Hymenaios, or the Marriage of the God of Marriage - 3. Part III. Brushing All the World

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Part III. Brushing All the World

That night, Myiscus had an appointment

To meet Hymen at their favorite tavern.

This place of business lived on two levels:

Man’s duties below, and woman’s above –

With a godly shelf running vouchsafe ‘tween.

The House of Dionysos was a bar

And place to grab food suitable for wine.

One large open space with a mezzanine,

Patrons coming in would find the master

Manning his counter of stone and of brick,

Submerged in which he kept various wines

Cooling out of the air in earthen vats.

When a client strode to the bar, he’d choose

Which grade of wine he could afford that day.

Grabbing ladle then, with a toothless grin,

The bar owner would start his idle chat,

Lifting away one of the wood covers

To pull out a draught of sanguine liquor.

With the motion of deft experience,

The wine airborne would become, only to

Gurgle in the buyer’s cup with a splash.

Then it’s up to the patron to decide

How much spring water – sitting around in

Pitchers on the counter – to cut his wine.

Foolish was he who drank condensed-wine straight,

And still more foolish not to pace himself

For the pleasant night of drinking to come.

During winter’s months of cruel cold weather,

Charcoal-heated braziers lined the counters

For mulled cocktails, herbed and spicy bevies

In which wormwood and licorice root might

Keep hands and gullets warm on frosty eves.

It could also be known to melt the snow

From gray rooftops and re-ignite love’s fire,

Stoked by shafts of Eros-kindling below.

While the barman plied the guests with his stock,

The wall behind contained the painted eyes

Of an all-protecting Dionysos.

The youth most godly lounged with his leopard,

As, standing by, with the boy’s pinecone-tipped staff,

Seilenos his stepfather would watch.

Along the bottom of the gay icon,

An offertory shelf burned frankincense.

Placed either side stood honored souvenirs

From the god’s shrine at holy Lerna town –

Life-sized fig wood ‘members’ of Prosymnus.

Also from this ledge hung gifts from patrons

In the form of Priapic charms and chimes

To bring youthful luck and vigor unto

The establishment, its owners, and guests.

On the mezzanine, cross-braced timber rails

Made for perfect views of the milling crowd,

While from behind her counter, food items,

Portioned and heated to order, kept folks

Sober enough to stay on imbibing.

Here the barkeep’s missus had full control,

But when chores became too much, or dishes

Piled too high, needing thorough scrubbing,

Daydreams could grant temporary release.

And a look both content and faraway

Always accompanied idle chatter

Concerning that magic trip to Lerna.

Leaning against the second-floor handrail,

Myiscus paused, waiting for his buddy.

He raised a contemplative cup and drank –

His second of moderately good wine –

And then felt his stomach swim in hunger.

To his sharp mind not used to sophistry,

He could tie in this desire to bite

With the will to be bitten by love-lust.

Satiating the first, temporary;

Satisfying the second, a lifelong

Chase chaotic of the impossible.

“Is Myiscus tempted to love,” he asked,

Scoffing, “like my fool friend Hymenaios?

No, not I….” He hesitated, turning

A bit weak, surprisingly, knowing why.

The insides of the young man rumbled then,

Smelling the aromas wafting from small

Pans and plates a-sizzle on the warming

Braziers behind where he pensively stood.

He swirled his drink, raising the cup over

His right eye; left still free to watch below.

“Maybe love is meant to be like hunger.

Perhaps the gods in their wisdom devised

One like the other for a good reason;

To let dim mortal consciousness conceive

One via the entrails of the other.”

And thus Myiscus allowed full release

Of those warm thoughts he’d suppressed earlier.

Softly, he recited by memory

A note he’d received from Meleager:

 

“For when the cock crows

He merely rouses me

To continue my weltering –

Alone, on cold sheets,

Myiscus is a dream.

He seems meant to please and torment

Both the night and day as equals.”

 

Down front, a commotion rose from the door.

Myiscus stood tall, anticipating

Bright Hymen’s appearance to end his gloom.

Instead, his warm smile got spilled on a group

Of tipsy, carousing guys coming in,

Obviously moving their party from

One of their parents’ staid, private houses

To a public place where they could be as

Boisterous as their young, male hearts wanted.

The heart of Myiscus sank, for the last

Of the party in was Meleager.

They made eye contact. Myiscus turned cold,

And instantly saw a shadow of hurt

Pass over the poet’s face beneath him.

The young man told himself he didn’t care,

But as Meleager joined up and drowned

Within the group of his buddies, he thought

That at five years older than Myiscus,

Twenty-three was not ‘old,’ yet the poet

Carried more mature looks and gravity

Than any of his contemporaries,

Let alone all the teen boys he ogled.

Myiscus realized something startling:

“That guy just ogles one of us – that’s me.”

Much to his relief, Hymen entered then.

Myiscus waved his pal up, naturally

Attracting the unwanted attention

Of his would-be suitor, with his clear smile.

The young man went back; ordered right away –

He knew exactly what he craved to eat.

Myiscus grabbed a small table next to

The handrail overlooking the tavern.

Hymen came up, grabbed a stool and joined him.

He seemed to Myiscus to be glowing,

Even beyond his usual luminance.

Hymen cried forth: “I saw her today – I –

I actually got to touch her hand!”

“’Her’ means Kathros?” Myiscus dared to ask.

“Yes! And I gave her a wreath of cypress

To offer to The Goddess Artemis,

But then I followed her to the hilltop.

Oh! Myiscus, you should have seen the grace

With which she trod every step of ascent,

Higher till she neared the red-veined altar.

How I wished to spring from my hiding place

And tell both the world and the gods alike

That I never want to leave Kathros’ side!”

Myiscus murmured: “Is everyone mad,

Chewed on by blank verse and love poetry?”

Ignoring him, Hymenaios just smiled.

“And you know, I believe she felt it too.

Do you believe it happens at first sight…?”

Myiscus peered across the tabletop.

“So, now,” continued Hymen, “I simply

Need to find how we can be together.”

“Yeah,” Myiscus chuckled. “That’s all you need,

Never mind how impossible it is.”

“Myiscus, pal, you need some faith, like me.”

Fortunately for the darker young man,

His temper was cooled by the arrival

Of tempting dishes for them both to eat.

A steaming braise of taro in white wine

Clanged next to a saucer of deep-fried sprats.

Octopus minced with succulent chicken

Formed lovage-laced meatballs in pesto sauce.

And last to squeeze onto the tabletop,

Spelt rolls with oxyporum dipping sauce.[1]

From the hidden holster strapped to his thigh,

Hymen drew the dirk he always carried

To cut the potatoes in bite-size chunks.

They dug in, and blessèd silence followed

As the boys quenched at least half of their souls.

While chewing, Myiscus thought of ‘a way,’

And joked rancorously with his buddy.

“I’ve given it some consideration.

The only method to spend some time with

The daughter of Stratos is to become

A girl yourself. In fact, then only if

You become like my sister, one of those

‘Little cub bears’ of the Artemis cult.”

Laughter from Myiscus fell on deaf ears.

Hymen had stopped eating, his mouth grown large.

After he swallowed, he exclaimed brightly,

“That is the best idea you’ve ever had!”—

Hymen’s blue eyes positively sparkled—

“Thanks, old friend, I just knew you’d help me out.”

“I was joking! For you to be a bear,

You’d have to lose the things that make you male,

And then what’s the point of having Kathros!”

Again, ignoring him, Hymen went on,

“It’s a perfect plot, for in a few days

They will have their big procession, followed

By their annual pilgrimage on to

Artemis’ temple in Brauron.

On their journey then I will tag along.

You yourself have said it often enough,

How I sometimes appear more like a girl,

So with wig and costume, I’ll blend right in.”

Myiscus asked, after swallowing hard,

“Have you gone nuts? You know what those women

Do to men who try to defile their rites”—

With his fingers, Myiscus made a snip—

“Well, they’re your nuts! I guess you can decide.”

To his surprise, Hymen merely chuckled,

Saying, “People can’t waste their lives in fear

Never letting what they want take control.

At some point in time we must simply act.”

A glimpse of someone’s sad eyes flit across

Myiscus’ conscience for a moment,

But it was lost when Hymen plainly asked,

“To make it work, I will need your help, friend.”

Myiscus made reply with shaking head,

“I’ll say you will! Someone has to shave you,

Including your legs!” Both boys chuckled then.

Still wagging his skull, Myiscus added,

“You are nuts but, they’re yours to decide on.”

The mezzanine lit up as Hymen smiled.

“Thank you, dear chum. After dinner, let’s go

Back to your house and select clothes for me;

Hardly will your sister know they’re missing.”

As they resumed eating, Myiscus groaned:

“One glance; one touch; and he’s ready – snip; snip.”

Hymen glibly chewed a taro morsel,

When from the floor below, boisterous cheers

Drew his interest to one within the group.

Grinning broadly again, elbows settling

Upon the tabletop, he repeated:

“It’s all about seizing the day, my friend.

Not one of us is put on Earth to roam

Afraid of going for what we most desire.”

Myiscus jeered, chin towards the handrail.

“Perhaps, but some of us could benefit

From being a little more circumspect.”

Hymen seemingly changed the subject then.

“Did you ever notice the shrine shelf here?”

Myiscus laughed. “The pair of dildos? Those?”

“Yes, exactly! Do you know the story,

The faith behind that sacred love token?”

“No, but I have a feeling you’ll tell me.”

“Yes,” Hymen said. “Dionysos wanted

To visit the underworld and retrieve

His mother’s soul from the pyre Hara

Had reduced the god’s mortal life-giver.

At the Alcyonian Lake, the teen met

Prosymnus who swore he knew the entrance

Via the lake to Hades, but since he’d

Many happy hours spent with the youth,

The price for the information was love;

For the two of them to marry one day.

Dionysos felt love for the man too,

But said he’d only return if his quest

Led his mother to Olympus as god;

If he could flee the horrid jaws of Hell.

Successful, the young man returned to learn

Of the Underworld’s devious revenge:

Hades took Prosymnus to him in death.

Saddened his espoused was gone from the world,

The beautiful youth journeyed to his tomb,

And with the timber of a fig tree there,

Moistened the wood he carved with joyful tears

Into the member of his belovèd.

‘Pon the mortal’s grave, he consummated

The heaven-made match deemed never to die.

Thus the Boy-God returned to Olympus

Older, wiser and made fully a man.

That’s why his worshipers still to this day

Will transition from ignorance to light

With the god’s totem of undying love.”

Myiscus summed up the story’s moral:

“Even a single hour of love can

Transcend the grave’s temporary nature.

With it, the soul will never need a tomb.”

Hymen nodded. The darker boy absorbed,

But though the import dawned, he then still asked,

“And what made you think to tell me this tale?”

“The truth? Meleager’s winning laurels

At last year’s Dionysos Festival.”

Myiscus smiled some, but dubiously.

“Ah, so that’s the tie-in, but those awards

Were for poetry in praise of the gods.

The epigrams he hurls my way hardly

Seem worth writing down in ink, never mind

Carving in stone as a memorial.”

The heat of trespassing his own feelings

Rose through him as a column of blushing.

Hymen ignored it and asked anyway,

“How is it you two came to meet at all?

I guess it wasn’t at the gym, was it?”

“No, not at first. His family and mine own

Adjoining country properties and farms.

Eighteen months past, they agreed to a joint

Family picnic to honor Priapos

For bringing our orchards full of apples.”

Myiscus heard his tone become softer.

“That was the day, and we had a private

Assignation away from prying eyes“—

Adamant Myiscus became, saying—

“How could I know it’d mean so much to him!”

Hymen’s eyebrows rose in playful teasing.

“I have always thought that there was more than

Simple pursuer and pursued, and now,

Tonight, I have finally seen it clearly.”

Myiscus protested on principle.

“Just ‘cause love has painted your eyes prosy,

Don’t go thinking you can whitewash others.

The whole world can’t be brushed with your feelings—

You’ve been lured by Meleager’s madness,

But have made it a type all of your own.

Next he’ll be giving you lessons on how

Crazy love-epigrams should get written.”

As the auburn boy merely smiled then,

Myiscus retorted, “Here. Tell me these

Strings of words are anything but madness:

 

‘If all my days are

sadness,

Why even live a day

longer…?

                     

---

 

Carve this in stone? you may ask.

Why not? I reply.

Our hurts today

Will still be hurts tomorrow.’”

 

Hymen continued to say naught, but by

The look of pain and joy both comingled

Upon his bright friend’s face, Myiscus knew

Hymen found the words to be beautiful.

Myiscus wondered if not all poets

Were indeed nuts, as if full of the seed

Of godly madness, spreading this divine

Dissemination around on mankind.

His companion suddenly stood, saying,

“Come, let’s go and start my transformation.”

Myiscus laughed. “Yes, my insane idea.

How could I have forgotten it so soon?”

The boys went downstairs, and the bar section

Was packed, crowded and raucous, causing them

To loudly excuse themselves walking through

The assembly of glowing manliness.

Again, Myiscus made brief eye contact

With Meleager’s sadness witnessed there.

As he and his friend drew near to the door,

Hymen and Myiscus stopped at a sound:

Someone tinged a metal tray for silence.

When they glanced over to the bar, they saw

Two of his hale pals hoist Meleager

Up upon their rock-steady shoulder blades.

The poet’s eyes locked onto Myiscus,

Causing every patron to do likewise.

Then with outstretched hands, and a clear voice, said:

 

“I spent the whole night at the bar,

submerging my pain at how he

sends nothing but shivering looks

raining down on me like winter.

 

But wine can only heat so much;

eyes not looking can't see beauty;

and though lovely young men were there,

a darkened chill enveloped me.

 

Thus afflicted, I left the bar

to feel Papa Zeus' warmth once more.

Myiscus is my sun to rise

with reviving hope every day.”

 

Myiscus, dazed, amazed by the cheering

Of these strangers for but a stranger’s love,

Felt moved but still unwilling to show it.

 

Hymen leaned close and whispered in his comrade’s ear:

“That’s how we should all go for what we hold most dear.”