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

the salt water seethed against the pebbles. She had a wild idea that the bay might shelter her; she would wade out and crouch down in the water, where the raindrops would not strike so hard against her skin.

She never reached the water. Another bolt of lightning cracked the sky, but she had no time to see it. Only the bear saw the strike, and it was terrified; the afterimage burned on its retina. Melisto felt a blazing and unnatural heat. Her last thought was rebellious: nothing should feel like that. She glowed, lit up like a shooting star, and like a star, she fell.

What? Are you shocked?

A ten-year-old girl

is struck by lightning. A moment of feeling wholly alive

— and then her death. Did the gods take her?

and if they did, why?

Who had it in for her?

Did Zeus, mightiest of gods,

decide he was weary

of this harmless girl? All right: she was a brat,

and a wild girl, but did Zeus,

almighty Zeus,

waste a thunderbolt on her?

Or was it Artemis?

She’s a terror, with her arrows —

was she craving the amber sphinx?

Was she mad enough for a trinket,

a glob of tree sap

and a few gold beads,

to kill a girl she liked?

Are the gods like that? And if so —

if the gods aren’t good

what good are the gods?

Or are there no gods?

does it all mean nothing?

Don’t ask me. I’m the Sphinx.

I ask riddles. I don’t answer them.

I can tell you this:

sooner or later

you’ll find yourself here:

the place where nothing makes sense,

the place where you ask What does life mean?

You’ll be shocked,

or suffering,

and you’ll want to know why

. . . and then life will go on

not answering,

and the wheel will turn, till there comes a time

when you look on the world

and feel such wonder,

such tenderness,

you’ll want to cup the earth in your hands;

so much mystery!

such richness of life!

such intricate patterns . . . Why, look at the scars

on Melisto’s skin! Exquisite . . .

Lightning does that.

Heat hotter than the sun

surges through the body,

leaving scars shaped like fern leaves

fractals . . .

beautiful . . .

but then there’s death —

which brings us back to the Greeks. There’s death in the world,

and the Greeks never forgot it.

There is death in this story. Not just owl-eyed Melisto,

but Lykos. Remember Lykos?

A few pages,

and you’ve forgotten him already! Let’s see, you say,

thumbing through the pages.

Which one was he? Oh, Lykos. The little boy.

Menon’s little brother, Rhaskos’s friend — if he was a friend.

He died of the plague, or something . . .

— That’s right, that’s the one.

Lykos: a microbe, a fever, and a tomb. Now Melisto,

dancing her Bear Dance,

is lit by fire from the gods.

Was her death a sign of favor?

or was she just too stupid to come in from the rain?

Don’t ask my opinion.

I’m the Sphinx; I’m asking you. Go on,

speculate!

Was it random, this child’s death?

Was it better for her to die young

than to have to go back

to the weaving room, an early marriage,

death, perhaps, by childbirth?

Is it true? “Whom the gods love die young”?

Actually, that hasn’t been said yet. That saying

won’t be around for another fifty years;

but it’s Greek, a Greek idea.

Would you like to die young?

— Ha!

I’ll give you fair warning. There’s a third death coming,

one that still shocks the world.

I won’t spoil the surprise. Almost twenty-five hundred years

the man’s been dead. He fed the worms

and is immortal. Immortal.

Now, there’s a concept.

I wonder what you think?

O you who bend these pages,

what do you think?

Do you believe that to die is to be over?

Or, if something follows,

what’s it like? what comes after?

Don’t ask me. I told you, I’m the Sphinx.

I only make the riddles. I don’t solve them.

If you want truth,

consult a philosopher.

(There’s one in these pages. Keep reading.)

EXHIBIT 10

Lead tablet with inscription (“curse” tablet); late classical period.

This insignificant-looking slab of lead is in fact a magical object. For the ancient Greeks, there was no clear line separating religion and magic: they believed that spirits of the dead could be summoned and “bound” to perform acts for the living. The details of the binding ritual are not known, but tablets with writing on them played an important role. Thousands of these curse tablets, or binding spells, have been found in streams, wells, and burial grounds. Many were made of lead, which was cheap in Athens because it was a by-product of silver mining. Small pieces of lead often served as scratch paper. Wax tablets and papyrus may also have been used for binding spells, but would not have survived.

This early example of a curse tablet was found near the grave of a female child. In the minds of the ancient Greeks, a female’s destiny was to bear children, and a girl who died before giving birth was unlikely to rest in peace. The ghosts of young girls were prime candidates for binding spells, because they either could not or would not enter the underworld.

This particular inscription is unusual. The dead spirit, presumably the daughter of Arkadi, is summoned by Hermes and Hekate, gods of the underworld, and commanded to locate a missing person. The creator of the spell also invokes Bendis, a Thracian moon goddess who was similar to Artemis.

All day it had been hot, but now the wind was rising. Thratta halted in the street, adjusting her veil to make a canopy over her head. She made sure that every strand of her cropped hair was hidden. It was nearly sunset, the hour when the city gates would be locked. Anyone who knew her as the slave of Arkadios would expect her to be inside the walls by nightfall.

She reached into the basket she carried under her cloak. The knife was there, and so was the lead tablet. The four clay bottles were corked and unbroken. The silver coins she had stolen were sewn into the hem of her dress. She felt them bang against her shins as she walked.

The vast Dipylon gates loomed before her. She passed between them, her veil drawn over her face so