Sappho's Leap by Erica Jong Page B

of the child,” Jezebel said.
    As the procession swelled with participants, the drums sounded louder and louder.
    â€œHow do the mother and father bear it?” I asked.
    â€œWith utter calm or the god will not be pleased.”
    When the procession arrived at the sacrificial area, the celebrants all began to kneel down before a brazen image of the deity. It was a human form with a bull’s head and outstretched human arms. In the belly of the god, priests were stoking a blazing charcoal fire.
    Jezebel then went forward and invoked Baal with these words:
We bring a babe to purify in fire—
    Fire which is life and death and change.
    Grant him immortality as you grant
    Immortality to our storied city.
    She then presented each parent with a clay mask wearing a hideous grin. Both mother and father wore one. I imagined myself and Alcaeus standing there, about to sacrifice our firstborn child, and I nearly swooned. A tiny mask was also proffered for the baby, who tried to push it away with his little hands. There were endless prayers and supplications during which the baby screamed and screamed. I couldn’t bear to watch or hear. I covered my eyes and ears. When I peeked through my latticed fingers, the babe had gone shrieking into the arms of the red-hot god. My empty stomach lurched.
    Inside me, I felt Cleis kick for the first time. The sky seemed to tip into the sea and my knees grew weak. Though my stomach was empty, I retched. Until that moment, the child within me was no more than a notion, no more than a dream. Now it was a real baby and I was its mother. I imagined giving birth, only to relinquish the baby to the flames.
    I leaned on Praxinoa, my head spinning. “Why did you let me come?” I asked her.
    â€œHow could I stop you?” she said. “Whenever you have a chance to get away from Cercylas, you can’t resist!”
    â€œNext time, I will resist,” I said.
    â€œYou say that now,” said Praxinoa, “but I know you.”
    The image of a baby devoured by flames repeated itself over and over in my head. My head itself felt as if it were on fire. Now the baby in my belly seemed to be kicking my heart.
    â€œFeel!” I said to Praxinoa, bringing her hand to my belly.
    Praxinoa felt my belly, felt the tiny foot kicking. A tear came to her eye.
    â€œOh, Sappho!” she said.
    â€œI will tell you a secret,” Jezebel said, “if it will make you feel better. The parents have substituted a slave-child captured in a raid on the mainland. All things are made of fire and return to fire. The flames will only purify this child. It is an honor to be fed to Baal.”
    â€œSlaves can work for you,” Praxinoa said, “but they shouldn’t have to die for you.” She looked at Jezebel with considerable ferocity.
    â€œThe universe is made of fire and returns to fire,” Jezebel said, “so it is better not to grow too attached to living things.”
    â€œIs that true for everyone—or only slaves?” Praxinoa asked defiantly.
    â€œDoes she always express herself with so much audacity?” Jezebel asked. “I would not accept it if I were you.”
    â€œPraxinoa is free to express whatever she feels,” I told Jezebel.
    â€œThen beware,” said Jezebel, “that you are not nurturing an asp in your own bosom.”
    I decided to let that warning pass without comment.
    â€œI am afraid your god does not inspire me,” I said later.
    â€œI would say that more quietly if I were you,” Jezebel said. “He hears everything and he speaks in flame.”
    â€œI cannot love a god who demands the incineration of infants.”
    â€œDo you expect to make no sacrifice for your god?”
    â€œI honor Aphrodite with song, with sweet-smelling incense and chaplets of herbs, but she never demands blood.”
    â€œYou say that now,” said Jezebel. “Perhaps you have not seen her in all her aspects. In