Finding Ithaka

by Anna Harvey

  “I can imagine that must have been hard on your personal life.” It was difficult to imagine this vibrant man cloistered away from civilisation for months on end, with only a few other human beings for company.

  “Yes, it took its toll on my marriage.” A look of pain stole behind Rob’s eyes, almost imperceptibly. He took a mouthful of wine, quickly swallowing it. “Jane and I met at University,” he continued, “and married when we were young. I was away a lot through work, so Jane more or less was left to raise our son single-handedly.” He paused, toying with the collar of his sweatshirt, struggling for words. “Unfortunately through my absence we drifted apart and eventually she did meet someone else. Someone who could give her the companionship she craved.” Rob smiled wistfully and Thea noticed the roots of his hair had flushed crimson. “To be fair, my work was very hard on Jane.”

  He turned his chin upwards towards Thea. “And you? I understand from Richard, you’re not in a relationship?” Her ears immediately pricked up that her marital status had been a subject of gossip and speculation.

  “Yes, it’s true,” she replied brushing aside any offence. “David, my husband… I mean former husband”, Thea said quickly correcting herself, “and I split up about six months ago. In very different circumstances,” she said her voice cracking. Somehow speaking the words out aloud made her situation more real.

  “I’m sorry.” Rob’s said sympathetically. “Had you been together long?”

  “About ten years.” She looked down at her glass, refusing to betray her pain, as her fingers played with the glass stem. “It was sad, but it had just run its course.” The words came out measured but she knew, now in her late thirties and with the biological clock ticking, her decision to leave the marriage childless and abandon the prospect of parenthood had fractured her. She paused for a moment to compose herself, repressing the tangled web of grief. “I think it had become a marriage of habit, like a comfortable pair of old shoes. David was always a very safe and reliable person,” Thea continued, surprised by how easily she was unburdening herself to her dining companion. “But perhaps in the end, that was the problem.” She sat back in her chair and now regarded Rob directly, noticing his attentive and sympathetic eyes. “We took each other for granted. We got ourselves into a rut, which we found impossible to get out of. And he came to resent my work and obsession with Odysseus. ”

  The metal clank of serving dishes heralded the entrance of Angeliki with a tray laden with food. They fell into an awkward silence, the intimacy suspended, as their hostess carefully set down the bowls of food in front of them. A waft of sweet cinnamon and fried potatoes permeated the air.

  “Let’s eat,” said Thea, changing the mood, scooping the home made Moussaka and choriatiki “peasant” salad onto their plates. They devoured the food with pleasure, discovering they shared a voracious appetite.

  “Einai endaksi?” Angeliki their hostess hovered nearby, anxious to check that her cooking met with her guests’ approval.

  “Poly kala,” Thea replied with a warm smile.

  “What did she say?” asked Rob, feeling left out of the exchange.

  “I was assuring Angeliki that her food is really good,” Thea explained. Rob nodded and grinned his appreciation to Angeliki. Pleased with her guests’ response, a beaming Angeliki picked up the empty wine carafe to refill it.

  “You know that hospitality and generosity is extremely important to the Greeks,” Thea explained always taken by surprise by the heart-warming experience. “It’s in their DNA. They even have a special word for it,” she added, “filoxenia, a love of strangers.”

  Angeliki had returned with a refilled carafe in her hand. As she set it down on the table, she gave Thea a knowing glance and wink, like a village match-maker. Thea ignored the signals hoping they had gone undetected by her dining companion. Covering her awkwardness, she chose to move the conversation onto safer ground.

  “So is there much evidence for climate change?” she began.

  At once the mood shifted and Rob’s face became more sombre. This clearly meant something to him. “Unfortunately yes,” he replied after a sharp intake of breath. There was a hint of anger, but the expression on his face was steady and calm. “We are seeing the ice-sheets shrink back and the edge of the sea-line moving, year by year. But the danger isn’t only from temperature change.” He paused, holding his wine glass in front of him, turning it in the flickering candlelight, which danced on the crystal. “Dumped plastic waste and micro-particles are emerging in the seas, the wildlife and even virgin snow.” His brows knotted together and it was the first time Thea had observed him scowling. “The Antarctic is the last wilderness on the planet, but it has become an expendable commodity, a casualty to over-consumption and modern human lifestyles. To meet modern demand, we would require three or four planet earths. But forgive me, I’m preaching at you.”

  He fell silent, a sense of despair lingering in the air. To dwell on this uncomfortable truth was too hard and he carried a heavy burden on his shoulders.

  “It reminds me of the myth of Prometheos,” Thea hesitantly offered.

  Rob looked up puzzled. “How so?”

  “You know the story of how Prometheos helps mankind?” Taking Rob’s silence for a no, Thea continued. “At the dawn of creation Epimetheos, his brother, is tasked by the gods to share out all resources amongst living creatures. Unfortunately Epimetheos, whose name means No Forethought, is not very smart.” She noticed she had captured Rob’s full attention. “So he happily distributes different characteristics to all species but forgets about humans who are left naked and cold.”

  “Go on,” Rob said encouragingly, she assumed out of politeness as the connection with climate change was not obvious.

  “So taking pity on them, Prometheos, his brother, steals fire and the technologies belonging to the gods, like science, the arts and writing. All the outward symbols of a civilised society. But the gods severely punish him for upsetting the order and balance of the cosmos.”

  “Is that the hero where an eagle feeds on his liver each day, which then regenerates overnight?”

  Thea nodded. “The Greek gods made the punishment fit the crime, for Prometheos taking what did not belong to him and disturbing the natural ordering. Because,” she paused, lifting her chin for the punchline, “Prometheos elevated the human race to semi-divine status. Consequently in Greek wisdom, humans were perceived as being in constant danger of over- stepping themselves, what the Greeks called hubris, making them the most dangerous creature on the planet.”

  “I guess there’s a strong ring of truth in that story,” Rob replied thoughtfully. “Especially as the liver rids the human body of toxins and waste. Certainly we act as if we own planet earth, rather than respecting it and living in a sustainable way. But please forgive me, as I’m lecturing you again.”

  “It’s clearly something you care passionately about and is massively important.” And a moment of understanding passed between them.

  “But tell me,” Rob said steering the conversation back to her. “I think this is not your first visit to the island. You seem to know your way around here so well and speak Greek like a local.”

  “Yes, when I was younger. It was a long time ago and probably even Richard doesn’t know.” Thea tried to respond lightly and brush off the question, but she could feel her body tense and her face burning. “It was a time in my life that was very difficult so I’d prefer not to talk about it.” The memory of the earlier conversation with Richard flooded back and panic gripped her again.

  How on earth could she avoid this meeting with Mr Dimitri Kampitsis? Thea wondered. Rob must have picked up her sudden change in mood as he did not press her with further questions.

  “It’s getting quite late. Shall we turn in?” Rob suggested. “We have an early start tomorrow.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  They both rose together making their way out of the empty dining area. Thea expressed thanks to their hostess, who h
ad been watching out for their departure. After further compliments for the hospitality and “Kali nikta”, they stepped out into the chill night air, climbing the external staircase to the room.

  Thea busied herself in the bathroom still distracted in her thoughts. With the familiar routine of cleaning her face and teeth, using the basic toiletries she had procured, she hoped to calm her jangled nerves. The ice-cold water splashed on her face brought her back to her senses.

  She would have to give this meeting further thought, she told herself, as she brushed her teeth. It could wait until tomorrow.

  Turning off the tap, she glimpsed her appearance in the tarnished mirror. The flush on her face had vanished, replaced by a pale luminescent reflection with almond shaped eyes framed by copper-spun hair. As she stepped into the room, Rob was sat awkwardly on the bed fiddling with his phone.

  “Bathroom is free,” she said, holding the door open.

  “Thanks,” Rob nodded. He brushed passed her and immediately she felt it: the sensation like an electrical charge striking her body. Turning her head upwards, Rob was staring down at her with the same quizzical expression he had worn earlier, scrutinising her face. For a second they stood transfixed, each regarding the other. Only when Rob leaned in towards her, his mouth reaching for her lips, was the spell broken.

  Chapter 11

  The Witch

  He could feel a slight breeze on his face, stroking the whiskers of his beard. The air was sweet-laden with the smells of the first harvest, of ripening golden barley and yellow bitter-sweet fruits. He could feel the rays of Helios on his face, but softer and mellower than before, bathing his face in a warm glow. From the far distance, came noises of chatter. The shrill cries of the women and the deeper calls of the men as they worked the land.

  A familiar voice was whispering into his ear. It came again, so close he could feel the moist breath. “Father?” In his half-sleep, Odysseus recognised it as Telemachos. But he was not ready to wake-up, not yet, not now. He knew his bones were growing old, as never before would he have slept while others toiled. With old-age now upon him, surely the gods could allow him this grace. A soft woollen coverlet had been placed over him, against the Zephyr who took mischief in the afternoon, whipping up the sea and foaming the waves. He wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, as Sleep overpowered him this time with sweet dreams.

  For two whole days, the men had slept on the edge of that beach, where they had first made landfall. Their bodies aching from the endless rowing, barely had they stirred except to slake their raging thirst. Only on the third day, he felt at last the strength returning to his weary limbs. While the men slept, Odysseus had roused himself early, his heart restless to take measure of this new land. They appeared to be on an island: on which a steep mountain rose up, its slopes covered in dense woodland.

  At least, he calculated, they would have fuel for the fire and timber to repair to the ship. The pain of losing the other ships and men suddenly struck him like an arrow. Had Agamemnon’s recklessness brought this upon all their heads? He could afford no time for sentiment if they were to survive the winter. He glanced around again. The land appeared to be fertile with plenty of game and wild boar to fill their bellies. But also, where they had beached the boat, there was a secure harbour with a fresh-water spring. The gods had favoured them with an ideal wintering place until the seas calmed.

  Arming himself with his spear and sharp-blade sword, he resolved to climb up higher to take in a better view of this strange island and any signs of people. The dappled light broke through the tall trees, as he clambered over the steep rocky hillslope, until he reached a point where the woodland gave way to a clearing. All was still and quiet, except for the murmuring of the breeze in the leaves and the beating of his heart. He gazed around from his vantage point. This was not an island as he had first thought but a promontory, stretching out into the water still connected to the wide-way land like a babe corded to its mother. But more significantly, he could see wisps of grey smoke from a hearth curling up through the trees. They were not alone.

  Odysseus’ first urge was to set off by himself to find the dwelling, but then he restrained himself. If there were people nearby, he reasoned, could he be sure of a friendly reception? Better return to the men so they could explore in numbers. He turned back towards the shore camp.

  It was as he made his way down the mountain, Chance put into his path a stag deer. The creature stood poised, its high antlers upright, its nostrils sniffing the breeze. It had come to drink the cool water of the mountain spring. Making sure he was downwind, as his grandfather Autolykos had taught him, soundlessly Odysseus raised and aimed his spear. The animal issued a scream, falling to the ground in front of him, writhing in its death throes until its spirit departed.

  At least the men could enjoy a full meal and satisfy their hunger, he thought.

  The beast was too big to carry over his shoulder. So he cut off supple young branches to twine into rope by which he could drag the carcass back. As he entered the camp, for the first time in many waxes of the moon, Hope returned to him. At last the gods had provided something good for the first time since they had left Troy, to raise up the spirits of the men exhausted by hard sweat and misfortune.

  It wasn’t until the next day that he called the men together, after they had finished feasting on the stag roasted over an open fire. He glanced around at the expectant faces, some still gnawing bones stripping every last morsel of meat. It was the first good meal they had eaten in days. After the disastrous encounters with the barbaric Cyclops and the Laistrygonians, he knew in his heart they would not like his plan. They had lost so many dear friends and fellow warriors, the survivors of Troy, on that ill-starred journey home. But they were lost and to survive they needed help from these local people, whoever they might be.

  Odysseus broke the news to his men of what he had seen, using his most persuasive arguments: the smoking fire, signs of human habitation. The reluctance and fear of the men were palpable and he could see on their faces that the hardships of that return voyage had taken their toll. With their ragged clothes, their matted beards and soiled faces, weakened by misfortune, hunger and toil, he scarcely recognised them as the proud conquering heroes of Troy, full of confidence and bravado. But to survive, they had to leave the safety of the camp to explore this new land and learn who these strangers were, whether friendly or hostile.

  As he divided the men into two parties, no one raised an objection Perhaps they were too weak to protest.

  “You Eurylochos,” he said, addressing his captain, “shall lead one company and I the other.” He glanced across at him. Since they had left Troy, the soft mouth had become harder set with a curled lip. They drew lots pulled from a bronze helmet with high set horse-hair plume, to decide who would venture out from the safety of the camp. The task fell to Eurylochos.

  “Have a heed my dear friend,” he said, clasping Eurylochos to his chest as they said their farewells. “And if there is danger, take no chances.” Eurylochos nodded, confident in the long spears and burnished swords, with which he and the men had armed themselves. “And may the gods protect you,” Odysseus added, his words full of emotion.

  They had passed the time as best they could, gathering firewood, refilling the goatskins with fresh water and erecting a make-shift shelter. The Sun god Helios had reached his highest zenith in the sky, when Eurylochos burst into the camp, breathless and sobbing, scared out of his wits. He was alone. “There’s a witch!” he yelled, panting, his voice cracked with fear. “She’s bewitched the men and turned them into swine!”

  He hardly recognised Eurylochos from the bold warrior who had strode out that very morning with the well-equipped party of armed soldiers. His face had turned ashen and tears were rolling down his cheeks. His encounter with the so-called witch had transformed him into a jabbering husk. The men were now crowding round and straight away he could smell the fear at Eurylochos’ distraught appearance. If he Odysseus didn’t contain
this, Chaos would quickly stalk amongst them like the plague, draining their spirits and loosening their minds.

  “Calm yourself Eurylochos,” he spoke more sharply than he intended. “Tell us what you saw. What did you witness with your own eyes? So we may learn what you know and prepare ourselves for this danger.”

  He gestured to one of the men to bring his sword. “You cannot go,” Eurylochos responded anxiously, openly sobbing. “For surely you will perish too!” He clutched Odysseus by the shoulders to restrain him.

  “Of course I must go,” Odysseus replied firmly. “The men out there are our comrades. How will we look their fathers or sons in the eye, if we do not try to save them? As they would do us. Surely you realise that.”

  At his words, Eurylochos grew more frantic. “I cannot go back Odysseus.” His grip tightened. “Do not force me,” he beseeched. “We must escape the witch while we can. I beg you Odysseus. Let us put the ships to sea and leave this accursed place.”

  Odysseus loosened Eurylochos’ grip, covering his fingers with his calloused hands. “Come my dear friend, tell me what you know so I may discern whether this is an immortal living amongst us or a mortal woman.” He spoke to him soothingly like a mother comforting a small child. So Eurylochos told what he knew, starting from the beginning to the very end.

  At the end of the story, Odysseus was quiet for a while, weighing things up in his mind. Finally he steadily replied. “I have heard of such stories, long ago, but never believed they were true. Of men being changed into forest beasts. Myself and three others will go and witness for ourselves this Sorceress. We will return with the men” He glanced around him to see nods of approval. ”But before we go, a god has put in my mind a thought. There is a plant, Moly, said to grow as the moon wanes and to protect against the magic arts. These hill slopes would favour it. Let us search for it before we set out.”