Sappho's Leap by Erica Jong Page A

flats, its manufacture of purple dyes from murex shells, and its strange religious customs. This island had been settled in ancient times by small, wiry desert nomads from Canaan who were known as merchants, seafarers, explorers. It was said that they still worshiped Baal in a mysterious rite called “Walking Through the Fire.”
    The Canaanites were cousins to that desert tribe who believed in a single god. Like the Egyptians under Akhenaton, they had succumbed to the madness of reducing their pantheon to only one.
    One god? Why have one god when only a plethora of gods can fill the multifarious needs of human beings? The gods are so disinterested in human affairs that they wander off among the rosy clouds of Olympus, ignoring us and pursuing their own pleasures. We must tempt them with the sweet smoke of sacrifice, sing songs to them, weave golden garments for them—and still they care little if we live or die. Our petty fears strike them as absurd. And who can blame them? They are immortal. We are not. We pass before their all-seeing eyes like mayflies. We are little more than a distraction to them.
    Jezebel’s island people traded with the Carthaginians and also had close ties with the Phoenicians. They were said to be savage and wild. I could hardly wait to meet them! All I had to hear was the rumor of ancient rites and my curiosity blazed.
    Accompanied by Praxinoa, several manservants, and a captain, I set sail for Motya when I was almost six months pregnant. The boat rocked; seasickness claimed me, but the prospect of bizarre religious festivals was always tantalizing. The weather was not good, and, beating against the wind, it took us more than a week to make a passage that normally took two days.
    We arrived at sunset on the seventh day and found Motya strange and beautiful. It had enormous windmills whose sails glowed orange and red in the flames of the setting sun. We dropped anchor and made our way by cart across the stony causeway that connected Motya to the mainland. We saw the huge salt flats that gave the island its riches, and we smelled the rotting murex shells from which purple dye had been extracted. These two industries had made the Motyans rich. The whole known world yearned for purple dye to make royal garments and depended on salt to preserve fish. The Motyans fervently believed that only sacrificing to their god Baal had made all this plenty possible.
    We were taken to Jezebel’s house to refresh ourselves and prepare for the fire ritual the following morning.
    â€œI promise you will be inspired to sing when you see how we honor Baal,” Jezebel raved.
    That night we purified ourselves with ritual baths. We drank only water. Our stomachs grumbled, but our hearts were pure.
    Early the next morning, Jezebel and her attendants led us to the home of a family who had earned the supreme honor of sacrificing their firstborn.
    â€œDo you always sacrifice the firstborn?” I asked in horror, “or only at times of trouble?”
    â€œWe do it to prevent trouble. Our god is good to us because we feed him only the freshest flesh.”
    Outside the house of the chosen family, a procession was forming. People had been gathering since daybreak, carrying musical instruments—mostly drums and bells—and wearing gorgeous rainbow-colored robes. As the sun rose over the sea, they beat their drums and rang their bells to summon the parents out of their palace by the sea.
    â€œHow do they choose the family?” I whispered to Jezebel.
    â€œThey must be noble, newly married, about to have a child.”
    Eventually the mother appeared, carrying an infant of not more than a month old. It kicked and cried as if it knew its fate. The mother comforted the child by putting it to her breast. She nursed the babe continually as the procession snaked toward the tophet at the edge of the city. The crowd was wild and disorderly, playing loud instruments.
    â€œTo drown out the screams