Eulises
The wine colored sea beats relentlessly upon beach. Each passing wave taunts me further, even as the unending pounding draws me from my nightmares. The sun is not yet clearing the waters as they incessantly spill out their timeless tales of anguish, and hate.
I rise, despite the early hour, shifting from my place on the stone floor. I lift my sandals though I do not put them on. I look back at the bed. The goddess sleeps still.
I move silently as I can through the castle, the sole mortal inhabitant. The wind whistles in displeasure at my existence here, or so I fancy. I would rather focus on realities of this rather unreal world I find myself in, than the thoughts and twists of my own mind. Too many haunted chambers there. And I have to get home yet before I succumb to my own grief.
I slip from the castle's grey imposing walls, ignoring the disapproving creek of the door. And I run through the soft sand down to the coast, sandals still in one hand.
The angry waters still slap upon the shore, fierce white heads rising up to meet the sky not yet brushed with dawn.
I curl my hand to my lips, kiss it, and then pray to god of the western wind to carry my love across the waves to my wife. Sleeping still soundly in our marriage bed. I would hope. She would be at this hour. That I could take her in my arms and kiss her rosy cheeks myself. But I have nothing but breath and a whisper to the winds to sustain us now.
I blink hot tears from my eyes. Weeping does nothing. I should know. I've tried it often enough.
I slip on the sandals, once more casting a fierce glance at the ocean waves. However distasteful I may be, I do not think I warrant this. And worse to deprive my wife and son of my company and protection? I may have done harm but they? I shake my head. No prayers are answered, it would seem.
I walk quicky into the forest. I know the trails here well now. I only pause to find a sharp stone I've hidden, then I make a mark upon a well abused tree. I cannot lose track of time. and I already fear for my mind. I know not which way is up or down somedays.
Then I set to work. Only the cleanest branches will do. By stealing stomach from a lamb I begged to butcher, I have nearly a bow made, now it is finding fine enough rocks to fashion arrow heads. I have a rock already as a weapon. No, this will not slay a goddess. But a weapon will be necessary when I fly to my freedom. Escape attempt numberânever mind that's depressing. No it's not. I've done something at least.
I look up at the tree. Seven hundred and ninety seven. Yes. I'm nothing if not persistent. My most admirable quality next to my intelligence and quickness of tongue.
I find a solid branch, downed by the storm last night. So a god cares for me yet? It will go well on my raft that I am fashioning. It's not going well at all and will surely be dashed apart at the first wave but once more I'm nothing if not persistent. I have little rope to bind it together with. If I steal too much the goddess may get suspicious. But I can sneak a little every now and again.
Working puts my mind something close to at ease, as I listen for any sign of an intruder. The goddess will not require me until night falls, anyway. My stomach churns with the thought. But I force it away. Let tonight's trials come and go. I'll live through them as I do everything.
"Fair, clever, most beautiful of women, sweet Penelope know how I weep for you," I say, quietly, to myself as I know in my mind she cannot hear me. But in my heart speaking to her gives me some comfort. "I pray to the gods night and day for my return, that I may hold you in my arms again. I am not a man of my word nor a man of honor, but for you I'll breach every wave and win every war. No mountain tall enough, no storm fierce enough to keep me from you. For you cannot be possessed but I am yours. Beginning, middle, and end, for all time. If the poets tell our story have them sing of how I loved you beyond measure which even my fine words can grasp. For this worthless trickster's heart is forever yours."
No answer. I speak to her daily. It's some comfort to imagine she's there, eyes smiling at me. Like we spent so many days yet far too few. It doesn't matter. I will just be home. One day. In my own halls. With my own wife's hands in mine.
My work does not go smoothly. I have no knife and am reduced to smashing stones to sharpen them, then using the stones to fashion arrows. A few feathers I collected will have to do but my precise brain aches for the lack of balance in the weapon. I had better when I was a boy. Yet. This shall do. It must for I have nothing else. My sharpest instrument remains in my own head and there are days I do not even trust it; however much it pains me to admit.
The raft is going better, if only slightly. I have stolen some lengths of rope. Well. I choose to say it's not technically stealing. It's repayment for services that I never wished to render. Leave it there. My rope for a raft, in payment, which I have taken without the knowledge of she that should be paying me.
I muse at the simple work of measuring and tying the boards. So simple yet beyond my usual scope of occupation. I bless the hours I spent as a boy with my father. His rough, steady hands guiding mine to fashion furniture and other treasures from smooth, solid wood.
"Why do you bother when we're rich enough to buy this for mum?" I asked, sitting on a stool, watching him with intense curiosity yet too small to comprehend the simple pleasure of the work.
"Because some things, are better made with your hands," my father said, tolerantly. He never understood me or my mind. I was my mother's child, always. He married her when she fell pregnant and probably not by him. I born a blessed six months from their wedding day. To his credit, he cared very little. For this child, who spoke far too soon and far too often, and got into everything always and forever had an explanation for every trespass, was always his. He laughed at my tales, tolerated my wildness, and never once doubted that I was worth his time despite how different we two were. I loved him for it.
"I don't understand. I'll be rich and buy whatever," I said, frowning.
"I'm sure you will. But you'll know how to make things all the same. Someday you may need to do something with your hands, boy, that your clever tongue cannot do," he said, ruffling my curls with amusement. Always amused at my logic even then.
"Can you teach me how to make a bow?"
"I cannot, your mother has given me strict instructions not arm you till your sixth birthday, child, she says you're more than enough trouble and we're lucky the staff doesn't quit or go mad," he said, amused. He was just amused by me. Nothing else. Not impatient, never cross. "Why are you out here anyway? She banish you?"
"She says I can't come inside till I've not told a lie for five minutes," I pouted. I had not yet done that. "She also says I'll be the death of someone, just not myself."
"Your mother is always right, remember that. Women always are."
"Not all women. They can't be. I don't even like them."
"You don't like anybody, do you Eulises?" he asked, as ever interested in my mind.
"I like you," I frowned, "And I'm attached to mum. And the dogs. I love the hounds. Mother said I could go hunting, why don't you take me?"
"Because that is a lie she never didâyou will get us both in trouble with her. Again," he said, smiling tolerantly, pale blue eyes glittering with mirth. Blue eyes and pale hair. Nothing like me. handsome enough in himself, but still I looked nothing like him especially as I grew. Him, tall, fair haired, slow and steady, I small lean, and swarthy, quick about everything, light fingered, quick tongued as my mother would say. I do get it from her, that and my dark, soulless eyes.
"Now come help me, hold this," he said.
"What are we building?" I asked, coming to help as he asked. I generally did as he asked if it suited me.
"We are building a chair for your mother's parlor. It's a surprise for her."
"Do women like it when you build things for them?" I asked.
"Sometimes, depends on the woman. Your mother does well enough. And I enjoy the work. It's done with love, and she knows it."
"How does she know?" I asked, frowning, "You could have bought it for all she knew. How would she tell the difference?"
"When you love someone, you can," he said, putting a hand through my curls and leaving saw dust in them.
We spent many a day like that. And now the base knowledge of architecture is proving more than useful. I thought it did when I built my marriage bed, or my son's cradle. Those things pleased my wife so I thought it worthy of my time. Now, however, the knowledge may save my life. I had no interest in such trivial occupations as a boy. As a man they are not only my means of escape but all together keeping me sane. That along with the memory of my wife.
"You'd like these flowers, you know. I'd pick them for you but, let's go with me surviving the trip," it is my custom to speak to her as I work. It's that or go mad. "Do you remember the lilies I put in your room when I was courting you? You'd looked at them in the garden so of course I climbed up and set them on your window ledge. You say you laughed knowing I'd done it. I charge you with lying, you rolled your eyes when you saw those flowers. I've seen you and you roll your eyes at me very very often. It isn't allowed to be as precious as it is when you do that. You ought not be allowed, honestly. I'm shocked the gods let you walk among us with your beauty. I'm even more shocked they gave me something as perfect as you are. I know I've lost you for so long. But I'd do it all again, I'd climb through hell, drown, be kidnapped, watch my men be slaughtered, for one single moment more in your perfect arms."
I feel hot tears slipping down my face unbidden. It matters not. She cannot hear me. But I have no hope of getting the words out so if I speak them out there into the cool morning air, perhaps somehow they will find their way to her ears however softly.
"What are you doing?" a terrible voice, like bells ringing off in the distance, or metal striking metal in a forge.
I wince, slowly standing from my work, "I'm so glad you're here goddess; I've found these makings of weapons I think we may have invaders upon the island but fear not! I shall protect you and dispose of their trappings for the small price of my freedom---" a sickening pain fills my head and I am out.