Ivan Yefremov: Thais of Athens

“And then?”

“I cannot tell you. It’s a female mystery and we are all under a terrible oath. But it’s something I will remember for the rest of my life. And the run across the field is unforgettable. You run under the bright moon, in the silence of the night, along with swift and beautiful friends. It was like we ran while barely touching the ground, because our entire bodies are like a string waiting for the goddess’ touch. The branches touch you in passing, the light wind cools your burning body. And when you pass the menacing road crossings, watched by Hecate’s guardians …” Thais stopped speaking, as if she felt to exhilarated to tell more.

“Go on. You tell it so well,” Ptolemy insisted.

“It’s only that there is a feeling of freedom from everything. You stop and your heart is beating fast, you spread your arms and take a deep breath and it seems as if in one more second you’ll fly away, into the scent of grass, woods and sea. That you will dissolve in the moonlight, like salt dissolves in water, like chimney smoke dissolves in the sky. There is nothing separating you from Mother Earth. You are Her and She is you.”

Thais picked up the pace again and turned left. A dark band of trees appeared, bordering the field from the north.

Everything around was silent, save for the rustling of the wind carrying the scent of thyme. Ptolemy could clearly see Thais, but nothing further in the distance. They stood listening to the night which wrapped around them like a black blanket, then finally descended from the path and stepped onto the field. The soil was fluffy after having been plowed many times, and their sandals pressed deeply into it. Finally Thais stopped, sighed and tossed off her himation. While Ptolemy watched, she lifted her hands to her head, loosed the ribbon and let her hair down. He came close and she went to him in silence. Her fingers dug into the thick softness of Ptolemy’s hair. They clasped and unclasped among the strands, then slid over the back of his head and neck.

A strong, fresh scent rose from the moist soil. It seemed that Gaea herself, eternally young and filled with life-bringing energy, had spread herself across the field in powerful languor.

Ptolemy filled with the strength of a titan. Every muscle in his powerful body became as firm as bronze. He swept Thais up in his arms and lifted her toward the glittering stars, challenging the indifferent eternity with her beauty.

Some time passed before they returned to reality on Skiron’s field. When his mind cleared so that he could think again, Ptolemy leaned over his lover’s face and whispered a verse from his favorite poem. He regretted now that he knew so few compared to Alexander’s vast knowledge of poetry.

“Asperos aysaugazo aster aymos.” “You are looking at stars, my star.”

Thais slowly turned her head, gazing at Ptolemy. Ptolemy saw her eyelashes, strands of hair on her forehead and dark circles around her eyes and wondered again at her beauty.

“You are well educated, darling. My countrymen are stupid to consider Macedonians to be barbaric mountain men. But I understand. You are removed from Urania. You would be happier with Gaea.”

He looked around. The edges of the field, which had seemed endless in the dark, now seemed nearby. The long end of summer night was over.

Thais propped herself on her elbow and watched in amazement as the dawn rose from behind Gimett. Bleating of the sheep could be heard from a grove below. Thais rose slowly and stretched toward the first rays of the sun, which emphasized the reddish copper tone of her skin. Her hands rose to her hair in an eternal gesture of a woman, a guardian and bearer of beauty, exhausting and appealing, vanishing and reappearing again, as long as humanity exists. Thais wrapped her himation around herself as if she were cold, and slowly walked with her head thoughtfully lowered until she was beside the proud Ptolemy.

When they reached the Elysian road, Thais went to the temple of Aphrodite Urania directly across Ceramic.

“You are back to your heavenly queen of love,” the Macedonian said, laughing. “As if you are not an Athenian. Aristotle said that the first people to worship Urania under the name of Anachita were some ancient people. Were they Assyrians, perhaps?”

Thais nodded. “They worshiped her even before that when they were on Crete, then on Citera, where Urania stands armed, then Theseus’ father Aegeus set up her temple in Athens,” Thais said reluctantly. “But you must not come with me. Go see your friends. No. Wait,” she said urgently. “Stand to the left of me.” and, not minding the passersby, Thais clung to Ptolemy and made Hecate’s protective sign with her right hand.

The Macedonian looked, but saw nothing but an old, forsaken sacrificial stone that must have been richly decorated at one time, with a trim of massive dark stone.

“What is it that can frighten the brave Thais? The Thais I know is not afraid of the night, the starry sky or the gloomy road crossings ruled by Hecate?”

She shuddered. “It’s a sacrificial stone of Anteros, god of anti-love, love’s terrible and cruel antithesis. Even if Aphrodite herself is afraid of the powerful Eros, we, her servants, are even more afraid of Anteros. But say no more. Let us get away from here.”

They climbed into the marble glow of squares and temples, above Ceramic and the market.

“Tell me more of Anteros,” Ptolemy asked.

“Later. Geliaine!” Thais lifted her hand in a farewell gesture and ran up the white steps of Urania’s temple.

A few weeks later, Thais sat in the garden, enjoying the last pale roses and clutching a himation around herself as protection from the brisk wind. Dry leaves rustled, sounding eerily as if ghosts stepped carefully over the couple, making their way to their unknown destinations.

Ptolemy handed Thais a simple cedar box and touched her knee. She glanced questioningly at the Macedonian.

“It is my anakalipterion,” he said solemnly. He was surprised to receive a peal of laughter in response.

“You shouldn’t laugh,” Ptolemy said sternly.

“Why not? You brought me a present normally given by a husband to his new bride after the wedding, as he is about to undress her for the night. But you give me your anakalipterion on the day of our parting? And after you have taken off my garments many times. Is it not too late?”

“Understand, Athenian … or Cretan,” he said, frowning. “I still do not know who you really are …”

“Does it matter? Or do you dream of a girl whose ancestors are from the eoas, the Lists of Women?”

“As I understand, any true Cretan woman is of more ancient bloodline than all Athenian foremothers taken together,” Ptolemy objected. “I don’t care anyway. This is different. Up until now, I haven’t given you anything, and that is bad manners. But what do I have to offer compared to the piles of silver you receive from your admirers? Only this …”

Ptolemy knelt on the floor before her and opened the box in Thais’ lap. The statuette of ivory and gold was unquestionably old. In fact, no fewer than a thousand years had passed since an incomparably skillful Cretan sculptor had created this image of a Tauromachia participant, a player in a sacred, dangerous game. The game was played with a particular breed of giant bulls, bred on Crete and since extinct.

Thais carefully picked up the little statue and touched it with her fingertips. She sighed in delight then laughed so infectiously that Ptolemy smiled as well.

“Darling, this piece is worth that very pile of silver of which you dream. Where did you get this?”

“At war,” Ptolemy replied.

“Why didn’t you give it to your friend Nearchus, the only true son of Crete among you?”