Alasdair Gray - Old Men in Love

“Many grief-stricken folk are understandably angry with me. In arguing for war I voiced the will of the majority, but my voice was most outspoken. We knew then that we would lose sons, brothers, fathers, neighbours, yes! perhaps our own lives. And now it is happening and some have forgotten why we went to war. Let me remind you.

“Fifty years ago the Persian king, having conquered Babylon, Arabia and Egypt, decided to add Europe to his empire, beginning (of course) with Greece. He built a bridge of boats over the Hellespont and crossed it with the biggest army the world has ever seen. Greek states collapsed before that army while his mighty fleet accompanied it along our coasts — every Greek state surrendered to him except Athens. We knew that a great city is not made of houses, streets, temples: it is the people! The Athenian citizens went into their ships and fought back while the Persians in futile rage wrecked our buildings. Whereupon the rest of Greece, starting with Sparta, followed our example, and joined us against the invaders. The Gods also joined us — they were tired of Persian successes. They sent a storm that wrecked the enemy fleet. Asia retreated.

“It retreated, but only a strong Greek alliance can stop it returning. Every Greek state once knew that. Only one state is fit to lead that alliance: ours. Sparta did not want the job. The military class who rule it are too busy holding down their serfs to lead the united Greek nations. So the defence of Greece was handed to Athens by every Greek state, whether democratic or not. Ship-owning cities put their vessels under our command. Those without ships, or who do not want the trouble of maintaining a ship, pay us taxes to defend them — except one or two who take us so much for granted that they want us to defend them for nothing! Which is cowardly and unjust. They complain because we use part of the defence fund to rebuild Athens better than it was before the Persians demolished it. Yes, people who kept their own cities intact by surrendering to barbarians resent our magnificence. Are they right to be jealous? These dead men did not think so.

“To those who are not convinced I will put the argument differently. You rightly think our wartime sufferings may grow greater and still not bring us victory. Why should half of Greek civilization fight the other half for the right to tax some coastal cities? Let these cities join the Spartan alliance if they wish! Make peace! But if these small cities are allowed to leave our Empire you can be sure that three or four bigger ones will also abandon us. Making peace now will not end this war, it will lead to a bigger war on a larger front, a war we would lose. Making peace now means giving up our Empire. Some people, in a mood of political apathy or sudden panic think this a fine and noble thing to do. But it is now impossible to give up our Empire. It may have been wrong to establish it. It would be suicide to let it go. We have roused too much hatred in the states we are — ”(he pondered for a moment) “ — protecting. Which is also why these men died.

“It remains for me to say what the wise among you already know: we need not dread the warfare ahead while we, the free citizens, stay brave, cautious and united. Look at the hills surrounding us on three sides — see those rocky summits and well-farmed slopes planted with vines, olives and fig trees. Yes, they send our market delicious produce. But if Spartan armies were camped on every one of these hills our democracy could not be defeated, even if they camped there for years. Impregnable walls now join Athens to the harbour and the ships bringing us everything necessary to life and enjoyment. Athens still rules the sea as we did when ours was the solitary state that, with the help of the gods, saved European civilization from Asiatic barbarism. The courage and unity of our fathers made that victory. These dead men are their worthy sons. Let us entomb them with all the honours they deserve.”

Applause was not part of the funeral rite but a deep murmur in the crowd showed the speech was widely approved. As he left the rostrum young women pressed forward to clasp his hands, two with flowery wreaths they tried to put on his head. With upraised hands he prevented that, pointing to coffins they should adorn instead.

“A noble speech, Pericles!” shouted a stern voice from a group of older women, relatives of a famous dead patriot. “You deserve crowns of sweet-smelling flowers! My brother fought for Athenian freedom against the Persians and Phoenicians! You have led our brave men to destroy a Greek city that was recently our ally, and gained nothing for Athens but the corpses of our men and the hatred of fellow Greeks!”

“Then why add perfumes to a grey old head Elpenice?” he asked sadly, then hurried into the male crowd at its thickest.

Socrates, no longer soldier or mason, sat at home mending a sandal. Being skilled with edged tools he neatly sliced off the frayed end of a strap and cut threads binding it to the buckle. With an awl he pierced a line of holes in the strap’s clean new edge and prepared to stitch on the buckle, using a bone needle and strong thread from his wife’s sewing box. He knew the buckle should be both stitched and knotted to the strap, but how tie the knots? The other sandal would show. Bending to remove it from his foot he came face to face with a small boy playing under the table. The boy stared at him solemnly, a clay model of a little man in one hand, a model of a ship in the other.

“Boo,” said Socrates.

He placed the whole sandal on the table beside the other and studied the knots round its buckle, sighing slightly because they were intricate and because free Athenian males were not used to sewing. His wife, suckling their youngest child across the table from him, had been silent all day. He knew why she was angry, had not broken the silence between them because it would start an argument he could not win. He hoped to leave the house without argument, perhaps going barefoot, as many thrifty yet respected Athenians did. But that would provoke remarks from friends who thought him henpecked and knew he normally wore sandals. He gripped the needle and started stitching.

“You’re going out again,” said his wife.

“Yes, Tippy.”

“To the gymnasium again.”

“Yes, Tippy.”

“Where you will chat to a lot of pretty young men.”

“I talk to any who will listen Tippy, but beauty adds zest to conversations.”

“And from the gymnasium you’ll go to that prostitute’s house and mix with dirty sluts and foreign experts and rich young loungers like The Darling.”

“Yes, Tippy.”

“Get them to give you money!”

She stood, laid the baby in a cradle and put a bone ring between its gums. He murmured, “Surely the larder isn’t empty?”

“It will be tomorrow.”

“But market people trust you.”

“Yes, because I pay what I owe whenever I manage to screw money out of my famous, feckless, useless husband. O I hate being a poor man’s wife. Give me that.”

She sat beside him, seized sandal and needle and deftly worked with them, saying through clenched teeth, “I wish our slave had not died.”

“She was old, Tippy. You had to do more for her than she could do for us.”

“She stopped neighbours seeing that I am the only slave in this house. Their helpful little advices madden me even more than the worry of paying for food. ‘Get your husband into jury service! Get him into parliament — the pay is good and all he need do is vote,’ they say. ‘He’s pally with men who could get him a government job,’ they say. ‘A foreign embassy even. Think of the bribes he would get on top of his pay,’ they say. ‘He can’t do any of those things,’ I tell them, ‘his demon won’t let him. It wants him to do nothing but teach all the time.’ ‘What does he teach?’ they ask. ‘I don’t know,’ I say, ‘He doesn’t talk to me about it, I’m just a stupid woman.’ And I laugh as if our marriage is a wonderful joke. Which it is not. It is not. It is hell. What do you teach those pretty boys you keep meeting?”