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Odysseus’ eyes trailed over the colourful tapestry as he waited for Ctimene. A large hunting scene, depicting several men chasing a large boar, spears pulled, while the Gods watched idly from above. He ran his hand along the threads, rough even under his thick skin. His hand dropped and he turned when he heard soft footsteps behind him.
Ctimene’s eyes were on the ground, looking past the tray in her hands when she took the two steps down to where Odysseus was standing. She placed the tray of wine and snacks on a small table on the other side of the room and pulled up a chair, gesturing for him to sit down.
Odysseus could not suppress his smile as he crossed the room. He did not have to—the guise was over. His sister had not grown, she was short as ever, shorter than even him, but her features had matured. Her cheekbones seemed higher, her eyes more prominent. Her hair fell in thick locs from her head, now greying at the origin. He hugged her when he reached the table set-up, and she froze in his arms at first, before softening into his embrace and returning it with one hand on his back. “You look well,” she said, taking in his face once he had let go of her. “All things considered.”
“You look tired.”
She shrugged and took her seat once Odysseus had done the same. “We’ve all been through something the past twenty years.” She paused. “You heard about mother?”
Odysseus nodded solemnly. He had known for seven years, but that was too much to explain to her now.
“Have you seen father yet? How is he?”
“I came straight from the countryside,” he told her. He did not tell her why. He did not tell her that he was here not only to see his sister, but also to give the families of the suitors a chance to simmer down. The sliver of water between Ithaca and Same was narrow and despite that, Odysseus had dreaded making this visit. He feared he would be swept away by a storm or that her island would have been magically taken over by a Giant. “Father’s well. He sends his regards.”
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “What about your wife and son? How was your reunion with them?”
Odysseus raised his eyebrows and breathed out shakily. The reunion had been clouded by blood, deception and trickery. It had not been as sweet as he had liked. But she did not need to know that. “Beautiful. Just as you’d imagine.” He looked at her and smiled. “How have you been?”
She merely shrugged. “As you’d imagine.” Sighing, she poured out wine into the two chalices. “I asked the slaves not to disturb us,” she explained though Odysseus had not asked. “It’s just us today.”
Odysseus nodded and they were silent again.
Finally, she spoke again. “Why did you come, Odysseus?”
He frowned. “I missed you. Why else?”
Ctimene shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. Why did you come back at all? You were dead. Why were you allowed to come back?”
Odysseus stared at her dumb-founded for a moment, then looked down at his hands, his calloused fingers. The scars on his arms, pale against his dark skin. The truth was that he did not know. He met his sister’s eyes again, and, despite their warm brown colour, they were as cold as the ocean water. “The Gods granted me a second chance.” He did not mention how desperately the Gods had tried to end him. Sitting here now, listening to his sister, he wondered whether this was another attempt of theirs, whether they had succeeded.
“Why you? Why only you?” She poked him on his arm, not gently, and her hand shivered when she drew it back.
Odysseus lowered his head again. That’s what this was about. “Ctimene… You don’t want to hear what happened to Eurylochus. You don’t want to hear what he did.”
She laughed in disbelief. Tears made her eyes glint. “Nothing he could have done is worse than what you have done. I say that with certainty, even when I don’t know what you’ve done.”
His head shot up and he glared at her. She had never spoken to him like this before. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one who had changed in twenty years. “I didn’t do anything. He did more than enough himself.”
She nodded slowly. “You can convince yourself, you can convince your people. You might even convince Penelope. But I know you better than them all. We shared a mother, a father. A grandfather.” Ctimene leaned forward and grabbed his knee. “Odysseus, we shared a childhood. I know what you are. A liar. A cheat.”
“That’s not— Ctimene. I am your king. You can’t speak to me like this.”
She leaned back. “I’m sorry. I thought you were here as my brother.”
“Your older brother.”
She shrugged. “You’re welcome to leave, if you don’t want to hear the truth.”
Suddenly, he was back. In Ogygia, departing without receiving an appropriate send-off from Calypso. In Aeolus’ court, getting dragged out by the king’s men. Was she really throwing him out? “No. I will stay.”
“Then you will listen to what I have to say.” Odysseus did not respond, and she inhaled deeply. Her voice quivered like a taut bowstring when she continued. “You can’t lie to me, Odysseus, so tell me honestly. Did you really do everything in your power to bring my husband back to me?”
Odysseus opened his mouth to affirm, to say vehemently, yes, he had, but just as soon, as if on their own, his lips clamped shut. Had he really? Should he have been more unwavering in disallowing his men from drinking in Ismara? Should he have told them what was in the oxhide bag? Should he have been more firm in warning them of the consequences of slaying Helios’ cattle? Had he made the wrong decision at every turn? Was that the reason his men had died?
His unsteady breath and silence were answer enough for Ctimene. She subtly shook her head. “You put yourself above everybody else, Odysseus, you always have. It’s not your fault, I just wish you’d acknowledge how I feel seeing you here when I know that my husband is buried under the ocean floor.
He frowned. “Do you not want to see me?”
She inhaled again, shakily. Her eyes trailed upwards, away from Odysseus. “I have mourned you for ten years. I mourned Eurylochus for ten years. I mourned my mother after you. I was done mourning, Odysseus. I allowed light back into my life. I stopped wearing black, I hosted festivals on my island. I let my heart feel again. And, then, out of nowhere you’re back. You’re back, and Eurylochus is not. You’re back and I’m mourning my husband all over again.”
“He’s been dead for years, Ctimene. You don’t have to go back into mourning.” He gestured to her chiton from the top to bottom.
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. This”—she held the black fabric between her thumb and forefinger—“isn’t what’s bothering me. I am happy you are alive, I am happy for Penelope that she has her husband back. But every time I see you I am reminded that she has a husband and I don’t. I had managed to convince myself that there was no way for Eurylochus to get through the journey—something catastrophic must have happened that killed your entire army—but when I see you, I am reminded that it was possible for him to survive and he didn’t. You survived and he didn’t.”
Odysseus just stared at her for a moment, his jaw clenched. He then sat up and rolled his shoulders back. “He didn’t die in a catastrophic event. He drowned. He drowned, because he killed and ate Helios’ holy cattle after I had expressly told him not to.”
She met his glare coldly. Odysseus didn’t tell her that she was right. That if he had wanted to, if he had cared to risk his life just a bit more, he probably could have saved Eurylochus from the storm. She did not need to know that. “That doesn’t matter to me, Odysseus. He was my husband. I loved him the same way Penelope loves you—despite of your faults. The whole lot of them.”
“I came here to see my little sister for the first time in twenty years, not to be lectured by her. Especially not over something I cannot change, something that even then I had no control over.” He kept his tone even, but, though he tried, he could not disguise the pain in his voice.
Ctimene shook her head. “I’m sorry you have to hear this, but I refuse to greet you dishonestly.”
“If that’s how you feel, I can just leave.” Odysseus spoke it casually, he was so sure his sister would insist of him staying, but she seemed to pounce at the opportunity, immediately standing up. The tray of wine, pastries and fruit she had brought remained untouched, and she did not offer them to him. He slowly stood up, expressionless when their eyes met.
“Greet my father from me,” she said, as she gestured for him to lead the way, “and tell him I’m waiting for him here.”
Odysseus turned to her, not stopping on his way out. “He’s too old to take the voyage. Why don’t you come? I could even take you back with me now. To see him.”
She shook her head. “I’m sure he’s quite rejuvenated now that his son has come back to him.” He could not deny the fact, no matter how much he wanted his sister to join him. “Besides, I’m not ready to see Ithaca yet.”
He stepped out and looked up at the bright sky, then in the direction of the port where his ship was waiting for him. “You would like it. They’re all in mourning.”
She grabbed his arm, holding him back though he had made no movement to leave. “Mourning who? Your men?”
Odysseus tsked. “Penelope’s suitors.”
Ctimene flinched away from him like she had gotten scalded. “Odysseus…” He held her stare and she shook her head. “Killing one generation wasn’t enough for you, you had to kill the next one as well?” His chest heaved and his shoulders rose and fell noticeably. Memories of Troy flashed before his eyes; memories so vile Ctimene wouldn’t be able to conjure them in her mind even if she dared. “Maybe I was wrong after all. Maybe you never came back from Troy either.”
Odysseus turned and descended the stairs without answering her. His heart hammered harder in his chest with every step he took towards the port.