The Adventures of Ulysses by Bernard Evslin

interest. Farewell.” The golden youth disappeared just as a ray of sunlight does when a cloud crosses the face of the sun. Ulysses shook his head, wondering whether he had really seen the god or imagined him, but then he saw that he was still holding the curious flower, and he knew that Hermes had indeed been there. So he marched on toward the castle, through the pack of lions and wolves, who leaped about him, fawning, looking at him with their great intelligent eyes and trying to warn him in their snarling, growling voices. He stroked their heads, passed among them, and went into the castle.
    And here, he found Circe, sitting at her loom, weaving and singing. She wore a white tunic now and a flame-colored scarf and was as beautiful as the dawn. She stood up and greeted him, saying:
    “Welcome, stranger. I live here alone and seldom see anyone and almost never have guests. So you are triply welcome, great sea-stained warrior, for I know that you have seen battle and adventure and have tales to tell.”
    She drew him a warm, perfumed bath, and her servants bathed and anointed him and gave him clean garments to wear. When he came to her, she gave him a red bowl full of yellow food and said, “Eat.” The food smelled delicious; its fragrance was intoxicating. Ulysses felt that he wanted to plunge his face into it and grub it up like a pig, but he held the flower tightly, kept control of himself, and ate slowly. He did not quite finish the food. “Delicious,” he said. “Your own recipe?”
    “Yes,” she said. “Will you not finish?”
    “I am not quite so hungry as I thought”
    “Then drink. Here’s wine.” She turned her back to him as she poured the wine, and he knew that she was casting a powder in it. He smiled to himself and drank off the wine, then said: “Delicious. Your own grapes?”
    “You look weary, stranger,” she said. “Sit and talk with me.”
    “Gladly,” said Ulysses. “We have much to speak of, you and I. I’m something of a farmer myself. I breed cattle on my own little island of Ithaca, where I’m king—when I’m home. Won’t you show me your livestock?”
    “Livestock? I keep no cattle here.”
    “Oh, do you not? I fancied I heard pigs squealing out there. Must have been mistaken.”
    “Yes,” said Circe. “Badly mistaken.”
    “But you do have interesting animals. I was much struck by the wolves and lions who course in a pack like dogs—very friendly for such savage beasts.”
    “I have taught them to be friendly,” said Circe. “I am friendly myself, you see, and I like all the members of my household to share my goodwill.”
    “Their eyes,” said Ulysses. “I was struck by their eyes—so big and sad and clever. You know, as I think of it, they looked like … human eyes.”
    “Did they?” said Circe. “Well—the eyes go last.”
    She came to him swiftly, raised her wand, touched him on the shoulder, and said: “Change, change, change! Turn, turn, turn!”
    Nothing happened. Her eyes widened when she saw him sitting there, unchanged, sniffing at the flower he had taken from his tunic. He took the wand from her gently and snapped it in two. Then drawing his sword, he seized her by her long golden hair and forced her to her knees, pulling her head until her white throat was offered the blade of the sword. Then he said: “You have not asked me my name. It is Ulysses. I am an unlucky man but not altogether helpless. You have changed my men into pigs. Now I will change you into a corpse.”
    She did not flinch before the blade. Her great blue eyes looked into his. She took the sharp blade in her hand, stroked it gentry, and said:
    “It is almost worth dying to be overcome by so mighty a warrior. But I think living might be interesting, too, now that I have met you.”
    He felt her fingers burning the cold metal of the sword as if the blade had become part of his body. He tried to turn his head but sank deeper into the blueness of her eyes.
    “Yes, I am a