Odysseus's fleet sailed, as they had been for nine days, and as he had been doing for nine days, Odysseus stayed awake. Whenever he got close to nodding off, he started a conversation, or walked around the ship, or tightened his grip around the bag until it hurt. He would not fall asleep.
If he had to, he thought of the infant.
Penelope, Telemachus... I'm coming.
The wind was good. The sea was peaceful. Everything was going perfectly smoothly. Odysseus leaned against the railing, stared out over the water and drank in the sight of Ithaca on the horizon.
Home. He was finally going... home...
...As long as he didn't fall asleep.
He blinked once, twice, and abruptly straightened up. Shaking himself, he turned and saw Eurylochus watching him. He smiled. "We're almost there," he said. Eurylochus nodded, but didn't say anything. "C'mon, aren't you excited? You'll get to see Ctimene again."
Eurylochus smiled at that. "And you'll see Penelope."
"And Telemachus..." Odysseus looked out over the sea again. "He'll be eleven by now."
"Imagine that," said Eurylochus. "Eleven years old and an army of six hundred men he's never met all know his name."
Something in Eurylochus's tone made Odysseus raise an eyebrow at him. "Are you teasing me?"
"Not to mention the king of Mycenae, the king of Sparta, the king of Argos, the king of Pylos--"
"Okay, okay--"
"--hell, probably some of the Trojans--"
Odysseus burst out laughing, startling a few nearby crew members. Odysseus's laughter wasn't a sound they heard often these days. "The Trojans?"
"Sure."
"You are merciless."
Eurylochus shrugged, but his eyes gleamed. Odysseus grinned at him. Suddenly he found himself yawning, a wide yawn that made his jaw crack and his eyes tear up a little. "You should rest," said Eurylochus. "Just for a little while."
Odysseus shook his head. "I'm fine."
Eurylochus's brow creased in a way that was all too familiar. "Captain--"
"I said I'm fine, Eurylochus." A few expressions flashed across Eurylochus's face. Hurt, first; Odysseus could make even gentle words come out sharp as a knife. Frustration followed, mixed with genuine concern. But quickly resignation took over, and after a moment, Eurylochus conceded, though he made his skepticism of Odysseus's assertion evident in his voice:
"...Okay."
Of course Odysseus was lying. They both knew it. But he wasn't going to sleep, and certainly not when they were so close, and that was that.
The anger that had bubbled up when Eurylochus questioned him fell away just as quickly. Odysseus sighed and, offering a half-smile in lieu of an apology, said, "Achilles did this once, you know."
"When was that?"
"Did I not tell you? After Patroclus's funeral, he couldn't sleep for twelve days."
Eurylochus made a face. "That... doesn't sound good either."
"It wasn't."
Soon they were nearing the docks, and Odysseus was more awake than he'd been in at least a week. It took all the self-restraint he had to pick a messenger to alert the palace that the army had returned instead of preparing to take off running himself. (He could-- he was fast, and everyone in the palace would certainly recognize him. But a king does not do that, so Odysseus wouldn't.) He barely remembered anything between docking the ships and reaching the palace, though he must have waited for all of his men to disembark and then led those who didn't live in Ithaca and weren't yet returning home through the city, because then he saw Penelope standing there waiting for him, and a boy beside her he knew must be Telemachus. All of a sudden he was running and she was running too, and they were in each other's arms, and there was nothing but Penelope, Penelope, Penelope. Gods, he'd missed her so much. He was sure he'd never get enough of this-- but after several moments, he managed to pull himself away, because the boy was hanging back. Odysseus understood perfectly; he had been much too young last time they'd seen each other to remember Odysseus, and Odysseus wouldn't have recognized him himself if not for the resemblance between them. This didn't feel like a reunion to him. It was a first meeting, hopefully with a person he was eager to meet. Odysseus crouched slightly so their eyes were at the same level and said, "Telemachus?"
Instantly, Telemachus's eyes filled with tears, and he whispered, "Dad."
He flung himself at Odysseus, who picked him up and spun him, and he shrieked with joy, and then Odysseus sat down with a thump and held Telemachus close, and Penelope joined them on the ground, careless for the state of her dress, and wrapped her arms around both of them. By then they were all crying. Surrounded by his family for the first time in ten years, Odysseus felt an overwhelming sense of peace. He was home. At last, he was home.
Suddenly, Penelope lifted her head from his shoulder and said, "Odysseus?" She got no response, and more urgently, she said, "Odysseus. Are you okay?" Still nothing. "What's wrong? Odysseus, what's wrong?" Someone put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and saw Eurylochus standing there. "He-- he just went limp. What happened? What's going on?"
"It's okay. He's fine," said Eurylochus.
Penelope gave him as withering a stare as a woman with red-rimmed eyes and tear tracks down her face could. "He's unconscious," she said, equally witheringly.
Eurylochus raised his arms in surrender. "He will be fine. Nothing's wrong with him except exhaustion. He hasn't slept in nine days."
"Why?" asked a small voice, and almost absentmindedly, Penelope stroked Telemachus's hair soothingly. He curled closer to her.
"He was making sure no one would open that." Eurylochus pointed at the bag Odysseus had dropped when he'd picked up Telemachus, lying innocently on the ground. Stepping closer, he gently shook Odysseus's shoulder. "Captain! Wake up, you're scaring Penelope."
"Penelope..." murmured Odysseus.
Eurylochus shook his head, exasperated. "Yes, Penelope. She's here. Wake up."
Odysseus stirred, then opened his eyes and lifted his head. Eurylochus turned back to Penelope. "You'd better get him to bed."
Penelope nodded and wiped her eyes. "Telemachus, sweetie, can you go find Eurycleia? Tell her your father is back but he's going to need to sleep for a while, and tell her we have guests."
Telemachus obediently extricated himself from his parents' arms and went into the palace. Meanwhile, Odysseus, still half-asleep, blinked blearily at Penelope. "Sorry," he mumbled.
Penelope almost started crying all over again. It really was going to be okay. Instead, closing her eyes against the new tears threatening to fall, she leaned forward and touched her forehead to her husband's. "Let's go lie down, hm?" He nodded, and she smiled. She picked up the bag and helped Odysseus to his feet, letting him lean against her. He buried his face in her shoulder. She looked up at the soldiers who had followed him there, most of whom were watching the reunion with some interest. "Come in and make yourselves comfortable while I deal with my husband," she said.
It took her some effort to actually get Odysseus moving, but before too long, they were inside, and he was awake enough to get to their bedroom mostly of his own volition. (He didn't let go of her once on the way there, but she suspected a need for physical support wasn't the only factor in that-- and she certainly wasn't complaining.) When they were alone in the hallway, she asked him, "Do you remember the time you were sick, but you insisted on attending council anyway? You held it together through the whole meeting, but when it was over, I had to practically carry you back to bed because you could barely walk."
Odysseus thought about this for a moment. "No," he finally said.
Penelope laughed a little. "No, I guess you wouldn't," she said. It hadn't happened, after all.
Once they'd reached their bedroom and the door was closed behind them, she put down the bag and then helped him undress, and he stood there blinking for a few moments before he processed that he could lie down now. Then he all but collapsed onto their bed. She sat down beside him to tug a blanket out from under him and spread it over him instead. When she went to sweep his hair out of his face, he grabbed her hand before she could.
"I missed you so much," he murmured drowsily. "So much."
"I missed you too," she said. Every day, for ten years, she'd wondered whether he was on his way back, whether he was sick, injured, dead, whether he was thinking of her. She wouldn't have to wonder anymore. He was here.
Barely a minute later, he was asleep.
Reluctantly, she took her hand out of his.
If it were up to her, she would stay there until he woke up again just to satiate the part of her that still couldn't believe he'd finally come back to her. Her own Odysseus, alive and whole, in Ithaca-- in their home, in the bed he'd made for the two of them. (And he was her Odysseus; any impostor would have answered yes to her earlier question.) She'd been yearning for this for so long.
But she had guests to take care of. So, after taking a long last look at him, she found a safe place for the bag, kissed him, and went back to the main hall.
Eurycleia had taken care of things, she was glad to see. Eurylochus had evidently introduced himself to his nephew, and was for the moment keeping Telemachus occupied. A brief exchange with the slave women confirmed that everything that should be under way was, so she walked over to Eurylochus in time to catch the end of his sentence. "And what, exactly, are you telling my son that he isn't allowed to tell his grandfather?"
Eurylochus flinched, and his hand jerked towards his sword hilt before he forcibly relaxed his body. Of course. "I'm sorry," said Penelope. "I shouldn't have startled you."
After a moment, Eurylochus gave a quick shake of his head, dismissing it. "No harm done. How's Odysseus?" he asked.
"We made it to the bedroom before he passed out again."
Eurylochus sighed. "I kept telling him to sleep, but you know how stubborn he can be."
"I do. But you haven't answered my question."
"What-- oh." Eurylochus smiled. "Sometimes, while we were at Troy, Odysseus called himself 'the father of Telemachus' instead of 'the son of Laertes'."
Telemachus's eyes went wide. "...Really?" he said, almost a whisper, as if he barely dared to ask.
Penelope put her arm around him. "That sounds exactly like him. Haven't I always told you how much he adores you?"
"He's so excited to get to know you," Eurylochus agreed. "That's what he was most glad about, when the war ended-- not the spoils, or not having to fight for his life every day, or having a steady, reliable food source again. Getting to come home to you. Both of you."
Telemachus was looking away now, not at any of the other soldiers but down at the ground. Penelope leaned down and tilted his chin up, and he reluctantly met her eyes. "He adores you," she repeated. "He's so proud of you. He has been for ten years, and he's not going to stop now."
Understanding dawned in Eurylochus's eyes, and he nodded. "Do you want to know how it's going to go? Everything you can do already, he's going to be proud of you for, and everything you haven't learned to do yet, he's going to be glad he didn't miss it. You couldn't disappoint him if you tried."
Telemachus swallowed, then slowly smiled. Eurylochus smiled back.
Penelope ruffled Telemachus's hair. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Telemachus, but I have to steal Eurylochus from you for a little. I'm sure there's someone else we can introduce you to in the meantime." Turning to Eurylochus, she said, "I suppose Polites has gone home?" Eurylochus's face fell.
"Polites is dead," he said.
Oh. It looked like it was a fresh pain for Eurylochus, too; it must have been near the end of the war. Odysseus must have been crushed. "I'm sorry," Penelope said.
Eurylochus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he gently put a hand on Telemachus's shoulder and steered him towards another group of soldiers. "Here, why don't you come meet Leucus."
Leucus and his friends accepted Telemachus being pawned off onto them easily, and Eurylochus returned to Penelope after only a moment. When he did, she asked quietly, "Eurylochus, why was my husband awake for nine days guarding a bag?"
Eurylochus paused. "...We ran into a storm on our way home, a bad one. Bad enough we thought we might sink. But then, right in the middle of the storm, we found Aeolia, and the captain-- the king-- had us anchor our ships to it and went to speak to Aeolus. The weather calmed while he was on the island, and he had the bag when he came back. When we asked what it was, Aelous's servants said it was treasure-- a gift from a god. But the king said the storm was in the bag, and that it must not be opened. He forbade us from speaking of treasure in the bag. He didn't sleep from then until we arrived here."
Penelope's eyes narrowed. "Did any of the crew give him reason to think they would disobey him?"
"There... was certainly distrust among the crew after he stopped sleeping."
"And before?"
"Some of the men seemed... reluctant to drop the idea of treasure given by a god."
"I see. Thank you, Eurylochus."
Food was brought out not too long after that, and Penelope called for Phemius and asked the men what song they would like to hear. She was sure he played and sang beautifully, but she did not pay attention; the meal dragged on, and of course she could not leave when it was over but had to continue entertaining her guests. As early as she reasonably could, she announced that since they must be tired from their travels, sleeping arrangements had been made, which the slaves would show them to-- and at last she returned to her bedroom.
It wasn't until she saw Odysseus that she realized she had been half-expecting to open the door to an empty bed, as she had every day for the past ten years. But there he was, exactly where she had left him; he hadn't even rolled over in his sleep. She retrieved the bag, picked up a needle and thread, and sat down beside him to backstitch it shut.
When she was done, she hid it again and just looked at her husband. Exhaustion was in every line of his face, so striking that she wondered how she had failed to see it at first-- but she had barely seen him before she'd reached him and buried her face in his shoulder, and then her vision had been blurred with tears. Now, though, she could see him clearly. He was ten years older; so was she. The decade she had spent running a kingdom he had spent fighting a war, and it had been kind to neither of them.
As if his thoughts mirrored hers, a slight furrow appeared in his brow. She kissed it, and it smoothed. Similar small tensions appeared twice more as she sat with him, and she wondered what it was that kept him from fully relaxing even when he was so completely exhausted. But he didn't stir any further than that, and certainly never came close to waking, even as dusk's last light grew dimmer and dimmer. She hadn't expected that he would. But still, practiced in patience though she was-- it was a necessary skill, not just for awaiting a missing husband but for raising a child-- her heart sank a little when she was sure she wouldn't get to speak to him that night.
She shook her head to dislodge the thought. She had waited for him for ten years; she could wait another night. And tonight, she wouldn't have to go to bed alone.
Climbing into bed beside him got more of a reaction than anything else had so far-- not much, still, but he curled towards her.
Their bodies still remembered how to fit together.
For the first time in ten years, she fell asleep with her husband in her arms.
It’s that time again, but thanks to my current workload, taking the time to write a proper reflection has taken even long than usual. There’s been a lot going on for me lately, in a senior design kind of way. Let’s get right to it.
My parents decided to visit for October Break, which didn’t do me any favors. Another work day would’ve been very useful. We had to turn in the initial bid for the materials class project, then I had the individual research paper for the same class. The third report block on our airplanes was due the next Monday. In a totally shocking turn of events, I didn’t sleep very much that weekend.
I’m enjoying my space classes, and even enjoying the other work to an extent. It would be a lot more fun it the balance were better. Describing a certain professor here as sadistic wouldn’t go too far, because he totally enjoys seeing us go through the same pain he (unnecessarily) endured thirty years ago.
My understanding is that most aerospace departments do senior design as a team project, and it’s not clear to me why ours does it individually. You can elect to do that, in addition to the individual competition, but it’s not the norm. It’s not even mandatory—you can satisfy the Design II credit with more individual work.
And at this point, the herd has been sufficiently thinned that most of the class is actually decent to work with. Aerospace engineering has a fierce attrition rate. Dr. K tells the freshman that two-thirds of them will be gone by senior year, and just looking at the raw numbers, he’s right. My #1 piece of advice for underclassmen is “switch to mechanical while you still can”.
Those of us who’ve made it this far have learned to get by. Not always well, certainly not healthily, but we’re making it. I know I fell down on my group-mates a number of times last year, but I’ve been actively trying to improve. And I think I’m succeeding.
That’s sort of the theme of this semester. Learning how to try. I never really learned—not in high school, where everything came relatively easily; not at Purdue, even when I was pulling all-nighters left and right; only barely at community college, though I was starting to understand the specific shape of my problems.
I hadn’t figured it out when I got here. Certainly not that first semester, only barely in Dr. D’s thermodynamics class, and I think I pulled one (!) actual late night in fall of 2016, on an assignment I’d had for weeks. I could have turned those C’s into B’s with a little more studying, it’s so clear in retrospect. It wouldn’t’ve been a cake-walk, but things could have gone better. Maybe if I’d put more effort into the grind-able classes I would have had more left over for the ones that really stumped me. Structures was legitimately hard for me, but flight dynamics was just rote memorization. Instead of doing that, I tried to understand decontextualized equations a priori.
It wasn’t until other people started falling down on me that I had to buckle up and do the work for myself.
The work has to be done, after all, and no one else is going to do it. Graduation is close enough that borrowing against future selves feels halfway sustainable. I’ve already decided to spend most of winter break here, not in Kansas City, because god only knows what miseries my family will manufacture between now and then.
(The move is still not complete—who could have predicted that buying a 60 year old, undermaintained house might require giant repair operations that screen everything to a halt for months at a time? Oh, right, anyone not drowning in planning fallacy.)
I’ve been told that spring semester is a lot better, but I’m willing to keep going. My technical classes are finally on-topic and for once none of my classes start at 8:00 am. Moreover, I’d really like our team to win the space design competition, and I’m willing to work pretty hard for it.
If nothing else, it would be nice to put on a resume. I’d like to work a few years in the field, at least, before considering graduate school. I’ve decided I’m going to apply, but only as a backup. Being around the grad students more suggests that it’s a lot less bad, relative to the undergraduate load, than I’d thought. There’s some interesting stuff I could research and a pretty clear lineup of classes I to take with that.
But hopefully that won’t be necessary. My impression of the 2017 Class placement rate was misguided, because I’d imagined a lot more people had tried to get jobs and failed. I think most of the folks who stuck around genuinely wanted to be here. Getting some job shouldn’t be impossible, and from there I can move to a more interesting or go for my masters once I’ve accrued some savings of my own.
Until then, the work carries on. Expect further sporadic hiatuses for the foreseeable future.
