Dante VI Canto XIX Scene I

 Canto XIX

Fifth Terrace; Sirens

Scene I

“Ulysses, we are there,” Dante shouted to the leader that commanded the trireme he was on. He was in the attire of the loose tunic, with half-length shorts, and the striped bandanna around his neck. He was to call once more but the sea water splayed his face drowned his voice.

“You don’t have to shout. He can’t hear you at all.” The one next to him holding the steer of the trireme told Dante. Then the other motioned with his right hand to his ears that was seen the waxed piece stuck in there.

“I can hear you---” Dante voiced to the other but the other was looking ahead steering the trireme. The sea vessel was a wide rowing frame, sitting on the still very narrow hull. Now the two upper rows of oars were fixed to the outrigger, the lower one passed through the side of the hull proper.  In the middle was an open pentecostal where the still mast was installed and on it was the square sail was rigged onto it. It held the length about a hundred feet in length with a beam of over ten feet and weighed about forty metric tons with a top speed of over eleven knots, and with the waves under it, it may reach up to eighteen knots, although its average is nine knots.

It was then Dante heard the surreal singing that came from the sea around the trireme. He was drawn to it by the melodic singing. As it was then who was Ulysses. The leader was tied to the mast and was struggling to get loose of it. 

“Come here, renowned Ulysses, honor to the Achaean name, and listen to our two voices.

No one ever sailed past us without staying to hear the enchanting sweetness of our song-

and he who listens will go on his way not only charmed but wiser, for we know all the ills that the gods laid upon the Argives and Trojans before Troy,

and can tell you everything that is going to happen over the whole world.”

(https://odysseyofthesirens.weebly.com/siren-songs-in-modern-literature.html)

 

Dante felt drawn to the song. His hands had let go of the rails.

“Hold your hands to there. Don’t let go.” The companion holding the steer called out to Dante. “Those are Sirens. They will eat you alive.”

“Sirens? What sirens? I hear only music.” Dante replied. He felt the smack on the back of his head.

“Orpheus, we are close to the island named as Sirenum scopuli; the very same islands that Ulysses took to past then.” The one who spoke to Dante was dressed naked but in his head was the Corinthian design for the helmet with the solitary plume that sails to the rear. He had on then were the wooden sandals and rounded shield with the long spear in his right hand.

“Spare him, Jason. Orpheus may be still in his mournful state. He did mourn his love, chased by the satyr before she fell into the viper’s nest, and died an uneasy death. He held her in his arms when she was dying.” Argus was the one who spoke and sailed with Jason as part of the Argonauts.

“Yes, it was tragic and Orpheus here went into the Underworld to plea with Hades and Persephone for his love. He played them the tunes that moved their hearts, and his lover was returned to him.” It was another Calais who traveled with Jason added to the tale of the lovers.

“Alas, he is with us and his skills not of the sword, but with music, he will lead us away from the damming sirens here.” Jason roared out. “Play for us, Orpheus for your love awaits you as ours too. They want us home and only you may save us from the Underworld. I will not doubt your singing but to sing for all of us facing Hades, I doubt even Zeus can be saved us all there.”

“Give him his lyre and stand there at the helm, and don’t look back as you were told by Hades. Play hard and play well, Orpheus for we are there.” Jason called out. Dante felt given the musical item in his hands and was to find his feet moving ahead. He looked at his hands; the U-shaped harp with the strings fixed to a cross bar was the musical item of the ancient.

“I don’t know how---” Dante turned to look at Jason.

“Play, Orpheus. Play as you always do.” Jason coaxed the musician. Those words rang into Dante’s ears and his fingers moved then. He played the strings that out-mellowed the Siren’s singing.

 

“Sing once again with me

Our strange duet

My power over you

Grows stronger yet

And though you turn from me

To glance behind

The phantom of the opera is there

Inside your mind.”

(https://www.lyrics.com/lyric/16287443/Sarah+Brightman/The+Phantom+of+the+Opera)

“Dante--- I am here.” Dante heard the voice and saw himself seated on the swing hung from the tree branch. The vines that held the swing from the ground were thick and laden with the flowers on them. The seat was a polished wood piece that could seat two persons there, although then was Dante alone lying across it with his left leg over the side. He saw there on the right of the swing was the double-decked table with the bowls of fruits and the jug of wine. He looked upwards and saw the low-hanging fruits that were ripe to pluck. He then looked down at himself. 

“Oh, God! I am ---” Indeed Dante was without a stitch of clothes on him, saved maybe the ring of flowers that was strung together to form a crown on his head. 

“Hello, my love.” Dante turned to look and saw an old crone approaching him. The old crone was dressed in the flimsy wrap around her frame which was grotesque to appreciate then. She limped over on her bad left leg and her hair flowing to the rear of her was silvery white with spaced out strands there. 

“I brought you an apple, my love.” The crone handed over the red apple in her right hand. “I could not eat it for I am without my teeth although I held these.” 

Dante sat up in fright at the sight of the crone displaying her bosom towards him. 

“You may like them like those hanging fruits.” The old crone motioned with her middle right finger at the fruits on the tree. “It's still juicy.” 

Dante cringed in his movements and tried to get away when he heard the other voice calling out. 

“Who are you, crone to entice my lover?” Dante looked at the voice and saw what he could not believe then. 

It was Beatrice there, and she looked --- ravishing. Of course, she was for she was covered by that flimsy material that honest to God left nothing to be imagined then. She stood there, with the lengthy blonde hair flowing behind her, and by the grace of God, she was a natural blonde. She held all the curves and portions that the Goddess of Venus would have un-selfishly declared as voluptuous with appearance. Everything was perfect, even to her lips which pouted out when she was upset.

“I am his lover. I am the one whom he fantasies over.” Beatrice had then grabbed the crone by the left shoulder. “Do you not know shamed to entice my lover?” 

“He is not until he speaks of it with his lips. You have to ask him.” The old crone glared at Dante. “Do you want my apple, sweetie? See it feed my mouth too.” 

Dante was to puke when he saw the crone place the apple to her wide mouth. It was then Beatrice as known by Dante; displayed her anger that no others will sample given a lady scorned by another for her lover. She grabbed the crone and tossed her to the side. She did not spare a look to the crone who ended up on her back at the nearby tree with the root between her legs. 

Beatrice looked at Dante and then her stare went downwards, and her anger went up like the flames of Hell. 

“Just you wait, Dante Alighieri, just you wait---

You’ll be sorry but your tears ‘ll be to late

You will be broke and I will have money

Will I help you? Don’t be funny---”

(Adapted from my Fair Lady, Julie Andrews 1956)

It was then Beatrice approached the crone who was lying there prone by the tree trunk. It would have been a sight for Dante seeing the lady he fancied bending over alike a centrefold of the 2oth century before the three-dimensional virtual program became a norm; a sight to behold but was troubling him for he was concerned on the crone. 

His concern was justified then. 

“Crone, how dare you approach my lover with this attire?” Beatrice grabbed the hem of the wrap on the crone and pulled at it. The tearing strength was defined as the force required to start or to continue to tear in either weft or warp direction under specified conditions; did not apply then. It was like a bad laundry spin where the material was shredded by the sheer force of the spin. (https://www.sciencedirect.com/topics/engineering/tearing-strength)

“Shame on you, Beatrice to do me such act.” The crone huddled close to the tree trunk was in tears. “All I ever did was to relive my younger years towards him.” 

That riled Beatrice who pulled the crone towards Dante. 

“Let me show you who she is beneath the skin.” Beatrice plunged her right fingers into the crone's belly and tore away the skin. Dante was completely revolted by a terrible rotten stench like rotted dead fishes that’s steaming from the crone’s bare stomach.

“Oh my God!” Dante called out.

“You better be, for you are into your fantasy I reckon.” Dante opened his eyes to see Dante hovering over him. “Where am I?”

“You are still with me, and we rested as you seem to need it, and since it was getting dark, we did and you slept, and then when I tried to wake you --- three times in total --- as it was the new day, you slept on as if you are in the sunbathing nude, with the most obvious dream I could envisage you were having for your radical atoms stood upright in salutation then.” Virgil shot off his lengthy statement of fact then.

“Huh?” Dante was still in a daze. “I saw Beatrice.”

“Noted,” Virgil noted.

“She was not the ---one I knew. She could have been a Siren there.”

“And you were enticed by her ‘sirens’, I believe. Can we move now? We are on the next terrace and the place does not need another ‘avarice’ here.” Virgil was eager to be done with the task.

“Avarice? I am not one. I ---: Dante then noticed he was lying on his back spread-eagled and there was a noticeable dent in his pants. “Is that for real?”

“How would I know? I am a construct modeled from the eunuch figure I guessed. Virgil my creator was upset at his wives and may have kept that design on me. Or he had the idea from the collection of Ken; the plastic model of the male counterpart to Barbie the Doll?”

“Ken? Barbie? Who ---?” Dante then saw Virgil motioned to his groin with the flat sweep downward of the left hand. “That Ken. I think seeing it in the archive of records.”

“Move it, stud.  I ain’t got the whole day to teach you the birds and the bees.” Virgil stepped away and took the journey into the Fifth Terrace.

Note; I admit I took a ‘lemming’s jump off the cliff’ here. And it was fun.