The Odyssey: Book 18

Can't you see them give me the wink,
all of them here, to drag you out—and so I would
but I've got some pangs of conscience.

How this pot-bellied pig runs off at the mouth—
like an old crone at her oven!

I'll batter the tramp with both fists, crack every tooth
from his jaws, I'll litter the ground with teeth
like a rogue sow's, punished for rooting corn!

And Antinous, that grand prince, hearing them wrangle,
broke into gloating laughter, calling out to the suitors,
"Friends, nothing like this has come our way before—
what sport some god has brought the palace now!
The stranger and Irus, look,
they'd battle it out together, fists flying..."

They all shouted approval of the prince
as Odysseus belted up, roping his rags around his loins,
baring his big rippling thighs—his boxer's broad shoulders,
his massive chest and burly arms on full display
as Athena stood beside him,
fleshing out the limbs of the great commander...

As he mulled things over, that way seemed the best:
a glancing blow, the suitors would not detect him.

The suitors ambled back as well, laughing jauntily,
toasting the beggar warmly now, those proud young blades:
one man egging the other on: "Stranger, friend, may Zeus
and the other deathless gods fill up your sack with blessings!"

"You've knocked him out of action,
that insatiable tramp—"

So long as the gods grant him power, spring in his knees,
he thinks he will never suffer affliction down the years.
But then, when the happy gods bring on the long hard times,
bear them he must, against his will, and steel his heart.

I too seemed destined to be a man of fortune once
and a wild wicked swath I cut, indulged my lust for violence,
staking all on my father and my brothers.

True,
but here I see you suitors plotting your reckless work,
carving away at the wealth, affronting the loyal wife
of a man who won't be gone from kin and country long.

But now the goddess Athena with her glinting eyes
inspired Penelope, Icarius' daughter, wary, poised,
to display herself to her suitors, fan their hearts,
inflame them more, and make her even more esteemed
by her husband and her son than she had been before.

I'd say a word to my son too, for his own good,
not to mix so much with that pernicious crowd,
so glib with their friendly talk
but plotting wicked plots they'll hatch tomorrow.

I'd say a word to my son too, for his own good,
not to mix so much with that pernicious crowd,
so glib with their friendly talk
but plotting wicked plots they'll hatch tomorrow.

The divine unguent first. She cleansed her cheeks,
her brow and fine eyes with ambrosia smooth as the oils
the goddess Love applies, donning her crown of flowers
whenever she joins the Graces' captivating dances.

She woke, touched her cheek with a hand, and mused,
"Ah, what a marvelous gentle sleep, enfolding me
in the midst of all my anguish! Now if only
blessed Artemis sent me a death as gentle, now,
this instant—no more wasting away my life,
my heart broken in longing for my husband..."

You surpass all women
in build and beauty, refined and steady mind.

"Oh no, Eurymachus," wise Penelope demurred,
"whatever form and feature I had, what praise I'd won,
the deathless gods destroyed that day the Achaeans
sailed away to Troy, my husband in their ships..."

The Trojans, they say, are fine soldiers too,
hurling javelins, shooting flights of arrows,
charioteers who can turn the tide—like that!—
when the great leveler, War, brings on some deadlock.

Staunch Odysseus glowed with joy to hear all this—
his wife's trickery luring gifts from her suitors now,
enchanting their hearts with suave seductive words
but all the while with something else in mind.

Antinous' man brought in a grand, resplendent robe,
stiff with embroidery, clasped with twelve gold brooches,
long pins that clipped into sheathing loops with ease.

Eurymachus' man brought in a necklace richly wrought,
gilded, strung with amber and glowing like the sun.

They rushed to set up three braziers along the walls
to give them light, piled them high with kindling,
sere, well-seasoned, just split with an ax,
and mixed in chips to keep the torches flaring.

But he took up his post by the flaring braziers,
tending the fires closely, looking after them all,
though the heart inside him stirred with other things,
ranging ahead, now, to all that must be done...

That made Eurymachus' fury seethe and burst—
he gave the beggar a dark look and let fly, "You,
you odious—I'll make you pay for your ugly rant!..."