Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

“Rejoice, mother of gods, oh, the wife of the many-starred sky,” she said, remembering the newly understood words of the ancient anthem.

In that moment, Thais felt as if she merged with the broad, generous Gaea, waiting to unite with the black infinity that sparkled with stars. The great mystery of the world was just out of her reach. Thais spread her arms, her entire body straining, and a moan of torturous impatience escaped her lips. But the black veil of the night still hung over her like an abyss, and the mysterious flickering of celestial bodies was not coming any closer.

All at once she saw herself lying there: pitiful, small, and naked at the bottom of the well, enclosed by an inescapable circle of tall, smooth stone walls. Her perceived merging with Gaea had been nothing but an arrogant sacrilege, and all things incomprehensible still remained so, while the future did not promise anything great or glorious. Thais wanted to jump up and run away, like an impostor who had entered forbidden territory, then realized her own insignificance. Something, perhaps the will of her Delos teacher, held her in place.

Gradually, Thais obeyed the calm of the starry night, letting a feeling of self-confidence replace her earlier dismay. However, when she returned to the cave to fall into a fretful slumber, her restlessness returned, exacerbated by hunger and puzzlement.

The third night alone with the stars on the shore of a symbolic sea started differently. After two days spent in the dark, the stars appeared particularly bright. One of them attracted Thais’ attention. Its sharp beam penetrated her eyes, continuing through them to her heart, and spreading through her body in a blue fire of magical power. With her gaze fixed upon the star, she remembered the magical chants of ritual dances meant to help focus physical and emotional energies, and started repeating, “Gaea — Thais, Gaea — Thais, Gaea — Thais …” The disorderly flow of her thoughts slowed, the soil under Thais rocked a little and she was carried forth smoothly, like a ship in the night sea.

Thais finally understood the purpose and the meaning of her trials. There, on the islands of the Inner Sea, a man left alone with the sea in the middle of the night had an easier time becoming absorbed in a primal connection with the natural forces of Gaea, dissolving himself in the eternal splashing of the waves.

The understated symbolism did not allow her to dramatically assume the right mood and enter the flow of time, akin to the Akheloy-Argirodines, the river in ancient Sparta which flowed and disappeared underground, rolling its silvery waves from the unknown future into the dark caverns of the past. Had her intentions been sincere and strong from the beginning, the focus and the spiritual rise could have been achieved, even in this almost theatrical setting.

The seemingly short night passed quickly, and the colorful multitude of stars began growing cooler, tinged with the silver of dawn. Obeying a sudden urge, Thais rose, stretched her entire body, then dove into the deep dark water. She was at once enveloped in surprising warmth. The water that had seemed stale and unclean to her before was as clear as sea water. An almost imperceptible current caressed her with a gentle hand, soothing her irritated skin. Thais rolled over onto her back and gazed into the sky again. Dawn was rolling in from the eastern desert, but Thais did not know whether she was to go back into the darkness of the cave or wait for a sign here.

Her puzzlement was interrupted by a familiar coppery strike and the old philosopher appeared on the strip of pebbles. “Come to me, daughter. It is time for the ritual.”

Almost simultaneously with his words the vibrant dawn of a clear day rose into the gloomy sky and reflected in the smooth wall of the well. Thais saw herself in the crystal clear water of the pool made of dark, polished granite. Rolling over, she swam quickly to the strip of pebbles. Blinded by so much light after spending such a the long time in the cave and in the nighttime darkness, she came out of the water, covering herself with wavy strands of her hair.

The bearded poet appeared behind the Delos philosopher, carrying some kind of black stone in his hand.

“You must be symbolically struck down and purified,” the philosopher said. “He will strike you with the stone that fell from the sky. Push your hair back and bow your head.”

Thais obeyed without question, so great was her trust in the old philosopher.

The strike never took place. Instead, the poet stepped back with a sigh, covering his face with his free hand.

“What is the matter, Mitilenian?” the old man asked, raising his voice.

“I cannot, Father. This creation of Gaea’s formative powers is too beautiful. Look at her perfection. I feared I might leave a scar and my hand fell.”

“I understand your feelings, but the ritual must be completed. Think of where a scar would be least noticeable.”

Seeing the poet’s hesitation, the Delos priest took the stone himself.

“Put your hands behind your head,” he ordered Thais, then struck her quickly with a sharp edge of the stone over the inner side of the arm, just above the armpit. Thais cried out slightly as blood trickled out of the wound. The priest collected a little bit of blood and mixed it in with the water in the pool. Bandaging the Athenian’s arm with a linen band, he said with satisfaction, “See? Only she and the two of us will know about this scar.”

The Poet bowed and handed Thais a cup of goat milk with honey, the drink fed by the divine goat Amalthea to baby Zeus in a Cretan cave. Thais carefully drank it all and felt her hunger fade away.

“This is a sign of rebirth,” the philosopher said.

The poet placed a wreath of fragrant five-petal flowers over Thais’ head, then brought her a light blue stola, hemmed not with the usual fringe but with a pattern of hooked crosses. The design seemed sinister to the Athenian, but the Delos philosopher guessed her thoughts, as always.

“This is a sign of a fire wheel that came to us from India. See? The ends of the crosses are bent anti-solon. Such a wheel can only roll solon, with the sun, and symbolizes kindness and benevolence. But if you see similar hooked crosses with ends bent solon, so that the wheel can only roll against the sun, know that you are dealing with people who chose the path of evil and unhappiness.”

“Like a dance of black magic, danced anti-solon at night around that which they want to harm?” Thais asked, and the philosopher nodded.

“Here are the three colors of the three-faced goddess-muse,” the poet said, putting a sash of striped white, blue and red cloth around

Thais. He made another deep Egyptian bow to the Athenian, touched his right knee with his palm, and left silently.

The Delos priest led Thais out of the dungeon, through the brightly lit courtyard, and into the top floor of the pylon above the gates.

The following seven days and nights were filled with strange exercises for focus and relaxation, effort and rest, taken in turns with the philosopher’s disclosure of such things of which the well-educated Thais had no idea.

A large change seemed to have taken place in her. She could not yet tell whether it was for the better or for the worse. All she knew that a different Thais was to leave the Neit temple, and it would be a calmer and wiser one.

She would never tell anyone of the difficult days and unusual feelings that had flared up like fire, consuming the worn remains of her childish faith. She wouldn’t mention her pain from the declining charm of new successes that seemed so important once, nor the gradual establishment of new hopes and goals she could only tell a daughter who was like her. Life no longer lay before her in fanciful twists of a road, passing from light to shadow in its endless turns, from groves to rivers, from hills to the shores of the sea.