Alexander and the Death

/, Literature, Blesok no. 39/Alexander and the Death

Alexander and the Death

But here, it’s all finished. He is dead and now it all went in his immobile body. Now he lies there, in the lower hall of the big, new, his theatre. That is how it was made for him, this small room, surrounded by a colonnade of pillars, a corridor on one side, the main, ceremonial entrance for the emperor and the distinguished persons, and on the other side there were the stairs to the emperor’s loge. There, under the big table in the central part of the amphitheatre, under the emperor’s loge, was maybe the coldest spot of Babylon that I know. Now he lies on the upper white marble table where there was always fruit and wine, he lies on this table as a withered fruit, dried inside, shriveled and small. His small body is even smaller as with all dead people who had a long illness. Two Negroes from upper Egypt spread the cold air with light rice fans above the tortured body, they chase away the evil, green flies that attack the garbage and the dead. And here, now it will start there, the fate of his further existence will be resolved in the imperial palace. For a whole day, as I hear, they discuss only one issue – what will be done with the emperor’s body. I am going to the palace via the sunny square. On one side, behind me, there is the hidden room with the dead emperor, and in front of me, in the palace, the Macedonian group is gathered in the big throne hall for imperial receptions – Ptolemy Lagos, Perdicca, Nearch, Pseutos, Cassander, Melearchos, Seleucus. And I, who was always in the shade, have a strong wish to stay under the bright sun here, in the middle of the sunny square, in the middle of this broad space, surrounded by shady colonnades, in the middle of this flat heat filled in with the crowd, with the clamoring people. I have a wish to stay under the bright sun distant from both spots, from the theatre and the palace, towards which I feel shame, fear, repulsion and unease. From the dead emperor, shrank on the marble table in the shady hall, which is, even in the middle of the day, with the small light of the exit stairs towards the loge, constantly lit with bronze, decorative lights with scented oils, there is a smell of rotten fish coming here to me in the sun, the smell that precedes the death stink that no scented oils can cover. Here those shrewd and repulsive eyes from the imperial palace still sting me, the eyes that they all have, the eyes of the close warriors, army leaders, friends, comrades of the emperor, his fellow fighters and peers. At the end of Alexander’s illness, here in Babylon, these eyes were more and more filled with mistrust, doubt, hunger for power, uncertainty in which they all were facing the fast development of emperor’s illness that approached death. But, my teacher, this was not the time of some different, stronger hate among them. No, it was only a time of general fear. Everybody was afraid for themselves. And the fear from somebody also gives birth to hate to him. But you, my teacher, must have noticed these feelings of animosity among us when we divided from our childhood years, when you, called by Philip (Bilipo, as you called him in our old language) came to us to enlighten our spirit. I remember your smile when you followed our quarrels, angry suffocating among us. But I never participated in this although you also punished me by not going to a play in the theater celebrations in Pella or fox hunting. I was grateful that, although innocent, you were not separating me from the others in these punishments. And it was easier and nicer for me to stay in the peace of the Mieza gymnasium, then ride for hours to Pella for some provincial play or go, even in a soft, imperial carriage, to the thick forests above Aege, to hunt in which I never enjoyed. But, you knew the hate that does not appear often among young people, that, whether we did, the place of the first one was decided and we could only fight for his mercy, attention or trust. Yes, we knew, Bilipo had told you that we were all his equals and that it was how you were supposed to treat us and that Alexander was not given any advantages as Olympias asked for her son, and as the cruel Leonides gave him. And you too wanted us to be equal, but Alexander imposed himself as the first one, although many were before him in logic, philosophy and writing. As a matter of fact, Alexander defeated you, climbed above your knowledge, diminished it, devaluated it, humiliated you because he forced you see him with different understanding and attention than all of us, the others. You separated him or he separated himself, I don’t know. That is why I cross out the sentence that I have just written, in which I insulted you. I cross it out with a thick line on the papyrus, so that you can read it and understand it but that you know I gave it up that I had written it without thinking. And maybe you gave him more freedom because you knew that you were shaping a future ruler, emperor, leader. You guided him and educated him but you didn’t know what he became. That is why I am writing you all this. I don’t know how this will reach you. When and how I will send you what I have written. I see that the papyrus multiplies and rolls in a thicker and thicker traba, and I hear that the fast lines to Macedonia can only carry news that are approved of the diadochi collected in the imperial palace. But, I hope that, as you taught us, the voice of truth and the effort of the good deed will reach their target in time.

Translated by: Elizabeta Bakovska

2018-08-21T17:23:23+00:00 December 1st, 2004|Categories: Prose, Literature, Blesok no. 39|0 Comments