Hymenaios, or the Marriage of the God of Marriage - 1. Part I. The Kempt Kathros

Part I. The Kempt Kathros

Hymen and Myiscus strolled through the street,

Aglow, calmly with that one sensation

Achieved by what a long afternoon’s bath

Instills into a person’s wellbeing.

Their minds at peace, they might move through the noise

Without really being a part of it.

Free from the mundane trade and its bustle,

They could enjoy the people on parade.

City Agoras were almost always packed[1]

In the midafternoons, and this one was

No different, as users rushed all about.

On this day, half-old ladies browsed for new

Things to chitchat with other half-old bags.

Their laughs and flying hands sailed on the air

Like so many doves in congregation;

Cooing from stall to stall, but buying not.

Sometimes hands would creep from pendulous veils –

The kind only worn by the long-married –

Extending a touch to a bolt of cloth

Vendors might extoll as superior.

Between, in front, and all ‘round the adults,

Spirited little boys moved like sparrows

Snatching booty from slow-witted pigeons.

At waist level, their heads – some dark; some fair –

Played unintelligible games of chance:

Weaving in; weaving out, with back-glances

To spy places they’ve been for pursuers,

Only to screech delight when they found one.

For then, one would two, three or four become

Scurrying about in chaotic play.

Also, there were stalls offering flowers,

For this was the main route a worshiper

Would take to get to the Acropolis.

Grapevine and delicate dill were woven

Together as garlands of godly gifts.

As offerings to those sacred on high,

They hung from cedar poles sellers hefted

Moving among the crowd and crying loud.

Other votives swagged beams of grounded stalls,

Twining myrtle, rosebuds and violets

Into hefty chains of devotionals.

Pilgrims could match blossom to deity,

Choosing the right flower to help their quest:

The thorned bud to beseech love someone’s way;

The pale pansy, a frank apology

For one’s blundering through a transgression.

Likewise to buy, incense, oil and honey

Sweeten might the gods’ most desired favor,

For gods like men can most appreciate

Contrition laced with tears and subornment.

The bright day shone down on the bright two lads,

Smiling at each other in observing

The comings and goings of their own times.

Myiscus was the taller of the two.

His eyes were large and rich, and in one look

Could take more from people than was offered;

See a bit of what they wanted to hide.

Many told the boy of his dark beauty,

But Myiscus did not see it himself.

He thought Hymenaios the more handsome,

For daylight loved to play with his friend’s hair,

Which was more like itself – an auburn-blond.

So too Hymen’s brows and lashes were bright

And sparkled when he blinked out in the day.

Mirrors of his soul they were like, and blue.

They and the sandy freckles strewing his arms

Bespoke him a true son of Helios;

Beneath his father was he happiest.

Both young men had just turned eighteen years old

And were, and still stayed, each other’s best friend,

First playing the games that little boys do,

Then growing up, into the attentions

Of the men of Athens who would teach them,

And they loving every minute of it.

Myiscus, whose deep-hued and free glances,

Flashed smiles not weened upon sweet innocence –

While for Hymen, his face not apple pure –

Moving with the assurance of a god

Caused scowls to meet them from every dog’s boy,

And could draw wistful sighs from all the men.

“Did you see that!” the taller one inquired,

Nudging his buddy to peer through the crowd.

Hymen looked where guided. “No, Myiscus—”

“That rascal boy took a bite of apple,

‘Fore putting it back in that lady’s pile.”

Hymen laughed, seeing what his friend had meant.

“Some maid,” he mused, “will get surprised at home.”

Myiscus watched Hymen’s face in profile,

First seeing the gracile lips form a grin

Before cracking a good-natured chuckle.

“Someone,” the redhead said, “should give that kid

A good, old-fashioned round of spanking, huh?”

Myiscus darkly laughed. “Oh, in that case,

“I think I know just the guy who’ll do it.”

To Hymen’s confused pout, he continued,

“That randy Meleager would be first

To form a line of needed volunteers.”

“Well…” The sun-kissed boy laughed, squeezing his friend.

“You’d know about that man’s well-used ‘cudgel,’

Having many times been servant to it.”

For that, Myiscus gave his pal a punch,

Though it was pulled and merely aimed squarely

For the top of his companion’s shoulder.

Hymen reacted with more laughter and

Drew up his arms, plus a single knee, for

Needless defense from his friend’s fake fury.

But as the two boys settled to quiet,

And resumed their slow homeward migration,

Hymenaios came to an abrupt stop.

Myiscus, too busy chirping, just moved

Along the crowded pathway up ahead.

It took him a moment to see his friend

Was lacking from his side, and looked about.

Hymen stood statue-still, staring into

A market booth of the most usual kind.

Though he puzzled what the interest could be,

Myiscus retread his way back among

The ever-squawking flocks of crumb shoppers.

His neck craned to see what had snared his friend’s

So-clearly rapped interest at the moment.

Rejoined once more, Myiscus thought to speak,

For all he saw was the commotion of

The cooing and clawing of a bright bolt

Of what the merchant said was pure purple

From the far shores of rich, exotic Tyre.

Then Hymen slapped his arm, for his friend was

Looking into the completely wrong stall.

Myiscus had his thoughts interrupted,

Witnessing his pal’s hand move urgently

Up to the center of Myiscus’ chest

“She’s the loveliest girl I’ve ever seen….”

Hymen’s dreamy tone made Myiscus stare,

But at what, he was still not quite so sure.

He saw a typical flower seller

With a hefty auntie pushing in front.

It appeared like an ordinary scene,

And then, as when the curtains of a shrine

Are drawn back to reveal the sacred form,

Her bulk stepped aside, and Myiscus saw

A lovely young woman shopping garlands.

Hymen by her appeared transfixed; his eyes

Staring blankly; his hands falling listless

Drooped down to wait uselessly by his sides;

And the young man’s grinning faded to naught.

Myiscus returned to the girl causing

This stymieing effect upon his friend.

The graceful sweep of the clothing she wore

Came up to rest on her head in white folds

Caressing her great chestnut-colored locks.

He watched her delicate fingers at work

Around a wreath, picking one lucky rose

To invite surrender of its sweet scent.

“Myiscus, look. Have you ever seen such –

Seen such a beautiful girl in your life?

If prone I was to swearing, then I’d say

She must descend to us from among gods –

Perhaps on a holy errand for them –

For our Agora merchandise is base

When next to the tribute of her beauty.”

The smile of Hymenaios then bloomed large

As it shone warmly on his companion,

Adding, “Surely she can’t be one of us.”

Myiscus, for his part, had to swallow

The confusion in his gullet, for this

Turn of sudden affairs was uncalled for.

He tried to laugh it off. “Already, friend…?

Is your heart so fickle and quick to change,

For only an hour ago at Gym

You cried ‘Oh, Alexis, beautiful boy!

You’re too painful to see but not be near'”—

Myiscus swooned, imitating his chum—

“’Not to rest in your arms all through the night

Is penance more than my life is now worth.

Oh, Alexis; my Alexis!’ you said.”

Back to the newfound girl, Myiscus looked,

Asking softly, “So, Hymen, what has changed…?”

Sunlight playing in his hair, his blue eyes

As welkin as the azure sky, he said,

“But she’s not like the rooster-boys we love,

Strutting tall, in their god-given beauty,

Melting all hearts in fear of their confidence.

No, no. This girl is like a star-born pearl,

Who descending from the phoenix tears must

Be caught by human hands to keep her from

Contact with the damning soil of the world.

Rough-heart boys will always save each other,

Though shallow in life and cruel to the faults

Of all ‘cept the ones they can’t see in themselves.

But gems like this girl must be admired

And protected from the damning faults of men.”

How astounded was Myiscus, for here

The truth of it was laid bare in his friend’s

Sunny, tender but pain-filled countenance.

His truest friend was in love with this girl.

A moment of desolation found him,

For though he never cared romantically,

To Myiscus, Hymen was his best love;

The one to whom he could say anything

Without dread of scorn or loss of favor.

But now, he could see the end of that.

The pit of his stomach hurt, but he joked,

“So, she can’t be one of us, you think, huh…?”

Hymen, in a flash of youthful deftness,

Moved to stand before his pal with hands

Draped loosely on Myiscus’ shoulders.

“What is it you mean, my friend; you know her?”

After a teasing moment of silence,

Myiscus revealed, “She’s my sister’s friend.”

Hymen’s eyebrows evoked his disbelief.

“No, no, it’ true,” Myiscus asserted.

“She’s the daughter of Stratos, the rich one

Who’s the merchant of fine wine to The State.

She and my sister study together….”

Myiscus stopped, for the head of his mate

Lolled on Hymen’s arm and appeared quite pained.

“If you know her,” Hymenaios whispered,

“Then to me, reveal but a single thing—”

Myiscus nodded, feeling quite concerned.

“Tell you what?” he asked. “Her name,” Hymen said.

The darker of the two replied simply:

“It’s Kathros, meaning the ‘one who is pure.’”

Hymenaios, much moved in love before,

Loosened his hold on his buddy and stood –

Watching again the girl peruse the stall –

To see his love ennobled with a name.

“My sweet, perfect Kathros – I should have known

What the gods designed to have you be called.”

Myiscus cleared his throat, shaking his pal.

“But dear Hymen, you better know right now

This girl’s father is so strict, she’s never

Allowed to see us men. The only time

She’s permitted to go out in public

Is on her usual Thursday votive.

So today it must be she’ll buy a wreath

And offer it to Artemis – you know –

Praying for a rich husband like daddy.”

He winked and gave Hymen a little nudge.

But when the boy didn’t respond in kind,

Myiscus thought he’d quickly add, “Her maid,

The selfsame one we spy before us here,

Never leaves her alone for a second,

Be it any time of the day or night.”

This crushing blow he’d whispered in his ear

Knowing it’d hurt, but the truth always does.

For his part, Hymen watched the maid and girl

For whom he had so suddenly fallen

Pay for a wreath of pink poppies enlaced

As strands about tied-boughs of evergreen.

The shrewd lad manning the flower business –

No doubt filling in for some gone adult –

Even dared to bite the coin that fed him.

Satisfied, he bowed out of their way and

Allowed the two women to leave the stall.

Hymen and Myiscus watched them ascend

The crowded streets, heading for the temples.

“Near her, I simply wish to be a while;

With her, I merely want to speak awhile….”

Myiscus again saw his friend’s features

Be overwrought to the point of sorrow.

Then his auburn chum said with quick shrugging,

“I’m not sure what’s happened to me either,

But what is there I can do about it?

For I only wish to be by her side.

Myiscus, help me. I’m serious, I’m….

“I am truly in love, love beyond bounds.”

Hymen, whom he loved, was begging for help,

But Myiscus had no ready ideas.

He thus sputtered, “It’s getting a bit late.

I should go home so they don’t start to fret.”

With that, he tried to go, but Hymen’s look

Made him hesitate a moment longer.

Though he wished to soothe the sadness away,

He found he lacked the knowledge to do it.

Myiscus succumbed to the come time when

An awkward boy wants to comfort his friend,

And wash mis’ry from the face before him,

But merely stands there as the moment goes.

Turning then, he walked, watching the cobbles

Pass beneath his feet as he headed home.

All of a sudden, he recalled something,

Rotating to walk backwards a few steps,

Calling out, “We’re still on for tonight, right?”

Hymen, awoken from his reverie,

Hastened to assure his friend. “Yes, of course.

I’ll be at your house by the strike of eight.”

His tone changed, yelling: “Watch where you’re going!”

But it was too late. He saw Myiscus

Stumble backwards over a vendor’s crate.

Hymen laughed as the angry peddler then

Began to chase his klutzish companion.

Once the commotion found its conclusion,

Hymen’s passing glance lingered on the stall

Where he’d first discovered his sweet Kathros.

Going in, he bought the garland and rose –

Though still tight within its protective bud –

His beloved girl had sanctioned with a kiss.

Then straight home he went, and into the court.

There he bent down before his household shrine.

Below its miniature pediment,

Two Corinthian columns glowed red paint.

Between these were a pair of paneled doors

Resembling an ordinary cupboard’s.

Hymen lit an amber chunk of incense,

And its strongly divine fumes filled the house.

With reverential hands, he then began

The opening of the doors, and revealed

The wooden statue of Aphrodite,

Her flesh gracefully hued in ivory.

Behind the love goddess, on the shrine’s walls,

Blue skies were alive with white doves in flight,

Their beaks holding ribbons and gauzy clothes

For their demure mistress to array her

Once she’d stepped from her private bath – the sea.

Hymen untied the swag and strung it there,

Secured by the columns on either end.

Kneeling, he saw something unprepared for.

The rose of Kathros had opened and bloomed.

The boy clasped his hands and quietly prayed:

 

“Assist me, Goddess, when I woo her heart to me;

Show her a greater love than mine, she’ll never see.”

_