Alcestis Read Online Free PDF Page A

elbow, a little bump like a mother cow nosing at a calf.
    The men put the lid on the coffin, slid ropes beneath it, and lifted. It swayed on the ropes, and I remembered suddenly how much Hippothoe had liked the motion of a ship in the water, how she’d breathed easier in the salt air, how she’d exclaimed over the broken light dancing on the waves. Hippothoe’s mouth was closed now, bound shut with a strap of leather to trap her illness inside her dead body. I had a strange urge to yank the strap free, let my sister’s lips fall open—but there were no words dammed up behind the leather binding. She’d never call to me again, never sing out the first words of a prayer, never cry a welcome to sea gods or cloud gods, water or air.
    Dirt fell on the coffin, making a hollow sound like a gong struck to call shepherds home. I watched the hole fill, the earth spreading in fans on the coffin lid, dry and powdery. Wind blew the dirt into the mourners’ faces, where it coated our lips and damp cheeks just as it had all summer. I felt the air gods gather behind us: a hidden ring outside our mortal circle, mourning my sister. They were sorry the wind had sickened her. A sprinkling of salt water fell from the dark sky, dappling the dirt, our clothing, Hippothoe’s body. A drop landed on my lip, and I licked it up like a tear, grateful to the local gods for their appearance. None of the Olympians had come.
    The men finished shoveling. The grave mounded over the coffin, and I was glad that the wood planks would keep the earth from pressing in around Hippothoe’s body. Pelias lifted the libation cup to chest height, above my head, and torchlight flickered on the cup’s glazed bowl, which looked fragile in Pelias’s large hand. “For you who watch us,” he said loudly, as if he could force his voice to carry to Olympus, order his ancestors to care. He thought nothing of the love of the local gods and I hated him for it. I thought I saw the same fury in Pisidice’s face. “On this day we honor you, gods. We give you our daughter, Hippothoe. Accept her among you, and keep her with you forever. Lord Hades, Lady Persephone, give her rest and relief of burdens.” He stopped speaking, and the cup wobbled, his hand unsteady. Softly he continued, “I ask you, Father, watch my girl for me.”
    Pelias tipped the cup and wine spilled out over its round lip onto the smoothed dirt. It soaked in almost at once, leaving a blood-dark stain on the grave, and I imagined it seeping through the soil and the lid of the coffin to stain the bier cloth and Hippothoe’s white shift. Pelias righted the cup and raised its empty bowl to the sky.
    The air gods melted away like an exhalation. The servant women quieted their cries, and we all stood about, waiting for the king to speak again. Pelias lowered the empty cup. “Cover it before dawn,” he said, and walked back to the palace gates. Half the men followed him; the others remained to stand guard over the grave. I stared at the mound of dirt. A hand closed over mine, rough with calluses, male. I looked up the man’s arm and saw Acastus, his godly face serious. He pulled me into the funeral procession.
    At the door to the palace the men and women separated to wash before the feast. Hippothoe’s body had been prepared in the king’s chamber, but the women had still set up braziers in the corners of our quarters to chase away illness and bad luck, and the place reeked of juniper smoke, a bitter-sharp scent that stung my nostrils. I rubbed at my eyes and pulled my headband off, pushed damp fingers through my messy hair. Pisidice shoved through the group of servant women and claimed a bowl of water for herself, taking it into the bedchamber. She didn’t close the door. I watched her struggle out of her bodice and strip her blouse over her head. Straight shouldered, her muscles flexing around the fine arches of bone in her back as she moved, her heavy braid hanging like a snake behind her. All the