The Confessions of Socrates by R. L. Prendergast

Author:R. L. Prendergast
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: R. L. Prendergast
Published: 2016-12-27T18:07:20+00:00

Day 15

The plague eventually disappeared, as had happened at Potidaea. All told, 30,000 citizens and 50,000 women, children, foreigners and slaves died. Countless others were left physically disabled, unable to walk or use their arms. I did not keep a tally, but by my reckoning I would say that hundreds of people I knew personally perished. They included many from my cohort, co-workers from the wall, neighbours, acquaintances, friends and even old Crow Man. For me, the greatest loss was Simon.

I have wondered so often since the trial whether I might have chosen a different path had Simon remained a part of my life a little longer. Could he have saved me from my fate? Simon was wisdom personified; he helped me focus on what was truly important. Without him, I lost my way. Of course, it’s also possible that I am so inflexible that no one could have changed me. Whatever the case, I miss him terribly. Thankfully, he was the only person really close to me who died of the plague.

Much to my surprise, Chaerephon and his two remaining children were spared. I can’t imagine what it would have done to the man if his entire family had been taken. I expected Chaerephon to feel bitterness toward the gods, even to doubt them as I did after losing my mother and brother. Instead, his belief became more extreme than ever. He donated more of his wealth to public projects and observed the holidays more strictly. He even maintained that his faith had not been strong enough, and that the gods had abandoned him for that reason.

Crito changed, too. In a sense, he became more the person he had been all his life. Always courteous, he lavished affection not only on his family, but also on the slaves he treated as family. His brush with death seemed to have instilled in him a greater appreciation for life and those around him. Constant good cheer replaced the moroseness he had displayed after the Battle of Potidaea. Indeed, he seemed to possess a certain lightness, a kind of internal peace. It was as if the experiences of the past and his expectations for the future no longer weighed on him. I envied him that.

It is telling that both you boys, at different times and different ages, have asked me the same question about Crito: “Why is he always smiling, Father?” You will recall that my response was always the same, too: “Because he is Crito.”

As your mother had no family left in the city, not even distant relatives, she remained in the house with Diotima and me. You will be happy to know — if you didn’t know it already — that she made a favourable impression on me from the start. Her eyes were dark and lively, her lips full and sensual and as deeply red as pomegranate juice, her form lithe yet voluptuous.

I was intoxicated by your mother; at the same time, I felt nervous when she was nearby. In the evenings, she would sit in the courtyard, combing out her long hair.

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