Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

“The Lamias or Mormos or whatever they are called? Those who travel with her at night and drink the blood of passersby at the crossroads? Vampires?”

“That is primitive symbolism. In the secret knowledge, the creatures of Underworld that drink living blood are those insatiable living dead, ready to take everything possible from their countries, communities, people — their own and those of others. They are the ones that beat and overwork their slaves to death just to get more gold, silver, houses, spears, and new slaves. The more they take, the greedier they become, reveling in the labor and sweat of people subservient to them.”

“You speak of terrible things, teacher.” Thais shrugged as if from cold. “Now I will look at everyone more carefully.”

“Then my words have reached their goal.”

“What is to be done with such living dead?”

“They ought to be killed, of course, stripping them of their false living appearance,” Lysippus said after a pause. “The trouble is that only rare people can recognize them, and those who have reached such a spiritual level are no longer capable of killing. I think the final elimination of the vampires is a matter of distant future; when homonoya, the intellectual equality among people, is established the number of those rare people will increase many fold.”

Thais went to the studio, sad and thoughtful. Cleophrades was waiting for her near the clay version of the statue. During the last few days, the sculptor had been delaying the completion of his work, letting her go early or suddenly pausing as if he forgot about his model and thought about something else. Today he did not sign to her impatiently to get onto the posing cube as he usually did. Instead, he stopped her with an outstretched arm.

“Tell me, Athenian. Are you fond of money?” Cleophrades asked with gloomy shyness.

Thais was surprised and saddened by this question “Why do you ask me this?”

“Wait,” he said, looking away. “I cannot speak. I can only work with my hands.”

Thais frowned. “Not just with your hands, but also with your head and heart,” she objected. “So tell me, why did you speak of money?”

“You see, you are as wealthy as Frina, but Frina was insanely wasteful. In contrast, you live modestly, despite your income and your position as the wife of Alexander’s first advisor.”

“Now you speak more clearly,” she said, and sighed with relief. “And here is my answer. Money is not a goal, but an opportunity. If you treat it like a power that gives you various opportunities, then you shall value money but it will not enslave you. That is why I disdain miserly people, but I am also disgusted by stupid spending. Money means much work from a lot of people and tossing it away is the same as tossing away bread. One can bring upon himself the wrath of gods and become empty and dead, as Lysippus says.”

Cleophrades listened, frowned and suddenly made a decision. “I shall tell you what prompted this thought. I decided to cast the statue from silver, but what I saved up is not enough. I don’t have time to wait and save more. I will be sixty in Hekatombeon.”

“Why do you wish to use such expensive metal?”

“I could reply to you like a young man by asking are you not worthy of it? But I shall give you a different answer. This is the best work of my life, and the best model. This would fulfill my dream to complete my life journey in a worthy manner. I could ask Lysippus. But I already owe him too much. And besides, this creator of athletes and horsemen only recognizes bronze and, I shudder to say, uses the Thelmes alloy [34] An alloy of poorly purified copper and silver impurities — primarily zinc. .”

“How much silver do you need?”

“I am planning to use not the pure metal but an alloy including fourteen parts of red Cyprus copper. Such silver does not stain and does not become fogged, as we say, with the dusty dew. It holds polish as well as the dark stone of Egypt. I need twelve talants of pure silver to cast, and all I have is a little more than four and a half. A huge difference.”

“So you need seven and a half talants? Very well. I shall send for it tomorrow and will dispatch eight talants to you the day after tomorrow, just in case.”

Cleophrades froze, gazed at his model at length, then took her face in his hands and kissed her on the forehead.

“You do not know the value of your good deed. This isn’t just tremendous treasure, it is … You will understand after Hekatombeon. You will have to pose a bit more after casting, while I work on minting. That is nearly the most important part of the work,” he said, finishing in his usual brisk, businesslike tone. “But it is quick. I am myself in a great hurry.”

Thais did not understand the meaning of Cleophrades’ last words. The Athenian sculptor and Ehephilos finished their work almost simultaneously, the young Ionian wrapping up about ten days sooner. Cleophrades invited Thais and Eris to come late to Lysippus’ house and spend the end of the night till morning. To ensure nothing happened to them at such late hour, several friends showed up to accompany them.

The late half moon shone over the pale gray cobblestones, giving them a bluish tinge. Like a heavenly road stretched between dark walls and rustling garden foliage.

At the door they were welcomed by Ehephilos and Cleophrades, dressed in light-colored holiday garments. They crowned their models with wreaths of fragrant yellow flowers that seemed to glimmer in the moonlight as if emitting their own light. Each took his model by the hand and led her into the dark unlit house, leaving their companions in the garden. Before they stepped into the moonlit verandah, welcoming them with its wide-open curtains, Cleophrades ordered Thais to close her eyes. Holding her by the shoulders, he placed the Athenian in the proper spot, then allowed her to look.

Ehephilos did the same with Eris.

Thais cried out with amazement, and Eris sighed deeply and loudly.

Before them, the nude Aphrodite Anadiomena with Thais’ head and body stood on the toes of one foot. Her other foot was bent behind her in a light run, rising from porous silver that resembled foam. The uplifted face and the arms outstretched toward the sky combined the upward movement and the gentle, love-filled embrace of the entire world.

The shimmer of moonlight on polished silver gave the goddess miraculous transparency. Foam-born, woven from starlight, she appeared on the shore of Cyprus, emerging from the sea to raise the eyes of mortal toward stars and beauty of their lovers, pulling them away from the monotonous necessity of Gaea and the dark power of the underworld, Kibela. The aura of spiritual and physical purity possessed by Thais was vastly multiplied in the goddess, and surrounded her with a soft glow. Thais, who was a Helenian and had grown up surrounded by sculptures of people, gods and goddesses, hetaerae and heroes, without whom Hellas would have been unimaginable, had never before seen a statue with such power of enchantment.

Next to her, half a step behind, Artemis Acsiopena was cast from dark, almost black bronze. She held out her left arm as if moving aside an invisible curtain, reaching with her right hand for the dagger hidden in the knot of hair at the back of her head. Moonbeams reflecting on her indomitable face emphasized the unstoppable movement of her entire body, which was appropriate for the goddess of retribution.

Thais sniffed, unable to contain her emotions. This quiet sound told Cleophrades of the success of his creation better than any words. Only then did Thais notice Lysippus. He sat in an armchair nearby, his eyes squinted and his hands folded. The great sculptor was silent, watching both women, and finally nodded with satisfaction.