Memoirs of a Bitch (23 page)

The murmur of the sea drowned the roar of the fire, and for a moment we were able to believe in another time and another world. Together we waited for the dawn.

It was strangely glorious, that last dawn. It rose triumphantly from the sea, framed in veils of rose-colored light. Rosy-fingered Aurora in her golden shawl. The last goddess of that day, of that war. Diomedes got to his feet and picked up his helm. I looked at him: he was already a stranger. Our time was past. Without getting up, I looked at the sea. It was shining pale gold in the early light, but it would have made no sense to say there was no one left to see its splendor.

My story ends with a sacking and plundering that did not involve me. I buried Cassandra with my own hands, helped by a loyal soldier. Her eyes were closed and her face serene. Her clothes had not been violated; just a single blow from a sword across her throat. That was
the last thing I did. When they asked me to board the ship, I didn’t protest. I only looked back once, feeling nothing. Troy was still there, veiled in smoke. Smoking ruins and unburied corpses. One single pyre. The blackened palace was my last memory. Suddenly the sun was touched with black.

The Ithacans found Hecuba wandering howling on the shore. Wrapped in her dark cloak, she looked from a distance like the emaciated shadow of a black bitch.

I never said goodbye to Diomedes. I hadn't the heart. I caught sight of him as I was going toward the ship. He turned to look at me with dull, extinguished eyes, his mouth tightened in a painful grimace. In the sun of the Trojan shore, he was wrapped in a cloak as if he felt cold.

The sun has gone down and the Peloponnese is already in shadow. It's late and the last trace of light is retreating across the dark sea. I hear Menelaus calling from the bows: dinner must be ready, unfamiliar food and unfamiliar wine. When the ship drops anchor this evening, the voyage will be over. For the men on board, the war is no more than a distant memory. I close my eyes again; the caress of the setting sun is a poor consolation. I haven't the strength to face another life. My mirror would only reflect an empty shadow. Memories of my dead are crowding around me, crowding silently around me.

I know the step of my ghost. I waited for him in Troy, but now no longer. This is the moment. I can hear him behind me, and I am not afraid. The sailors take no notice of me; they don't see me climbing up to stand
on the ship's side. The shrouds are rough to my hands but it will only take a moment, it won't hurt. I open my eyes wide, and my last memory of the sun is this golden light. When I jump, the air beneath me offers no resistance, and the water closes over my head with the cold embrace of a heavy veil. I'm a seagull on the sea, but I shall rise from it again. When I fly away, they will not see me. This death doesn't hurt, doesn't frighten me. I can see his eyes again in the water, which is his color. I'm smiling with my eyes open; the salt stings, but it's worth it. There he is, before me. My cremated love has come back to fetch me. I'm still a child and I need him.

Now I can close my eyes, it's over now. Above my head, beyond the water, the last light is an arrow of fire.