From where he throws it down against the wall
Beside his bed when he comes in from school.
And what’s written on it? Nothing, nothing.
It’s as clean as when I waxed it for him.
Except when, having scrawled Hades on it,
He scrapes it down to keep me from seeing.
His knucklebones lie untouched in his bag
As bright as the cruet on the table.
He cannot recognize the letter A
No matter how many times I’ve showed him
When, day before yesterday, his father
Spelled him Maron, the poor fool wrote Simon!
I could kick myself for not raising him
To be a caretaker of jackasses
Instead of to read and write, in fond hope
That he could support me in my old age.
But when asked to say something from a play,
As anybody might ask a schoolboy,
Whenever I ask him, or his father,
Whose eyesight is failing, and his hearing,
What trickles out, as if from a cracked jug?
Apollo the bright, a hunter was he!
Your old granny, I say, can recite that
Without being able to read or write,
Nerd, or any Phrygian slave in the street.
But dare criticize this brat one grumble
And for three days you don’t lay eyes on him.
Off to Granny’s! She is well up in years,
And though she has to live close to the bone,
He goes through her cupboard like a famine.
Or, up on our roof and breaking the tiles,
Sits gazing between his legs like an ape.
You see what all this does to me, clearly.
How I suffer. Broken tiles to think of,
Winter’s coming, tiles cost three himaitha,
My eyes water to ponder the expense.
All the apartments know well who did it.
(Renewed outrage, harder pulls on the ear.)
Kottalos, Metrotimé’s imp, is who!
I don’t dare show a tooth to deny it.
(Still pinching an ear, lifts Kottalos’ shirt.)
Would you look at his back! It looks like bark!
This is what comes of lolling in the woods
Idle as a Delian with trap seines out.
Throws his life away! He can calculate
Feast days better than an astrologer.
He can do that in his sleep.
(Hands on hips, grim.)
As you hope,
Lampriskos, for fine favors from the gods,
Give this scapegrace no fewer than…
(Actor changes matron’s wig for thatchy one of a schoolmaster, hooks on a beard, and dons a wrinkled and patched cloak. His voice is full of bleats and clipped exactnesses of pronunciation.)
LAMPRISKOS
No more, Metrotimé, I beg of you.
He will get what he deserves. Euthiês!
(Snaps bony fingers as he calls.)
Kokkalos! Phillos! Report here to me.
Up with Kottalos now on your shoulders.
(Bares Kottalos’ bottom with professional detachment.)
It is time we gazed, like Akesaios,
On the full of the moon, oh dear me, yes.
And hasn’t our deportment been lovely?
Too good, Kottalos, to throw knucklebones?
Too big for our schoolmates, we must go dice
With the toughs, mustn’t we? But we’ll learn.
I shall make you as placid as a girl
Who never budges so much as a straw.
Hand me the oxtail whip, the one that bites,
The one I use for the hardened cases.
Be quick, before I choke on my own bile.
KOTTALOS
(Actor lies across a stool and wiggles his legs and makes frantic movements with his arms. Voice cracks to falsetto every other phrase.)
No! No! Please, Lampriskos, by the Muses,
By the beard on your chin, by my own life,
Not the oxtail! Beat me with the other!
Have mercy on your little Kottalos.
LAMPRISKOS
You are a rotten boy, my Kottalos.
What could I find good to say about you
Even if I were auctioning you off?
And I doubt that I could give you away
In the country where the mice eat iron.
KOTTALOS
How many lashes, how many lashes
Do I get, Lampriskos?
LAMPRISKOS
Ask her, not me.
KOTTALOS
Tatai! How many then, the two of you?
METROTIMÉ
I mean to live to be old. As many
As your miserable hide can last through.
(Lampriskos flogs.)
KOTTALOS
Quit, quit. O Lampriskos! Enough! Enough!
LAMPRISKOS
Will you quit gambling and playing the fool?
KOTTALOS
Yes! Yes! Never again, O Lampriskos,
I swear it by the Muses at the door.
LAMPRISKOS
What an awful lot of tongue you can flap.
One more squeal and I gag you with the mouse.
KOTTALOS
I’m silent, listen. Watch it! Don’t kill me!
LAMPRISKOS
(Whistling the oxtail whip around his head.)
Turn him loose, Kokkalos. That should do it.
METROTIMÉ
Don’t stop now with the beating, Lampriskos.
Flog on till the sun goes down, I beg you.
He’s slippier by far than the Hydra.
More! He will only pretend to study.
LAMPRISKOS
No more.
METROTIMÉ
Twenty more. If he learns to read
better than Klio, he needs twenty more.
K0TTALOS
(Sticks out his tongue at his mother.)
LAMPRISKOS
Go coat your tongue with honey, silly boy.
METROTIMÉ
On second thought, Lampriskos, once he’s home
I’ll get his old father to hobble him.
He’ll be hopping with his hands and feet tied
Next time you see him, disgracing these Muses.
Their cold stares can feast on him in his straps.
IV. Women at the Temple
(The actor wears an important, richly figured dress, and is cowled with a long shawl. This costume serves for both the women he portrays, as they are dressed for a sacrifice at the temple of Asklepios, god of healing. He uses a different voice for each, an assured, superior voice for Kynno, a rather giddy and rattling voice for Kokkalé her companion, whom she treats as an equal when she remembers to, but as an inferior by instinct. They are accompanied by a dull servant girl who does not speak. To be the Custodian, a temple attendant of minor rank, the actor sheds the long shawl, slips into a long-sleeved linen robe, hooks on a beard, and carries a staff.)
KYNNO
(On her knees before an imaginary altar, arms held high and wide in the traditional attitude of supplication. The prayer she recites is formulaic for eleven lines and then becomes a mixture of the spontaneous and religious catchphrases.)
Rejoice, Great Paiêon, Lord of Thikka,
Whose sweet home is Kos and Epidauros,
Hail Mother Koronis and Apollon!
And her in your right hand, Hygieia!
Hail the holy altars of Panaké
And of Epio and of Iêso,
Of Podaleiros and Makhaon who
Tore down Leomedon’s walls and mansion
And can heal the fiercest of diseases,
And of all gods and goddesses residing,
Father Paiêon, with you on your hearth.
Bless me, please, for the gift of this rooster.
He was the herald on my garden fence.
I am not rich, a
nd my well is shallow.
Otherwise I would bring an ox or pig,
A fat pig, instead of this plain rooster,
In thanksgiving for the cure, O Great Lord,
Which you brought to me with your healing hands.
(To her companion.)
Put the dish there on Hygieia’s right,
Kokkalé.
KOKKALÉ
(Complying, piously. She admires the effect of the dish of roast rooster on the altar. Her eyes wander. She steps back, talking in the temple.)
O! dear Kynno, turn around.
Look what beautiful statuary’s here.
I wonder what sculptor cut this figure,
And who commissioned it to be placed here?
KYNNO
The sons of Prexiteles. Don’t you see
The lettering on the base? Euthiês,
Prexon’s son, see, gave it to the temple.
KOKKALE
(Rather overdoing art appreciation.)
Paiêon bless them, and bless Euthiês too,
For such beautiful work. See, dear, the girl
Gazing right up at that apple so rapt.
I think she will faint if she can’t get it.
(Bustling about, pointing.)
And there, Kynno, that old man. Oh! but wait,
(Discovering an Eros Straddling a Swan.)
By the Fates, that small boy is choking a goose!
It’s real! You would swear that it could speak
Were you not close enough to see it’s stone.
(Babbling.)
The time will come when men will find how to
Put life in stone. Look at the step she takes,
This Batalé,
(Stooping to read.)
daughter of Myttes, here.
(Sententiously.)
If you’ve never seen Batalé herself,
See this, and you won’t need to see Batalé!
KYNNO
To see as stunning a statue, my dear,
As you will see in your life, come with me.
(To her servant.)
Kydilla, go fetch the Custodian.
(Kydilla, enthralled by the statues, pays her no attention.)
I’m talking to you! Gawking and gaping!
Pays no more attention than a statue!
(Indignantly shouting.)
So stand there and stare at me like a crab!
Fetch us, I’m saying, the Custodian.
You are as helpless here in the temple,
Idiot, as in the kitchen or street.
I ask the god to witness, Kydilla,
That you are fanning my temper just when
I can’t afford to blow up in a fit.
Go on, scratch your head like a simpleton.
I’ll give you a reason to hold your head!
KOKKALÉ
Don’t upset yourself for nothing, Kynno.
She’s only stupid. All slaves are stupid.
KYNNO
But they’re already opening the doors.
The temple will be full in just a bit.
KOKKALÉ
Aren’t you looking, dear Kynno, at all
These grand works of art? These now, you could say,
Are Athene’s work, bless her holy name.
(Making on, with gestures, before a painting.)
That naked boy there, look, I could pinch him
And leave a welt. His warm flesh is so bright
That it shimmers like sunlight on water.
And his silver fire tongs, wouldn’t Myllos
Send his eyes out on stalks in wonderment,
Or Lamprion’s son Pataikiskos try
To steal them! For they are indeed that real!
The ox, the herd, and the girl who’s with them,
The hooknosed man with his hair sticking up,
They are as real as in everyday life.
If I weren’t a lady, I might scream
At the sight of that convincing big ox
Watching us out of the side of his eye.
KYNNO
(Realizing that Kokkalé’s art criticism is entirely to trompel’oeil effects.)
The style of Apelles the Ephesian
Is true, my dear, whatever his subject.
He painted everything equally well.
Whatever caught his imagination
He painted straight off, and to perfection.
To look at his paintings and not admire
Ought to be punished with being hung up
By the feet in a shop.
(Sees Custodian coming.)
Ah, here he is.
CUSTODIAN
(Aiming to please.)
Ladies, your sacrifice was propitious,
And liturgically correct as well.
Surely Paiêon was very well pleased.
(Piously, lifting his staff.)
Let us pray. O blessed Paiêon, O
Look with favor on these thy worshipers,
And on their husbands, blessed Paiêon,
And on all their kin. May this come to pass.
KYNNO
Amen. So be it, O Greatest! May we
Return in health to sacrifice again,
With worthier offerings, and with us
Bring our husbands and children.
(Pointedly.)
Kokkalé,
Carve a drumstick for the Custodian,
And give the snake a morsel, quietly,
(with unctuous knowledge of the ritual)
In sacred silence, there on the altar.
(Briskly.)
We’ll eat, don’t forget, the rest at home.
(To the Custodian.)
Stay well, my fellow. Here now, have some bread.
We’ll begin with you, close to the god,
In passing it around on the way home.
V. The Jealous Woman
(The actor has four parts: a mature matron named Bitinna; her slave and bedmate Gastron, who is young, and whose name, Stomach, alludes not to his body but to his sensual appetite; her servant Kydilla who is the same age as her daughter; and an older slave Pyrrbiês, whose two lines of dialogue do not need a costume change. A wig and a stole are sufficient to make the actor into Bitinna, a raucous and furious woman. Beneath the stole is a slave’s smock that will do for both Gastron and Kydilla. The only prop is a rope, which the actor tangles around himself to be Gastron tied up.)
BITINNA
(In a rage.)
Out with it, Gastron! You are tired of me,
So full of my legs wide open in bed
You’re sniffing Menon’s Amphytaiê!
GASTRON
Me? Amphytaiê! I’ve never even
Seen her. Who is she?
BITINNA
New lies every day!
GASTRON
(Doing the engaging sulk of a spoiled male.)
Bitinna, you own me. Own my body!
Day and night you drink my blood, yes you do.
BITINNA
(Enraged the more.)
What a lot of tongue on you! Kydilla!
Where’s Pyrrhiês? Go tell him I want him.
PYRRHIÊS
(From another part of the house.)
What is it?
BITINNA
(Pointing to Gastron, fire in her eyes, singing her words.)
Tie him up—don’t just stand there!
The well rope. Go get it. Tie him with it.
(To Gastron.)
If I don’t make an example of you,
I’ll not answer to the name of woman.
I’m a Phrygian if I don’t make up for
Being fool enough to let you in my bed
As a somebody. Once a fool, twice wise.
(To Pyrrhiês.)
Strip him, be quick, and bind him hand and foot.
GASTRON
(On his knees.)
No, Bitinna, no! I beg you, don’t, please.
BITINNA
Strip him, I tel
l you.
(To Gastron.)
You need reminding
That I bought you, you slave, for three minas.
Damn the day you turned up here. Pyrrhiês!
(Pointing sarcastically.)
You call that tying up! Start all over.
What a fool. Bind his elbows behind him
So tight the rope saws his skin if he squirms.
GASTRON
Forgive me, Bitinna! I cheated once.
I gave in to her because I’m a man.
Men can’t help it. I’ll let you tattoo me
If I do it again.
BITINNA
You waste your breath.
Save your slick words for your Amphytaiê
While you’re rolling with her, thinking me
To be the doormat where you wipe your feet.
PYRRHIÊS
There! Well bound.
BITINNA
See that he can’t wiggle loose.
And now drag him, trussed up as you have him,
Off to Hermon the executioner,
Who is to beat him a thousand lashes
Across his back, and a thousand lashes
Across his stomach.
GASTRON
(Naked, in a tangle of rope.)
Will you kill me, then,
Bitinna, before proving me guilty?
BITINNA
Didn’t you just beg me to forgive you?
Bitinnll, forgive me. My ears heard you.
GASTRON
I said that only to cool your temper.
BITINNA
(In a fury, to Pyrrhiês.)
What are you standing there and staring at?
Do what I tell you to do! Kydilla!
Whop this clod on the snout. And you, Drekhon,
Go along with them to see they get there.
(Frantically, on the crest of her anger.)
Talee that rag, Kydilla, tie it around
His hips to hide the bastard’s little dick
As he’s dragged naked through the marketplace.
A thousand here,
(Whacks his back.)
and a thousand more here.
(Pokes his belly with her toe.)
Repeat that, hear, Pyrrhiês, to Hermon.
Malee sure you do, or be prepared to pay
Debt plus interest with your own backside.
Get on with it. Don’t go by Mikkalê’s
For a short cut. Right down the highway!
(Fumes. Paces. Imagines with gleaming eyes. Smiles with wicked satisfaction. Her blood boils and she relishes the steam. Pause. Face drains of expression. Reason steals back from banishment.)
I’m not thinking! Call them back, Kydilla.
Call them back, slave! Before they get too far.
KYDlLLA
(Hollering through her bands.)
Pyr-rhi-ês! Come back! Are you deaf? Come bad!
(No response from down the road.)
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