The columns of the temple of Zeus, in Athens,
stand white against the moonlit sky.
A woman walks among columnar cypress,
her sandals scraping sand and gravel.
A hawk wheels above.
T
he masks I have on my bedroom walls seem less clever than they appeared years ago. Our theatre, too, has changed through the years, become more mediocre.
Yesterday, at the play, I sat closer than usual and was delighted by the comic faces, so new and frightful that children screamed and squealed. Good, I thought. Perhaps the play may take on life.
...A man with a tambourine strutted about...an old beggar, pack on back, pulled at his beard and mimicked words sung by the chorus. He seemed to be one of us or a Chian, maybe. It was pleasant enough to soak myself in comedy for a while, for right after the play, Charaxos found me and suggested we stroll in private. Obviously, he had something on his mind!
He began by offering me an exquisite scarab, saying he had purchased it for me, from a sailor who had touched port.
"For me?" I became suspicious! I fingered the beetle- shaped oval, unlike any I had seen. An amethyst was set in the center with characters engraved around it.
"An Etruscan scarab should make a pretty keepsake," he said.
"Then I think you should keep it."
"Why? Are you afraid?" he asked.
"Of what?"
"That it might bring bad luck."
He laughed ironically, as he flipped and caught the scarab, with a flick of his wrist.
"What is it you want?" I asked, coming directly to the point.
"To be treated with respect, Rhodopis and I-not criticized."
"Do I say too much?"
"I don't like your tongue." He was scowling now.
"Nor I your woman's!"
"Leave her out! I warn you-she's no longer a slave!"
"It wasn't that she was a slave that bothered me."
"A courtesan, then!"
"No, you should know better than that. Oh, no...it was your assumption that our family funds could be lifted, without my consent and without my knowledge. Taken to buy Rhodopis. You sold three or four wine ships to pay her price, along with the money taken from me."
"Can't you forget..."
"Not conveniently. Nobody enjoys being robbed."
"I have said I would repay you."
"But that was nearly two years ago. And you go right on selling wine and buying equipment. I have heard that you added a ship last month. Wasn't it convenient to pay me then?"
His fist tightened over the scarab, and he bowed and turned away, rejoining his wife who was strolling behind us with her friends and servants.
Theatre!
Villa Poseidon
Atthis, Gyrinno, Anaktoria and I went swimming in the bay by the driftwood tree. It was late, the sun misty, its eye sleepy, pelicans roosting, a dolphin or two frolicking close to shore. I had been unable to forget my meeting with Charaxos, until Anaktoria, who is the best swimmer among us, grabbed me by the heels as I floated by, and towed me to the bottom. That ended my anger and irritation. I lit after her, snatching for her long hair.
Arms around her, I forced her to tow me toward shore, making myself as heavy as possible.
As the four of us played on the beach, I thought: When will this happen again? Something about the late afternoon-its hammered out sun, its tempered air, its windlessness, its smell of spring-seemed unreal even as it happened. We tossed our blankets on the sand, dashed back and forth to the water's edge, splashed each other, then arranged ourselves in a circle and began combing each other's hair. We sang and laughed, comparing, whose was finest, whose was thickest.
Atthis, whose hair was shortest, bragged she could swim the farthest. That started an argument.
"Who swam halfway round the island last year?" demanded Gyrinno.
"Who was born at sea?" said Anaktoria.
"You can tell the best swimmer by the shape of her buttocks," said Atthis. "Look at mine, how flat they are." She jumped up, to show us.
"A boy's buttocks," laughed Gyrinno.
"Here. Measure. Mine are smaller," said Anaktoria.
So we measured, laughing, fussing, pushing, our hair streaming around us-a gull on the shore padding back and forth, scolding. Atthis won, but Anaktoria had the loveliest breasts, so round, almost transparent in that evening light. I have rarely seen a girl of such grace, not the childish grace of some, but the accomplished grace of true femininity. As the others became aware of my admiration, they became jealous and peevish, and tried to shift the praise.
They talked about my smallness, my violet hair... "your deep blue eyes"... "your melodious voice..."
But this was Anaktoria's hour. She had been away, visiting in Samnos, staying with her family, and I was eager to hear the news.