Open Writing

Far to the east of Greece, across the Aegean, is an island known to some as Lesbos. Here people lived as people always had. Farmers tended the fields, and guarded their flocks. Merchants sailed to distant lands for trade. Lovers met, some loved and were happy, others were rejected and wept. It was ever thus.

Far to the west, separated by time and distance, London is very different, yet some things remain the same. There are no flocks to guard, and the merchants stay close to home whilst others do their bidding and fly or sail to distant lands. Still lovers meet, some are loved and are happy, others are rejected and weep. It will ever be thus.

In Lesbos it was high summer. Day after day the sun had laid its burning wings across the land. From mid-day onwards nothing stirred outside in the intense heat. Animals lay in the shade of the olive trees, the people stayed indoors or rested under makeshift shelters.

One figure appeared, a young woman who hurried through the resting town to another house. Her name was Attis. She was going to the house of Sappho, poet and teacher.

They greeted each other warmly, Sappho poured wine for them both, and they sat discussing poetry, its theory and form. While Attis listened she looked at her friend. Sappho was short, her skin was swarthy, and not even her close friends would have called her beautiful. Despite this Attis knew that she had many lovers amongst the women of the island, although Attis had no wish to be added to that list. Much as she loved Sappho, it was as a friend, a very close friend, beyond that she had no wish to go.

Late in the afternoon the lesson was drawing to a close, Sappho rose and handed a papyrus sheet to her friend.

"Attis my dear, I have written a poem for you."

In London it was winter. The snow that had lain for the last week was beginning to thaw. On the roads it had been pounded into a grimy slush by the traffic, or had melted into pools of dirty water which speeding taxis and buses sprayed over unwary pedestrians.
It was late in the evening; the rush hour had long gone. The next rush would be soon, when the cinemas and theatres closed. A few people braved the raw cold and were window-shopping, or hurried to cafes and restaurants.

In the basement of one of the libraries lights still burned as Helen and Philip worked on into the evening studying ancient Greek texts. Philip was writing a thesis on the poetry of Lesbos, in particular the work of Sappho, and Helen had offered to help with research and translation. This offer was not entirely altruistic; it was a chance to be alone with him, and if possible to form a closer relationship. Although she knew little about his private life, he'd never mentioned a wife, so she presumed, hoped, that he wasn't married.

The work was progressing well, Helen knew her subject, and her expertise had often been praised. Yet still she loved in vain.
Philip looked up at the clock with surprise, "Helen, have you seen the time! We'd better lock up, otherwise we'll miss the last trains, and I don't fancy having to sleep in the library."

Sleeping in the library with Philip! Oh, if only she could!

"Philip, I've got something for you." Her heart was hammering and she was finding it difficult to speak. "While I was working on one of the Sappho documents I found this poem. It says.....well I mean....it...." Her voice trailed away and her hand shook as she held out a sheet of paper. "Please read it, it describes how I feel."

Attis took the papyrus and read the poem. She only read part of it, and that was enough to tell all she needed to know.
...the sweetness of your laughter: yes, that -I swear it-
sets the heart to shaking inside my breast, since
once I look at you for a moment, I can't speak any longer.

"Sappho, my dear friend, it is very sweet of you, thank you, this such a lovely poem." She held out her arms and the two women embraced.

There was a long period of silence, which was finally broken by Sappho. "Attis, my goddess, my golden-crowned Aphrodite. I dream of you constantly." They kissed, and gently she undid the clasp holding the gown that Attis wore. As she felt the gown slip from her shoulders Attis awoke from her trance like state.

"No! Please Sappho, no further! I can't! I want to be your friend, but not like that. We have known each other for many years, please don't destroy what we have."

She broke away from the embrace, pulled her gown back up to cover her body and re-fastened the clasp. Sappho watched her sadly, had she gone too far, would Attis visit her again after this?

"Forgive me Attis, will you still come to see me? Can we still be friends?"

"I don't know, I really don't. I think it would be best if I stayed away, at least for a while." She hurried out of the house, not wanting Sappho to see her distress.

Sappho watched her go, then stood for a long time until it was dark. She lit the lamp, and sat on the couch with her head in her hands, sobbing.

Helen held her breath as Philip read what she had written.

.....once I look at you for a moment, I can't
speak any longer,
but my tongue breaks down, and then all at once a
subtle fire races inside my skin, my
eyes can't see a thing and a whirring whistle
thrums at my hearing.

"Oh, dear Helen, I don't know what to say," he sighed. She wrapped her arms around Philip and kissed him. She held him as close as she could, and hoped that he felt the same way about her. She was to be disappointed.

Gently he removed her hands, which were clasped behind his back. With his hands on her shoulders he held her at arms length.

"Helen, I regard you as a very special friend, but it cannot go any further. I do have a partner. Didn't you know?"

"No, I didn't know, you've never spoken about her."

"Him. His name is Trevor."

Helen was devastated, all her dreams were as naught. She sat down, and Philip regarded her with sadness in his eyes.

"It's not something I talk about. Even in these so called enlightened times there is still a lot of prejudice."

He knelt by her. "Please don't cry, we can still be friends, can't we?"

Helen did not, could not, answer. To carry on working with Philip whilst knowing that he was out of reach, and always would be? No, at this moment it was something she found impossible to contemplate.

"Maybe," she said weakly, "I'll think about it."

They locked the library, set the alarms, and hurried to the station. Philip saw her onto her train, and wondered when, or if, he would see her again.

Helen hardly saw the stations as they flew by. She nearly missed her own stop, only managing to jump out as the doors were about to close.
At home she wandered aimlessly through the house, then sank onto her bed, sobbing.

The moon has set
and the Pleiades; it is the middle
of the night and the hours go by
and I lie here alone.

Sappho had written those words, and much later Helen had read them.
It was the middle of a long dark night.

Two women, separated by a thousand miles, and two and a half millennia, wept for rejected love.

It was ever thus.

* * *

[The poems are taken from "Sappho, a Garland."
by Jim Powell. Published 1994]