Lost in the Funhouse (22 page)

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘Imagine then what he felt on the nuptial night, when feast and sacrifice were done, carousers gone, and he faced his bedaydreamed in the waking flesh! Dreamisher yet, she’d betrothed him wordless, wordless wed; now without a word she led him to her chamber, let go her gold gown, stood golder before him. Not to die of her beauty he shut his eyes; of not beholding her embraced her. Imagine what he felt then!’ ” ’ ” ’

“ ‘Two questions,’ interjected Peisistratus—

“ ‘One! One! “ ‘ “ ‘There the bedstead stood; as he swooning tipped her to it his throat croaked “Why?” ’ ”

“ ‘ “ ‘ “Why?” asked Eidothea.’

“ ‘ “ ‘Why why?’ Proteus echoed.” ’

“ ‘My own questions,’ Peisistratus insisted, ‘had to do with mannered rhetoric and your shift of narrative viewpoint.’

“ ‘ “ ‘Ignore that fool!’ Proteus ordered from the beach.” ’

“ ‘How can Proteus—’ ‘Seer.’ ‘So.’ ‘The opinions echoed in these speeches aren’t necessarily the speaker’s.

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘ “Why’d you wed me?” Menelaus asked his wife,’ I told my wife. ‘ “Less crafty than Diomedes, artful than Teucer, et cetera?” She placed on her left breast his right hand.

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘ “Why me?” he cried again. “Less lipless than Achilles, et cetera!” The way she put on her other his other would have fired a stone.

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘ “Speak!” he commanded. She whispered: “Love.”

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘Unimaginable notion! He was fetched up short. How could Helen love a man less gooded than Philoctetes, et cetera, and whom besides she’d glimpsed but once prior to wedding and not spoken to till that hour? But she’d say no more; the harder he pressed the cooler she turned, who’d been ardor itself till he put his query. He therefore forebore, but curiosity undid him; how could he know her and not know how he knew?’ ” ’

“ ‘ “ ‘Come to the point!’

“ ‘ “ ‘ “Hold on!”

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘He held her fast; she took him willy-nilly to her; I feel her yet, one endless instant, Menelaus was no more, never has been since. In his red ear then she whispered: “Why’d I wed you, less what than who, et cetera?” ’ ” ’ ”

“ ‘ “My very question.”

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘ “Speak!” Menelaus cried to Helen on the bridal bed,’ I reminded Helen in her Trojan bedroom,” I confessed to Eidothea on the beach,’ I declared to Proteus in the cavemouth,” I vouchsafed to Helen on the ship,’ I told Peisistratus at least in my Spartan hall,” I say to whoever and where- I am. And Helen answered:

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘ “Love!” ’ ” ’ ” ’ ”

!

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘He complied, he complied, as to an order. She took his corse once more to Elysium, to fade forever among the fadeless asphodel; his curious fancy alone remained unlaid; when he came to himself it still asked softly: “Why?” ’ ” ’ ” ’ ”

And don’t I cry out to me every hour since, “Be sure you demanded of Peisistratus (and Telemachus), ‘Didn’t I exclaim to salvaged Helen, “Believe me that I here queried Proteus, ‘Won’t you ask of Eidothea herself whether or not I shouted at her, “Sheathed were my eyes, unsheathed my sword what
time I challenged Troy-lit Helen, ‘Think you not that Menelaus and his bride as one cried, “
Love!
”?’!”?’!”?’!”?

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘So the night went, and the days and nights: sex and riddles. She burned him up, he played husband till he wasted, only his voice still diddled: “Why?” ’ ”

“ ‘ “ ‘ “What a question!” ’ ” ’

“ ‘What’s the answer?’

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘Seven years of this, more or less, not much conversation, something wrong with the marriage. Helen he could hold; how hold Menelaus? To love is easy; to be loved, as if one were real, on the order of others: fearsome mystery! Unbearable responsibility! To her,
Menelaus
signified something recognizable, as
Helen
him. Whatever was it? They begot a child …’ ” ’ ”

“ ‘ “I beg your pardon,” Helen interrupted from the poop a quarter-century later. “Father Zeus got Hermione on me, disguised as you. That’s the way he is, as everyone knows; there’s no use pouting or pretending …”

“ ‘I begged her pardon, but insisted, as in Troy: “ ‘ “ ‘It wasn’t Zeus disguised as Menelaus who begot her, any more than Menelaus disguised as Zeus; it was Menelaus disguised as Menelaus, a mask masking less and less. Husband, father, lord, and host he played, grip slipping; he could imagine anyone loved, no accounting for tastes, but his cipher self. In his cups he asked on the sly their house guests: “Why’d she wed me, less horsed than Diomedes, et cetera?” None said. A night came when this misdoubt stayed him from her bed. Another …’ ” ’ ” ’ ”

Respite. I beg your pardon.

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘Presently she asked him: et cetera. If only she’d declared, “Menelaus, I wed you because, of all the gilt clowns of my acquaintance, I judged you least likely to distract me from my lovers, of whom I’ve maintained a continuous and overlapping series since before we met.” Wouldn’t that have cleared the Lacedemonian air! In a rage of shame he’d’ve burned up the bed with her! Or had she said: “I truly am fond of you, Menelaus; would’ve wed no other. What one seeks in the husband
way is a good provider, gentle companion, fit father for one’s children whoever their sire—a blend in brief of brother, daddy, pal. What one doesn’t wish are the traits of one’s lovers, exciting by night, impossible by day: I mean peremptory desire, unexpectedness, rough play, high-pitched emotions of every sort. Of these, happily, you’re free.” Wouldn’t that have stoked and drafted him! But “Love!” What was a man to do?’

“ ‘(“((’(((“ ‘Well …’ ”)))’))”)’

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘He asked Prince Paris—’ ‘You didn’t!’ ” “By Zeus!” ’ ‘By Zeus!’ ” “You didn’t!” ’ ‘Did you really?’ ” “By Zeus,” I tell me I told all except pointed Helen, “I did.

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘By Zeus,’ I told pointed Helen, ‘he did. Oh, he knew the wretch was eyes and hands for Helen; he wasn’t blind; eight days they’d feasted him since he’d dropped in uninvited, all which while he’d hot-eyed the hostess, drunk from her goblet, teased out winy missives on the table top. On the ninth she begged Menelaus to turn him from the palace. But he confessed,’ I confessed,” I confessed,’ I confessed,” et cetera, “ ‘ “ ‘he liked the scoundrel after all …’ ” ’ ” ’

“ ‘Zeus! Zeus!’

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘Young, rich, handsome he was, King Priam’s son; a charmer, easy in the world …’ ” ’ ”

“ ‘ “Don’t remind us!”

“ ‘ “ ‘ “One night Helen went early to her chamber, second on one’s left et cetera, and the two men drank alone. Menelaus watched Paris watch her go and abruptly put his question, how it was that one less this than that had been the other, and what might be the import of his wife’s reply. “A proper mystery,” Paris agreed; “you say the one thing she says is what?” Menelaus pointed to the word his nemesis, by Paris idly drawn at dinner in red Sardonic.

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘ “Consult an oracle,” Paris advised. “There’s a good one at Delphi.” “I’m off to Crete,” Menelaus told breakfast Helen. “Grandfather died. Catreus. Take care of things.”

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘ “Love!” she pled, tearing wide her gown. Menelaus clapped shut his eyes and ears, ran for the north.’ ” ’ ” ’

“ ‘North to Crete?’ ‘Delphi, Delphi, “ ‘ “ ‘where he asked the oracle: “Why et cetera?” and was told:
“No other can as well espouse her.”

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘ “How now!” Menelaus cried,’ I ditto,” et cetera. “ ‘ “Espouse? Espouse her? As lover? Advocate? Husband? Can’t you speak more plainly? Who am I?”

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘      ” ’ ” ’ ” ’ ”

…

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘Post-haste he returned to Lacedemon, done with questions. He’d re-embrace his terrifying chooser, clasp her past speech, never let go, frig understanding; it would be bride-night, endless; their tale would rebegin. “Menelaus here!” His shout shook the wifeless hall.

7

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘Odysseus outsmarted, unsmocked Achilles, mustered Agamemnon—all said: “Let her go.” Said Menelaus: “Can’t.” What did he feel? Epic perplexity. That she’d left him for Paris wasn’t the point. War not love. Ten years he played outraged spouse, clung ireful-limpetlike to Priam’s west curtain, war-whooped the field of Ares. Never mind her promenading the bartizans arm in arm with her Troyish sport; no matter his seeing summerly her belly fill with love-tot. Curiosity was his passion, that too grew mild. When at last in the war’s ninth year he faced Paris in single combat, it was purely for the sake of form. “I don’t ask why she went with you,” he paused to say. “But tell me, as I spear you: did Helen ever mention, while you clipped
and tumbled, how she happened to choose me in the first place?” Paris grinned and whispered through his shivers: “Love.” Aphrodite whisked him from the door of death; no smarterly than that old word did smirking Pandarus pierce Menelaus’s side. War resumed.

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘Came dark-horse-night; Paris dead, it was with her new mate Deiphobus Helen sallied forth to mock. When she had done playing each Greek’s Mrs., in her own voice she called: “Are you there, Menelaus? Then hear this: the night you left me I left you, sailed off with Paris and your wealth. At our first berthing I became his passion’s harbor; to Aphrodite the Uniter we raised shrines. I was princess of desire, he prince; from Greece to Egypt, Egypt Troy, our love wore out the rowing-benches. By charms and potions I kept his passion nine years firm, made all Troy and its beleaguerers burn for me. Pederast Achilles pronged me in his dreams; before killed Paris cooled, hot Deiphobus climbed into his place: he who, roused by this wooden ruse, stone-horses your Helen even as she speaks. To whom did slick Odysseus not long since slip, and whisper all the while he wooed dirty Greek, welcome to my Troy-cloyed ear? Down, godlike Deiphobus! Ah!”

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘Heart-burst, Menelaus had cracked with woe the Epeian barrel and his own, had not far-sight Odysseus caulked and coopered him, saying: “The whore played Clytemnestra’s part and my Penelope’s; now she plays Helen.” So they sat in silence, murderous, until the gods who smile on Troy wearied of this game and rechambered the lovers. Then Odysseus unpalmed the mouth of Menelaus and declared: “She must die.” Menelaus spat. “Stick her yourself,” went on the Ithacan: “play the man.”

“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘The death-horse dunged the town with Greeks; Menelaus ground his teeth, drew sword, changed point of view. Taking his wronged part, I invite one word before I cut your perfect throat. What did the lieless oracle intend? Why’d you you-know-what ditto-whom et cetera?’

6

“ ‘ “ ‘ “Replied my wife in a huskish whisper: ‘You know why.’

“ ‘ “ ‘ “I chucked my sword, she hooked her gown, I fetched her shipward through the fire and curses, she crossed her legs, here I weep on the beach at Pharos, I wish I were dead, what’d you say your name was?”

5

“ ‘ “ ‘Said Eidothea: “Eidothea.” I hemmed, I hawed; “I’m not the man,” I remarked, “I was.” Shoulders shrugged. “I’ve advised disguise,” she said. “If you find your falseface stinks, I advise ambrosia. My sixth advice is, not too much ambrosia; my seventh—” Frantic I recounted, lost track, where was I? “—ditto masks: when the hour’s ripe, unhide yourself and jump.” Her grabbèd dad, she declared, would turn first into animals, then into plants and wine-dark sea, then into no saying what. Let I go I’d be stuck forever; otherwise he’d return into Proteus and tell me what I craved to hear.

“ ‘ “ ‘ “Hang on,” she said; “that’s the main thing.” I asked her wherefor her septuple aid; she only smiled, I hate that about women, paddled off. This noon, then, helped by her sealskins and deodorant, I jumped you. There you are. But you must have known all this already.’

4

“ ‘ “Said Proteus in my voice: ‘Never mind know. Loose me now, man, and I’ll say what stands between you and your desire.’ He talks that way. I wouldn’t; he declared I had one virtue
only, the snap-turtle’s, who will beak fast though his head be severed. By way of preface to his lesson then, he broke my heart with news reports: how Agamemnon, Idomeneus, Diomedes were cuckolded by pacifists and serving-men; how Clytemnestra not only horned but axed my brother; how faithless Penelope, hearing Odysseus had slept a year with Circe, seven with Calypso, dishonored him by giving herself to all one hundred eight of her suitors, plus nine house-servants, Phemius the bard, and Melanthius the goat-herd …” ’

“ ‘What’s this?’ cried Peisistratus. ‘Telemachus swears they’ve had no word since he sailed from Troy!’ ‘Prophets get their tenses mixed,’ I replied; ‘not impossibly it’s now that Mrs. Odysseus goes the rounds, while her son’s away. But I think he knows what a tangled web his mother weaves; otherwise he’d not sit silent, but call me and Proteus false or run for Ithaca.’ There I had him, someone; on with the story. ‘On with the story. “ ‘On with the story,’ I said to Proteus: ‘Why can’t I get off this beach, let go, go home again? I’m tired of holding Zeus knows what; the mussels on my legs are barnacled; my arms and mind have gone to sleep; our beards have grown together; your words, fishy as your breath, come from my mouth, in the voice of Menelaus. Why am I stuck with you? What is it makes all my winds north and chills my wife?’

“ ‘ “Proteus answered: ‘You ask too many questions. Not Athena, but Aphrodite is your besetter. Leave Helen with me here; go back to the mouth of River Egypt. There where the yeasting slime of green unspeakable jungle springs ferments the sea of your intoxicate Greek bards,’ that’s how the chap talks, ‘make hecatombs to Aprodite; beg Love’s pardon for your want of faith. Helen chose you without reason because she loves you without cause; embrace her without question and watch your weather change. Let go.’

“ ‘ “I tried; it wasn’t easy; he swam and melted in the lesser Nile my tears. Then Eidothea surfaced just offshore, unless it was you …” Shipboard Helen. “Had he been Eidothea before? Had he turned Helen? Was I cuckold yet again, an old salt in
my wound? Recollecting my hard homework I closed eyes, mouth, mind; set my teeth and Nileward course. It was a different river; on its crocodiled and dromedaried bank, to that goddess perversely polymorphous as her dam the sea or the shift Old Man Thereof, Menelaus sacrificed twin heifers, Curiosity, Common Sense. I no longer ask why you choose me, less tusked than Idomeneus, et cetera; should you declare it was love for me fetched you to Paris and broke the world, I’d raise neither eyebrow; ‘Yes, well, so,’ is what I’d say. I don’t ask what’s changed the wind, your opinion, me, why I hang here like, onto, and by my narrative. Gudgeon my pintle, step my mast, vessel me where you will. I believe all. I understand nothing. I love you.”