Page 35 of Elysium
UNDER THE COVER OF NIGHT, they ran. Forgoing their ship, their trunks, their sailors, Odysseus and Penelope stole away to the shores. Her hand intertwined in his was the only thing that kept him tethered to the earth beneath his feet.
He could see the waves ahead of them, boats moored in the sand. But more than that, he could see his wife, the woman to whom he docked his soul, radiating in the moonlight.
The tendrils of her tousled hair framed her face, magnifying her wild beauty. Ocean wind swept around them, holding them under the midnight skies.
He couldn’t help himself. He stopped in his tracks, forcing Penelope to face him. “What are you doing?” she asked, nearly breathless. The abruptness of his stop sent her colliding into him.
Odysseus grinned, “Were I Orpheus, and you my mad love,” he drew her closer, arms tight around her. “There would be no begging, no pleading. I would barter with no gods to return to your side.”
His lips were against hers, featherlight.
He felt her breath falter with each word.
He was intoxicated on her. “I would have followed you to the underworld, Eurydice. I would have slit my own throat on our wedding altar. There is no me if there is no you.” His kiss was uncompromising, all-consuming.
All he knew in that moment, in any moment, was his wife.
His hands found her hair, deepening the kiss, claiming his wife on the shores of Sparta. She whimpered into his mouth, her hands desperate to find something to hold on to.
She pulled back, gasping. “Husband,” Penelope feigned a frown as she swatted at his chest. “We’re fleeing from an angry king and a jilted queen, husband. We have made outcasts of ourselves”
“It was your idea.” He replied, leaning forward to steal another kiss.
Penelope stepped backwards, exasperated. “There will be time enough for you to spin tales of our terrible decisions later, dear.” But she grinned. “That is…” a wicked glint flashed in her eyes. “If we live to tell them.”
Odysseus felt he could swallow the sun as he watched her face light up. They reached the shoreline quickly, scanning the boats that merchants and anglers alike had left behind for the night.
Finding a stocked ship, he braced himself against the bow, driving the boat into the water. “We really must stop making a habit of this, Princess.” He grunted, eyes never leaving his wife.
“Not a chance,” she replied into the dark, approaching the boat beside him. He held out a hand, steadying her as she stepped in.
With a final shove, the small craft shook loose of the sand. Odysseus hauled himself up beside his queen, using an oar to force the boat away.
This was their language, this was their love. Not politics, not diplomats and gods. Their love was the sea, the wind, the dark of the night.
Sparta quickly became a glowing figure in the distance as he rowed them out to sea. He could not take his eyes off the woman that sat steps before him. The woman who had not taken her eyes off of him.
“Penelope,” he broke the silence, whispering into the dark, voice filled with reverence. Adoration.
Abandoning his place at the oar, he took a careful, calculated step towards her. The boat rocked gently beneath him.
She rose.
Surrounded by the ocean, by the wind and the stars, he embraced her. Clinging to this woman, his life . He held her as tightly as he could, arms locked around her frame.
He would stay in this moment forever, if the gods were kind. He clung to her as a sailor clings to his ship. She was the breath in his lungs.
“Odysseus,” she answered, cleaving herself to him.
When he finally pulled back, he cradled her face in his hands, brushing away the tears he found dusting her cheeks. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, baby.” He whispered, the words sacred, saved only for her. Heard only by the sea.
He was unmoored.