Exerpt of a novel I developed with a group of writers. One of several chapters I wrote.
If Melisos was to be believed, that certain men were born with the path to war laid before them, then by my act of killing a man I had awakened to the fact that I was no soldier. Some men, he would say, would understand that violent death was merely entertainment for the gods, and the players on either side of the blade were justly rewarded in Elysium. I saw myself then as having been sorely miscast in this role. Later I would realize that this was selfishness, and that all men exchange by degrees aspects of their prewar selves as they are thrust toward the killing fields by forces of god and man over which they have no hope of control.
But sitting suddenly as a woman in the warm sanctity of my home, on a soft bed, the shock of the killing blow reverberating still in my arm, I felt scarred by the contrast between who I believed I was meant to be and whom it appeared I had become. I was certain that by killing him I had shaken my life loose from whatever convoluted destiny it was supposed to run along, and had thus invited into it the misery and unhappiness weighing down on me.
I stood. I looked around at the room. It was midday. Socrates would be out lecturing. The household seemed quiet, though I felt familiar vibrations of its liveliness in my feet. There were all these familiar things I had forgotten about. The alcove filled with my clothing. The washbasin. Socrates' silly painting of two goats fucking. The window and beyond it the swaying branches of the tree he and I had sat beneath in the early days of our marriage as we ate our simple meals together. All of it so familiar, but simultaneously distant, irreconcilable to my recent memories as a soldier in training. I realized then that I had begun to allow myself to believe that I would never see this place again.
How could I return to Socrates' service as a wife, or take my former passive place in society again after such an experience? Looking at this room, and feeling that the entire city enclosed around me, there seemed less for me in this house, in all of Athens, than before I had first left to join the hoplites. I felt a surge of anger, caught hold of it as I had been taught by Melisos, and quickly shaped it into something useful - in this case a determination to wrest my destiny out of the hands of the gods. I would move beyond the influence of their machinations. I would leave it all behind. I would entrench myself finally into a situation in which it would not matter at all whether I was a woman or a man.
Before I realized what I was doing I had already gathered together several essentials I would need. A spoon. A length of rope. I found a sack and some food in the kitchen, and a cup and a stone knife that would do until I could get my hands on a spatha somehow. I found a clay flask of wine, which I sealed with wax from a candle I also took. Looking at the growing cache, I smiled inwardly, reliving a fantasy I'd had in my days trying to survive Melisos' trial. In those early days of my trial in the wilderness the difference between frustrating hardship and easy efficiency had been as simple a thing as a cup. In light of this there emanated a new power from the objects that lay before me, for I knew that each in turn would contribute to my capturing control of my life. Or it was a power that I felt in myself, a confidence that with my recently acquired skills such tools could be put to good use to keep me alive, in spite of being now a woman again. It felt good.
I packed all of this, some clothing and a blanket into a sack, and then I stole a hooded coat from the servants I would wear over my own to help keep anyone from recognizing me. Dressed and ready I took a final look around the room to see if I had missed anything, thinking of it also as a final farewell.
I had left a comb on my dressing table, a bone four-pronged hair adornment decorated with a flowering grapevine. A gift from Ariastre. I picked it up. Thinking of her brought on a sharp longing. I fastened the comb into my hair. If only just to say farewell as I had to my home. But as I had done with my anger, I intercepted this longing before it had a chance to sap my resolve. Let my escape be from her as well, I thought. And all the confusion she offers. An even greater reason to go.
I covered my head with the hood and walked in a stooped manner so as to dissolve into the milieu of the Athenian day life until night fell, careful to avoid areas where I thought Socrates might venture. I was glad when night arrived with the moon hidden behind cloud cover. Though I would miss the guidance of the constellations I did not want anyone to see in what direction this lonely figure shambled off. I made my way to the southern limits of the city, then down the southerly road. I would walk it until civilization fell away, I decided, and then camp for the night. In the morning I would find a suitable forest, and begin constructing a shelter to call home.
The road was empty and the night was quiet. Despite my best efforts my thoughts turned again to Ariastre. Was it right to leave her like this? Was I again being selfish? I wondered. Eventually she dominated my thoughts, and with each new step my longing for her was amplified tenfold.
I turned around and headed back to the city. I had, after all, been separated from her for many months, my only company the soldiers, and little comfort otherwise. It would do me well to see her, I thought. To reintroduce the feminine into my life so I might carry away with me some kind of balance to this brash person I could see myself becoming. And the more I thought about it, the more it seemed a good idea, and I forgot some of my desperation and allowed myself to become excited at the prospect of seeing my friend again.
She was on the second floor, weaving in the candlelight, humming lightly to herself a song I didn't recognize. I watched her for a time from across the road, another twiggy hedge in the twilight at the border of someone's property. Framed as she was by the darkness outside her candlelit room, she looked like an illusion, or an ethereal reflection created to lure men into a warm sea. After a time I realized that I had plotted a vertical course up the stones and garbage piled in the vicinity, and climbing to the window would be a simple matter. I made another quick glance around to see that no one was in sight, then tied the sack to my belt and climbed onto an old plow. I found the steps and handholds I had seen from across the road, and like a ragged monkey I quickly made my way up to her window.
I sat with my head poised in the window, but she didn't look up. Finally, I whispered: "Why aren't you asleep, young lady?"
She started. "Xanthippe!" she gasped, and my melancholy lifted by the brightness of her smile. "What are you doing here? Did you climb up? How in the name of -"
I smiled and hushed her, and pulled myself the rest of the way in landing in heap at her feet when my sack got wedged in the window. She laughed, and helped me to my feet. "Sorry about that," I said, pulling a lock of hair away from my eyes. I gave her a long embrace, longer than I had intended, but was pleased to see it warmly returned.
She looked at the sack at me feet. "What on earth is all this?"
"It's a party in a sack," I said. I opened my sack of provisions, and produced the clay flask. "I brought some wine." I said.
"You naughty girl!" She looked at the door to the room, which I noticed was closed, then pulled the curtain over the window. She brought a stool over from another loom in the corner of the room and we sat. I removed the flask's seal and took a drink, delighting in the rich, fruity taste of the alcohol. I had gone without it for nearly a week, perhaps the longest time since childhood.
I gave Ariastre some wine and she took a long swig. She handed it back and held up what she was weaving. "Pants," she said. "I just learned how to make them. The drunken lug is constantly pissing himself, and I figure the more pants he has the easier it will be for me to get him to change them."
"That is good thinking," I said. "Maybe he would do better with women's clothing?"
She gave me an exaggerated look of warning. "Better not let him hear you say that," she said. "The last person that questioned his manliness ended up with a knife in the eye."
What? I looked at her. "He killed somebody?" I said.
"He claims he did," she said. "I have my doubts." She took the flask from me, swallowed, and gave it back. "If he wanted somebody dead, he would probably get someone else to do it."
"Ariastre..." I took another swig.
She had begun to hum that tune again. "Hmm?"
I watched her hands as she continued to weave the man's pants. They were so delicate, so feminine and lively. I loved her hands. And then I thought: I always get sentimental when I drink.
"I came to say goodbye," I said.
She took another swig and belched, a small rumble shaped into a coo by her purple lips. "But you just got here," she said.
"I mean I'm leaving. Leaving the city. Leaving Athens."
She looked confused. "Why?" she said. "How?"
I didn't answer. I just looked at her face, and leaned in to kiss her. She gave out a muffled laugh of surprise, but then closed her eyes and returned my kiss. The excitement I had felt outside the city at the thought of returning to her now became to me a commanding emotion. Her enthusiasm knocked me flat, cleaned out my head of plans of leaving her behind. I thought: We could do this. I thought: I need not go so far to escape the effects of my changes, not if Ariastre could love me in this way as both a man and a woman.
We released each other. I looked at her, reaching up to touch her face, but she pulled away and laughed. "What was that all about?" she said. She stood, and picked up the pants, and held them before her. "I think these are pretty much done," she said.
I felt like a fool. All I could think of in that moment was how by my impulsiveness I had ruined my chances for a romantic relationship with her. Worse, I had confused our friendship even more.
I stood, picking up my sack. I pulled up the hood of my coat and felt Ariastre's comb. I reached in and pulled it out from my hair, then set it on the stool where I had been sitting.
"Goodbye, Ariastre," I said.
She looked up from her pants and smiled. She made no move to approach me for a farewell embrace. "Goodbye!" she said.
I left the way I had come in. I had been right to plan an escape from this, from her. My resolve returned, fiercely. I strode out of the city intent on never returning again.
