Argos (4 page)

“Why, Polyphemus, do you cry out? Why have you made us sleepless tonight? Surely no mortal can be stealing your flock! Surely none can kill you by force!” they called from outside.

Then, from inside the cave, monstrous Polyphemus answered: “My brothers! Nobody is killing me by force! Nobody!”

“If, as you say, nobody has hurt you, then pray to your father, Lord Poseidon, to make you well!” they jeered at him. Then they left and returned to their caves, paying no more
heed to the monster's cries, so the mighty Cyclops rolled aside the great boulder that blocked his door and sat down in the entrance himself, spreading his arms to catch anyone who tried to escape. But my master had thought of this and tied the rams together in groups of three, and his men clung to the belly of the middle sheep, and though the Cyclops felt all around the backs of the rams as they left the cave, he did not catch the men hiding beneath. Then, when his men had all escaped, my master seized the wool under the largest ram, and though the monster groped the ram's back, he felt not underneath, and my master escaped.

Hurriedly they made their way down the rocky trail to the beach where their ship was moored, driving the monster's sheep ahead of them. Once on board, they quickly gathered their oars and began to row. Through the rose-colored dawn, my master could see the monster standing at the entrance to his cave, turning his head from side to side, although blind he was, and bloody.

“Cyclops!” my master yelled. “Your evil deeds catch up to you who dared to eat his guests, so Zeus and the other gods have punished you!”

Angered by these words, the monster tore off the top of a mountain and let it fly, where it landed just in front of my
master's boat, and the wave it made washed my master and his men back onto the shore. But my master, using a long pole, pushed the boat back into deeper water, and he urged his men quietly to lean hard on their oars, and they cut through the sea.

One they were past the shore, my master made as if to call out to the monster again, and his men checked him, crying, “Hardheaded one, why do you seek to enrage that monster? He nearly finished us with his last missile and he could break our ship's timbers, so strong is his throwing!”

So they spoke, the teals report, but my master had anger in his heart and cried out, “Cyclops, if any man asks you who it was that inflicted upon your eye that shameful blinding, tell him you were blinded by Odysseus, sacker of cities, son of Laertes, who makes his home in Ithaka!”

Hearing this, the monster groaned and answered him thus:

“Ah, a prophecy of old said that I would lose my sight at the hands of Odysseus, but I was on the lookout for a handsome man, endowed with strength greater than my own; not a little man, feeble and weak, making me helpless with wine. So come back, Odysseus! Let me give you a true gift, and together we shall pray for Poseidon, my father, to heal me and grant you safe travel home.”

Then said Odysseus, “I would return only if I were certain I could kill you and send you to Hades, Cyclops, where you belong. Nor do I think Poseidon will heal you; you are blinded for life!”

Hearing this, the great monster knelt and lifted his arms to the heavens, crying out: “Hear me, Father Poseidon, who circles the earth. If truly I am your son, then promise that Odysseus, son of Laertes, who makes his home in Ithaka, may never reach that place. But if he does, let him come late, with his companions dead, on someone else's ship, and find his house in peril!”

And so he cursed my master. Then he tore off another great boulder and hurled it at my master's ship, but it landed just behind, sending the ship far out and onto the island where the rest of brave Odysseus's men were camped, waiting and grieving that their shipmates were dead. That night, after telling the story of the Cyclopes, my master sacrificed the giant ram he had ridden under to honor Zeus. Then, after feasting on the meat and drinking wine, they slept, and when rose-colored dawn came, they boarded their ships and dashed their oars into the gray sea, happy to have escaped death, but grieving still in their hearts for their lost companions.

So the teals told the crow, who told me.

I thank the crow, and he dips a wing and flies away.
If only my master could fly,
I think,
he would surely be home now
.
But he does not fly; he sails, sails over the gray sea ruled by Poseidon, whose son he has blinded. O master, believe and perhaps the gods will give you wings!

I
have heard nothing from the birds about my master for many days. Each afternoon the gulls fly over my head, screaming, “Argos! No news! No news!” before circling back to the sea. Now the evening has come when I see Luna, the full moon, rising over the ridge, and I must return to the shore to fulfill my promise. I wait for hours before I notice the sand move. Then I see a tiny flipper. Soon the sand all around me crumbles and shifts as flippers and soft beaks emerge. And then I see the birds. Only the glow from Luna reveals their white wings as they hover silently above me. Waiting. There are more than I can count.

The first turtle begins its clumsy procession toward the sea. How slowly it crawls! No wonder so few survive! Above me I
hear a gull croak, and then I see a flash of silver and white as it dives toward the turtle.

But I arrive first! I snatch the turtle in my jaws just as the gulls' feet close on empty air, and I carry it into the crashing waves. I release the turtle there in chest-deep water and run back for the next one. By then, dozens of angry gulls are swooping and diving at me, pecking my head and neck, beating my face with their wings. But I am Argos the Boar Slayer, keeper of promises, and gulls do not frighten me. I find I can scoop two turtles in my mouth—along with wet, throat-gagging sand—at one time and carry them to safety.

Back and forth I run, from the beach to the sea. I save many turtles and lose but a few. Finally the last turtle emerges, and I carry it to find its sisters in the waves. Then I collapse on the sand. The beach is littered with eggs and feathers and black fur. My fur. As I lie there catching my breath, a circle of gulls forms around me, angrily squawking that I have stolen their food and betrayed our friendship.

“Why should we fly far out to sea to look for your master when you have done this?” one gull demands, snapping its orange beak. “You are a thief and nothing more. You are worse even than a harbor cat!”

“Yes!” they all cry together. “What has Argos done for us, we
who search far and wide for his master? Thief! Thief! Thief!”

What have I done? Without the gulls to look for my master, how will I learn his fate?
At that moment, though, Athena herself guides my tongue.

“Brother Gulls,” I say. “It is true that I stole this meal from you, but I had a promise to fulfill. And think of this,” I continue. “How many turtles return to this shore to lay their eggs? One or two? That is because you are such great hunters that few of them survive to lay their own eggs. Now, a hundred turtles or more will return to lay their eggs on Ithaka. Think how many more meals you will have when that happens. No longer will your flock fight over a few turtle hatchlings. There will be thousands to choose from. How your children will feast!”

The gulls say nothing. A few tuck their heads in their wings. A few more scratch the sand. Finally one speaks. “Aye aye aye! What the Boar Slayer says is true. We have hunted too well. Many of my brothers have never tasted the sweet flesh of a sea turtle hatchling. In the years to come, we will eat well because of this.”

“Argos,” another says. “Forgive our sharp beaks and claws. You have done well for us.”

“Aye!” they shriek. “Aye! Aye!”

“Then you will still search for my master?” I ask.

“I leave tomorrow, Boar Slayer, following a fishing boat to the east,” another gull, larger than most, says. “And I will not return without news of Odysseus.”

“News! News! News!”

“I thank you, brothers. Now I must go to my home. Rosy dawn comes soon, and I must rest before I tend to the sheep.”

And then I make my way back to the sheep barn, climbing the trail that winds up from the shore. Along the way I stop and look back over the sea. How strange it is, I think, that men build ships to sail over that dark and treacherous water. Why do they not stay home?

T
he cook fires had already been lit when I hear it: the bell from the harbor signaling the arrival of a ship. Boats of all kinds arrive almost weekly at the harbor, but the bell is rung only for ships bearing Ithakans. I sit and listen, my ears erect. From the harbor, carried by the western wind, I hear cries of “Ship! Ship!” And then the word I long most to hear: “Odysseus!”

My master has returned! I run to the courtyard and begin to bark. After a few moments Telemachos comes out, and he hears the cries too. Soon the servants appear from all over the estate, many of them crying or embracing one another as news of their master's imminent arrival spreads. A few of the suitors are already seated in the hall, and they too come out into the courtyard. What strange faces they make! They know they
have to show joy at my master's return, yet this means that they can never marry Queen Penelope and inherit my master's land.

Finally my mistress Penelope herself descends the stairs and enters the courtyard. I have never seen her so beautiful, as she is wrapped in a silver tunic that reflects Apollo's setting chariot, and her lustrous hair hangs down in dark waves.

She takes Telemachos's hand and asks, “Is it true what the servants say? Has my husband and your father returned?”

Telemachos kisses her hand. “His black ship and others were seen by the harbormaster, my long-suffering mother. Noble Odysseus has indeed returned.”

“Zeus be praised. Take Argos and trusted Eumaios and run to the harbor, my son. It would not be right that his family was not there to greet him.”

“But my father will not know me, Mother. I was an infant when he left,” Telemachos cries, sounding worried.

“He will know you, brave Telemachos. Every father knows his son. Hurry now! I must prepare the house for his arrival.”

They embrace one more time, and then she calls the servants to her. Telemachos takes the shepherd Eumaios by the arm, and the three of us run down to the trail that leads to the harbor. Just before we begin our descent, we stop at a lookout
point. There it is! My master's swift black ship, fully rigged, sails ever closer. Alongside it sail two more of his fleet. The ships are too far away for us to see men on the deck, but my master has the finest sailors from Ithaka on board, so we know they will have no trouble navigating the rocky harbor.

How swiftly we run down to the shore! Even Eumaios has wings on his feet. The trail we run along is bordered by low scrubs and trees, so we seldom have a clear view of the sea, but Telemachos stops once and peers through the branches of a pine, exclaiming, “It draws closer! My father comes closer!”

I look too. The ship is now near enough to see men on the deck, but I don't see my master.
He must be shining his armor,
I think.
The sacker of cities will not return looking like a worn-out sailor.

Above us, a flock of gulls careens through the sky, flying east and west, and swooping down to the shore before climbing high above us again.
How strangely they fly!
I think. Then I realize that they fly strangely because the wind is shifting. But I think no more of it, because we finally reach the harbor.

Throngs of fishermen and sailors stand on the beach, watching my master's ship and companion boats come ever closer. They cheer and wave their arms, and flap tunics as flags. Children run along the jetty, screaming, “Odysseus! Odysseus! The
king of Ithaka has returned!”

Then, just as the crowd's noise has reached its peak, there is silence. The children's words are lost; the shifting wind carries their sounds away. A tunic is torn from a fisherman's hands and is blown out over the sea. I look up. Above me, the gulls, which had been flying so strangely, are now fighting to stay aloft as the wind rips through their flock. Suddenly I hear a terrible whooshing sound and feel the sting of sharp pebbles scouring me. Sand chokes my nose. Telemachos shouts something, but even my ears cannot hear it. I look out toward the breakers and see that the wind is driving the waves back away from the shore. All around me, men lean into the wind, fighting to stay upright.

“No!” I hear Telemachos cry. “Father! Father!”

Through half-closed, sand-filled eyes, I see what made Telemachos cry. My master's ship, along with its small fleet, is being blown back to sea. I can see the flash of twenty oars, but the wind is too strong even for the finest rowers. There is no resisting it. Soon we see nothing but the wind-tossed sea.

I have seen storms lash Ithaka before with strong wind and rain, but this is not a storm. No clouds fill the sky, nor is there a drop of rain. There is only the terrible wind, unlike I have ever felt, and only the gods could have sent it.

“Father! Come back!” I hear Telemachos cry again, and suddenly he is running toward the sea.

“Telemachos, stop!” Eumaios screams.

I run after the boy. Just before he reaches the water, I leap on his back and he topples to the sand.

“No, Argos,” he yells, pushing me off him and rising to his feet. Again he tries to dive into the sea, but I take his tunic in my mouth and pull him back.

“Argos,” he cries. “Let me go! Let me go!”

By then Eumaios reaches us. He takes Telemachos's arm and leads the sobbing youth away. We find shelter from the wind by huddling next to the jetty, as do the gulls. After a few minutes, even the sharpest-eyed men on the beach lose sight of my master's ships, and they gather around us, trying to console Telemachos.

“The wind will die down soon enough, boy, and when it does, the Wily One will sail once again into the harbor,” one old fisherman says gently.

“It's been more than twelve years, lad,” another adds. “What's one more day?”

Telemachos says nothing; he just strokes my back while the darkness comes in around us. After an hour or more passes, Eumaios whispers, “Come, Telemachos. We must return
home and tell your mother what happened. She will be worried about you. In the morning the winds will calm, as they always do, and we will see your father. I am sure of it.”

We rise and make the long trek up to my master's estate. The wind continues to blow mercilessly around us, and at times we have to hold on to the trees along the trail to keep from being blown back. When we reach the courtyard, my mistress wraps Telemachos in her arms and weeps bitter tears. This time it is he who speaks words of consolation.

“Tomorrow, Mother,” I hear him say. “He will return tomorrow, I know he will.”

They go inside to escape the wind, but I have work to do. I spend the first part of the night calming sheep, and later, when a tree blows over and knocks down part of their pen, I keep the goats from escaping. Every time I think the wind might finally be subsiding, I hear a howl and the winds pick back up, blowing harder than ever.

Apollo's chariot passes nine times before the wind stops.