Penelope
By Sebnem Sanders
Penelope sat on the pebble beach in Ithaca and combed her wet hair, her eyes fixed on the horizon. A sailboat glided into the harbour. Her faith in her husband’s return unbroken, she rose and focused her gaze on the vessel. Shading her eyes from the sun’s glare, she squinted at the flag on its mast, but couldn’t make out the emblem. Could that be Odysseus coming home after twenty long years? Telemachus had been a baby when he’d left. Their son, a young man now, and ready to rule his father’s kingdom.
News of the war had trickled back to her, and of how many warriors had perished to take Troy. More than a decade had passed since the city’s fall, and she wondered where her husband was. Had he gone on a new mission, or, seeking another adventure, forgotten his family? In his absence, hearing of her wealth, suitors had come to the palace. Refusing to leave until she chose one of them, a hundred and eight men feasted at her expense. She’d kept them at bay by weaving Leartes’ shroud at night and destroying the work at dawn. Her eyes welled with tears for she’d lied to Athena. The goddess had charged her with deception, and exposing her secret, insisted she remarried. Penelope clenched her hands. She hated all of the suitors and the consequences bound to follow.
Next morning, Eurycleia, Odysseus's nurse, rushed to her bedroom, “A young sailor has asked to see you. He claims to have tidings of the King.”
Penelope’s heart leapt, “Send for him right away. I wish this torture to be over.”
Clad in a white robe and turquoise beads around her slender neck, she sat in a chair as the sailor spoke. He looked so much like Odysseus when she’d fallen in love with him. Eyes the colour of the sea, dark hair, and a muscular body washed with the gold of the sun. Penelope watched him as his lips moved. She did not hear the words. Could she take him for a husband? No, he was too young, she was ageing. She gulped and concentrated, “Sea… storm…the cyclopes, the sirens…” she had heard all that before, but when he mentioned something about a herd of sheep, she listened.
“Cattle of Helios, my lady,” he said. “ His men did not heed his orders and brought the rage of Helios and Zeus upon them. Some say he’s dead, his ship destroyed. Some say he has swum to the island of Calypso. I believe the latter. Please do not fret, my Queen. The King is not one to give up.”
Penelope stared at the sailor, “I have matters to attend to.”
“I know, my lady. It is my duty to tell you the truth.”
Penelope remained in her chambers that day, contemplating on how to cope with the dilemma. As the orange sun sank into the horizon, she had an idea. She called Eurycleia, and said, “Whoever can string Odysseus's rigid bow and shoot an arrow through twelve axe heads may have my hand."
Penelope slept soundly that night, confident only one man could pass this test.
∞∞∞
Penelope sat on the sand and gazed into the sea. Behind her, the beach house stood proud, surrounded by a lush garden. She had everything, but nothing. A husband who spent most of his time away, grown up children at the university, no longer in need of her attention or seeking her love. Her company, well-known for its interior decoration designs, had ceased to fulfil her creative talent. People wanted practical, functional homes rather than artistic features and unique touches that triggered her imagination.
As the crimson sun sank into the ocean, Penelope returned to the house. She opened a bottle of champagne, and pouring the bubbling liquid into a glass, she stepped onto the terrace. Settled into a deck chair, she watched the silhouettes of passersby moving against the sunset colours, gradually fading to indigo. A full moon rose, and she felt less lonely. The empty rooms, chairs, and sofas in the house aggravated her solitary state which she tried to fill with music. Her gaze followed a man walking his dog along the seashore. Perhaps she should have an affair. Though men still made advances at her, she had never been unfaithful to her husband. Maybe he had, or was simply a workaholic, making more money than he could spend in a lifetime.
Perhaps she should go away, disappear. Hop into the car and drive into the unknown, like Kerouac, on the road. The best plan is not to have a plan. She could travel across the country, coast to coast, from north to south, all directions on the compass at her disposal. Or fly to Europe, revisit the places she loved, and discover new ones. Open an antique shop or an art gallery somewhere when she decided to settle. With her management team, her company would run itself, until she figured out what to do with it. At least, she had the funds to support herself and manage things remotely.
Penelope rose with the first sunlight, excited about her plan to escape. She packed a medium sized suitcase, and dropped a battered copy of On the Road into a holdall, together with her personal items.
A short note placed on the dining table, she secured it with a small golden Buddha statue she had bought in Thailand. My loves, I’ll be gone for a while. Take care, Penelope. This would allow her time to go as far as possible before her family discovered her absence, and to answer their calls at her leisure.
Penelope wheeled the luggage to the car and closed the boot, before locking the front door and setting the alarm. She’d call the gardener later and tell him she would be away. As the garden gates closed behind her, Penelope set off on her own Odyssey, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel to Christopher Cross’ Ride Like The Wind.
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Sebnem E. Sanders is a native of Istanbul, Turkey. Currently, she lives on the eastern shores of the Southern Aegean where she dreams and writes flash fiction and flash poesy, as well as longer works of fiction. Her flash stories have been published on the Harper Collins Authonomy Blog, The Drabble, Sick Lit Magazine, Twisted Sister Lit Mag and Spelk Fiction. She has a completed manuscript, The Child of Heaven and two works in progress, The Child of Passion and The Lost Child. Her collection of short and flash fiction stories, Ripples on the Pond, was published in December 2017. Her stories have also been published in two anthologies: Paws and Claws, One Million Project and Thriller Anthology. More information can be found on her website where she publishes some of her work: https://sebnemsanders.wordpress.com/
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