darkness he could not tell their colour; her thin cheeks hinted at the skull beneath the taut skin. He drew back, confused, the pain still throbbing dully in his abdomen, and asked: 'Are you Yasintra?' The cold clothed his words in steam.
She didn't answer.
'You knew Tramachus,' insisted Diagoras. 'He came to see you.'
'Watch her knees . . .' Heracles' voice warned from a great distance.
The girl stared in silence. 'Did he pay for his visits?'
Diagoras wasn't sure why he asked, but it was the first question to receive an answer: 'Of course he did,' she said. Both men reflected that many ephebes had a less masculine voice than she - it was the echo of an oboe in a cavern. 'The rites of Bromios are paid for in paeans; the rites of Cypris in obols.'
Diagoras didn't know why, but he felt offended. Perhaps it was because the girl seemed unafraid. And were the full lips mocking him in the darkness, or was he imagining it?
'When did you meet him?'
'At the last Lenaea. He saw me dancing in the procession to the god and sought me out afterwards.'
'He sought you?' exclaimed Diagoras in disbelief. 'But he was not yet a man!'
'Many youths seek me.'
'Perhaps you refer to someone else.'
'Tramachus, who was killed by wolves,' said Yasintra. 'I speak of him.'
Heracles said impatiently: 'Who did you think we were?' 'I don't understand.' Yasintra turned her liquid gaze upon him.
'Why did you run away when we asked for you? You don't look like one who flees from men. Who were you expecting?' 'Nobody. I run away if I want to.'
'Yasintra,' pleaded Diagoras, 'we need your help. We know that Tramachus was in some kind of trouble. A very grave matter was tormenting him. I. . . we were his friends and we want to find out what it was. Your relationship with him no longer matters. We simply want to know if Tramachus spoke of his worries.' He wanted to add: 'Oh, please, help me. I care about this more than you can imagine.'
As vulnerable and fragile as a lily in the hands of a maiden, he felt he could have pleaded for help a hundred times. His spirit, stripped of all pride, was like a young girl with blue eyes and shining hair, imploring on her knees: 'Help me, please, help me.' But, gentle as the brush of a girl's white tunic against a flower, and yet, as ardent as the girl's delectable nubile body, his wish was not translated into words. 16
'Tramachus never spoke much,' she said. 'But he didn't seem anxious.'
'Did he ever ask for your help?' enquired Heracles. 'No. Why would he?' 'When did you see him last?' 'One moon ago.' 'He never talked about his life?' 'Who ever talks to women like me?' 'Did his family approve of your relationship?' 'There was no relationship - he came to see me, paid and left.'
'But perhaps his family disliked the idea that its noble son was coming to you for solace, even if only once in a while.' 'I don't know. It wasn't his family I had to please.' 'Maybe his father knew about you.' pressed Heracles calmly. 'He had no father.'
'You're right,' said Heracles. 'I meant his mother.' 'I don't know her.'
There was a short silence. Diagoras looked at the Decipherer for help. Heracles shrugged.
'Can I go now?' asked the girl. 'I'm tired.'
Although they said nothing, she moved away from the wall and hurried away.
16 The powerful eidetic image of the 'girl with the lily' persists! And now the idea of 'help' - repeated three times in this paragraph - seems to have joined it. The author describes the young girl according to the rules of eidesis, in other words, scattering adjectives throughout the text for the reader to collect at the end and create the complete image. The image here, I believe, is that of a 'young girl' with eyes as 'blue' as the sea, 'shining' hair or hair of 'moonlight', and a 'delectable' and 'smooth' body, wearing a 'white tunic' and holding a 'lily'. Obviously a very beautiful young girl... But why is she running away? And who or what is
She didn't answer.
'You knew Tramachus,' insisted Diagoras. 'He came to see you.'
'Watch her knees . . .' Heracles' voice warned from a great distance.
The girl stared in silence. 'Did he pay for his visits?'
Diagoras wasn't sure why he asked, but it was the first question to receive an answer: 'Of course he did,' she said. Both men reflected that many ephebes had a less masculine voice than she - it was the echo of an oboe in a cavern. 'The rites of Bromios are paid for in paeans; the rites of Cypris in obols.'
Diagoras didn't know why, but he felt offended. Perhaps it was because the girl seemed unafraid. And were the full lips mocking him in the darkness, or was he imagining it?
'When did you meet him?'
'At the last Lenaea. He saw me dancing in the procession to the god and sought me out afterwards.'
'He sought you?' exclaimed Diagoras in disbelief. 'But he was not yet a man!'
'Many youths seek me.'
'Perhaps you refer to someone else.'
'Tramachus, who was killed by wolves,' said Yasintra. 'I speak of him.'
Heracles said impatiently: 'Who did you think we were?' 'I don't understand.' Yasintra turned her liquid gaze upon him.
'Why did you run away when we asked for you? You don't look like one who flees from men. Who were you expecting?' 'Nobody. I run away if I want to.'
'Yasintra,' pleaded Diagoras, 'we need your help. We know that Tramachus was in some kind of trouble. A very grave matter was tormenting him. I. . . we were his friends and we want to find out what it was. Your relationship with him no longer matters. We simply want to know if Tramachus spoke of his worries.' He wanted to add: 'Oh, please, help me. I care about this more than you can imagine.'
As vulnerable and fragile as a lily in the hands of a maiden, he felt he could have pleaded for help a hundred times. His spirit, stripped of all pride, was like a young girl with blue eyes and shining hair, imploring on her knees: 'Help me, please, help me.' But, gentle as the brush of a girl's white tunic against a flower, and yet, as ardent as the girl's delectable nubile body, his wish was not translated into words. 16
'Tramachus never spoke much,' she said. 'But he didn't seem anxious.'
'Did he ever ask for your help?' enquired Heracles. 'No. Why would he?' 'When did you see him last?' 'One moon ago.' 'He never talked about his life?' 'Who ever talks to women like me?' 'Did his family approve of your relationship?' 'There was no relationship - he came to see me, paid and left.'
'But perhaps his family disliked the idea that its noble son was coming to you for solace, even if only once in a while.' 'I don't know. It wasn't his family I had to please.' 'Maybe his father knew about you.' pressed Heracles calmly. 'He had no father.'
'You're right,' said Heracles. 'I meant his mother.' 'I don't know her.'
There was a short silence. Diagoras looked at the Decipherer for help. Heracles shrugged.
'Can I go now?' asked the girl. 'I'm tired.'
Although they said nothing, she moved away from the wall and hurried away.
16 The powerful eidetic image of the 'girl with the lily' persists! And now the idea of 'help' - repeated three times in this paragraph - seems to have joined it. The author describes the young girl according to the rules of eidesis, in other words, scattering adjectives throughout the text for the reader to collect at the end and create the complete image. The image here, I believe, is that of a 'young girl' with eyes as 'blue' as the sea, 'shining' hair or hair of 'moonlight', and a 'delectable' and 'smooth' body, wearing a 'white tunic' and holding a 'lily'. Obviously a very beautiful young girl... But why is she running away? And who or what is
Similar Books
The Art of War for Zombies: Ancient Chinese Secrets of World Domination, Apocalypse Edition.
Rene J. Smith, Virginia Reynolds, Bruce Waldman
