Mortal immortals, immortal mortals,
Living their death and dying their life.
—HERACLITUS
“AESOP,” 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.”
Hands shot up all over the assembly. Maera and Leto might argue, but the majority wanted harmony and life.
“Well, then, if you will live and prosper, hear me well.”
Deep sighs were heard in the crowd. As darkness fell on the island, I outlined what the gods had decreed.
“Mothers and fathers will share the care of children equally. They will also share hunting, fishing, farming, and weaving.”
“Weaving!” cried a sailor. “Men can’t weave! It’s women’s work!”
“You will learn to weave so as not to anger the gods. The gods decree that all labor will be shared as Demeter and Osiris share the world between them.”
“What about holidays and feasts?” Leto asked.
“There are four a year—the summer solstice, the autumn equinox, the winter solstice, the spring equinox. On all these turnings of the year, men and women may make love freely with all members of the tribe, but only as sacred homage to the gods and only to make the crops grow. The rest of the year the gods decree chastity.”
“Chastity!” Leto exclaimed. “Who wants a world of chastity?”
“A world of chastity is better than a world of chaos,” I said. “Eros brings chaos in his wake.” Clearly, I was thinking of my poor benighted brothers, but was I also thinking of myself?
“But the gods are not chaste,” Leto protested.
“That is why they are the gods,” I said. “People do not have enough discipline to make love like gods. Eros brings madness with his poisoned arrows. He must be restricted to the celebrations of the gods or his mischief will destroy the earth.”
“And what will happen if we break these commandments?” Maera asked.
“Something so terrible I cannot even describe it. I urge you to follow what the sacred papyrus decrees. I am only the messenger of the gods—not the author of the sacred papyrus. But I fear for your lives if you anger the gods.” The water still dripped from me. I shivered in the gathering darkness as though the breath of the gods were upon me.
“I say we try what Sappho says,” cried one of the Egyptian sailors.
“Aye! I agree!” cried another.
Before long, the commandments of the sacred papyrus had been adopted by proclamation and the tired assembly straggled back to their tents. I was glad to return to my tent, change to dry clothes, and get warm.
Later, I sat with Aesop and handed him the sacred papyrus. He carefully unrolled it. It was blank. He laughed and laughed.
He was full of admiration for my guile. “How clever you’ve become since your trip to the Land of the Dead,” he said. “But did you have to be so severe about men and women making love? Life is hard without the little anodyne of love. Love and wine are all most humans have to make their short and wretched lives bearable. Just because you are chaste, must everyone be chaste?”
“Nobody despises chastity more than I do, but I can only couple with those who set fire to my heart. My love is far away, so I am chaste.”
“So you would impose chastity on everyone?” Aesop asked.
“Why not? They will love love more when they have to wait for it. If they make love only to honor the gods, love will mean more to them than when they couple for lust alone.”
“So every sensualist is a sacred virgin at heart?” Aesop teased.
“Go make a fable of it,” I spat angrily.
“I think I will,” Aesop said. “What animal would you like to be?”
“Damn you, Aesop. What help were you to me when I was searching for the gods’ commandments? You simply sat there grinning.”
“That is because I trust you utterly. You may think you made it all up like a song at a symposium, but I know the gods dictate to you. Someday you may know it too.”
I gathered my blanket around me and slept. Translating the will of the gods is nothing if not exhausting.