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  • Returning to Ithaca
  • Robert Cooperman (bio)

Podales, One of Odysseus’ Crew Who Feasted on the Sacred Cattle

Let Odysseus fast; he’s the hero, trained to deny himself and keep going. But we’re mere men dragooned into service, no desire to follow our Lord to war, especially one that lasted ten years, and what did we get? Some trinkets and coins, a sword we’ve no more use for once we’re home than an oar, since none of us planned to leave.

Troy’s bad enough, but so many monsters are on the sea I still tremble from the last ones: eating our shipmates like succulent grapes.

If Odysseus truly wished to keep us from feasting on the Sun God’s oxen, he’d not have claimed he was going to pray for our safe return home, while really trying to find food and a juicy willing wench.

He should have ordered us to raise the sail and row to Ithaca and our sweet wives, though I was too young when I was summoned to possess so fine a creature as a wife; barely old enough to hold a pikestaff, but I fooled my masters, survived ten years, and deserved a meal for all I’d suffered. [End Page 185]

Now our master’s returned and is shouting at us, kicking us, cursing that we’re doomed. “My captain,” I want to throw back at him, “we were doomed the instant we slid bloody from our dams’ wombs: to serve and fight and die for you, who hardly notice our passing.”

Anakles on the Island of the Sun While Odysseus Is Praying

When I beheld the others prepare to feast on the God’s oxen, I begged them not to, but they were no more fearful of the Gods than that murderous giant Cyclops was of the law of sacred hospitality.

“Will you snitch on us to Odysseus?” they taunted, so hungry were they after our ordeal with Scylla and Charybdis.

Reaching this island, we’d lain gasping, sobbing for our companions lost in Scylla’s eddies that dragged us down: a beast from Tartarus; even worse were Charybdis’s tentacles lifting six mates, smashing them on boulders, devouring them as men enjoy oysters.

Still, before he went to pray, our captain commanded us to battle our hunger. “These cattle belong to the god, not us.” But the instant he strode off, my rash mates butchered the beasts. Though the aromas filled me with hunger, I refrained from feasting. [End Page 186]

When Odysseus beheld the carnage, he wept, “We’re doomed,” and ordered us to row, hoping to outrun the Sun God’s vengeance. But His lightning bolt shattered the mast, tore up the planks like grass. All were drowned save Odysseus, clinging to the mast, while I hugged a plank, drifted, wept, and prayed.

On the third dawn, I spied a sharp shoreline: Ithaca? The cliffs unmistakable! Blessing the gods, I gasped on the soft strand till I could rise and walk, to find my wife; then the palace, to inform My Lady there was still hope for her Lord’s homecoming. [End Page 187]

Robert Cooperman

Robert Cooperman, a past contributor, has two recent collections of poetry—Just Drive and Little Timothy in Heaven.

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