Telemachus speaks up to answer Athena's question as to who all these guests are. His words here are important enough to quote, since they sum up an important ancient Greek ideal. Speaking about his father, Odysseus, he says:
"I would never have grieved so much about his death if he'd gone down with comrades off in Troy or died in the arms of loved ones, once he had wound down the long coil of war. Then all united Achaea [Greece] would have raised his tomb and he'd have won his son great fame for years to come. But now the whirlwinds have ripped him away, no fame for *him*!"
To the ancient Greeks, death was pretty much the great equalizer. It's true that the rare individual would make it to Elysium, which was Greek Heaven. But this was incredibly uncommon (and not necessarily won by merit -- Menelaus, we learn later in the poem, is guaranteed a spot, simply because he's married to Helen, who will be worshiped as a goddess in Sparta and other parts of Greece).
Usually, the Greek dead -- good, bad, or indifferent -- were whisked away to Hades, which is the name of both the god of the Underworld and the Underworld itself. There, in this gray and shadowy place, the spirits drink of the river of forgetfulness. Thereafter, though they are technically alive, they are dead to all intents and purposes. They have forgotten, after all, their lives, those they loved, the great deeds of warriors and heroes -- everything that makes life worthwhile. They are simply dreary, anonymous shades.
That was what made death so terrifying to the Greeks. That was why it was so important to the Greeks to have their deeds sung by the living, because that was the only immortality worth having that could be hoped for.
This will be very important later, when we see the choices that Odysseus makes. Keep it in mind.
Telemachus, then, is not simply saying that it's hell not knowing what happened to Dad. That's a modern idea. When we see those pictures of the children on the milk boxes, or the flag for the prisoners of the Vietnam war, we think that the loved ones of these lost ones are suffering more than they would if those children or husbands or fathers had simply and certainly died. Instead, those left behind live in a constant torment that can hardly be called hope.
Surely Telemachus is suffering from some of thie emotional limbo. But largely, he's suffering as a Greek for a Greek. His father, who fought so long and hard and was so renowned for his prowess and cleverness, is now threatened with vanishing away into the sort of oblivion that was every Greek's terror.
This is made worse by the suitors who demand that Odysseus be treated as one of the dead, though they don't honor him as they would one of the mighty, fallen heroes. They are pressing Penelope, Odysseus' wife, to choose one of them. Telemachus speaks harshly about his mother (there's that teenage attitude again -- he's blaming Mom because he can, because he's angry and she's there to lash out at, though surely in a calmer mood he'd see that she's suffering as much as, if not more than, he is through all this):
"And mother... she neither rejects a marriage she despises nor can she bear to bring the courting to an end -- " (ellipses in original)
Athena (still in disguise) warmly joins Telemachus in his indignation. Oh, if only Odysseus were here -- *he'd* sweep this hall clean and clear soon enough!
Then she urges Telemachus into practical action. He should sail out to get some news of Odysseus -- to King Nestor, and then to "red-haired Menelaus." If Telemachus hears that Odysseus is alive and heading home, then Telemachus should brave it out for one more year. If he hears O. is dead,
"then back you come to the native land you love, raise his grave-mound, build his honors high with the full funeral rites that he deserves -- and give your mother to another husband."
Take some decisive action, in other words. Stop waiting for things to happen to you; *make* something happen. Don't just sit passively. Take control. Let order win out over the current chaos.
Again, all this is very sympathetic to modern ears. But Athena goes on:
"Then, once you've sealed those matters, seen them through, think hard, reach down deep in your heart and soul for a way to kill these suitors in your house, by stealth or in open combat. You must not cling to your boyhood any longer -- it's time you were a man."
She reminds him of Prince Orestes murdering the murderer of his own father:
"be brave, you too, so men to come will sing your praises down the years."
Telemachus is thankful for this counsel. Athena says she has to go now, and he urges her to stay, that he may have time to prepare her the kind of gift that a host ought to give an honored guest (see my previous posting about Greek hospitality). Athena declines, telling him to save the gift for her return so she can take it home. Then she leaves,
"but left his spirit filled with nerve and courage, charged with his father's memory more than ever now. He felt his senses quicken, overwhelmed with wonder -- this was a god, he knew it well and made at once for the suitors, a man like a god himself."
And how will that go? Stay tuned! It's still not the end of the chapter, but my biscuits are burning!
