Mountain of Black Glass Read Online Free PDF Page A

hand toward her but she shied away. “Do you think I’m dead? Look, I’m not—touch me.”
    Even as she moved gracefully but decisively to avoid him, her expression suddenly changed, a violent alteration from fear to confusion. A moment later a deep mournfulness came over her—a look that seemed to have no relationship to the prior reactions. It was startling to see.
    â€œI have kept you with my womanish worries long enough,” she said. “The ships strain at their anchor ropes. Bold Agamemnon and Menelaus and the others impatiently await, and you must sail across the sea to distant Troy.”
    â€œWhat?” Paul could not make sense of what had just happened. One moment she had been treating him as though he were her husband’s ghost, the next she was trying to hurry him off to the Trojan War, which must be long over with—otherwise, why was everyone so surprised to see him still alive? “But I have come back to you. You said you had much to tell me.”
    For a moment Penelope’s face froze, then thawed into yet another new and quite different expression, this one a mask of pained bravery. What she said made almost no sense at all. “Please, good beggar, although I feel certain that Odysseus my husband is dead, if you can give me any tale at all of his last days, I will see that you never go hungry again.”
    It felt as though he had stepped onto what he thought was a sidewalk only to discover it was a whirling carousel. “Wait—I don’t understand any of this. Don’t you know me? You said that you did. I met you in the giant’s castle. We met again on Mars, when you had wings. Your name was Vaala there.”
    At first his sometime wife’s face curdled into a look of anger, but then her expression softened. “Poor man,” she said tolerantly. “Shouldering just a few of the many indignities that tormented my resourceful husband has driven away your wits. I will have my women find a bed for you, where my cruel suitors will not make your life a misery. Perhaps in the morning you can offer me better sense.” She clapped her hands; the aged Eurycleia appeared in the doorway. “Find this old man a clean place to sleep, and give him something to eat and drink.”
    â€œDon’t do this to me!” Paul leaned forward and clutched at the hem of her long dress. She jerked away with a momentary blaze of real fury.
    â€œYou go too far! This house is full of armed men who would be only too happy to kill you in hopes of impressing me.”
    He clambered to his feet, not certain what to do next. Everything seemed to have crashed down around him. “Do you really not remember me? Just a few minutes ago you did. My real name is Paul Jonas. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
    Penelope relaxed, but her formal smile was so stiff as to look painful, and for a moment Paul thought he saw something terrified fluttering behind her eyes, a trapped creature struggling for escape. The hidden thing faded; she waved him away and turned back to her tapestry.
    Outside the chamber he put his hand on the old woman. “Tell me—do you know me?”
    â€œOf course, my lord Odysseus, even in those rags and with your beard so gray.” She led him down the narrow stairs to the first floor.
    â€œAnd how long have I been gone?”
    â€œTwenty terrible years, my lord.”
    â€œThen why does my wife think I am someone else? Or think I’m just now leaving for Troy?”
    Eurycleia shook her head. She did not seem overly perturbed. “Perhaps her long sorrow has sickened her wits. Or perhaps some god has clouded her vision, so she cannot see you truly.”
    â€œOr maybe I’m just doomed,” Paul muttered. “Maybe I’m just meant to wander around forever.”
    The old woman clicked her tongue. “You should be careful of your words, my lord. The gods are always listening.”
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