Amber and Clay Laura Schlitz (if you liked this book TXT) 📖

have been mocked,

but I was a paragon

of strength and grace,

and a virtuoso at war.

It was said: if the hero Akhilleus

did not resemble me in every way

he was not handsome. By the gods,

I was beautiful!

Not just in youth,

but in every season of my life . . . !

Forgive me. We were speaking of Sokrates.

His name: So, as in so what?

Kra, as in crop.

Tes, as in tease. So-KRA-tes. No socks, please.

His father was a stonemason.

His mother was a midwife.

He used to say he was like her,

only instead of helping women bring forth children,

he helped men bring forth ideas.

Unlike me, he was poor —

Oh, I was wealthy!

an aristocrat to my fingertips:

a spendthrift, a playboy,

charismatic, silver-tongued,

the offspring of Great Ajax who fought at Troy!

I blazed and bedazzled!

Half the men in Athens

and all the women

— or the other way around —

caught fire from me!

I was Eros with a thunderbolt!

If Sokrates had been my lover —

(I tried to attract him) —

he would have been the only one I ever had

who was worthy of me,

the better part of me,

the man I seldom was.

We shared a tent at the battle of Potidaea;

he treated me as if he were my father.

I was eighteen. He was pushing forty.

He bore the hardships of fighting better than I did.

Better than any man there! We were cut off from supplies

and had nothing to eat,

and he didn’t seem to care. But when the food came

he enjoyed it more than anybody. And as for drink,

he enjoys his drink,

but no man on earth ever saw Sokrates drunk.

That winter at Potidaea was shocking,

a hard frost. We wrapped ourselves up in old sheepskins,

bits of felt, anything. But there was Sokrates,

barefoot

walking on the ice,

no fuss. One sunrise, he started thinking over some idea —

it was summer by then — he stood there all day,

lost in thought. At nightfall he was still there;

some of us checked during the night.

still there . . .

all night

still there . . .

When the sun rose, he said his prayers

and walked away. I never found out what he was thinking.

He saved my life at Potidaea,

single-handed.

I was wounded;

he wouldn’t leave me,

stood over me

and got me out of the fray, armor and all.

Athens awarded me a suit of armor and a crown —

— What?

You think they should have given him the honors?

I thought so, too. I went to the committee to protest,

but I was the one

with the family connections

(you know how these things go)

and I was so much more

the kind of person who wins awards . . .

Did I mention I was an Olympic champion?

Chariot racing! Entered three teams.

Came in first, second, and fourth!

Now Sokrates —

Sokrates never cared for the trophies of war.

He’d stride across the battlefield like a goose,

his head in the clouds,

unfrightened;

his feet naked, and that god-awful cloak.

He was as brave as any man in Athens,

and unlike me, he was faithful.

He was loyal to the city . . .

To tell you the truth, I changed sides.

More than once. Oh, I won victories for Athens,

but also . . . against Athens. Whatever side I was on,

that was the winning team!

On the battlefield I was —

let’s not mince words — a genius.

A fox for strategy, a whirlwind for speed —

Wherever I went, I made myself at home.

Among the Persians, I went mad for luxury;

With the Thracians, I was always drunk;

In Thessaly, I lived on horseback;

In Sparta, I ate pudding made from pig blood,

cut off my flowing hair,

and scorned all comforts. Even the Spartans,

who admire no one,

honored me! Even the Spartan king —

till I ran off with his wife.

Ah. Enough about me.

When I was alive,

the potters of Athens

used to make these toys: clay statues of sileni,

little figures of beefy old men,

bald and fat

with thick lips

and horse’s ears. If you open them up,

inside there’s a prize, a grab bag:

a tiny statue of a god. That’s Sokrates.

He was ugly all his life,

impudent as a satyr. When you first hear him, you think

his ideas are laughable. He talks about pack mules

and shoemakers and blacksmiths:

ordinary people,

ordinary things. His arguments sound like sheer nonsense,

but if you open them up

they’re the only ideas in the world that have any sense in them.

When most men talk,

nobody gives a damn what they say,

but when Sokrates talked

I listened:

staggered and bewitched. There were times

when I was filled with holy rage.

My heart leapt into my mouth,

and my eyes filled with tears —

my soul was turned upside down.

He made me feel

that there were things inside me

crying for attention

— I don’t mean the usual kind of attention;

I had plenty of that all my life,

even now, in Hades,

I can’t get enough of myself! . . . There’s hell for you.

What I meant was this: I felt with him

something I never felt with anyone else —

a sense of shame.

There were times when I’d have been glad if he had died.

But he outlived me. A man like me makes enemies:

the Thirty Tyrants,

the Spartans.

They came at night and set fire to the house.

I leapt through the flames

sword in hand.

They shot me full of arrows.

Enough about me. In my lifetime, I was famous

and infamous. I am famous still

largely because I knew him.

He’s the thing I miss most about being alive —

By the gods, he was magnificent!

So beautiful,

so rich in virtue,

so golden,

Σωκρατης . . .

EXHIBIT 12

Miniature chariot wheel, circa 525–500 BCE.

This bronze chariot wheel was found near a sanctuary of Apollo. It may have been given to Apollo in thanksgiving for victory during a chariot race. Votive objects—that is, offerings to the gods—were often symbolic in nature. This miniature wheel symbolizes the whole chariot.

Chariots were luxury items in ancient Greece. The land was rough and mountainous, with few roads, so chariots were not practical for travel or trade. They were status symbols, serving the function of a pampered sports car, and were most often seen in public processions or athletic contests.

1. THE SQUARE

Four days later, I saw him again. By then I’d heard of him.

Sokrates, I mean.

I’d been to two more symposia

and heard, “Sokrates says — ”

which led to raised voices

argument

and laughter.

The Oracle at Delphi

said Sokrates was