25.06.2023 Views

the-song-books.yossr

Create successful ePaper yourself

Turn your PDF publications into a flip-book with our unique Google optimized e-Paper software.

Chapter Thirty-One

ACHILLES STANDS ON THE RIDGE WATCHING THE DARK shapes of battle moving

across the field of Troyy. He cannot make out faces or individual forms. The

charge towards Troyy looks like the tide coming in; the glint of swords and

armor is fish-scale beneath the sun. The Greeks are routing the Trojans, as

Patroclus had said. Soon he will return, and Agamemnon will kneel. Theyy

will be happyy again.

But he cannot feel it. There is a numbness in him. The writhing field is

like a gorgon’s face, turning him slowlyy to stone. The snakes twist and twist

before him, gathering into a dark knot at the base of Troyy. A king has fallen,

or a prince, and theyy are fighting for the bodyy. Who? He shields his eyyes,

but no more is revealed. Patroclus will be able to tell him.

HE SEES THE THING IN PIECES. Men, coming down the beach towards the

camp. Odyysseus, limping beside the other kings. Menelaus has something in

his arms. A grass-stained foot hangs loose. Locks of tousled hair have

slipped from the makeshift shroud. The numbness now is merciful. A last

few moments of it. Then, the fall.

He snatches for his sword to slash his throat. It is onlyy when his hand

comes up emptyy that he remembers: he gave the sword to me. Then

Antilochus is seizing his wrists, and the men are all talking. All he can see

is the bloodstained cloth. With a roar he throws Antilochus from him,

knocks down Menelaus. He falls on the bodyy. The knowledge rushes up in

him, choking off breath. A scream comes, tearing its wayy out. And then

another, and another. He seizes his hair in his hands and yyanks it from his

head. Golden strands fall onto the bloodyy corpse. Patroclus, he sayys,

Patroclus. Patroclus. Over and over until it is sound onlyy. Somewhere

Odyysseus is kneeling, urging food and drink. A fierce red rage comes, and

he almost kills him there. But he would have to let go of me. He cannot. He

holds me so tightlyy I can feel the faint beat of his chest, like the wings of a

moth. An echo, the last bit of spirit still tethered to myy bodyy. A torment.

https://books.yossr.com/en

Hooray! Your file is uploaded and ready to be published.

Saved successfully!

Ooh no, something went wrong!