The Girl at the River

So Odysseus slept there, worn out by sleep and hardship, the man who had endured so much. But Athena went off to the land and city of the Phaeacians¹.

These people had once lived in a wide, open place called Hypereia, close to the Cyclopes, a violent, overbearing race who kept raiding them and were stronger in a fight. So Nausithous, a man handsome as a god, picked up his whole people and led them away. He settled them in Scheria², far from anyone else who worked for a living. He ran a wall around the town, built houses and temples for the gods, and divided up the farmland. But he had since gone down to the house of the dead, and now Alcinous was king, a man whose wisdom came straight from the gods.

It was to his house that Athena, the bright-eyed goddess, made her way, planning a path home for the great-hearted Odysseus. She slipped into the richly decorated bedroom where a girl was sleeping, a girl with the looks and the figure of a goddess. This was Nausicaa, daughter of brave Alcinous. Two attendants slept near her, one on each side of the doorway, both lovely as the Graces, and the shining doors were shut.

Athena came drifting over the girl’s bed like a breath of wind. She stood above her head and spoke, taking the shape of a girl Nausicaa’s own age, the daughter of the famous sailor Dymas, a friend Nausicaa loved.

“Nausicaa,” said the bright-eyed goddess in her friend’s voice, “how did your mother end up with such a careless daughter? Your good clothes are lying around in a heap, unwashed. And your wedding is coming soon. You’ll need fine things to wear yourself, and good clothes to give the men who walk in the procession with you. That’s how a girl earns a good name among people, and how she makes her father and her mother proud. So let’s go washing as soon as the sun comes up. I’ll come along and help, so you can have it all ready fast. You won’t be a girl living at home much longer. The best young men in the whole country are already asking to marry you, and you come from the best family yourself. So in the morning, before dawn, ask your father to get the mules and the wagon ready, the one that can carry the sashes and dresses and the bright bedding. And it’s far nicer for you to ride than to walk. The washing pools are a long way from town.”

With that the bright-eyed goddess went away to Olympus, which they say is the home of the gods³, fixed and unshakable forever. No wind tosses it, no rain soaks it, no snow falls there. The air is always clear and cloudless, and a white brightness lies over everything. There the blessed gods take their pleasure, day after day. There Athena went, once she had told the girl what to do.

Dawn came on her golden throne and woke Nausicaa in her beautiful dress. She was amazed by the dream and went straight through the house to tell her parents, her dear father and her mother. She found them inside. Her mother sat by the hearth with her attendants, spinning sea-purple yarn. Her father she caught just as he was heading out the door to meet the leading men in council, the meeting the proud Phaeacians had called him to.

She came up close to him and said, “Daddy, won’t you get the wagon ready for me, the tall one with the good wheels? I want to take our fine clothes down to the river and wash them. They’re lying there dirty. And you yourself, when you sit in council with the chief men, you ought to have clean clothes on your back. And there are five sons of yours in the house, two married, three growing boys still single. They always want freshly washed clothes when they go to a dance. Looking after all this is on my mind.”

She said it that way because she was too shy to mention her own wedding to her father. But he understood everything, and answered, “I won’t grudge you the mules, child, or anything else. Go on. The slaves will get the wagon ready for you, the tall one with the good wheels and the box on top.”

He called to the slaves, and they obeyed. Outside they got the smooth-running mule wagon ready, led the mules out, and harnessed them to it. The girl carried the bright clothes down from her room and packed them into the polished wagon. Her mother put a basket of good food in too, all kinds of it, and meats, and poured wine into a goatskin bag. The girl climbed up. Her mother handed her a golden flask of olive oil, so she and her attendants could rub themselves down after their bath. Then Nausicaa took the whip and the shining reins and snapped them to start the mules. The mules clattered off, straining steadily, carrying the clothes and the girl — not alone, for her attendants walked along beside her.

When they reached the beautiful flowing river, they came to the washing pools, where there was always plenty of clear water bubbling up, enough to clean even the filthiest things. They unhitched the mules from the wagon and shooed them along the swirling river to graze on the sweet grass. Then they lifted the clothes out by the armful, carried them down into the dark water, and trampled them in the pits, racing each other to see who was fastest. When they had washed everything clean, they spread it all out in a row along the shore, where the sea had washed the pebbles cleanest against the land. Then they bathed and rubbed themselves with oil, and sat down to eat by the banks of the river while the clothes dried in the sunlight.

When they had eaten their fill, both the girl and her slave women threw off their headscarves and started playing ball, and Nausicaa, with her white arms, led the singing. She was like Artemis the archer⁴ striding down a mountain, down the long ridge of Taygetus or Erymanthus, happy among the wild boars and the running deer. Around her the wood-nymphs play, the daughters of Zeus, and Leto’s heart fills with joy, because her daughter stands a head taller than them all, easy to pick out, though every one of them is lovely. That was how Nausicaa, the unmarried girl, stood out among her attendants.

When it was nearly time to fold the clothes, harness the mules, and head home, the bright-eyed goddess Athena thought of something else: a way to wake Odysseus, so he would see the lovely girl who could lead him to the Phaeacian city. So the princess threw the ball to one of her attendants — and missed her. It flew into a deep eddy of the river, and the girls let out a long cry.

Odysseus woke. He sat up and turned it over in his mind: “Who lives in the land I’ve reached this time? Are they cruel and wild, with no sense of right, or are they kind to strangers, with hearts that fear the gods? That sounded like girls’ voices around me, like the nymphs who live on the high peaks of the mountains, by the springs of rivers and the grassy meadows. Or am I somewhere near people who actually speak? Let me go look for myself and find out.”

With that, Odysseus crept out from under the bushes. With his thick hand he broke off a leafy branch from the dense growth, to hold across his body and hide his nakedness. He came out like a mountain lion, sure of his own strength, who pushes on through rain and wind with his eyes burning, hunting cattle or sheep or wild deer — his belly drives him to try even a well-fenced farm to get at the flocks. That was how Odysseus meant to come at the girls with their lovely hair, naked as he was. He had no choice.

He looked horrible to them, crusted with salt, and they scattered every which way along the jutting shore. Only Alcinous’s daughter held her ground. Athena had put courage in her heart and taken the fear out of her legs. She stood and faced him.

Odysseus weighed it: should he grab the lovely girl by the knees and beg, or just stand back and use gentle words, ask her to show him the town and give him some clothes? Standing back and using gentle words seemed wiser. If he grabbed her knees, the girl might turn angry. So he spoke gently, and cleverly.

“I beg you, my lady — are you a goddess, or a mortal woman? If you’re one of the gods who hold the wide sky, you must be Artemis, daughter of great Zeus, for your face and figure are just like hers. But if you’re a mortal, one of the people who live on the earth, then three times blessed are your father and your honored mother, and three times blessed your brothers. Their hearts must always glow with happiness because of you, watching a flower like you step into the dance. And the most blessed of all, far above the rest, will be the man who wins you with his wedding gifts and takes you home. I’ve never seen anyone like you, man or woman — I’m in awe just looking at you.

“Once, on Delos, by Apollo’s altar⁵, I saw a young palm shoot pushing up from the ground — I went there too, with a great crowd following me, on the journey that was to bring me so much grief. I stared at it a long time, amazed, because nothing so beautiful had ever risen from the earth. That’s how I look at you, lady, amazed, in awe, and afraid to touch your knees. But terrible grief has come to me. Yesterday, after twenty days, I escaped the wine-dark sea. All that time the waves and the howling storms carried me from the island of Ogygia⁶. Now some god has dropped me here, to suffer more, I think, for I don’t believe my troubles are over. The gods have plenty more in store for me first.

“So have pity, my lady. I’ve come to you first, after all I’ve been through. I don’t know a single other person in this city or this land. Show me the town, and give me some rag to throw around myself, anything you had to wrap the clothes in when you came here. And may the gods give you everything your heart wants: a husband, a home, and the gift of two minds working as one⁷. There’s nothing finer, nothing stronger, than a man and a woman who keep their house together with one heart. It’s grief to their enemies, and joy to the people who love them. They feel it best of all themselves.”

Nausicaa of the white arms answered him. “Stranger — you don’t seem like a bad man, or a foolish one. Zeus on Olympus hands out good fortune to people, the good and the bad alike, however he wishes, to each. He must have given you this, and you simply have to bear it. But now you’ve come to our city and our land, you won’t go without clothes, or anything else a worn-out person who comes begging should have. I’ll show you the town and tell you the name of our people. The Phaeacians hold this city and this land, and I am the daughter of great-hearted Alcinous, the man who holds the power and the strength of the Phaeacians in his hands.”

Then she called to her attendants with their lovely hair. “Stop, girls! Where are you running, just because you saw a man? Do you think he’s some enemy? There’s no man living, and never will be, who could come to the land of the Phaeacians bringing war. We’re far too dear to the gods. We live off by ourselves in the crashing sea, at the world’s edge, and no other people have anything to do with us. This is some poor man who’s lost his way and come here, and we have to take care of him. All strangers and beggars come from Zeus⁸, and a small gift, given kindly, means much. So give the stranger food and drink, girls, and wash him in the river, somewhere out of the wind.”

They stopped and called to one another, and they sat Odysseus down in the sheltered spot, the way Nausicaa had told them. They laid a cloak and a tunic beside him for him to wear, and gave him the golden flask of oil, and told him to wash in the streams of the river.

Then Odysseus said to them, “Girls, stand back a little, so I can wash the salt off my shoulders myself and rub on the oil. It’s been a long time since my skin has felt it. I won’t bathe in front of you. I’m ashamed to be naked among young girls with such lovely hair.”

So they moved off and told the girl. And Odysseus washed the salt from his skin in the river (it covered his back and his broad shoulders) and scrubbed the crust of the barren sea out of his hair. When he had washed all over and rubbed himself with oil, he put on the clothes the unmarried girl had given him. Then Athena, daughter of Zeus, made him look taller and stronger, and made the hair tumble down from his head in thick curls like hyacinth flowers. It was like a skilled craftsman pouring gold over silver, a man taught every art by Hephaestus and Pallas Athena, and the work he turns out is full of grace. That was the grace she poured over his head and shoulders.

He went off and sat down apart on the seashore, shining with beauty. The girl looked at him, full of wonder, and said to her attendants, “Listen, girls — let me say something. This man hasn’t come among the Phaeacians against the will of all the gods on Olympus. A moment ago he looked ragged to me, but now he’s like one of the gods who hold the wide sky. I wish a man like that could be called my husband, living here, and that he’d be willing to stay. But come, give the stranger food and drink, girls.”

They listened and did as she said, and set food and drink in front of Odysseus. And the man who had suffered so much ate and drank like a starving thing, for it had been a long time since he had tasted anything at all.

Then Nausicaa of the white arms thought of the next thing. She folded the clothes and set them in the fine wagon, harnessed the sturdy mules, and climbed up herself. Then she urged Odysseus on, calling out to him by name:

“Get up now, stranger, and let’s head into town. I’ll bring you to the house of my wise father, where you’ll meet all the best of the Phaeacians — I promise you. But do it this way, since you seem to me no fool. As long as we’re passing the fields and the farms, walk quickly with the attendants behind the mules and the wagon, and I’ll lead the way. But once we reach the town — there’s a high wall around it, and a fine harbor on each side, and a narrow entrance, and the curved ships are hauled up along the road, each one in its own place. The meeting ground is there, around the beautiful temple of Poseidon, paved with great stones set deep in the earth. There the people see to the gear of their black ships, the ropes and the sails, and there they shave the oars smooth. The Phaeacians don’t care for bows and arrows, only for masts and oars and the trim ships they love to take across the gray sea.

“It’s their nasty talk I want to avoid — I don’t want anyone gossiping behind my back. There are some very arrogant people in this town. Some low fellow might meet us and say, ‘Who’s this tall, good-looking stranger trailing after Nausicaa? Where did she pick him up? She’ll make him her husband, no doubt. Maybe she’s taken in some shipwrecked wanderer from a foreign crew, since we have no neighbors. Or maybe some god she kept praying for has come down from the sky in answer, and she’ll have him for the rest of her days. Good for her, if she’s gone and found a husband somewhere else, because she certainly looks down on the men of her own people here, the many fine Phaeacians who want to marry her.’ That’s what they’d say, and it would shame me. I’d be angry at any other girl who acted that way too, who went around with men, against her father’s and mother’s wishes, before her wedding was out in the open.

“So listen carefully, stranger, if you want my father to send you on your way home quickly. You’ll find a beautiful grove of poplars near the road, sacred to Athena, with a spring running through it and a meadow all around. That’s where my father has his land and his green orchard, about as far from town as a man’s shout will carry. Sit down there and wait a while, until we’ve had time to reach the town and my father’s house. When you think we must be there, then go into the Phaeacians’ city and ask the way to the house of my father, great-hearted Alcinous. It’s easy to spot — even a little child could lead you to it, because no other Phaeacian house is built anything like the home of the hero Alcinous.

“Once the house and the courtyard have closed around you, walk quickly across the great hall until you reach my mother. She sits at the hearth in the firelight, leaning against a pillar, spinning sea-purple yarn — a wonder to see — with her slave women behind her. My father’s chair stands close to hers, and he sits there drinking his wine like an immortal. Walk past him, and throw your arms around my mother’s knees, if you want to see the day of your homecoming come quickly and gladly, no matter how far away your home may be. If she takes a liking to you in her heart, then there’s real hope you’ll see the people you love and come back to your own well-built house and your own land.”

With that she flicked the bright whip at the mules, and they left the river behind. They trotted well, and stepped well, and she drove with care so the attendants and Odysseus could keep up on foot, easing back on the whip with good sense.

The sun was going down when they reached the famous grove, the sacred place of Athena. There Odysseus sat and prayed to the daughter of great Zeus.

“Hear me, child of Zeus who holds the storm-cloud, you who never tire. Hear me now — you never listened before, when I was being smashed, when the famous god who shakes the earth was breaking me apart. Let me come among the Phaeacians as a friend, and let them pity me.”

That was his prayer, and Pallas Athena heard him. But she did not yet show herself to him face to face. She held back out of respect for her father’s brother, Poseidon⁹, who still raged fiercely against godlike Odysseus, until he should reach his own land.