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A Legacy of the past and Helen's great unhappiness

By P.Figueras

The past will always be the path to the time to come while enlightenment will continue to be the source of acquiring new knowledge.  How many words, anecdotes, and tales have been written and recite by highly rated inky fingers and skilled storytellers. Many, I suppose, but not many of those have served me best, as a source of learning and enjoyment, than the chronicled events of Ancient Greece. This accumulation of a far bygone past, has emboldened my interest in a subject that has totally captivated my attention. Indeed, The Ancient Greeks and Ancient Romans passed on to us, arguably, of course, but in my opinion, nevertheless, a flamboyant and coruscating legacy of high cultural level and social development which still has a strong influence in our present –days’ civilisation. Certainly, the present cannot alter the past even though, inevitably, the new will replace the old but we owe a great deal to historians, authors and raconteurs for having preserved yesterday's past in books, manuscripts and in the memory of those whose interest in the subject has been such that they use oral communication in order to create awareness of past events and fix it in people's mind. This talented and cultivated bunch of writers and orators have pieced together fragments of an enormous historical and cultural worth and importance, and have depicted a vivid picture of yesterday's past for the benefit of people like me and those with similar interest in events of an earlier time to appreciate, cherish and adhere to.

A quest is indeed the desire to obtain something by means of effort and I would not stop taking journeys into yesterday if that is what it takes to find what I am looking for in the present. Certainly, apprehension always arrives with fear as it was the case later last night when I was in bed dormant and literally doing very little, as I saw a sudden burst of flame from my bedroom window coming from Crystal Palace Park in South London.  I got up and when I looked out of the window I noticed that my neighbours’ car was on fire. Great balls and tongues of fire, spitting from his car, raged without cessation, spreading far beyond our street before it developed into a swelling mass of smoke. At a considerable distance of the incident and in large numbers there were many onlookers huddled together into a limited space, who normally filled the street, and I can assure you that their curiosity and interest was equal to mine. Indeed, what a confounded nuisance that fire was for all concerned! Nevertheless, a journey to the past was in order as an imaginative non-physical element took over me, disembodied me, lifted me up and finally it conveyed me to Legendary Troy. As I arrived to the citadel there was a fire of great proportion taking place. It was as I saw it a blazing disquietude for the Trojans since they were trapped in their citadel with nowhere to go. The sky was read with flame that fatal night, fuelled, perhaps, with the blood of thousands of Trojans who perished, many while asleep, when the product of a Greek subterfuge gave origin to an expeditious Greek assault which culminated in a blazing ruin and an utterly humiliation of the citadel and its denizens. The ardent flames raged ceaselessly for days, crumbling Troy into dust and so after years of bitterness, strife and wars the Greek had finally defeated the Trojans. However, it was neither the raging fire that struck the citadel nor the entrapment of the horse nor the fatal mistake of trusting the Greeks bearing gifts which tricked the Trojans into difficulties and decided the fate of Troy, nor Achilles’ desire to avenge the death of his dearest friend, Patroclus, at the hands of Hector, that ultimately destroyed Troy, it was the unfaithfulness of Helen, daughter of Zeus and Leda [Tyndareus' wife who was  seduced by Zeus when he disguised himself as a swan and won Leda's fondness and ultimately paired for reproduction with her later at night as she lay with her husband Tyndareus] to Menelaus [whom she was married to] king of Sparta and Agamemnon's [the commander of the all Greek's warriors] little brother, and the torch that Paris, the feeble son of king Pariam of Troy and Hector’s younger brother, carried for Helen that led to the outburst of passion which stirred so much anger and which brought Troy to its knees.

Having survived the inferno that destroyed the citadel of Troy and its surroundings, I found Helen among some of the survivors of the conflagration which brought simultaneously destruction and loss of life on a massive scale to the kingdom of Troy and its people; her reputation was in tatters, she was literately on the floor, arousing pity, holding her head in sorrow, filled with anguish and starring at the obliteration of Troy in absolute silence and with her lips pressed together as if she would never utter another word. What she felt then she failed to verbalize and I could only imagine to hypothesise the indiscernible state of suffering she was been subjected to and the extreme unhappiness she was harbouring in her innermost thoughts at that time;certainly, she looked very uncomfortable indeed as she was visibly all that much upset, worried  tense and filled with a great desire to get away from it all since her conscience was troubling her far more, perhaps, than she ever thought it would. I was only a bystander in all that saga, experiencing and accumulating in my mind's eye an extraordinary sequence of events filled with an excessive supply of passion and tragedy but I just could not help retaining what I would like to think of as a special compassion for Helen's pain. Certainly, legend and fiction were the main protagonists of this scene and as the order of concatenation, commingling together and unrestricted by reality, unfolded before me I sensed a feeling of participation in a conflict of a world that was not mine, it would take some defining to explain the intelligible authenticity of my journey to the past and the imaginable series of circumstances I experienced in my mind while, perhaps, asleep, to many of my readers, a time traveller, perhaps, if you like, but I had no real hope of nourishing such a prospect, though, I expected it would be followed by more than a humble proportion of my readership community. Indeed, I had to pinch myself in my left leg twice since I could not figure out what was real and what was fictional. She, then, rose to her knees with tears in her eyes, much upset, as she called me over and invited me to place myself next to her. The light breeze was in her face and I could not help noticing a raised mark left on her right cheek caused, perhaps, by the stroke of a whip or a hard blow while fighting her rescuers off. However, happy to be proved wrong, of course, she was a woman of exceptional beauty and I just could not believe that so much beauty resided in one person; needles to say that she made an immediate impression on me and as I lowered myself charily to her side she engulfed me in her arms as if she were trying to wrap me up for warmth and in a nice sort of way I requited her attention.  Again, tears shot forth from her eyes as I embraced her. Then  she whispered in my ear"κρατάω εμένα σφιχτός , φιλώ εμένα  φιλώ εμένα, κάνω what εσύ θα μα αποκτώ εμένα έξω από αυτό inferno", it was all greek to me so Icould not understand what she was saying.  Il at ease, I was at a loss for words, nonetheless, the adjuration awoke in me  instinctive feelings of being in want of eating the juicy apple of the original sin which were stirring me up to embark on an ill-dreamed illicit affair which augured a combining, breathtaking surrealism of incongruous liaison of thrilling consequences with an unexpected twist and which promptly prompted in me a delightful feeling of excitement which enticed me to follow my heart and abandon my sanity. I would be a sinner if I were to say that the thought of giving way to lustful impulses did not cross my mind but the temptation represented a conflict between a provable truth and a figment of my imagination since I was not sure whether this was just a pleasant far-fetched irrational aberration of my intellect in which I was indulged in while I was awake or it was just a conventional state of things as they were or, perhaps, it was just necromancy which was allowing me to communicate with someone that was no longer alive. Indeed, my soul was ablaze, full of ardour but I was compelled by my moral ruling behaviour to abandoned my fascination for Helen and my want to take refuge in instances of incongruous sentiments. Nevertheless, if it was to be it would be down to me and I am not ashamed to declare that I continue to entertain a special feeling for her even though there was a chasm between her period of time and mine. In retrospect, it is hard to accept that I was a long way away from my inner self and not conscious of what was going on since everything seemed to be happening around me while astir and as I endeavoured to stay awake from my state of deep unconsciousness I could not help it but wishing that my outward troubles did not end there and hoped that I could live in that environment thereafter. She, then, went on to confided in me the mainspring for the course of actions that had led to her walking out on her husband Menelaus, king of Sparta and Agamemnon's little brother. She added that, in hindsight, she wished that she had not committed such a misdemeanour for she did not like the wrong that had been done to Troy and its people on her behalf and she hated the fact that no one, not even Zeus, her father, would grant her the power to manipulate time so that she could make amends for wrongdoings and all she could do then was to ask remission for her iniquity to those affected by her folly. She explained, as she beckoned me to stand up in front of her, that the main reason for her taking the decision to abandoned Sparta was boredom and her husband's physical incapability to respond to her deeper kinds of emotion. She said that she was genuinely frustrated as she fostered the idea of leaving her husband long before Paris and Hector (youngest and oldest children of king Pariam of Troy and queen Hecuba) visited Sparta. So, strictly interpreted, it appears that dissatisfaction and certainly not love was the motive for her malfeasance since she was not in love with Paris as it is often mentioned in histrionics and dramaturgy, therefore the matter of being blind to the sins of the flesh will remain a matter for speculation but in Helen's words the pillars of Troy had a bigger weight to bear and significance than the absolution of her honour in purgatory, a fact beyond dispute, perhaps, though she did not deliberately set out to be the cause for their devastation which has prompted me to abandoned all speculation about such matter since I see it as a time avoidably wasted. Indeed, Paris was her ticket to get out of Sparta but not her dream man, as she stated, Hector would have been more suitable for that role but he was already married to Andromache; nevertheless, she underestimated the consequences of her ill-fated and risky undertaking and for that she felt a deep sadness. Notwithstanding, the deed had been done and The Greeks’ victory was completed when they made their way home taking with them the spoils of war, jewellery, valuable goods and many enslaved Trojans survivors but without Achilles, their most talented warrior, the architect of the Trojan Horse and the man behind the subterfuge that tricked the Trojans, who, ironically, perhaps, was killed when an arrow shot from Paris's bow hit his right heel, which seemingly was his only weak spot [In allusion to the deepening of Achilles in the river Styx by his mother, the Goddess Thetis, so that he should become invulnerable. Indeed, Achilles was invulnerable on all of his body except for his right heel which was not plunged into the river's waters].

In every war there have to be winners and losers, and, as it is often the case, great affliction is brought upon the defeated side by their capturing as their misfortune is generally gloated over, with malicious pleasure, by the victors. Indeed, it had all gone terribly wrong for the Trojans, much more than it could be endured and many blamed Helen's liaison with Paris the cause for Troy's undoing. Certainly, it was very easy to fall into critically unfavourable way of viewing Helen's role in the series of events that led to the citadel's terrible fate since her infidelity contributed to refuel the latent fire of passion and the bitterness, festering beneath the surface, which had existed between the Greeks and the Trojans for many years but in fairness to Helen and Paris neither were to blame since they were victims of their own circumstances. Helen was forced into an arranged marriage by her father, Tyndareus, a Sparta king and Leda's husband, with Menelaus who had, both, power and wealth, albeit, through his older brother Agamemnon, commander of the Greek warriors. While Helen was every man's fantasy, Menelaus, on the other hand, was not blessed with alluring charm and his absenteeism from Helen's bed and her unfulfilled neediness prompted her to find solace in her linking with Paris. Having become her only possible way out of Sparta, Paris had no will to break the spell that allured him to Helen which made him a serf to her enchantment that no man could refrain from, and as they eloped together they failed to assess the potential and precarious consequences that they had put themselves and Troy under.  Heaven and earth came together when Helen and Paris were ushered into an affair which irrevocably decided and sealed Troy's destiny since a thousand ships were launched and war was waged by the Kingdoms of Sparta and Troy where many were caught in large scenes of violence which threw thousands of lives away. The passage of time has not laid the ghost of this war to come to rest since the grief that caused it has not been allowed to sleep the sleep of the just for the account of the falling of Troy has not been settled yet nor wiped out from people's storing of ancient times even though greatest wars had been fought since that time after. Helen's presence in the world will always be an eternity for she was an enigmatic figure of a woman who will not be banished by the winds of change since she will forever live in every man's fantasy. As I bade farewell to Helen, in her way to meet her natural father, Zeus, in Mountain Olympus, I found that my venturing through times had been a fulfilment of, both, my acquaintance with Helen's tragic circumstances and my pilgrimage through an awaking past from which I came away with the deepest respect for Helen. indeed, when the time at which Helen and I had to leave one another arrived we both were disconsolate beyond comfort; the scene was badly lit and we were utterly exposed to the element when all of the sudden, as the wind made a wailing sound, spluttering perhaps, a fatalistic warning, an igniting discharge of electricity, followed by a loud rumble of thunder, crashed abruptly against the sky shattering the lugubrious silence of the heavens; torrential rain followed and soon we were truly soaked to the bone. Figuratively speaking, the weather conditions threatened us with obliteration but we stood there oblivious and impervious to its threat. It was time then to say our goodbyes, my heart was in my hands crying the tears that did not show when I held her hand in mine. Impetuously, I pulled her to one side where the wind did not blow and I drew her close to me; tender thoughts occurred to me as I looked profoundly in Helen's eyes, and on the spur of the moment I, then, kissed her vintage red wine colour lips and, almost instinctively we clasped tightly into one another's arms.  "επίπεδο επίπεδο lots του και παρακαλώ , παρακαλώ εμένα , κάνω what you μουστάκι , αγαπώ εμένα κάνω , εκεί όχι ώρα σε χάνω για εγώ σύντομα μουστάκι να είμαι επάνω my δρόμος", all in Greek, she whispered in my ear which translated to "Please love me do, there's no time to lose for I soon must be on my way", those were the exact words I longed to hear and as we held each other tight one thing led to another and it promptly turned into a passionate embrace that could have gone on forever only if Helen did not have to go. I begged her to stay but as the rain washed away my tears I knew it was no use my asking her to live on earth with me as one since it would not be rationally possible for a demi-goddess to elope together with a mere mortal time travelling troubadour from a light years world. Soon after my eyes were filled up with tears again as she dispiritedly departed  from the mortal world to the immortal one leaving behind a reputation of a fatalist woman or femme fatalist that she could not wish for and one which she could not any longer bear as it made her felt utterly uncomfortable in the harsh loneliness of  the narrow-minded world of the living which had an unremitting influence over her mortal life at that moment in time; it is a long-lived shame that she will always be thought to be responsible for Troy's fate but in her defence I would like to champion Helen's case by stating that she did nothing wrong but what she had to do since all that happened was inevitable as they were events which were predetermined by the circumstances of that period of time, and as I arrived to the present, in the same way I departed, from my journey to the past and got into my room the world seemed to have stayed still.  I realised then that it would be difficult to explain to my family and friends what I had experienced without encountering looks of inquisition since they would inevitably assume that there was something amiss even though they knew that there was no motive for my making it up. I bet they would laugh in my face instead. No, no, I could not possible have imagined all that series of events and experienced them all in my mind while asleep only Helen and I knew that I had not dreamt all that that had gone past. Now that I find myself all alone in my room and as I recollect what Helen and I had, my heart begins to break as the pain of losing Helen well up in me incessantly. Indeed, all I could do was grieve, I, then, wished, in a fond hope, that Helen was calling on me that night so that I did not have to establish the validity of my coming together with her and my journey to the past to no-one. I felt sad when she left since only I knew her sad state of her affairs.  Inauspiciously, the still of the night had a hold on me and it only took a moment’s time to realise that I had to give up any hopes of ever seeing Helen again.  I looked out of my window and noticed that my neighbour's car was smouldering.

 P.Figueras

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