Finding Ithaka

by Anna Harvey

  It was now the third day that Odysseus had stayed with his amiable and excellent host. The two men had been gathering firewood and preparing breakfast over the open lit fire for the herdsmen, who had gathered before departing for their day’s work in the fields. Already bowls of food had been dished out and jugs of ewe’s milk set down, when the excited barking of the dogs announced the arrival of a newcomer. Eumaios got to his feet to see who this visitor was to his humble dwelling. It was then Odysseus first set eyes upon a young man standing at the gateway, dressed in a chiton tunic covered by a cloak, his garments clearly sullied by the dirt of a long journey. Although lightly built, he could see the young man’s limbs were none the less those of a warrior, strong and powerful. He was fresh-faced and of mild countenance with a beard of soft down whiskers. At once he recognised the stranger. It was his son, Telemachos. The son whom he had left all those years ago when he had set sail. His body gave a start at the recognition.

  “Telemachos, my beloved master!” Eumaios quickly confirmed Odysseus’ assumption, clasping the young man in a warm-hearted embrace. "Do my eyes deceive me? Can it be that you have returned from your journey to Pylos and the gods saw fit to grant you a safe return?” He stood back from the young man, assuring himself he was in good health. Then a look of puzzlement appeared on his brow. “But why do you come this way and not go straight to the palace?”

  “For some reason, the gods put it in my mind that the suitors might lie in ambush for me,” said Telemachos, stepping back from the older man’s embrace. His face was lit by a wide smile. “You know the small island in the straits, where there is a sandy bay for beaching a ship. It made me decide to sail around the island and land at the bay near here, the one rounded with the ox horns.”

  Eumaios nodded in agreement. “You were perhaps wise. And does your mother, Queen Penelope know of your return yet?” he asked anxiously, a shadow flitting across his brow. “Or your grandfather Laertes? They will be mightily comforted that you are safe and well.”

  “Not yet, my dear Eumaios. I came here first to gain news of the palace,” the smile now fading on his lips, his fingers tightening on his sword belt. “Has anything yet changed? Is my mother still without a husband?”

  “She is, master,” said Eumaios nodding, “and the marriage bed of Odysseus remains untouched. Though they say your mother cries in despair each night.”

  “Then all is not yet lost,” responded the younger man, momentarily lost in thought, biting his lip.

  “Come Telemachos! Eat with us,” said Eumaios, seeing his concerned look. He beckoned the younger man into the small hut and they sat together on the fleeces set on the brushwood floor. And so Odysseus found himself brought face to face with his beloved son, his own identity masked by his disguise. This was not the reunion he had envisaged during those long years at Troy. As the tears welled up inside, he fought to hold himself back from rushing over and embracing the young man. Instead silently he watched the two men, relieved by Eumaios’ attentions to his son who was ravenously filling his mouth with food.

  When they had eaten their fill, only then did Telemachos turn his attention to the new stranger.

  “And who is your guest, Eumaios?” he asked, casting his glance over him in his ragged clothing. “Will you not introduce us?”

  “He is from Krete, a man for whom the Fates have spun hard times,” answered Eumaios evenly. “I have offered fresh clothing but he refuses. He comes as a supplicant requesting xenia and I hoped to entrust him to your hospitality and care.”

  Telemachos quickly glanced from Eumaios to the stranger, weighing up his appearance. “Forgive me, old man,” he said courteously but his brow was furrowed. “I cannot offer you the full rights of hospitality and this pains me dearly. My house is not safe and is troubled by men who covet my mother’s hand. They would steal away the kingdom from my absent father, the famed warrior Odysseus. If you came as my guest, I cannot guarantee your protection and the suitors may use their mistreatment of you to humiliate me. I can accord you gifts of guest-friendship and provide you with passage to wherever you need to go, but it is better that you remain here and receive hospitality.”

  Odysseus could feel his anger rising at this outrage to his son but he needed to know more. “I am saddened to hear of the discord in your house,” he responded calmly hiding his true feelings. Already his mind was calculating the best approach forward. “But tell me, do the people tolerate this state of affairs or are they resentful of your birthright to rule?”

  “No,” replied Telemachos perceptively, “it is simply that I am the only son, as was my father Odysseus before me and my father’s father before him. So when the young suitors arrived from Same, Doulichion, Zakynthos and Ithaka itself, seeking to seize the kingdom through marriage, there was no kinsfolk to rally to our defence through blood ties.“

  He turned his attention now away from his father, speaking quickly to the swineherd. “You must go now Eumaios to the polis to tell my mother that I am safely returned.” He lowered his voice and his eyes shifted over the yard, as if expecting to see a murderous suitor lurking nearby. “None must know of this news and you must give this message to her and her alone.”

  “I will at once,” replied the faithful servant, rising to his feet. “And shall I take the news also to your grandfather Laertes too, for your absence grieves him sorely?”

  The younger man motioned his head indicating no. “I’m afraid not. We must leave him in his sadness a while longer. You must take this message with all haste and then come straight back. I will wait here for your return.”

  “I will set off at once,” replied the older man, “for it will take the best part of the day.” Quickly Eumaios made himself ready for the journey, gathering a wineskin and food for the journey. When the faithful servant had departed, Odysseus stepped out into the yard to breathe in the clear air to steady himself. The urge to clasp his son to his bosom and hold him there was overpowering. He could not keep up the pretence of his identity. This was his beloved son he had fought so long and hard to come back to, through all those trials at Troy, the calamitous sea journey and tearing himself from a woman’s comfort. Always he had held in mind this object to return to his kingdom to evade the fate of the fatherless child falling on his own son.

  Quickly he cleaned himself from a pail of water, washing off the dirt and soil from his face and body so that once more his bronzed skin could be seen. He had been away on foreign shores so long, as a warrior and then a wanderer, he had almost forgotten who he was. That here, on Ithaka, was his natural place.

  When Odysseus walked back into the hut, the other man starred at the transformation in his countenance. “Forgive me, stranger, but I mistook your appearance and did not take you for a warrior. Are you some god sent to test me?”

  “No, dear Telemachos.” Odysseus shook his head slowly, measuring his next words with great care. Now the time had come, he hardly dared to lift his face. “I am your father. It is on my account you have suffered much over these years.”

  For a moment, the son stared at his father dumb-founded, struggling to take in what he had heard. “Surely you are playing a trick on me, an imposter come to take advantage of our plight.”

  “No, my dear Telemachos,” he said, speaking patiently. “I am indeed your father. Is it such a surprise that after twenty years, finally my long expected arrival has come and I stand before you?”

  A look of bewilderment flitted across the younger man’s face and then he broke into joy as father and son fell into each other’s arms, each embracing the other and neither holding back the tears. Long into the day they spoke, narrating their story to each other until they lapsed into silence. Odysseus finally spoke, looking his son in the eye.

  “I’m sorry my son, I left and abandoned you for all those years. A son needs his father close to protect him and support him in becoming a man and a warrior. I regret I was so long in coming.” Momentarily a flicker of a feeling came across him, remembering anoth
er child he had left behind. This was not the time to dwell on that.

  “But tell me now, Telemachos, all you know regarding our situation. Who is loyal to us and who has turned?”

  “I fear, our plight is dire and that you have come too late,” he replied sorrowfully. “There are too many suitors entrenched in the palace for us alone to defeat.”

  Odysseus raised his head. “Have no fear my dear son,” he said calmly, his mind already turning over different plans. “Now we are reunited and with the gods on our side, this too we will overcome. But we must keep my return a secret known only to ourselves. No one else must know. Not your grandfather nor good Eumaios but especially not your mother, Penelope. Not until we can ascertain who within the household has remained loyal and true to us and who has turned.” Telemachos consented with a nod.

  The moon was already in the sky, when Eumaios returned from his mission. He found the two men in the fading light huddled round the fire, roasting a slaughtered hog, still deep in conversation. He glanced over at the beggar, still sat in his ragged clothes covered in filth. The pair made a strange coupling. He shrugged his shoulders and hunkered down to join them.

  *********************************************

  Odysseus suddenly woke with a start, looking around the darkened room. He rubbed Sleep from his eyes, slowly remembering where he was. Those memories, so vivid, happened a long time ago. Many years ago. Zeus’ thundering had now passed and he sensed Penelope’s sleeping presence in the marital bed. How had he forgotten? When it had all been so clear. That his young son Telemachos was the reason for his homecoming. He had made his choice years ago when he had left Kirke pregnant. His mind was set. Tomorrow it would be twenty years since he regained the kingdom of Ithaka. Apollo’s feast would be a fitting time to announce his judgement to his people. And yet still the unsettling and disquieting feeling lingered.

  Chapter 18

  Revelations

  “Thea! Is that you?” A shrill female voice rang out cutting the air.

  Thea had been walking down the main thorough fare of the town, flanked by inviting boutiques and brightly lit shops. On the white polished stone flags, metal stands had been set outside, enticing prospective customers like an eastern bazaar: beachwear, wind charms, jars of honey, sugar coated almonds and olives in an array of guises. The afternoon was drawing on and the air had lost the heat of the day. For once, Thea had finished her work early and had taken the opportunity to stroll along with the evening shoppers. The sudden call of her name, brought her out of her thoughts. Looking up, she saw a woman about the same age but who appeared familiar and the memory clicked into place.

  “Despoina!” She paused a moment to take in the other woman’s face. The thick curly dark hair was tied loosely back and there was still the wide open smile, revealing perfect white teeth. Her skin was a smooth olive complexion but there was a weariness behind the hazel eyes. The two women stared in disbelief at one another, before embracing one another.

  “I can’t believe it’s you,” Despoina said, her face full of joy, breaking away from their embrace. “When did you get back? How long have you been on the island?” A hundred questions hung in the air and it was hard to know where to start.

  “Just a few weeks ago,” Thea replied, glowing with pleasure. “I’m here working on an archaeology project. I would have called you but I didn’t know whether you still lived on the island.”

  If there was any neglect of the relationship, it was quickly forgotten. “I’m on my way to take my mother-in-law to hospital,” Despoina replied. “But come I have a little time. Let’s have coffee.” Despoina steered Thea towards one of the cafes in a small square, overlooked by a white marble building, temple-like, now the local post office. They sat at an empty table, beside a small garden of leafy shrubs, away from the noisy hordes of shoppers.

  “I can recommend the ice cream,” said Despoina skimming through the menu card, displaying pictures of calorie-loaded sundaes topped with whipped cream. “And they do a good Cappuccino.”

  “That will suit me fine,” Thea replied, setting her menu back down on the table. “I’ll go for the pistachio.” The young waitress was attentive, keeping an eye out for new customers, and quickly came to take their order. The other tables were now filling up with groups of people, relaxing from their weekly work, excitedly chatting together. The place was abuzz with voices, deep laughter and children’s playful squeals. For a moment, the two women sat surveying each other in silence, as if breathing in each other’s essence.

  “So tell me about yourself?” Thea started, sitting back in her chair. “All that has happened to you?”

  Despoina shrugged and looked around. “Well as you can see, I still live here on Kefalonia. I married my childhood sweetheart, Yiorgos. You remember we used to hang out together when you were here.” She rummaged into her handbag and produced a creased photograph of a happy smiling family. “We have two boys now, quite a handful and full of energy,” she announced proudly, thrusting the picture into Thea’s hand.

  A look of weariness and worry fleetingly passed across Despoina’s face. “You know about the Greek financial crisis,” she said, her voice more restrained. “I do a little work in one of the offices here and Yiorgos works in his father’s business, so we get by.” Quickly the easy smile returned, lighting up her face. “I’m so happy to see you,” Despoina said, reaching over to squeeze Thea’s arm. “And that you’re back on the island. So tell me about yourself. What have you been doing?”

  “There’s not much to say really,” said Thea, feeling her own story was a let-down. “I still work at one of the London Universities. I married some years ago, but David and I are in the process of getting a divorce.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said her friend sympathetically. “And do you have any children?” she asked.

  Thea shook her head. “I’m afraid not.” She spoke casually, but her feelings gripped her like a vice.

  “I don’t think you ever really got over Dimitri, did you?” Despoina glanced at Thea knowingly. “He was your first love.”

  “Perhaps,” Thea conceded. The waitress now appeared with their order so they settled on eating the ice-creams and coffees, idly chatting about their lives.

  Despoina checked her watch and called over to the waitress to settle the bill, handing over a wad of notes. “I’m sorry Thea, I have to go. But we must meet up again. Here are my contact details,” and she hastily wrote down a number on a torn piece of paper and handed it to Thea. “I can’t believe it, that you’re here. So call me, won’t you,” said Despoina emphatically. “And don’t take twenty years this time!”

  “I will. Of course I will,” Thea promised, thrilled to see her friend again.

  Despoina had started to turn away but then stopped. “By the way, does Eleni know you’re back on the island?”

  Thea’s stomach knotted as a pang of guilt swept over her. How had she forgotten Eleni her dear mentor and friend from all those years ago? Eleni, the person who had taught her to recognise the herbs that grew wild and what relieved digestion, inflammation or menstrual pains. It had been to gain from her vast store of knowledge, Thea had first arrived on the island as a young woman but then somehow other things had crowded in.

  “No, she doesn’t,” Thea admitted puzzled, not knowing how to explain her omission.

  “You must see her,” said Despoina reassuringly, looking down at her. “She would be so delighted to see you. You know that she still lives in the old cottage on the edge of the town. But she hasn’t been so well lately.”

  “I will,” Thea agreed nodding her head, inwardly marking in her mind that she must do so. And yet it had taken several days since the two women had parted company before Thea found herself standing on the pavement outside the house. The old cottage stood where it had always done, but now dwarfed by high rise buildings instead of alone on the edge of town. It looked strangely out of place, with its modest and drab exterior, against the pastel-coloured a
partment blocks and high-end boutiques.

  The metal hinges complained loudly as Thea pushed open the old gate and mounted the red-marled steps up to the entrance. The front door was still the same, with the wrought-iron grille twisted into ornate swirls. The dusk-pink paint was faded or streaked with brown-rust. An air of neglect overhung the garden, where a tangle of foliage was slowly enveloping the building and threatening to erupt out into the public street. On the front porch, more care had been taken. Thea cast her eye over the jumble of brightly decorated plant pots and white-washed oil cans, recognising a whole medicinal larder: camomile and marjoram for inflammation; rosemary for circulation; fennel, juniper and lemon to refresh the body; cloves for troublesome toothache; sage and red clover for feminine ailments; and lavender and rose to soothe the agitated body. Thea smiled to herself, perceiving Eleni’s touch at work.

  The cottage’s interior was shrouded in darkness giving the impression that no one was home. But on closer inspection, the smell of sweet cinnamon filled her nostrils and there was the noise of activity deep inside the house.

  Thea knocked loudly and then tested the door. It was unlocked. Entering, she called out the Greek greeting “Yeia-sas.” From within the interior came a muffled answering response. After a few moments a woman emerged, small and rounded in shape, the freshness and glow of her face at odds with her slow shuffling movements.

  “Koritsi mou!” The older women came towards her, embracing and holding Thea closely to her as if she would hold on for ever. For several minutes, they held on tight to each other, trying to cross the years that had separated them. And then Eleni stood back from her at arm’s length, reading in Thea’s features, as if deciphering all that had happened since they had last occupied the same space.