Amber and Clay by Laura Schlitz (phonics books txt) 📕

They were five to ten years old,

unless

they were ten to fifteen years old,

(they might have been seven to eleven years old)

— but here’s what you can tell from the pots:

they raced each other,

or they chased each other;

they carried garlands. They burned incense.

We’re sure about that, because

the pots have traces of ash inside.

The girls danced. With them were people in bear masks —

or maybe they weren’t masks. Maybe they were people

changing into bears!

And sometimes the girls went naked.

. . . You know,

scholars

spend a lot of time sitting still:

working in libraries,

reading, taking notes,

so naturally

the idea of people

running around naked

is very exciting to them.

You can’t blame them if they want to know more.

Why were the little girls naked?

When were they naked?

Was there a ritual? Did they take off their clothes

at the beginning of the ritual?

Or at the end? Here’s what one woman writes:

The convergence between on the one hand

the profile of the rite,

and on the other

what on my hypothesis

would be the representation of a part of the rite,

provides some confirmation

for that hypothesis.*

Dear gods!

My point is: little is known.

What was meant to be a mystery

is still a mystery.

Except we’re going to lift the veil a little,

and peek. We’ll see Brauron

through Melisto’s eyes —

Melisto’s going to Brauron,

to serve as a Little Bear.

* Unlikely as it might seem, this quote is proof that Hermes has read Christiane Sourvinou-Inwood’s Studies in Girls’ Transitions: Aspects of the Arkteia and Age Representation in Attic Iconography. He characterized it as “no place to go for a laugh.”

full appeared the moon

and when they around the altar took their places . . .

(translation by Anne Carson)

The moon shone full

And when the maidens stood around the altar . . .

(translation by Julia Dubnoff)

The moon rose late,

and the breathless girls,

each taking her place

around the altar.

(translation by Sherod Santos)

This fragment may be the beginning of a

poem. Like many fragments from Sappho,

it teases the mind with questions: Who

are these nocturnal girls, and why are

they gathered around the altar?

1. THE YELLOW CHITON

On the day Melisto left for Brauron, the women of the household rose before dawn. In a sleepy procession they carried their water jars, not to the fountain house, but to the southeast bank of the Ilissos River. Once the city gates opened, they filled their jars at the sacred spring. Then they hauled the water back to the house of Arkadios.

Home again, the women dragged out the terra-cotta tub from the storeroom. They emptied their jars. Lysandra supervised as Melisto crouched in the icy water and sponged herself. Two of the slave women, Chresthes and Evnike, dipped cups into the water and poured it over Melisto’s head. Thratta knelt beside the tub, scrubbing the girl’s scalp with her fingertips.

Once purified, Melisto stepped out of the bath. Her teeth chattered as the slave women rubbed her dry. Droplets of water ran down her back as Thratta massaged scented oil into her hair. Evnike, the youngest of the slaves, brought fresh clothes down from the weaving room.

Melisto regarded her new tunic with interest: a pale-yellow chiton with a violet-colored sash. Artemis’s colors were purple and gold. There was also a saffron-colored himation, a cloak-like garment that symbolized the pelt of a bear. It was too heavy to wear on a spring day; it would be rolled into a pad and carried on her back.

Melisto was still shivering when Thratta plaited her hair, shaping a braid that circled her head like a crown. Sprigs of myrtle, violets, and willow leaves meandered between the sections of hair. Thratta’s skillful fingers smoothed and twisted, tugged and poked. Melisto stopped shaking, but from time to time she twitched.

She tried to imagine the world that lay ahead. She was going away to Brauron, which was near the sea: she had never looked upon the sea. She would serve the goddess Artemis: how, or for how long, she did not know. At least a year would pass before she came back home. Every four years, the priestess of Artemis Brauronia was blindfolded so that she could select her bear-servants from the daughters of distinguished men. The potsherd that bore Arkadios’s name had been picked. He was proud to offer his daughter to the goddess.

Melisto fastened upon that thought. Artemis had chosen her; it was an honor. No one had told Melisto that it would be shameful to weep when she left home. She had known without being told. She hadn’t cried last night, when she said goodbye to her father, though she clutched him tightly, hiding her face against his chest. Leaving her mother would be easier.

“Hold up your arms,” said Lysandra, easing the yellow tunic over her head. The slave women murmured approval. The short chiton was the work of Lysandra’s hands: expertly woven and bordered with stags’ heads. Lysandra had wet-folded it to set the pleats and pressed it under stones.

Now she bent to tie Melisto’s sash. When she straightened up, she looked at her daughter with surprise. “You are very passable,” she said, and consulted the slaves. “The goddess’s colors flatter her, don’t you think? And flowers are always becoming.” She held up a bronze mirror so that Melisto could see herself.

Melisto barely glanced at her reflection. She knew she was ugly when she was with her mother, and beautiful when she was with her father. The rest of the time, it didn’t matter: she was just herself. She studied her mother’s face. If Lysandra were beginning to like her, it was a pity to leave home.

“Put on your sandals, and we’ll see the whole effect.”

Melisto grumbled, “I wanted new sandals.” She was glad to have something to complain about; it made the world familiar. It was Thratta who had argued against the purchase of new ones, reminding Lysandra that Melisto had a two-day walk ahead of her. Thratta had oiled the old sandals and wiped them free of dust.

Lysandra circled her daughter, checking every detail of her appearance. “You are perfectly presentable. There will be