Penelope
I'm really glad that boy brought home cymbals. I really am.
"Good morning," I lean over the balcony. I put on a black dress for today. And I'm smiling though I can't even name why.
The suitors wake up, grumbling and glaring.
"I've come to a decision which I am about to explain to you , so listen closely. This afternoon, I'm going to have a contest. And the winner gets my hand in marriage. The contest is this, whomever can string my dear, departed, clearly dead husband's bow, can have my hand in marriage. Twelve axe heads will be arranged, and the winner must shoot through them," I say.
They clamor with obvious interest because they think they can string this bow (they can't it makes no logical sense unless it's been thoroughly explained, almost exactly like my husband).
"However, anyone wishing to compete will have to pay me a non refundable sum. The amount is up to you but should there be no winners then I'll be looking at your financial contributions," I say, smiling down at them.
Telemachus
"Are you crying?" I ask, glancing at my father, as we lean in the shadows.
"That's my girl," he says, with clear affection, looking up at my mother as she bangs the cymbals again, "I love you so much."
"Love you too, dadâ,"
"Your mother is so perfect Tel, seriously, I couldn't love her more I want you to know that," he says, still staring at her.
"I got that, dad, really, I'm going to go and see if she needs help now," he says.
"Yes, go fetch my bow do youâ,"
"Yes, I know how you've explained it four times," I say.
"Right, sorry, not all here's the fifth---,"
"Dad!"
"I have to mess with you, go on now. And once you're through lock your mother in her room. She does not need to participate," he says.
"What will you be doing?" I ask.
"Locking all the exits, they're about to become fish in a barrel," he says, squeezing the back of my neck, "Go on now."
Penelope
"What if it's not him?" Cleia asks, twisting her hands, "What if he doesn't come?"
"My husband would climb out of the depths of the Underworld, if he knew strangers were touching that precious bow. He would do the same if another man touched me but let's not stoop to that," not that I hadn't thought of it.
"As you wish my lady," she says, nervous still.
"As I know him---oh that asshole," I dart back to the door, just as the lock from the outside clicks closed.
"Mum, please stay in there, and do not come out, no matter what you may hear, or what you may think is going on, all right?" Telemachus, weakly.
"Telemachus is there anything you want to tell me about involving archery superfluous lying, drama, locking people places, or your precious idiot father in general?" I growl, in the voice I know frightens him.
"Who? Me? No idea what you mean? Please stay in there?" he says, then I hear him bolt because he is afraid of me.
"Damn that man, I want to watch," I say, going to the window and wrenching it open. He knows I could still see. That complete idiot. That arrogant jerk. He wanted to look at me we both know that. It makes me half not want to be in the window. Except I want to look at him as well.
Eulises
I finish locking the rest of the doors. The suitors have already cleared out to the wide lawn where the servants set up the axes. Telemachus somehow declared himself in charge in a manner, and the servants look reasonably dubious about that. The suitors ignore me for the most part, and for my part I drift to the back of their crowd.
Telemachus has my bow, holding it almost gingerly. He said he'd never been taught to use it, nor seen it, saying his mother said I would show him.
He reminds them of the rules. I don't note it. I'm searching for Penelope's face in the windows. Of course she's leaned out, watching. The damned wind whips her short yellow hair, now streaked with fine silver. Her eyes squint a bit and she's too far away but I swear they are on me.
I look away.
My hands are shaking. Countless speeches I had prepared. Fine words. Mountains of prose only for her. and I can't utter a word. It's too hard now. It's been so long. It isn't the same.
I've been to war. Killed countless men. Lived for years on nothing but my tricks and wits alone. Nobody to save me. Only my own lying tongue.
I want to be home so badly now. And what have I brought home? War? Violence again? I search for a weapon and don't even have the strength in my hands to use it. It's all meaningless. I don't know if it's even I who came back. She didn't know my face why should she I don't even know my reflection let alone wish to look upon it. How many more nights will I feel Calypso's hands on my skin? How many more nights will I hear the screams of the dying?
"I wish I were you sometimes, Ithaca," Achilles said, as he stroked his lover's urn. We sat up on his ship.
"Why me?" I asked quietly.
"Because you can go home. I can't."
"You'll be remembered though. You're the hero," I said, because I knew not what else to say.
"Ah, but you'll live a life of peace. Live for the rest of us, and go home and live a peaceful life of nothing. I'd trade a thousand wars for that," he said, clear eyes hot with tears.
And yet I cannot even do that. I can't will my feet or hands to do as they are bid. I need help. I can't hold onto this. The idea of coming home got me through now there's no ideas left. Nothing left except a reality I don't know how to face.
Penelope
"What are you doing?" I whisper, quietly. He's not moving. It has to be him. It has to be. Yet he lets them all touch his bow, fumble with it. not one of them can string it. Not one. Yet he doesn't move.
Telemachus
"Here, let me try, win my own mother," I say, taking the bow back just to borrow time. He's not moving or coming to take it. Why? He wants to go last? What for?
I've never strung it before of course, but I get the string hooked on the top with ease, the rest is not so simple. I know which way it's intended to go (others did not) however it takes surprising strength to stretch the cord down to the other side. Three times it snaps back bloodying my hand. On the fourth, I nearly have it hooked when I feel my father's hand on the back of my neck.
Eulises
My feet move without my bidding. I shift past them, moving to Telemachus' side. His dark eyes filled with concern when they looked at me. Fearing for me. Fearing what he didn't know.
"Here, let me," I say, holding out my hands.
The suitors scoff, "What, an old beggar like you?"
"What makes you think you can do it?" only the three remain, the others have already drifted inside, annoyed at losing.
"If I've no chance, there's no harm in letting me try, is there?" I ask, coolly, "As you said. I'm Nobody."
Telemachus hands my bow to me. in one smooth motion I string it, the wood and bone bending easily in my hands like returning to an old friend.
They are clamouring in confusion. Telemachus smiles, handing me the quiver.
I raise the bow, letting nothing but my own heartbeat pound in my ears.
I breath in, letting the breath fill my lungs and the fresh morning Ithacan air cool my lips. Everything drains from my mind. The screams are quiet. Only air and my own blood rushes in my ears.
I breath out, steading myself and my hands as I train my eye down the arrow.
I shoot, my hands steady and true to me once more.
And the arrow sings through all twelve axes.
I reload automatically, shooting the first suitor in the forehead. The others barely start for their swords before I've nestled an arrow through each of their throats. Hot blood splatters my face, not an unfamiliar sensation.
Telemachus stands there, clearly surprised, blood sprayed across him as well.
Wordlessly, I collect my arrows and pick up a sword.
Penelope
"Eulises no---damn it," I slam into the door, angrily. Of course it's still locked. He's going to go in there and kill them I know it. "If you die the day you come back I will kill myself so I can join you in the underworld and hurt you," I growl, going to get a pin to set to work on the lock. There's a reason he loves me.
Telemachus
"Did you take their weapons?" my father asks, as I run after him, down to the house.
"No, you didn't say to do that also how--?"
"Lie? Doesn't matter, stay behind me."
"I'm helping," I say, as we entering the great hall. It takes the suitors two heartbeats to realize that we are both covered in their friends blood. That's long enough for my father to start dropping them with arrows.
Eulises
Once I'm out of arrows I use a stolen sword. Then I slay one and take his sword so that I have two. Telmeachus fights back to back with me, his movements light and fluid. He uses a chair as a shield and I do my best to ward them off of him.
"Let me stab someone," he groans.
"Absolutely not," I realize I'm grinning.
Penelope
The screaming starts.
"What do you suppose is happening, my lady?" Cleia asks.
"My husband is happening," I growl, still at work on the lock, "That's the sound of people meeting Eulises." Or I want it to be. I want it to be him so much it hurts. Can wanting something this desperately make it true?
Eulises
I barely realize when I slay the last one. Telemachus and I are both wet with blood.
"You're not hurt are you?" I drop the swords, spinning him around to check for injury.
"A cut on one arm that's all," he says, cheerfully, "This is all them. You have to show me how to shoot that bow!"
"You know I will," I say, checking his face with one bloody hand.
"What in the name of the gods?"
Telemachus and I both spin around, quickly. Penelope is standing on the stairs. Glaring at us, and the bodies around us.
"Mother---father is home," Telemachus says, pointing at me, "Don't you recognize him?"
"I don't recognize you under all that blood---Cleia bring them towels and something for their injuries," she says, folding her arms. I set down the bow and quiver on the table, where they'll be safe for the moment. I am injured, a wound to my chest, not bad but it is bleeding.
"Don't you recognize my father?" Telemachus asks, completely upset, as we are brought the wet towels. I rub my face with it, mostly, as well as my blood stained hands.
"Don't trouble yourself, Telemachus, your mother and I have a thousand secrets between us that we alone know, we can easily know the other," I say, staring at her. the goddess would not be hiding me from her now, would she? Penelope's eyes are of course on me, she looks me up and down, coolly.
"Get cleaned up, I'll see you outside," she says, wincing at the bodies as she walks past them.
"Can someone yeahâcan you drag these outside?" Telemachus begins directing the servants.
I obey my wife's command. The servants lead me off to change, and I do, into my own old clean clothes, and I finally fully wash the blood off.
Then I join my wife outside.
"Why should I believe it's you?" is all she says, standing, silhouetted against the sunset. A couple of servants linger watching, I suppose at her command. She's wearing the dress still and her hair is tucked back behind her ears from her face, now lined with care.
"I--," I have nothing. I have nothing to say.
"After all this time, if it is you, you know of tricks of the gods, give me proof it's you," she says, folding her arms, and biting her lip as she looks into my eyes.
"I have nothing anymore. This is all I could do wasâcome home to you. So there's that. Come home to you and love you in my entirety forever, that's all I have. I tell lies more often than the truth, so I am lost to speak it now," I say, tears running down my face, "I just want to be home. With my wife. In my house. In my bed. Finally."
"You may remain, but until I have some proof you are who you claim to be, then you'll stay in the guests quartersâ,"
"This is my house," I say, shaking my head, "I'll stay in our room."
"I'll have the servants move the bed from my room to the hall then, would that please you?" she asks, cocking her head haughtily.
"What are you talking about? The bed is built into the treeâor it was when I leftânone can move it, I laid the bricks around the roots of the tree with my own hands. did someone cut the tree down then?" I ask, confused, "It can't be moved."
"I know," she says, and then she flies into my arms, planting kisses across my entire face.
I sob, clutching her to me. Finally, back in my arms. I thought I would be weak but I am not. I pick her up and spin her around as she kisses me, her hands on my face, running through my hair.
I've kissed her a thousand times and more in my dreams but nothing compared to the raw joy of holding her back in my arms once more, knowing I had her back and she did want me.
"I missed you so much," she says, tears brimming from her eyes.
"I'm home now," I whisper, setting her down but not letting her go, as I kiss her again.
"Yes, yes we are," she sobs, her face in my shirt.
Penelope
We kiss like that for what seems like hours. Time slows to a lovely crawl as I have my love back in my arms, safe, home again. Finally I lead him in. Telemachus is with the servants, getting them appropriately drunk and reminding them why they shan't tell anyone about the demise of the suitors.
I lead Eulises to our room, and to bed. He comes with me, eyes hollow but something like a smile on his face.
I lock the door before going about tending to his wounds. He got a few in the battle, but they number nothing like the new scars, new to me anyway, too many are already faded and pale with time.
"What did they do to you?" I whisper.
Eulises
"Don't make me tell you," I say, as her hands trace the criss-crossing burns on my arms and chest, from Calypso's binds. They look worse in our firelight, or perhaps I only now see them through her eyes.
"Shhh," she says, kissing my lips again, "It doesn't matter."
"Nothing matters now," I say, slipping down onto the bed and letting her crawl on top of me. I kiss her mouth then neck, then chest, easily tugging off the dress.
Wordlessly we memorize each other once more. I kiss the freckles, moles, and scars I knew, and then touch new ones with reverence prior to kissing them as well. She has far more to discover than I, for my body is beaten in ways neither of us could have fathomed.
I kiss her underneath the blankets, pulling them over us so that I'm hidden from the world if not her. I don't' care. I'm loving her again, watching the smile form on her lips and kiss the tears from her cheeks as she sobs at what has become of me.
The night is half gone before we rest, finally, in the other's arms. I lie with the sheets draped mostly over us, my head on her stomach as her fingers work through knots in my hair. I hold her other hand, studying the stout fingers, and rubbing callouses with my thumbs.
"Tell me what happened," she says, very quietly.
"All of it? You may not wish to hear it, and we can't undo that," I say, quietly.
"There is nothing, that I can't hear from you," she says.
"I'll tell you the tale then. It's a good one, I suppose," I say.
"Why?"
"Because I made it back to you. That's all. All else before that is cursed. I faced the perils of waves and war, wrecked in the wine dark sea, all to come back to you. And therein lies this hero's happy ending."
The End