Penelope

Penelope's Loss and Sorrow
I watch my husband, the wise Odysseus, leave for Troy upon the wine-dark sea.
Why did he have to make that oath all those years ago?
We have a child. How could they take him away from me?
Now, it is likely that Telemachus will grow up without a father.
My lion-hearted Odysseus, the gods are so cruel?
I wonder the halls of my palace alone and sad.
My Brave Odysseus had this way of lighting up a room every time he smiled.
Oh, how I miss him, and he's only been gone for a few days, and I long for him more than I ever have.
As the days go by, I see my son's want for a father figure grow more and more.
How am I supposed to teach him to be a man? I am a humble wife.
I am not a man trained for war in battle strategy, though I'm wise; my intelligence once rivaled Athena.
That may be why Odysseus chose me so long ago.
One day, men come upon my shore, 108 men; how odd.
I welcome them into my home, as my husband would have welcomed guests once.
They are my suitors, and I do not like this. I am a loyal wife to my brave, intelligent, and heroic Odysseus.
These men come into my home and take my wealth and wine. They plunder what is not theirs. How dare they?
My son grows weary of these men, as do I.
They demand I choose one of them.
I do not devise a brilliant plan that even Athena would approve of.
I tell them that I must weave a burial shroud for my husband's ailing father.
They allow me to do so instead of weaving it with precision and quick movements.
I will weave it every day and unravel it every night to procrastinate choosing a man.
The only man I will ever love is Odysseus.
One of my maids betrayed my trust; how could they?
I can understand why these men have found enjoyment in others.
Where I refuse to give it.
Now my son and husband are gone. Only the Gods know where my son has ventured off to.
Perhaps he has gone in search of his father. I pray he makes it safely to wherever he's journeying.
Those vile suitors are planning to kill my Telemachus.
They will not succeed.
My son may not look it, but he is just as intelligent as his father, which could be his downfall or his claim to heroism.
My son, my son is home. Where is he?
Why has he not come straight to me?
Did he find Odysseus? No, my husband is dead. I should not bring false hope.
I will only hurt myself.
I weep in sorrow for my son; he has not returned to me.
Where is he?
I wonder about the halls in my home and come upon the suitors plotting my son's death.
HOW DARE THEY!
I allow them into my home and plunder my wealth, eat my food, and plot my son's demise.
I confront them and tell them off.
"You are all Bruts! Sneaks! Criminals!"
I direct my attention to Antinous. "The people say you are the smartest boy of all your age in Ithaca." "It is not true." "You are insane. How could you devise a plan to kill Telemachus?"
You forget that my husband Odysseus saved your father, who came here running in terror from the Ithacans, who were enraged because he joined the Pirates.
Odysseus protected him, and you come here benefiting from his wealth, courting his wife, and trying to kill his son. You are hurting me! I tell you, stop, and make the other suitors stop as well!
I will marry none of you. you
Eurymachus, that brute, tries to persuade me that he's not trying to harm my son. But I know better. I will play along with his games, but I do not believe a single word he says.
I pray to Athena, the owl-eyed goddess, and Artemis, the man-hater, for their downfall.
My sweet light is home, Telemachus, oh my sweet boy.
He tells me of his adventures.
My boy is so brave, so grown up.
I part with my son to my bed of sorrow.
The swineherd comes to my doorstep, telling me of the stranger who can tell a story like a song that can mesmerize even the bards.
I tell the swineherd to bring this strange man to me so I can hear his memorizing stories. Perhaps he knows where my husband is, as he claims.
The pig herder comes back, but the beggar is not in pursuit behind him.
I asked the man where the strange beggar was.
This beggar is wise; he does not want to face my indomitable suitors.
I have hardly heard of this strange beggar, and already, he intrigues me as much as my husband Odysseus once did.
Many nights later, I had this strange idea that I wanted the suitors to see me even though I hated them so much.
I walk down the stairs as light and free as a feather.
I feel the change in my body. I feel peaceful. It is strange. I have spent 20 long years mourning my husband, and I feel free.
I finally meet the stranger, and he is pretty intriguing.
As I talk with him, he reminds me more and more of my Odysseus
He is wise and gentle like Odysseus.
He gave me an idea of how to test my suitors to see who I should marry if I must.
I know that Odysseus told me to marry another man if he did not return, but I do not want to. My heart stays loyal to him.
I will not be happy in another marriage, but I know what to do.
I devised a plan for the suitors to string my husband's bow and arrow.
I doubt they will be able to do it, so I will be able to prolong marrying one of them for some time, but they will keep trying, and eventually, one of them will be able to succeed.
Odysseus used to string it and then shoot it through 12 axes.
Oh, how I miss my Odysseus and his brave, kind heart.
I go to the store room where Odysseus's bow is held.
I weep when I see it. Oh, how it brings back so many memories of his use.
I placed the bow and arrow in the room where the competition will commence.
As I go back to my bed of sorrow, I weep and cry for Odysseus. The stranger said he would come back, but he had not returned.
I am losing hope.
Soon, I will have to marry one of those... suitors.
I hear a noise downstairs, but I stay put.
And then, my husband's nursemaid comes into my room and calls me down to Odysseus; he is home.
I do not believe her. She has gone crazy over her many years of existence.
And I tell her so.
But she insists he's alive, so I relent and go downstairs.
This stranger sounds and looks like my Odysseus, but I will not allow hope to seep into my heart.
As he says, I asked him about our marital bed to prove this man is my husband.
Only Odysseus would know of the olive tree that makes our bed.
How the roots grow like my love for Odysseus.
Only he will know such things.
It's him, really him; he's home, my sweet Odysseus is home, we're a family again at last.
But he must leave again to appease Poseidon the Earthshaker.
I will miss you, Odysseus, but I understand why you must embark on this journey.
I love you.