Sappho's Leap (25 page)

“You must seize your right with words. Either words or swords win leadership—and words are your best weapon.”

“I have no idea how to begin.”

“How did Pittacus take over Lesbos?”

“He was the leader in the war against the Athenians, but he subdued the aristocrats of Lesbos more by guile. He seduced the leaders to his side and little by little took over their power.”

“Then so must you. You must use the power of Hades' realm and prophecies you learned there to get the attention of the natural leaders of the populace.”

“Who are they?”

“That we will only learn by going among them. Sappho, we must begin, or we will all be buried in that graveyard, except for the last to die, who will be torn apart by wild seabirds. There is no time to waste!”

So Aesop and I began to go among the people, to take a tour of the domain we sought to conquer. We would listen to their hopes and grievances and start to learn how to bring order to our little land.

The amazons were angry with Leto—who was no titaness. Not only Maera of the red ringlets, but many of the other young mothers wanted Leto's pleasure tent closed down. Leto had been joined in her enterprise by a few of her sisters, but most of the amazons were disgusted by her exploitation of their men.

“Men are weak,” Maera said. “We all know that. Seducing them is no trick. But try getting them to take care of their children! Oh, I wish that I had never left the land of the amazons, where women band together instead of fighting among themselves for men! I would go back if I could!”

“Antiope would have had you killed after your first child was born,” I reminded her. I did not say that I had met Antiope in the Land of the Dead and knew that she had perished.

“Even Antiope looks good to me now!” Maera fumed. “Antiope was a moral force compared to Leto!”

“Listen to her!” Aesop whispered to me. “Even an unjust ruler is better than no ruler at all.”

That night, Aesop and I went to find Leto at moonrise. The sea lapped at the shore. Birds rustled in the dark leaves. A fume of incense rose out of the opening at the top of Leto's tent. Within we heard the music of pipes and stringed instruments. The flute sounded its low melancholy tone. Leto emerged from the tent briefly to lure the admirers who waited outside looking like stray dogs.

Perfumed like a goddess, she wore a cape of woven sea grass, which shimmered as she moved; under it were multicolored silks. She had borne no children and still smiled with all her white and shiny teeth.

She now had dropped the sea-grass cape, and her rippling rags of silk fluttered as she danced. With great skill, she unpeeled the silk streamers one by one.

Now she ushered us all into her tent.

Eros loves disguises more even than touch and perfume. Leto knew this. She had to be all things to all men and she had constructed cunning masks for the purpose. She had bird masks and animal masks, masks with horns and masks with long gold hair. She had fashioned them herself and her movements transformed her into any creature she wished to be. A dancer can transport her audience by movement alone and Leto had that gift. She could become a cat, a panther, a snake, a horse. She could impersonate any mythical being she chose. Perhaps she was a titaness after all.

The men were rapt and silent at her performance. They were transported to a world of magic. Whatever the blessings of children, they make magic seem far away indeed—and Leto also understood this. She was slim and lithe. Her eyes were gray-blue and her lashes were long and dark. Her long hair was almost the color of silver with gold threads. She draped it over her chest where one breast was missing. The sight sent a shiver down my spine. She was joined by her two amazon attendants—as beautiful as she, though one was dark and plump, with olive eyes, and the other had blazing red hair the color of polished copper and eyes the color of that metal when tarnished. The three began to dance together, fondling each other's single breasts, kissing each other's lips, exchanging masks and then acting mute pantomimes in which they seduced each other.

I watched them in a trance, remembering how long it had been since I had tasted ripe flesh, since I had kissed a living man or woman. In the Land of the Dead no one could fuse flesh to flesh. That was the paradox of that place: endless yearning, endless deprivation. In the Land of the Dead, everyone was cursed like Tantalus. I had been chaste among the lovely amazons—what a waste! All I did there was write! And in Egypt, I had pleasured the pharaoh rather than having him pleasure me. (That's the problem with pharaohs!) How long had it been since I and a lover had gifted each other with our liquid love? My legs ached and my belly throbbed. I thought of Alcaeus and Isis, thought of the joy of clasping a friend who is also a lover. It had been too long!

There were far too many men for three women to receive in love. What could Leto possibly have up her sleeve? Or under her silken rags?

Soon enough, she produced a rude clay pipe. One of her maidens lit it. A strong smell filled the tent. The men leaned forward to inhale. They clapped and stamped their feet.

As the dancing continued, the pipe was passed from one spectator to another and its fumes were inhaled deeply. There was so much smoke in the tent that even I, without puffing the pipe, began to get light-headed. I thought I saw swirling rainbows in the smoke.

Aesop and I left the tent for a few moments to breathe fresh air. We gulped it hungrily.

“Somewhere on this island, she has gathered mushrooms,” Aesop said. “I know the smell. Leto should be careful. In small doses, some of these mushrooms are intoxicants, but some are lethal as hemlock.”

“The amazons studied herbs—both anodynes and stimulants. They know far more than any people I have met. I am from Lesbos—I know only wine.”

We went back into the tent. Now the men were sprawled on the floor, dreaming in the smoke-filled air. The amazons continued dancing. They danced over the men triumphantly, linking hands and weaving around their prostrate bodies. They laughed.

“Well, that was a great beginning for our interviews of the populace,” I told Aesop when he and I were alone together.

“Information is always useful.”

“You and your damned epigrams!
You
govern this island! I'm not interested.”

“All right. But where will you go? Back to the Land of the Dead? To sea without a boat? Sappho, you have no choice. Either govern this island or let it govern you!”

I thought about this. Aesop was right. He was always right! I kicked a stone. I walked into the sea and swam in the darkness. As I swam to and fro, to and fro, wishing the nereids and Poseidon would save me or drown me, I had an inspiration, and the inspiration became a plan.

Mortal immortals, immortal mortals,

Living their death and dying their life.

—H
ERACLITUS

“A
ESOP,” I SAID, “YOU
call a convocation of the tribe for this evening at sunset and I will address my people.”

“I
knew
I could count on you,” Aesop said.

That night, as the sun sank below the horizon of our mountainous island, the whole population began to assemble. I had sent word via Aesop that we should assemble in the graveyard at the edge of the sea. I knew of no better way to summon serious thoughts.

Nearly everyone came—women burdened with two or three children, pregnant women, men dragging goats behind them or carrying baskets of fish. They were a ragtag lot as they seated themselves on the ground near the graveyard. They looked a great deal more tired and bedraggled than they had been when we sailed away from the island of the amazons. They were exhausted from the toil of child-rearing and scrounging for food. Everyone but Leto and her maidens looked exhausted. They flounced in last and stood at the back of the crowd, preening. But the men were shy about flirting with them while their women and children were present.

Wearing the only chiton I still had that was not in tatters, I stood up before them at the edge of the water under the rosy rays of the setting sun. I had no idea what I was going to say. But I was brazen. If you can compose lyrics at a symposium, it inures you to any kind of stage fright.

“Sit down, Leto,” I commanded. “I'd rather have you sit than fall down when I say what I have to say.”

At first Leto stood defiantly. But I waited, my eyes boring into hers. Then she sat, with her maids around her.

“I wonder if you have missed me or have thought about where I'd disappeared. I doubt it. You have all fallen into a black sack of trouble, though some of you hardly seem to know it. Your stores are exhausted, mothers are losing their teeth and dying in childbirth, children are dying, and men are straying. The gods have abandoned you. And I know why.”

Now all the listeners looked rapt. I had their attention at last—even Leto's.

“I went to explore this isle and slipped—it was the will of gods, not men—into Hades' realm. The Land of the Dead is very near. We are always on the edge of it, whether we know it or not. There I met my long-dead father, my little brother, hordes of gray dead souls with no hope of eternal life. I rode in Charon's boat. I interviewed the dead. I met great Osiris and eternal Demeter. I learned the secrets of the future. Shall I share them with you? Are you worthy? Or shall I let you perish?”

The sun had slipped below the horizon. Babies were squalling. Mothers were nursing. My listeners stared at me as if they too saw dead souls.

“Osiris bade me go back to you and warn you of the danger you are in. You have forgotten his worship and your flesh will crumble into dust beyond the promise of resurrection. The divine father is angry with you—and so is the divine mother, Demeter. She is the door of birth and rebirth—never forget that. If you ignore her, all your generations will perish.”

I paced before them—taking a long pause. I could feel their anxiety and questioning. I used these for my own ends.

“Why should I care about your future?” I continued. “My immortality is assured through my songs. If I died now, my songs would still be sung, my daughter would still grow to womanhood on my native isle. But you are in dire straits. You have lost the guidance of the gods.” I paced some more. I looked as if I were not sure whether to continue.

“What did Osiris say?” one of the Egyptian sailors called out. “Tell us!”

“If I tell you, will you take it to heart?”

“We will!” cried another of the sailors.

“Osiris is not my god,” Maera of the red ringlets protested. “Who cares what he says? Tell us what great Demeter said.”

“In Hades' realm, the gods do not care what we call them. They sit in an immortal symposium drinking exquisite wine and viewing our doings with detachment. They do not care if we live or die. They barely smell our puny sacrifices. They wait for proof of our worthiness to live, and if we fail they are happy to reduce us to clay and start all over. The gods are like potters at the wheel. If a pot is crooked, they throw it back into the bin. They can start again as many times as necessary. To them we are only broken, leaky pots. We must prove ourselves by being straight and holding water. Otherwise we will be thrown upon the heap. Our very names perish and our individual souls are lost forever.”

“What shall we do?” Maera called out in distress.

“What indeed? You must win back the favor of the gods. You must purify yourselves for Demeter and Osiris. You must worship them again and heed their rules.”

“But how shall we
know
their rules?” Maera asked.

“You shall know them by me,” I said. “They have told me how they wish to be worshiped. I have been given The Way. The gods themselves have entrusted me with their divine papyrus. I have decoded it and I can tell you how to save yourselves.”

Leto shouted, “Why you, Sappho? Why are
you
our leader? Prove you have the favor of the gods! Show us a miracle! Bring Pegasus again! Bring Persephone from the house of Hades to vouch for you!”

I paced before them. I did not at once respond. Could I summon Pegasus again with my verses? Could I bring ghosts from the Land of the Dead back to earth? I was not sure. But from under my himation I produced a thick papyrus scroll. I waved it in the air for all to see.

“This scroll was dictated to me by the gods. If you are respectful, I shall share its teachings. Otherwise, I shall throw it in the sea.” I paced at the edge of the water and let the wavelets lap my toes.

“It's up to you. If you are happy with the way things are, you have no need of me or the gods' papyrus.” I began to walk deeper into the water. Waves were breaking just beyond where I stood.

The crowd seemed agitated. They whispered among themselves.

“Prove you come from the gods!” Leto shouted.

“Yes! Prove it!” echoed her maids.

I ignored them, saying nothing but gazing intently at them. I waded into the sea up to my waist, then up to my chin. I held the papyrus aloft.

“I have nothing to prove to you,” I shouted. “If you are happy with the way things are, you have no need of me or this papyrus. If you are not, then hear what the gods have decreed.”

“Let's put it to a vote!” Maera shouted. “And only mothers get a vote!”

“Absurd!” said Leto. “Why not fathers?” But nobody seconded her, so she kept silent after that.

I stood in the sea holding the papyrus of the gods above my head. I was determined to drown rather than enter another foolish argument about the nature of men and women. Aesop smiled as if to encourage me, but he didn't come forward with a fable. Damn him. I would make up my own fable! I walked slowly out of the sea and stood before them, all dripping wet.

“Demeter is the mother, the divine delta, the door of life, the door of birth, the door of death, the door of rebirth. Cross her, anger her, and no babes will be born to you ever again. No crops will grow. The whole earth will be barren as a grave. Osiris is the savior-king, consort of the great mother, the king who dies so that the crops may grow. Without harmony between these two sacred beings, life will cease. Demeter and Osiris must dance together like perfect lovers or the world ends. All of this is in your power. I can bring you the harmony or the discord of the gods. How many wish harmony? I will not ask again.”