.
Not what you came to hear, is it, Gyllis?
(Expels breath in exasperation. Softens manner. Calls over shoulder.)
Threissa! Wipe the black cup clean with a cloth,
Pour a tot in a dribble of water.
Bring Gyllis a little nip for the road.
There, Gyllis, drink up.
GYLLIS
(Hurt.)
Thank you, dear, but no.
(Broods with pouting lip.)
Metrikhé, sweet.
(No reply.)
I’m not here to tempt you.
I’m here on Lady Aphrodite’s work
It was at the festival he found love.
So religious.
METRIKHÉ
(Throws up hands.)
On Aprhodite’s work!
GYLLIS
(Primly.)
Yes.
METRIKHÉ
Your health. Drink up. So nice you could come.
GYLLIS
(Philosophically.)
Lovely wine you have, dear. By Demeter.
Gyllis has never had any better.
(Drains cup, with a lick around the rim.)
I suppose now I’d best be on my way.
Sincerely yours, sweetheart. Keep well, and all.
(Seeming to change the subject.)
Myrtle and Tippy, they keep themselves young.
And myself, I can still shuffle around.
(Actor shuffles, wags his behind, winks broadly, and takes his bow.)
II. The Whorehouse Manager
(Battaros, a whorehouse manager, is pleading a case of assault and battery against one Thales, captain of a merchant ship, in a law court in Kos. The actor wears a preposterously big Scythian moustache, a black roachy wig reeking of some fruity essence sharpened by pine oil. His eyes are raccooned with violet circles, his fingers are crowded with trashy rings, his robe is decidedly the color and cut for a dinner party but not for a court of law. He speaks with the brass and vulnerable dignity of an alley lawyer. His accent is foreign, with a trace of a lisp.)
BATTAROS
(In a pitched voice, with gestures.)
Gentlemen of the court, it is not whom
We are, or the prestige we have downtown,
Nor whether Thales here owns a ship which
It is worth one hundred fifty thousand,
Or, as is true, I don’t have bread to eat,
But whether he’s going to do me dirt
Without he answers to the law for it.
(Gasps, worn out by such eloquence.)
Because if he’s to answer to the law,
He’s got a sorry lot to answer for,
Which I am about to accuse him of.
A citizen, a man of property,
Is he? Let me tell you, he has a name
Not all that different from mine in town.
We do business as we have to, to live,
Not as we, given a choice, would like to.
He backs the boxer Mennês. Me, I back
The wrestler Aristophon, as is known.
Now this Mennês has won a match or two,
Aristophon can squeeze a breath out yet,
I kid you not. See if you recognize
This Mennês after dark, but believe me
I will be escorted, rest you assured.
(Waggles eyebrows. Realizes that he has strayed far from what he ought to be saying. Collects thoughts, takes aim, and gets back to his subject.)
Thales’ plea, no doubt, is going to be
He brought a cargo of wheat from Akês
Back when we had the famine. Fine and good!
I import girls from Tyros. How is this
With the people? He did not bring them wheat
And give it to them. Nor are my girls free.
He seems to think they are though, free gratis.
If he means, because he crosses the sea,
Because he wears a coat costs three hundred
In Attika, if he means, while I wear
This thin old shirt and these worn-out sandals
And keep house on the dry land, if he means
He can get away with forcing a girl
Behind my back, in the middle of the night,
Me sound asleep for hours in my bed,
To run away with him, then I submit
This city’s no longer safe to live in.
No, not safe to live in, our proud city!
Where then is all our boasting and boosting?
He undermines us, this Thales, who should,
Like me, know his place, keep to his level,
Like me, respectful to all citizens.
(Shakes his head sadly.)
Such is not the case. The real uppercrust,
People with a name, they obey the laws.
They don’t get me out of bed at midnight,
They don’t beat me up, set fire to my house,
Haul off one of my girls against her will.
But this wildman Phrygian calling himself
Thales, whose name, gentlemen, used to be
Artimmês, has done all of the above,
Scoffing the law and the magistracy.
Now if you please, Clerk of Court, read us all
The law on assault. Let’s have the timer
Plug the water clock while he reads it out,
Or
(Making a joke, very sure of himself)
it’ll look, as the man said, as if
He’s put his bladder down for a carpet.
CLERK OF COURT
(Actor has only to stand straight, assume a voice of wheezy public rectitude, and read from an imaginary scroll.)
Whensoever any freeman shall do…
BATTAROS
(Taking over, from memory. He has done his homework.)
… a mischief unto a female slave or
Belabor her with improper intent,
His fine therefor shall be double the fine
For assault. These, gentlemen, are the words
Of Khairondas in the Code, not the words
Of one Battaros, plaintiff, bringing suit
Against one Thales, so called, defendant.
Likewise, if any man beat down a door
His fine must be no less than a mina.
And if any man set fire to a house
Or break into and enter same, his fine
Shall be one thousand drakhmas, damages
Twice that. Khairondas in the code lays down
The laws for running a city, but you,
Thales, what do you care for any law?
One day you’re off in Brikindera,
Another, in Abdera. Tomorrow,
If you could get passage, you would be off
To Phaselis. And I, to speak bluntly
And to not wear out your ears, gentlemen,
And get to the point, I have been done by
Thales like the mouse in the tar bucket.
I have been hit by his fist. My front door,
Which put me back four obols to have set,
Charged to my rent the month I had it up,
Is split, and my lintel is scorched and charred.
And—come here, Myrtalê, come testify—
(Actor leads forward an imaginary girl.)
Let the court see you. Don’t be bashful now.
All these people, look, are trying your case.
Think of them as your fathers and brothers.
(Indigantly, to the court.)
Would you look, gentlemen, at her torn dress.
(Lifts her dress.)
Look her all over, see how she is bruised
And manhandled by this ape of a man.
He has pulled every hair out of her thing!
Plucked her clean as a chicken! Were I young—
He can be thankful for my age—he would
Have breathed his own blood, I can promise you,
(Dramatic pause.)
Like Philippos the Locust of Samos.
(Pause, to follow this classical allusion with meaningful silence, which does not achieve the effect intended.)
You can laugh?
(With a furious and futile look, soon abandoned, for desperate honesty.)
So I am a pederast.
I admit it. My name is Battaros.
Sisymbras my grandfather before me
And Sisymbriskos my father were both,
As I am, in the whorehouse business.
(Ranting.)
If I were stronger, I’d choke a lion
If, by Zeus, the lion’s name was Thales!
(Recovers himself, rearranges his thoughts. Turns to Thales, pointing at him.)
Like as not, let’s say, you love Myrtalê,
Nothing at all peculiar about that.
Me, I love a square meal. I get the one,
You get the other. That’s only business.
You’re feeling horny, that’s natural.
What you do is pay Battaros the price
And you ca
n bash what you’ve bought as you will.
(Turns to the judges.)
One point more, gentlemen, and this for you,
Not him. There were, you know, no witnesses.
You must judge this case on the face of it.
If all Thales wanted was to beat up
A poor slave and wants her to testify
Under torture, then I will take her place.
Willingly! But he must pay just the same
If he hurts me, just as if I were her.
Did Minos balance this case on his scales,
Could he try it a better way than this?
To sum up, gentlemen: if you decide
For me, it will not be for Battaros
But for all businessmen not citizens.
(Finger in air, orating.)
Now’s the time to show the mettle of Kos,
Of great Merops and his proud daughter Kos!
Glory of Thessalos and Herakles!
The place Asklepios came from Trikka!
The Place where Phoibé gave birth to Leto!
Ponder all this, bring in a right judgement,
And unless all that we’ve heard about Phrygians
Is wrong, he will be improved by the lash.
(Bow low, with sweep of hand, and a smirk.)
III. The Schoolmaster
(The actor is dressed as a harridan of a mother much given to fist-shaking, pointing, and standing aggressively with hands on hips. The skit begins with her stabbing a finger at the schoolmaster Lampriskos while bolding her truant son Kottalos by an ear. We must imagine that the scene is before a school, with statues of the Muses flanking the entrance. Their presence is indicated by oaths throughout. The mother’s voice is loud, distraught, vibrant, grating.)
METROTIMÉ
If, Lampriskos, you have any respect
For decency and order in your school,
Beat this lazy lout across the shoulders
Till his last breath is about to come out!
It’s the price of the roof over our head
That he has just lost spinning pennies.
Oh no! No knucklebones for this noodle!
(Gives three painful tugs on the boy’s ear, glares at him.)
The fact of the matter is, Lampriskos,
He’s already at his age a gambler
And a punk and probably something worse.
I doubt that he knows his way here to school,
Although I do, sadly, every month’s end
When I come to pay you his tuition,
With good King Nannakos’ tears down my cheeks
Weeping before the gods for his people.
(Stares Lampriskos down with this piece of proverbial lore. Looks at her son as if to pity his oafish ignorance.)
To that den of jerks and contraband slaves
With its nonstop crapgame, that way he knows,
And how to lead others there, the rascal.
I’m tired of picking up his wax tablet
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