I led my husband's retrievers to him. Odysseus faked madness. His eyes were half closed and drool was seeping from his slightly parted lips. I turned around to keep the laughter in my eyes from reaching the views of the two men seeking the acquaintance of my husband.
“Odysseus,” one of the men stepped toward the plow, “Lord Odysseus, we need you’re knowledge and skills of the battlefield.” Odysseus mumbled and reaching into the salt pack which he’d made a show of putting on the plow, he tossed the salt into the ground kicking dirt over the pieces.
“Mommy.” Telemachus came rushed to me. The taller of the men snatched him. I glanced at Odysseus, fear gripping me. He pushed the plow ahead pretending not to have seen our son grabbed by the man. The man walked in front of the plow and placed Telemachus in the direct path of the plow. My eyes grew wide with panic. Odysseus swiftly turned the plow out of its path. Telemachus sat dumbfounded looking from his father, to me, and then to the men.
“Ha, Odysseus, I almost believed your insanity, but if you were mad you would have surely kept walking with the plow. You showed no signs that you knew we were here till your son sat inches from that plow.” Odysseus hung his head.
Finally, shock spurred me and I said, “How could you? You pompous jerk.” The men turned and blinked at me speechless.
“If he were mad he’d have killed my son as well as his own!” I walked away frustrated and fuming. When I got to our room, I let the tears slip down my cheeks. I wept with my head in my hands.
“Dear, please smile.”
“I can’t,” I whispered, “not when I’m angered and upset about what happened minutes ago.” Odysseus stuck his tongue out at me, pulled his ears, and bloated his face like a blow fish, but none of it made a smile appear on my face. I felt rotten for not being able to smile. I couldn’t not after our son was deliberately put in danger.
Odysseus sighed, “Dear dear dear,” he paused, “what am I going to do with you?” He pretended to scold me by wagging his index finger in my direction. He changed his voice to make it humorous. A soft laugh escaped my lips. His face brightened. He sat with me on our bed. I watched the light dance across the posts. Gold, silver, and ivory placed in ever so gently by Odysseus. They glinted in the light.
“Penelope,” he looked directly at the wall as he spoke, “I have to join them in the war.” Now my heart was overwhelmed, and I could no longer keep myself from crying, though I’d only stopped for a little while. Odysseus held me to him as I sobbed. I cried till I fell to sleep in his soft arms. They kept me safe, unafraid of danger, and made it so easy to slip into sleep.
I woke hearing Telemachus. I made my way to the door. Sound floated to me, Odysseus' laughter, and Telemachus' little voice, and Odysseus' pup. I walked toward the humming noises. Odysseus was kneeling on one knee his hands on Telemachus' shoulders. I watched them from the doorway. The puppy slid across the marble flooring, and Odysseus, in one swift movement, sat Telemachus on his broad shoulders. Our two year old son laughed with enjoyment. Odysseus stood. Seeing me in the doorway he waddled over. Telemachus grinned.
“I’m taller than you mommy.” I smiled at him.
“Odysseus, did they say when you were to leave?” I prayed for a split second it would be at least a week away. Odysseus shifted around a little to get a good grip on Telemachus before lowering him to the floor.
He paused. His silence horrified me. “I have to leave when Helios reaches the middle of the sky.” My emotions inside twisted around me. Tears threatened to beat their way through my eyes and down my face to show my overflowing sadness. But for Odysseus, I had to keep composer.
“Please, smile,” his voice was calm. I looked at him, and I looked at Telemachus. Our son was occupying himself with the puppy.
“Aw come on, Argos,” he said, “get the rope toy.” I looked back at Odysseus. He hugged me to him, and we watched Telemachus play. I smiled and looked at Odysseus. He winked at me.
“There’s my smile. Now I shall not give up till I see it again.” Helios etched his way through the heavens, and I hated him for it. I will miss you, Odysseus, I thought to myself.
We played with Telemachus till it was time for Odysseus to go. Odysseus walked with Telemachus at his side. I walked alongside on Odysseus' left. I stopped at the dock, and I grasped Telemachus' shoulders to keep him by me. Other women and children stood about. They watched as their fathers and husbands boarded the boats. Odysseus hesitated as he climbed onto the rocking boat, looked up, and smiled at Telemachus and me. It warmed, yet distressed my heart. Telemachus waved, following and watching the boat as he walked across the sand.
“Telemachus, mind your mother while I’m gone.” Odysseus was standing holding on to the side of the boat.
“I will father. I will.” Telemachus tried to keep up, but he was too tired and stopped where he was. We watched as the boat was swallowed by the horizon. Everyone waited as if expecting to see them coming back, as if this was some nasty hoax. Eventually, the crowed dwindled away. I walked with Telemachus back to our palace.
Days come and went, months past, and years diminished. The children of warriors grew. Ten years had gone by since Odysseus left. My heart waited for its other half to arrive because a heart cannot be complete without its partner.
During the tenth year, a servant came to me and said “My lady, boats of men are coming back from Troy.” My heart thudded. It seemed to beat his name, Od-ys-se-us. It pounded against my ribs banging so hard I thought it might give out suddenly. I searched for something flattering to wear. Telemachus was wondering around in one of the many rooms of sweet Odysseus' palace.
“Come Telemachus.” We walked down to the docks. Families were being reunited. Husbands kissed wives and stood back absorbing their grown children. We waited until Helios left the sky. Telemachus and I walked home in silence. The servants got him ready for bed, and I tucked him in. Leather straps from each side of the bed held him up. I went to Odysseus' and my room. I prayed and prayed to the gods. Please, I begged, let him return home to me. I didn’t realize the tears slipping from my eyes nor did I care. I crawled from my knees into my bed. I touched the inlaid gold, silver, and ivory. All my memories kept him with me. In my them, I saw his smile and watched as he played with his only child, Telemachus. Of all the memoirs dearest to me, getting married stood out like the blooms of flowering trees bright against green. It kept me faithful to him. I could recite every word of our vows. His voice wound through my mind. His laughter, his voice, and he himself stayed with me into my dreams.
A year or so after the men came home, they started to knock on our door. They desperately wanted the ‘widow’ of Lord Odysseus, and they wanted his kingdom. I turned them down. I wanted none but my own husband. I imagined what Odysseus would do when he found out about them. He’d grab the back of their necks and tell them to leave before Zeus struck them down.
After months of rejecting them, they made themselves at home in my home. They swore to kill Telemachus. Throwing him out at fifteen, they cursed at him and threw food as he ran away. Every day now, I worried about my husband and son. Where were they? Would either come home to me? The suitors became restless, my servants mingled with them, and I could not get the men to leave. My most trusted maid stayed with me. She was just as discussed as I about the other servants and suitors. Their leader, Antinous, came to me and demanded that I marry one of them. I needed an excuse.
“Please, I will, just let me weave a shroud for Laertes’s death. He’s becoming very ill I fear.” Laertes, dear Odysseus' father, was becoming sick. His wife could no longer wait for her son to return to her. She took her life with a poison, and Laertes was forced to suffer without his wife and son.
“Alright Penelope, but when you’re finished you will choose one of us.” He stressed the word far too much for my liking. Antinous stalked off half fuming it seemed. He left me to tend the loom. I wove every day for months. Tricking them every day; I wove when Helios rose till he set in the western sky. But at night, I stripped from the loom what I had done. I still kept on praying for Odysseus to come home. Finally, knowing I couldn’t pretend to weave forever, I thought of an almost impossible task for the suitors to perform. I went to the closet in my room. The door was beautiful and fit snug between the walls holding it to in the air. I opened them, and I touched Odysseus' bow ever so lightly. I feared it would turn to dust before me. I felt tears slide down my cheeks. I sobbed into my hands. When I finally gained control of my emotions again, I remembered what I came to do. I grabbed the bow tightly. Only Odysseus could string his bow, or at least, I hoped such were true. After stringing the bow, they had to shoot an arrow through twelve axe-heads.
Then one day during the twentieth year of Odysseus' leaving and my son’s fifth year being gone, a beggar came to me and said, “Odysseus is in Ithaca my lady.” My heart skipped. Odysseus! I shunned my happiness as quickly as it had come; I remembered the day the other men had come home. I’d gone down to the docks with Telemachus, and Odysseus had never climbed off one of the boats. That day my hopes had shattered into pieces, only becoming whole again when I saw Odysseus with my own two eyes.
Every suitor tried to string the bow, and every suitor failed. The beggar walked into the room and announced he would like a chance to string the bow. There was a man in the corner of the room I’d never seen before. Curly cherub looking hair grew from his head. He was moving a feather across a tree leaf.
“Who is that man?” I asked one of the unfaithful servants.
“He calls himself Homer.”
“What is he doing?” I asked watching his movements.
“Uh…he called it w-r-i-t-i-n-g,” she said stretching the word new to our lips.
“Writing,” I asked, “what is that?”
“What he’s doing now my lady.” I let the subject drop becoming curious. Telemachus came to me. My heart fluttered with joy. I hugged him to me. He was more a man than a child now. His shoulders had become broad and muscular like his father’s. He looked like his father more now than ever.
“Take your faithful maids, lock your door, and do not come out no matter what you hear.” I glanced around trying to see what would make Telemachus act so, but I did as I was told. The beggar now had his chance stringing the bow, he touched it as though it were as delicate as I felt it were. I watched him until I was down the hall and in my room with Eurynome, my only faithful maid. For awhile I heard nothing, but then I heard screams of angry men. I sat on my bed caressing the leather from nervousness. Time passed slowly. Eventually we were called out of our cadge.
Telemachus said, “Mother, my father is home, and he sits there on his thrown.” I eyed the man carefully. I sat away from him. Again, I saw the man they called Homer. This time he watched us. He was ‘writing’ again. Everything we did or said seemed to set him into a frenzy of scribbling. (Later, I found the leaves he had scribbled on. He made it clear who he was writing about. It was Odysseus and me, but he made our dialog profound. We had never spoken like that.) This is what we really said.
“Mother don’t be so cold, this is my father, your husband Odysseus.”
“I need to test him,” I said inspecting the man’s every move.
The man looked at Telemachus, “Let your mother test me.” He was settled In his chair, and he didn’t mind my scrutiny. I watched him trying to come up with a test to prove his identity.
Then I remembered something as he spoke to the only maid I could see.
“Eurynome, Please get my bed ready,” he stated.
“Yes, that’s a fine idea. Please place our best linen on it and move it into the hallway for him.” I saw, from the corner of my eye, the man claming to be Odysseus, snap his head in my direction.
“How dare you,” he whispered with anger, “That bed cannot be moved by a human. Only a god or goddess could move the bed I made with my own hands. I put gold, silver, and ivory in it to make it appealing, and I built the room around it so that the tree it was cut into could stay rooted into the ground. You say it can be moved though the roots run deep under the dirt which this house sits on. You have become cold, our son was right.” My eyes watered. This was him, my sweet husband, Odysseus.
“You are Odysseus.” He looked sidewise at me. “You and Eurynome are the only ones, besides myself, that have set eyes on that beautiful bed.” I stood walking to him as quick as I could without disturbing my hair too much. His arms came around me. They held me safe once again, and I smiled.
“Odysseus,” one of the men stepped toward the plow, “Lord Odysseus, we need you’re knowledge and skills of the battlefield.” Odysseus mumbled and reaching into the salt pack which he’d made a show of putting on the plow, he tossed the salt into the ground kicking dirt over the pieces.
“Mommy.” Telemachus came rushed to me. The taller of the men snatched him. I glanced at Odysseus, fear gripping me. He pushed the plow ahead pretending not to have seen our son grabbed by the man. The man walked in front of the plow and placed Telemachus in the direct path of the plow. My eyes grew wide with panic. Odysseus swiftly turned the plow out of its path. Telemachus sat dumbfounded looking from his father, to me, and then to the men.
“Ha, Odysseus, I almost believed your insanity, but if you were mad you would have surely kept walking with the plow. You showed no signs that you knew we were here till your son sat inches from that plow.” Odysseus hung his head.
Finally, shock spurred me and I said, “How could you? You pompous jerk.” The men turned and blinked at me speechless.
“If he were mad he’d have killed my son as well as his own!” I walked away frustrated and fuming. When I got to our room, I let the tears slip down my cheeks. I wept with my head in my hands.
“Dear, please smile.”
“I can’t,” I whispered, “not when I’m angered and upset about what happened minutes ago.” Odysseus stuck his tongue out at me, pulled his ears, and bloated his face like a blow fish, but none of it made a smile appear on my face. I felt rotten for not being able to smile. I couldn’t not after our son was deliberately put in danger.
Odysseus sighed, “Dear dear dear,” he paused, “what am I going to do with you?” He pretended to scold me by wagging his index finger in my direction. He changed his voice to make it humorous. A soft laugh escaped my lips. His face brightened. He sat with me on our bed. I watched the light dance across the posts. Gold, silver, and ivory placed in ever so gently by Odysseus. They glinted in the light.
“Penelope,” he looked directly at the wall as he spoke, “I have to join them in the war.” Now my heart was overwhelmed, and I could no longer keep myself from crying, though I’d only stopped for a little while. Odysseus held me to him as I sobbed. I cried till I fell to sleep in his soft arms. They kept me safe, unafraid of danger, and made it so easy to slip into sleep.
I woke hearing Telemachus. I made my way to the door. Sound floated to me, Odysseus' laughter, and Telemachus' little voice, and Odysseus' pup. I walked toward the humming noises. Odysseus was kneeling on one knee his hands on Telemachus' shoulders. I watched them from the doorway. The puppy slid across the marble flooring, and Odysseus, in one swift movement, sat Telemachus on his broad shoulders. Our two year old son laughed with enjoyment. Odysseus stood. Seeing me in the doorway he waddled over. Telemachus grinned.
“I’m taller than you mommy.” I smiled at him.
“Odysseus, did they say when you were to leave?” I prayed for a split second it would be at least a week away. Odysseus shifted around a little to get a good grip on Telemachus before lowering him to the floor.
He paused. His silence horrified me. “I have to leave when Helios reaches the middle of the sky.” My emotions inside twisted around me. Tears threatened to beat their way through my eyes and down my face to show my overflowing sadness. But for Odysseus, I had to keep composer.
“Please, smile,” his voice was calm. I looked at him, and I looked at Telemachus. Our son was occupying himself with the puppy.
“Aw come on, Argos,” he said, “get the rope toy.” I looked back at Odysseus. He hugged me to him, and we watched Telemachus play. I smiled and looked at Odysseus. He winked at me.
“There’s my smile. Now I shall not give up till I see it again.” Helios etched his way through the heavens, and I hated him for it. I will miss you, Odysseus, I thought to myself.
We played with Telemachus till it was time for Odysseus to go. Odysseus walked with Telemachus at his side. I walked alongside on Odysseus' left. I stopped at the dock, and I grasped Telemachus' shoulders to keep him by me. Other women and children stood about. They watched as their fathers and husbands boarded the boats. Odysseus hesitated as he climbed onto the rocking boat, looked up, and smiled at Telemachus and me. It warmed, yet distressed my heart. Telemachus waved, following and watching the boat as he walked across the sand.
“Telemachus, mind your mother while I’m gone.” Odysseus was standing holding on to the side of the boat.
“I will father. I will.” Telemachus tried to keep up, but he was too tired and stopped where he was. We watched as the boat was swallowed by the horizon. Everyone waited as if expecting to see them coming back, as if this was some nasty hoax. Eventually, the crowed dwindled away. I walked with Telemachus back to our palace.
Days come and went, months past, and years diminished. The children of warriors grew. Ten years had gone by since Odysseus left. My heart waited for its other half to arrive because a heart cannot be complete without its partner.
During the tenth year, a servant came to me and said “My lady, boats of men are coming back from Troy.” My heart thudded. It seemed to beat his name, Od-ys-se-us. It pounded against my ribs banging so hard I thought it might give out suddenly. I searched for something flattering to wear. Telemachus was wondering around in one of the many rooms of sweet Odysseus' palace.
“Come Telemachus.” We walked down to the docks. Families were being reunited. Husbands kissed wives and stood back absorbing their grown children. We waited until Helios left the sky. Telemachus and I walked home in silence. The servants got him ready for bed, and I tucked him in. Leather straps from each side of the bed held him up. I went to Odysseus' and my room. I prayed and prayed to the gods. Please, I begged, let him return home to me. I didn’t realize the tears slipping from my eyes nor did I care. I crawled from my knees into my bed. I touched the inlaid gold, silver, and ivory. All my memories kept him with me. In my them, I saw his smile and watched as he played with his only child, Telemachus. Of all the memoirs dearest to me, getting married stood out like the blooms of flowering trees bright against green. It kept me faithful to him. I could recite every word of our vows. His voice wound through my mind. His laughter, his voice, and he himself stayed with me into my dreams.
A year or so after the men came home, they started to knock on our door. They desperately wanted the ‘widow’ of Lord Odysseus, and they wanted his kingdom. I turned them down. I wanted none but my own husband. I imagined what Odysseus would do when he found out about them. He’d grab the back of their necks and tell them to leave before Zeus struck them down.
After months of rejecting them, they made themselves at home in my home. They swore to kill Telemachus. Throwing him out at fifteen, they cursed at him and threw food as he ran away. Every day now, I worried about my husband and son. Where were they? Would either come home to me? The suitors became restless, my servants mingled with them, and I could not get the men to leave. My most trusted maid stayed with me. She was just as discussed as I about the other servants and suitors. Their leader, Antinous, came to me and demanded that I marry one of them. I needed an excuse.
“Please, I will, just let me weave a shroud for Laertes’s death. He’s becoming very ill I fear.” Laertes, dear Odysseus' father, was becoming sick. His wife could no longer wait for her son to return to her. She took her life with a poison, and Laertes was forced to suffer without his wife and son.
“Alright Penelope, but when you’re finished you will choose one of us.” He stressed the word far too much for my liking. Antinous stalked off half fuming it seemed. He left me to tend the loom. I wove every day for months. Tricking them every day; I wove when Helios rose till he set in the western sky. But at night, I stripped from the loom what I had done. I still kept on praying for Odysseus to come home. Finally, knowing I couldn’t pretend to weave forever, I thought of an almost impossible task for the suitors to perform. I went to the closet in my room. The door was beautiful and fit snug between the walls holding it to in the air. I opened them, and I touched Odysseus' bow ever so lightly. I feared it would turn to dust before me. I felt tears slide down my cheeks. I sobbed into my hands. When I finally gained control of my emotions again, I remembered what I came to do. I grabbed the bow tightly. Only Odysseus could string his bow, or at least, I hoped such were true. After stringing the bow, they had to shoot an arrow through twelve axe-heads.
Then one day during the twentieth year of Odysseus' leaving and my son’s fifth year being gone, a beggar came to me and said, “Odysseus is in Ithaca my lady.” My heart skipped. Odysseus! I shunned my happiness as quickly as it had come; I remembered the day the other men had come home. I’d gone down to the docks with Telemachus, and Odysseus had never climbed off one of the boats. That day my hopes had shattered into pieces, only becoming whole again when I saw Odysseus with my own two eyes.
Every suitor tried to string the bow, and every suitor failed. The beggar walked into the room and announced he would like a chance to string the bow. There was a man in the corner of the room I’d never seen before. Curly cherub looking hair grew from his head. He was moving a feather across a tree leaf.
“Who is that man?” I asked one of the unfaithful servants.
“He calls himself Homer.”
“What is he doing?” I asked watching his movements.
“Uh…he called it w-r-i-t-i-n-g,” she said stretching the word new to our lips.
“Writing,” I asked, “what is that?”
“What he’s doing now my lady.” I let the subject drop becoming curious. Telemachus came to me. My heart fluttered with joy. I hugged him to me. He was more a man than a child now. His shoulders had become broad and muscular like his father’s. He looked like his father more now than ever.
“Take your faithful maids, lock your door, and do not come out no matter what you hear.” I glanced around trying to see what would make Telemachus act so, but I did as I was told. The beggar now had his chance stringing the bow, he touched it as though it were as delicate as I felt it were. I watched him until I was down the hall and in my room with Eurynome, my only faithful maid. For awhile I heard nothing, but then I heard screams of angry men. I sat on my bed caressing the leather from nervousness. Time passed slowly. Eventually we were called out of our cadge.
Telemachus said, “Mother, my father is home, and he sits there on his thrown.” I eyed the man carefully. I sat away from him. Again, I saw the man they called Homer. This time he watched us. He was ‘writing’ again. Everything we did or said seemed to set him into a frenzy of scribbling. (Later, I found the leaves he had scribbled on. He made it clear who he was writing about. It was Odysseus and me, but he made our dialog profound. We had never spoken like that.) This is what we really said.
“Mother don’t be so cold, this is my father, your husband Odysseus.”
“I need to test him,” I said inspecting the man’s every move.
The man looked at Telemachus, “Let your mother test me.” He was settled In his chair, and he didn’t mind my scrutiny. I watched him trying to come up with a test to prove his identity.
Then I remembered something as he spoke to the only maid I could see.
“Eurynome, Please get my bed ready,” he stated.
“Yes, that’s a fine idea. Please place our best linen on it and move it into the hallway for him.” I saw, from the corner of my eye, the man claming to be Odysseus, snap his head in my direction.
“How dare you,” he whispered with anger, “That bed cannot be moved by a human. Only a god or goddess could move the bed I made with my own hands. I put gold, silver, and ivory in it to make it appealing, and I built the room around it so that the tree it was cut into could stay rooted into the ground. You say it can be moved though the roots run deep under the dirt which this house sits on. You have become cold, our son was right.” My eyes watered. This was him, my sweet husband, Odysseus.
“You are Odysseus.” He looked sidewise at me. “You and Eurynome are the only ones, besides myself, that have set eyes on that beautiful bed.” I stood walking to him as quick as I could without disturbing my hair too much. His arms came around me. They held me safe once again, and I smiled.
