The Gospel of Ariel: Volume II

XXX

One scorching summer day when the sun was high, I heard an anguished cry as I came from Athena's temple,

"Marecy, marecy, m'child! Will yew speer an eeged, tired, sickly woman sum wahter?"

When I turned, I beheld an old woman, smaller than I, stooped with age. She was thin and small-boned, with lovely high cheeks, withered slightly. Her long white hair, pure as snow, hung down her bowed back. I could see she had indeed suffered much, for it was inscribed on both her face and body. "Poor, dear old soul," I thought, "What ill has Fortune brought you that you are begging thus? You ought to be home, in bed, at peace, with your loved ones around you. I will ease your suffering if I can." Even as I thought this, I saw a twinkle in her sea-grey eyes. Somehow, she was still possessed of life and hope. When I reached her, she fainted in my arms and convulsed, foaming at the mouth. I was frightened, remaining with her till it passed. When it was over, she begged feebly, bringing a thin hand to my cheek,

"Wahter, m'child",

As hypnos again lay hold of her, I said, frightened still,

"Yes, of course, poor, dear soul. Come, You must get out of this heat."

I gave her water from the temple and bore her in my arms to the baths. Gingerly, tenderly, I undressed the old woman, bathed her, and rubbed her with oil. I could feel she was tense and sore, and could only imagine how her bones ached. As I set about my task, easing the old woman's pain, dressing her in garments of bronze silk made by my own hand, a feeling I could not name swelled in my breast. At length, she revived, and I said to her, relieved,

"Ah, bless you, dear soul. You are awake at last! You gave me quite a fright. A storm came over you, but it has passed. My name is Phoebe, and we are at the baths."

At some length, the old woman answered, for she was still weak and disoriented,

"Aye, m'dearest lamb, anew indeed. Thank yew, m'sweet. We've met b'for, thew not properly. Poor dear, forgive ar' meetin' like this. Me neme's Eurycleia, an' yer the child uv Helen and Sophpcles, 'oo's teken quite ill new, poor lad. Ah see ya grieve, dearest lassie, moost bitterly, Ah scarce c'n bere ta see it. Teke cumfert, poor child, en newin' 'e's en cepeable hands, fer Greece news no better healer th'n Galen."

"I know," I answered,"He saved my mother's life years ago, and now he tries valiantly to restore my father to us. He would not accept payment. Oh gods, I owe him everything, but could not repay him if I lived forever! Truly, I do indeed grieve, but it brings me peace to ease the grief of others, as now."

"Oh, m'luv," said the old woman, "Think no mor'uv that. Ye must new by new that 'e nehvar accepts peyment. Naught mahtters ta him but the health uv 'is peyshunts, and, ef they are beyond healin', their peace. Thes es az et should be. En thes, poor child, have your peace. Indeed all Athens news uv yer selflessness and disposishun toward service. But, dearest, dew not neglect yerself in sew dewin'."

So saying, she sat up, with some difficulty, put her arm around me, pulled me close, and kissed me earnestly.She whispered, content,

"Oh, thank you, me sweet, thank you indeed."

"It is nothing," I answered. "Tell me, dear soul, are you well?"

"A'm az well az Ah c'n be, child, wat weth me bein' ninety-sumet an' sickly sence childhood. Warry not, poor lamb. Sooch az thes happens oft ta me. A'm right new, thanks ta yew."

"I see you have suffered much," I said to her, "but the years have been good to you."

"Rubbish, me'sweetest lass," answered the old woman, "Tis true, Adew not spern wat Fortune geve me, fer th' moost fortunate amung us 're geven booth good and ill. Ah pree, child, that hainnceforth, Fortune sh'll smile upon yew, for ya've newn far mor'th'n yer share uv grief, yung thew ya be, and that ya shall ateen greet years, sew az ta reap the good. But new, darling gerl, that old eege es a peen an' privilege afforded fahr tew few, and that the greetest misfortune uv the eeged es ta see yung lambs sooch az yourself go b'for us. Aye, dear lamb, Ah weer et well, but whosewevar believes eege ta be kind es talkin' oat uv naught but their arse."