“I nodded my head in agreement. But with a little less enthusiasm than before. The dead man, it turned out, was also called Telephron, my name. That coincidence, combined with the risk, made me doubly uneasy; it undermined my courage.
“The old man took me to the house where Telephron was going to watch over Telephron. The dead man and I were alone in the room. I shut the doors and the windows as tightly as I could. Night had just fallen and the full moon appeared. Before long I had to scare away a rat and then a spider. After that, a beetle appeared, then a snake and a strange blue bird that refused to fly and hopped on one leg. These animals kept on appearing with extraordinary rapidity. I had no doubt that they were wizards in other shapes and fear overcame my heart. I was determined to remain fully alert, afraid that they might approach me in the form of a flea or a fluttering moth. There I was, unnerved because of the nonstop intrusions but tensely on guard, because of the horrendous risk I was running. Then I can’t explain how — but standing erect, with one hand on my ear, bending it forward to catch the least sound — I fell fast asleep!
“The next morning trumpets awoke me. My fingers were stiff, still bent in position round my ear. Immediately the widow came in, followed by a notary who had come to testify legally as to the condition of the corpse. After a scrupulous examination, he signed a statement that Telephron, the corpse, was completely intact. The widow thanked me and said she would pay me at once. Naturally, I thanked her as any Greek would, by wishing her a long life. But in the eyes of an Egyptian widow these were the words of a curse. Totally offensive to the deceased, since I seemed eager to condemn him to spending a long period in the other world without his beloved wife.
“The servants beat me up, shouting at me ’Insolent pig! Worshipper of animals!’ They pulled out my hair and tossed me into the street. They gave me no time to state my case and, of course, they gave me no money. There I was, in the middle of the street, as poor as ever and bruised all over. I started to weep with rage. As if my tears had attracted him, there arrived another man, also in tears. He was so visibly upset that I put aside my rage. I asked him what his problem was. Because of his deep, uncontrollable sobbing, it was hard to understand what he was saying. So much weeping had swollen his eyes and reminded me of the poet’s words:
Lo, all the tears we shed today
Wash not one single grief away.
‘“They killed my son,’ he finally blurted out amid sobs, hiccups, sighs, and other sounds of grief I won’t bother to detail for you. He pointed to the house I’d just been thrown out of. ’His wife poisoned him, so she could get all his property and marry her lover.’
“My selfish tears had stopped. I saw a way of getting even. I called out, ’This good man says the grieving widow in there is a fake. She killed his son!’
“The old man gathered strength from my shouts and started to shout himself. ’She did it! She did it! To steal his inheritance and to enrich her lover with the fruits of my labors and those of my father and my son.’
“The young widow, who was far from ugly, came out with her retainers to rebut the charge. She swore her innocence, but the people put more faith in the old man’s accusation and began to stone her. But her pleas sounded so heartfelt that in the end the father of the victim himself cried out, ’Stop, that’s enough for now! I’ll fetch a wizard who will confirm my suspicions. I couldn’t live with myself if I had the least doubt I’d acted improperly.’
“Hardly had the words left his mouth when a man with a shaven head, typical of Egyptian priests, came forward and without a word touched the mouth of the dead man with both his hands.
“The corpse suddenly breathed. In a strong deep voice it cried out, ’Let me sleep!’
‘“No, I will not let you sleep,’ said the priest, ’and if you do not answer my questions, I will curse you all the way to the land of the dead. What caused your death?’
“The corpse uttered an ominous shriek. ’The woman I had the misfortune to marry introduced, little by little, drops of poison into my drink. Even as she was faking smiles, she was murdering me.’
“The dead man lowered his voice and went on, ’There is something else I must tell you. The young man to whom they offered money to watch over me fell into a sleep induced by the wizards. Almost at once they started to summon me: ’Telephron, Telephron!’ I felt compelled to obey them. But as the young man and I share the same name, and as he is young and nimble and I was rigid with cold, he got up first and went over to them. I saw them steal his nose and ears. I gave a shriek of horror and leapt backwards. When they realized their mistake, they stuck a false nose and ears on his face. By that time dawn was already breaking, and they had no darkness left to cover any theft from me. If I am complete, it is no credit to the rascal who shares my name. Don’t give him a single drachma. He deserves nothing.’
“He let out another horrifying scream and fell down, an inanimate corpse once again.
“I felt my nose and one ear. There was no feeling in them; they were not mine. I ripped them off in my panic. I had no wish to carry around for the rest of my days replacements that were the work of vile wizards.”
The gladiators broke into howls of laughter.
“Magnificent!” bellowed Cleophas. “Totally magnificent! Well done, Telephron.”
The young Greek came over to me and said, “Actually, he lost them in the arena. That’s why he wears a mask. Every day he invents a different story to explain it. Knowing you’re Egyptians, he took the opportunity to lay the blame on Egypt. He was teasing you all along!”
Behind the mask gleamed two rascally eyes, full of life.
“Telephron, you were lucky those damned wizards didn’t steal your eyes,” I said. “Thanks for your story. It was truly magnificent.”
“Story? What story?” the rascal replied. “I hate Egypt, and with good reason.”
“I’d swear you are Egyptian yourself.”
“And how would the future queen of Egypt know a thing like that?”
“By the gleam in your eyes. By your story. You know very well, Telephron, that it’s a story often told in the streets of Alexandria.”
I took the hand of the slave and planted a kiss on his fingers. But my eyes were fixed on the Greek boy, Apollodorus, and they said to him, “These kisses are for you.”
Telephron mumbled something, humbly grateful to receive recognition from a princess. He cast his gleaming eyes to the ground and scurried off among his companions, but Apollodorus wasted no time in boldly coming closer.
I was equally quick to make him an offer. “Wouldn’t you like to come with us? I have two ships waiting at Brundisium, ready to sail. I’ll get you out of Rome. We’ll travel together to the harbor, and if you want, you can come aboard the ship.”
“Aren’t you coming back?”
“One day. When I’m queen of Egypt. When they place a gold statue of me in the Temple of Venus here. But not before then.”
“When you come back, Cleopatra, I’ll be waiting. By that time I’ll be a free man. I’ll be rich and I’ll marry you.”
One of my maids pinched him and said, “Don’t even dream of it! Cleopatra will only marry the man who is master of the world.”
“That’ll be me. I will be master of the world. Right now I’m only a gladiator. And before this I was merely a shepherd. I lived in a hut with a straw roof, beside a creek whose name means nothing in Rome. If I’ve achieved so much already in my fourteen years, how much will I have achieved by the time I’m twenty?”