Clytemnestra by Costanza Casati

Author:Costanza Casati
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: HarperCollins Canada
Published: 2023-01-04T00:00:00+00:00

19

Violent Husband, Vengeful Wife

SOMETIMES SHE FINDS herself thinking about Tantalus and her baby, as much as she tries not to. The way Tantalus spoke, the world’s secrets in his words, and the way the baby stared at her at night when he was meant to sleep. How her husband laughed when the baby cried and the smells of spices drifted, curling in the air. Her heart clenches, pain flooding her mind. Is there any greater torment than love in the face of loss?

Memory is a strange thing, vicious. The more one wants to forget, the more one can’t help but remember. It is like a rat chewing at the skin, slowly and painfully—impossible to ignore.

“Pray to the gods,” everyone kept telling her after Tantalus and her son were murdered. But you don’t get rid of a rat by praying to the gods. You must kill it, poison it. And the gods can’t help you with that.

* * *

“What are you thinking about?”

A voice that drags her out of her memories. Clytemnestra turns, and Iphigenia is looking at her. She is in the garden where she took refuge on her first night in Mycenae. The valley stretches below them, and above, the temple of Hera, silent and white. Clytemnestra rarely goes into it. Priests and priestesses aren’t her concern.

“I was thinking about those petitioners,” Clytemnestra says.

Iphigenia comes closer. “It’s the baby you lost, isn’t it? You always come here when you think about him.”

Clytemnestra wants to look down but she doesn’t. Lying to her daughter is of no use. She starts wondering whether she should ask Iphigenia to cover herself—it is getting colder and they are on the highest point of the citadel—when Orestes runs into the garden. He looks excited, his dark locks bouncing around his head as he hops toward them.

“Mother, I have to tell you!” he says, breathless. He stops when he sees Iphigenia, giving her a meaningful look. She narrows her eyes, suspicious.

“What happened?” Clytemnestra asks.

Orestes lowers his voice in a conspiratorial way. “I saw her with that man.”

Iphigenia’s cheeks are burning. “It was nothing.”

“His mouth was on yours!” Orestes says, torn between anger and giddiness.

“Orestes!” Iphigenia says.

Clytemnestra wants to laugh, but she stays serious. “Did Leon kiss you?” she asks.

“How did you—” Iphigenia starts, her eyes wide.

“Yes, he did!” Orestes interrupts. “His hands were in her hair, and he told her she was the most beautiful girl ever to walk our lands!” He speaks as though Leon’s words were a crime worth a flogging.

Iphigenia stands and starts to pace, agitated. She seems torn between attacking her brother and explaining herself to her mother.

“What did you do, Iphigenia?” Clytemnestra asks. “What did you tell Leon?”

Orestes sits on a mossy rock. He seems confused. “You are not going to scold her? She was kissing a man!” He insists on “kissing” to make sure his mother understands.

“It was wrong to spy on your sister, Orestes.”

Orestes’s triumph fades, like the colors of frescoes when the torches burn out. Iphigenia stops pacing.

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