“I wish the waves had swept me away…”
Iliad, Homer, Book VI
(Rouse’s translation)
They were all gone. Every single person I loved. Laodokos, my brother, my little one! I’d promised our mother on her deathbed I would look after him.
The sea beckoned. It alone would drown my pain. I walked into it, took splashing steps until the water reached my thighs and my skirts trailed in the waves. Why do we fight so hard to live and love, when it hurts so much? The end was right here before me. Even the babe inside me would not hold me back. In taking it with me I would spare it a life of suffering.
But when the cold water smote my chest, I stopped, gasping for breath. Against my will, my body resisted.
It was very simple. I had but to keep walking and leave it all behind. I only needed resolve. I took a step forward. Another. Ahead of me lay oblivion. Behind me, a man who had murdered all those I loved.
I took two or three more steps. The wind had risen. Waves splashed my face. Far away I heard voices, shouts, but they meant nothing. The sea, only the sea, called to me.
“Aphrodite,” I called to my patroness, “give me strength! Take me into the depths that gave you birth!” I pushed forward until the current tugged me. Suddenly it knocked me off my feet. My gown swirled in a heavy tangle about my legs. I couldn’t touch the bottom. Waves submerged me, choking off my breath.
Sunlight pierced the sea’s surface and flowed around me like honey. I floated, drifted. Salt stung my eyes and filled my mouth. My lungs craved air. I fought and thrashed toward the surface, but I couldn’t reach it. Red, yellow—violent colors swirled in my head. My chest was bursting. Blood beat savagely in my ears.
I can’t let go, can’t die like this! The baby—
Like an animal fighting a trap, I wanted to live. Wildly, vainly my feet sought the bottom. I inhaled water. My lungs were on fire. I sank deeper. Blackness closed in.
Suddenly I was in the sky, looking down. I could see the ships, the sea spread below me, even the beach. Confused, I saw the waterlogged thing that drifted in the waves, cumbersome white robes flowing all around it. I noticed a cluster of people on the shore, shouting, pointing.
A man detached himself from the group, flinging off his tunic. He ran down the sand as swiftly as Hermes, messenger of the gods. He threw himself into the waves and swam, fast as a dolphin. When he reached the drifting body, he lifted it into his arms and bore it toward the land. Haste, urgency emanated from him. I could not understand his preoccupation with the thing he held. But he must, must bring it to the shore.
Suddenly I knew: it was my body—it was I! I had left it. I panicked—was I dead?
The man ran up the beach holding my body, shouting something. Another man ran to meet him, spreading a mantle on the sand. As the first man bent to lay me on it, all at once I was back in my body, a dark prison of fear and pain. A pounding shook my chest. I was rolled on my side, shaken. Deft hands turned my head to the side and rubbed my back vigorously. Salt water and the remains of my breakfast spurted from my mouth. Then something came down hard on my lips and blew breath into my lungs.
My chest expanded as air seared it. Another breath—another. After a moment I took in a painful lungful on my own. I breathed again. The gods had restored my breath, my spirit, the most sacred of all their gifts. I opened my eyes. Light flooded them.
Achilleus, breathing hard and dripping wet, clad only in a loincloth, bent over me. I lay at his knees, and my life was his.
