Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

They finally approached Cyprus. The Athenian pressed her hands to her chest, a sign of particular anxiety. The ship was approaching a native corner of the Inner Sea, still remote but similar to other islands of Hellas. After so many years spent in other countries, it was time to reunite with her homeland. The peak of Trident Olympus, which was usually hidden in the clouds, revealed itself clearly above the blue mist of forest-covered mountains. On Thais’ orders, the captain did not take the ship to the crowded Pathos, but went around the Northern cape and entered the Golden Lagoon, where the Athenian’s friends owned some property.

Luminous air and turquoise waters of the lagoon which cut into the purple hills like an amphitheater made Thais feel as if she were back in Attica. The stone pier ran adjacent to the white road leading up the mountain, whose terraces housed small homes painted with pink clay and overshadowed by cypresses, sycamores and sprawling pines. A pure stream fell from above, flowing into a flat pool on the shore and scattering into small droplets. Beyond the houses were bands of the dark greenery of myrtles, covered with white flowers, a sign of the hottest portion of summer. The incomparable aroma of the seashore on a sunny summer day awoke childhood memories of her life spent in a small Attica village under the gentle watch of her parents. Thais sent the ship back with a note of gratitude to Ptolemy and immersed herself into her childhood.

Every day she took Irana, her nanny, and Eris to the west side of the bay, protected by a long cape that slithered into the sea like a dragon’s spine. They swam till they dropped, climbed the rocks, chewed their favorite sweet brown figs and shot at each other using their hard, metallic-looking seeds.

Thais’ friends turned out to have an entire gaggle of girls aged eight to twelve, their own daughters and nieces as well as the children of their servants and slaves. Following old traditions they all played together. They ran around playing tag, wove wreaths, and danced with abandon, wrapped in flower garlands under the hot sun, or completely nude under the bright moon. They dove into the sea trying to find a corner with intact bunches of blood red coral missed by professional coral gatherers. At full moon they competed to see who would swim the farthest along the silver moon path, carrying a goblet in one hand to make an offering to Thetis, Poseidon and Hecate.

Sometimes Thais and Eris went riding on the small but stout Cyprus horses who were good in the mountains. After the death of Boanergos, the Athenian had no wish to buy her own horse. Sometimes, as they used to do in Ecbatana with Hesiona, they climbed the mountains on foot. They followed the steep paths, picked a large overhanging plateau which seemed to float in the air, and settled there.

Eris was intoxicated by height. With her eyes flashing and her head tipped back, the black priestess sang strange songs in a language even she did not know, memorized at the temple during her early childhood, or perhaps even earlier in her now-forgotten country. The sad melody went on without beginning or end, suddenly exploding in verses filled with passion and rage, rising into the clear sky like a call for justice. Eris’ nostrils trembled, her teeth flashed and her eyes darkened savagely. Everything in Thais wanted to respond to this yearning. The mystical song made her want to stand on the edge of the outcropping, spread her arms and throw herself down into the dark greenery of the woods that looked like a mossy coverlet from above.

Thais was not afraid of heights, but still marveled at Eris’ self-control as she stood with her back toward the abyss and casually pointed something out.

Armed with spears, they went on longer trips. Thais wanted her friend to experience in its entirety the enchantment of the woods and mountains of Cyprus, so similar to her beloved Hellas.

For the first time, Eris saw the groves of sprawling pines with long needles, oaks with dark round filigree leaves and red bark, mixed with enormous chestnuts, walnuts and lindens. She was amazed by the forests of tall junipers with their strong scent akin to the cypresses, and the gloomy dark thickets of a different species of juniper with yet another fragrance.

Thais herself was experiencing for the first time the groves of tall cedar trees that were different from those on the Finikian shore. These were slender with short, greenish blue needles. More cedar woods sprawled over the mountain ridges, marching to the east and south among the silence and gloom of the endless colonnades. Below them, crystal clear springs flowed from under rocks, and elm trees grew like thick round hats of greenery supported by twisted charcoal gray trunks.

Thais loved the rocky, sun-drenched plateaus covered with dark bushes of Finikian juniper and fragrant rosemary, crawling stems of thyme and silver bunches of wormwood. The air was filled with warm aromas of a multitude of fragrant plants. The sun seemed to pour itself into one’s veins as it reflected off the white outcroppings of marble that popped up at lower heights.

Eris settled on her back. Her dreamy blue eyes met the blue of the sky. She said she was not at all surprised that Hellas had so many artists and beautiful women, and why everyone she met was a connoisseur of beauty one way or another. The nature was a glowing and uplifting world of clearly outlined forms, inviting thoughts, words and deeds. At the same time, these dry and rocky shores, poor in fresh water, did not encourage easy living. Instead, they demanded constant labor, skilled farming and courageous seamanship. This life did not pamper the people living it, but did not consume all of their time with a search for sustenance and protection from natural disasters. Had it not been for the anger, the war and the constant threat of slavery … Even in such a beautiful part of the Ecumene, people had failed to create a life filled with divine serenity and wisdom.

Eris rolled over onto her stomach and gazed at the distant woods or the blue sparkling of the sea. She thought of the countless slaves who had created this beauty: the splendid white temples, porticos, galleries and staircases, piers and windbreakers. What was the purpose of this beauty? Did it soften people’s temperaments? Did it reduce violence and cruelty? Did it create more people like Thais and Lysippus who were just and humane? What was life’s direction? No one knew, and to receive an answer to that question would mean gaining an understanding of where Hellas, Egypt and other countries were going. Was it toward the better, toward the flourishing and justice, or toward cruelty and death?

Thais was occupied by different thoughts. For the first time she was free of duties and obligations of her elevated rank. She was uninterested in the fact that people admired her, and did not need the constant exercise for distant travel. The Athenian gave herself up to observation for which she always had an inclination. Everything around her felt like home. Her body absorbed the luminous sky, the scents and dry heat of earth and the menacing blue expanse of the sea.

Thais wanted to live like that for years, not depending on anyone and not owing anyone. But summer passed, as did the rainy and windy winter, and the white clusters of asphodels rose again along the roads and paths. The Athenian’s lively mind and body demanded activity, new impressions, and perhaps love.

One hundred seventeenth Olympiad was coming to an end, and Thais had fully experienced the meaning of the word ametocleitos as applied to fate: merciless, inevitable and irrevocable. Her Egyptian mirror now reflected silver strands in her thick black hair. Thais noticed the first wrinkles on her smooth body which was still akin to a polished Ethes statuette. They had not been there before and ought not to have been there now. Even her impeccably young body had given in to the pressure of time. The Athenian had never realized how much she would be wounded by this discovery. She set aside the mirror and secluded herself among the laurels to grieve alone and come to terms with the inevitable.