Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

Thais questioned whether they could dance. “Women of small height are always more agile than those akin to coras and imperious statues. I know nothing of these people from the distant eastern mountains and steppes that were never reached by Alexander’s scouts.”

After a brief order, one of the girls sat on the floor with her legs crossed and started rhythmically clapping her hands, her glittering bracelets ringing loudly. The other girl started dancing with the kind of expressiveness that only came from talent refined by years of training. Unlike the dances of the West, the legs took little part in the movement, but arms, head and torso performed astonishingly graceful undulations, and fingers opened akin to flowers.

Thais burst into applause. The dancers stopped, then vanished after a sign from the priest.

“They are so singular, these girls,” Thais said. “But I do not understand their allure. There is no harmony, no likeness to the Kharitas.”

“Ah, I understand,” Lysippus suddenly said. “You see, a man knows that these women combine two opposing powers of Eros.”

“Do you agree, teacher?” Thais doubted it. “Then why do you always follow perfection in your art?”

“In the art of beauty, yes,” Lysippus replied. “But the laws of Eros are different.”

“I think I understand,” Thais said with a shrug. “Do you think Ehephilos feels the same way?”

“I think these slant-eyed girls will cure him,” Lysippus smiled.

“Do you think Cleophrades would have liked them too? He worked so hard on the Anadiomena, having picked me. Why?”

“I cannot speak for he who has crossed the River of Forgetfulness. I think you are not Lilith, but what they call their celestial hetaerae: apsara. Only a few who are capable can possess you and take everything you have to give. For everyone else there are the endlessly forgiving, mad and passionate Liliths. Any one of us can be chosen by them. The knowledge of Lilith’s generosity toward all men troubles our hearts and draws us irresistibly with the memory of past centuries.”

“And who is Eris in your opinion?”

“She is certainly not Lilith. She is ruthless to weakness and intolerant of inability. Ehephilos became infatuated with the embodiment of an image. Unfortunately for him, the image and the model turned out to be one and the same.”

“Cleophrades spoke of his infatuation with me.”

“It was worse for him than for Ehephilos. At least Ehephilos is young.”

“According to you I can no longer be loved? Thank you, my friend.”

“Do not attempt to reproach me for attempting to sort out your mood. You know that anyone would fall at your feet if you wished it so. This priest who had learned and overcame it all is struck by you. How easy it is for someone such as you. Just a few glances and poses. That is too bad, for you cannot respond to him as Lilith. A feeling worthy of an apsara sits in you like a tip of a spear. I suppose you were Alexander’s lover and gave him all power of Eros.”

Thais blushed. “What of Ptolemy?”

“You bore him a son. That means his Eros for you is stronger than yours for him, otherwise there would have been a daughter.”

“And what if it were equal?”

“Then I don’t know. It could have turned out either way. Come. Our hosts are politely waiting for us to depart.”

They thanked the priests, repeated their request for Ehephilos and walked through the dark temple to their rooms. Four torches burning near the door marked how much time was left till dawn.

“Thank you, Lysippus. When you are with me, I am not afraid to do something stupid,” Thais said. “Your wisdom…”

“Wisdom, Athenian, brings little pleasure to its owner. There are few wise people. Wisdom comes gradually to those who are not susceptible to flattery and are capable of dismissing lies. Years pass and you suddenly discover in yourself the absence of old desires and realization of your place in life. Self-limitation comes, care in your actions, foresight of consequences, all of which makes you wise. It is not happiness in your poetic notion, not at all. People recover from anxiety and anger by singing and dancing, knowing nothing about their essence. One must not pontificate much on the subject of gods and people, for silence is a true language of wisdom. Open hearts understand it well. It is even less wise to speak truths to people who prefer miracles and shortcuts that do not exist. All there is, is a gradual ascent. But here is what I can tell you with certainty, as the greatest wisdom: adoration is the fastest way to ruin the one it is directed at.”

“Do you mean adoration of a woman?”

“Not at all. That is a natural celebration of beauty and Eros. I speak of the groveling before kings and army leaders who hold people’s fates in their hands, be it for a long time or for a moment. It does not matter.”

“Are you thinking about Alexander?”

“Imagine for a moment being a man admired by millions of people. All different kinds of people: truthful ones and liars, noble and subservient souls, courageous men and cowards. Truly, one must possess divine power not to break down and betray one’s own dreams.”

“To betray one’s destiny?”

“He who betrays his country is considered deserving of death by all people. But do people not see those who betray their own soul? After all, such traitors no longer possess truthfulness. Such a person cannot be relied on for anything. He will go from bad to worse and his inner evil will grow. Many speak of my honesty. I really do try to be that way invariably, never telling secrets and never trying to find out that which others do not wish to tell me. A great crime grows from a chain of small errors and misdeeds, and great dignity worthy of gods is born of countless acts of restraint and control over one’s self.”

“So you think …”

“Evaluate only yourself. That is difficult. When it comes to judging outstanding and especially great people, rely on time and people. Doing the right thing is not enough. One must also recognize when they ought to be done. We cannot board a boat that has already passed by or the one that has yet to arrive. Knowing what to do is only half the matter, the other half is to know the right time to do the deed. There is an appropriate time for all things, but most people miss it.”

“Did Alexander miss his time?”

“No, I suspect that he did what he did too early. But once again you make me judge that which occupies you most. Go to bed.”

Thais obeyed. She told Eris how the priests of the Eridu temple had taken upon themselves the task of striking the mad love for her from Ehephilos’ heart. The black priestess showed neither joy nor sadness for this. Thais tried to imagine what it was like for her. If it had been Thais, she would have been at least a little bit saddened by the loss by an unloved, but still remarkable and devoted admirer. But all Eris could think of was Nagini, the ruler of snakes. Her impenetrable soul was struck by the terrible ritual with the huge poisonous snake, of which she’d never heard before. Thais was also overwhelmed. The moment she closed her eyes before going to sleep, she clearly saw the young Indian woman and the colossal snake in a deadly dance, like a bronze sculptural group.

A few days had passed since their arrival at Eridu when a hot western wind swept in. Thais slept poorly during the hot nights. The wind from the Syrian desert rustled and whistled with irritating monotony through countless gaps and windows in the temple ceiling, bringing with it relaxation of body and depression of soul. It continued to blow the next day, never strengthening, never weakening. The Athenian was overcome by melancholy. Her existence seemed aimless to her. She was filled with the memories of those who were gone, the deeply hidden love, the long wait for Ptolemy, the role of a mistress of a big house and a guardian of shared riches that were essentially war loot. She could increase the wealth, but what for? She could … She could do many things but she kept returning to the question: what for? Did the surges of strong emotion make her tired of the usual enthusiasm with which she tackled every task? Perhaps she grew old and could no longer be on fire as before, riding at breakneck speed, being moved to tears at the sight of beauty, listening to stories and songs with bated breath?