Alexander Poleshchuk - The Secret of Homer

"Written down? I do not understand." "Well, with signs made on thin white sheets." "The Phoenicians do that," said Homer thoughtfully. "I have heard about that."

"But I must pain you. Some people doubt whether you ever really existed, Homer."

"Gods know no doubts. You are mortals," said Homer, smiling ironically, and with a quick movement grasped the rock on which he was sitting and I saw that his hand was strong and deft. Then he bent down and picked up a stone from the ground, clenching it hard in his fist.

"You see, we are very interested in certain contradictions in your poems."

"Are you not mocking me, strangers?" said Homer in a loud voice. Through the rents in his grey cloak one could see his still-powerful muscles grow tense.

"Careful!" cried Artem, and he seized the old man by the hand he had raised, ready to strike.

For a moment Homer struggled, then his hand opened, and the stone fell over the cliff. The sea, far below, received it with a splash.

"Anyone can insult a blind man nowadays," said Homer sadly. "What do you want of me? Go your way."

"We did not want to offend you at all-we are telling the truth-but there are certain contradictions in your poems… For instance, I would like to know… You often speak in the songs about the 'Odyssey', of ironware and the use of iron weapons. But surely in your day iron was unknown, wasn't it?"

"Unknown? Yes, it was unknown to him who had no sharp-horned bulls to barter for an axe of grey iron, a sword, or a knife. Have you never met traders who bring ornaments and weapons from overseas? They take much for them in prisoners, wine, bulls, and hides."

"Perhaps, perhaps. But you must admit, Homer.

"Just a minute," interrupted Artem. "It's my turn to ask questions. Homer, have you eaten anything today?"

"Neither yesterday, nor today," replied Homer. "Nobody wants to listen to my songs here. Twelve crimson-cheeked ships, full of bold warriors, did Odysseus, the son of Laertes, lead to the shores of Ilium, and they did not return. They have not forgotten that here."

Artem rushed to our "truck" and got the lunch packet out. Before he got back to us, I took the opportunity to ask Homer point-blank: "It is believed that you yourself, Homer, fought in the ranks of the Achaeans in the war with Troy. Is that true?"

"I did," answered Homer in a very pensive manner. "With which of the heroes do they compare me?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "With none of them. It is believed that you were a simple warrior and that afterwards you sang of what you had seen."

Artem came running up to us and opening the packet, took Homer's hand gently and put a piece of bread and cheese in it. "Eat," said Artem. "It's bread and cheese." Homer slowly bit off a small piece of the bread and cheese, swallowed it, and put the rest in the folds of his cloak. "The bread is like air," he said, "and the cheese tastes good. I believe you, strangers, when you say you are not mocking an old beggar. Ask, and I shall tell you everything." "From your songs, Homer, we know that Odysseus, having killed Penelope's suitors, once again became the king of Ithaca. Did he live a long time?"

"One day I shall sing about that," said Homer. "Not now-later. Yes, Odysseus killed the suitors. Wailing and groaning, the kinsfolk of the murdered men carried the corpses out of the house. Those who had lived in Ithaca were buried by their own peoples, those who were natives of other cities were sent home in swift fishermen's boats. But Eupeithes stirred up the Cephallenians against him…"

"We know, we know," said I. "Let me recite this place to you by heart: 'Friends, there has terrible havoc been wrought, among the noble Achaeans, by this Odysseus here… To unborn generations with scorn will our name be remembered, if we should fail to avenge the death of our sons and our brothers'."

"Yes, that is what he said, and brought a host of the Cephallenians to the house of Odysseus."

"And he was killed?"

"Yes, he was killed."

"But afterwards, what happened afterwards?" asked Artem impatiently.

"The fishermen came to the kinsmen of the murdered suitors, and in the night seven black-cheeked ships silently came ashore on Ithaca. When Odysseus sighted their masts, it was too late. And the Cephallenians-some with indifference, others with secret malice,-watched Odysseus fighting at the door of his house. Telemachus, the son of Odysseus, was the first to be killed. Eumaeus was slain by an arrow, thus the swineherd perished, that faithful, brave old man. The sword was knocked from Odysseus' hand, and he was bound hand and foot. Then cries were heard 'Kill Odysseus! Death to him, death!' 'No,' said those who remembered the might and wisdom of the hero, of him who wore the helmet and armour of Achilles by right. 'Then let him be blinded!' cried a stranger in the crowd, his eyes burning with hatred. Probably he was the kinsman of one who had perished at the hand of Odysseus. And they blinded the hero. Laughing, they pushed him into a boat. The sea was seething. 'Receive our sacrifice, O Poseidon!' shouting thus, they sent forth the boat with the hero in it. For many days it drifted over the great waves, and the sea-breeze whispered in the ear of the martyr 'Do you remember how you blinded Polyphemus? Now we are quits. Live if you can, Ohero!'"

"And what happened then?"

"The waves cast the bark on a sandy shore. The gulls were screaming and circling boldly above Odysseus' head, crying plaintively 'You live, Odysseus!' Long did the hero wander, but everyone repelled him. A crust of bread here, a bunch of grapes there. That was all his food. The years passed. No one would have dreamed of recognizing the hero in the blind old man. One day in Athens, Odysseus was sitting by the fireside with a bowl of soup the noble master of the house had ordered to give him. Someone was singing, the strings were twanging, and it was noisy all around. Then the conversation in some way turned to the war and the losses incurred, and someone mentioned the name of Odysseus, saying 'No, Troy would not have fallen if that wise man had not boldly used his cunning.' So they talked, and the old beggar moved closer to the hearth. No light could he see without eyes, but the warmth reached him. And suddenly the heroes, his friends, appeared around him. 'You alone, Odysseus, have survived us. Have we indeed disappeared from this life without trace?' So said the heroes, and then Odysseus, remembering everything, rose suddenly, and carefully making his way barefoot towards the corner where the cithern sang, asked for it timidly. And, striking all the strings together with his palm, he let them go at once. Scarcely had the sound died away, than Odysseus began to sing of Achilles and of his terrible. wrath, that brought so much suffering to the Achaeans. And so the hero wanders over his beloved land. Some give him food, some set their dogs on him, but the fame of the deeds of the great heroes lives, and with it they live. And often a mysterious force drives him to this shore. He knows that there, in the haze, lies the shore of his native Ithaca."

We returned to the apparatus. The "truck" answered Artem's touch with a growl of its motors. Artem dialled some numbers on the controls, while I sank into the seat lost in thought.

"Judging by all that, this old man considers Odysseus and Homer to be the same person," I said. "I don't know what my colleagues will think of it. Some, no doubt, will receive my communication without enthusiasm."

"Look here," said Artem, getting onto the ground. Leaning over the side of the "truck", he bent over me. "Turn this lever towards you."

I did as he said, but only when Artem had gone up the path toward the old man and the latter rose to his feet and came to meet him, did I understand by the familiar quivering of the objects vanishing before my eyes, that Artem was remaining behind. And suddenly somewhere I heard a cry, in a strangely distorted voice, from the old man: "O Zeus, Our father! There are Gods on bright Olympus still! Is not that you, my son Telemachus?"