Sappho's Leap by Erica Jong

nights we fell asleep contented in each other’s arms.
    Without Praxinoa, I would have been lost; she was my only friend from home. For the longest time, I had no word from my mother, who had abandoned me to this horrible marriage. I sorely missed my brothers, who had been my playmates and protectors throughout my whole childhood. I was still not much older than a child—even though, as a married woman, I was expected to put my toys away. And I did—all except my olisbos !
    Living with Cercylas was like sharing space with a sponge. Fortunately, I was rich enough now to greatly embellish the women’s quarters on the upper levels of my town and country houses, to give Praxinoa and me the privacy we craved. But I certainly came to know why women so dreaded marriage. It was not only leaving the warmth of home and going away with a virtual stranger, but also having to completely make a life in an unfamiliar place. Without a slave who had tended and loved me from childhood, I would have been utterly friendless.
    It turned out that Cercylas was thrilled to take the credit for the baby. He remembered nothing about our wedding night or any subsequent nights. He probably would have been amazed to discover that he’d never succeeded in doing the deed, and I had no intention of enlightening him. Cercylas walked through his life in a fog, and that was useful to me. Let him claim paternity if it would enrich the child.
    Meanwhile, Zeus and his daughter were lounging on a cloud, looking down:
ZEUS: Where are you going with this twisted love story? This was not our bet at all. If Sappho has only to choose between a drunken old husband with a paunch and a poet who prefers boys, she’s hardly typical of all mortal women.
    APHRODITE: That’s what you think! Besides, I’m only warming up. The girl is young. She hasn’t experienced many of the delights of Eros except with Alcaeus and Praxinoa, and now with her olisbos—which doesn’t really count. I know what I’m doing. Wait.
    ZEUS: Maybe she needs me. I could transform myself into a beautiful young maiden and have my way with her.
    APHRODITE: Don’t you dare.
    ZEUS: Just to spice up the story. At this point we need a rape or a war. A rape and a war! Let’s go!
    APHRODITE: Male madness is a terrible thing.
    ZEUS: Where would you be without it?
    My reputation as a singer had preceded me from that fateful symposium at Lesbos. In Syracuse I found myself often asked to perform my hymn to Aphrodite at festivals and weddings. My songs had already become my means of escape. Every time I was asked to perform, I nursed the hope that I would encounter Alcaeus at some symposium. Alas, he was never there!
    If my marriage had been better, would I have performed as much or composed as many songs? Would I have been as eager to travel? For I performed throughout my pregnancy and often I felt I carried a muse inside me. I first knew my daughter as a glowing presence under my navel that inspired song. She gave me authority, turning me from Persephone into Demeter, from maiden to mother, from girl to woman.
    A priestess named Jezebel of Motya had attended a lavish symposium Cercylas and I had hosted in Syracuse. There I had again sung in honor of Aphrodite. Jezebel, who knew Greek and many other languages, was much taken with my songs and asked me if I would honor her god Baal with my performance.
    â€œGods cannot so easily be traded,” I told her. “Aphrodite is my tutelary goddess.”
    â€œTrue,” she said, “but you have yet to see the power of Baal.”
    Jezebel was tall, had ringlets of red hair, and wore only purple embellished with shimmering gold. She had invited me to visit her native island Motya and I had readily accepted the invitation in order to get away from Cercylas. Perhaps I would meet Alcaeus there!
    Motya lay around the coast from Syracuse, about two days’ sail westward. It was an island famous for its salt