enthusiastically that The Athenian Murders, the novel I had just begun translating, was an eidetic text. She stared at me for a moment, holding one of the cherries on the nearby plate by its stalk 'A what?' she asked.
'Eidesis,' I explained, 'is a literary technique invented by the Ancient Greeks to transmit secret messages or keys in their works. It consists in repeating, in any text, metaphors or words that, when identified by a perceptive reader, make up an idea or image that's independent of the original text. Arginusus of Corinth, for example, used eidesis to hide a detailed description of a young woman he loved in a long poem apparently about wild flowers. And Epaphus of Macedonia inserted his will by means of eidesis into an epic tale describing the death of the hero Patroclus. And Euphronius of—'
'How interesting,' smiled Helena, bored. 'And would you care to tell me what's hidden in your anonymous Athenian Murders?'
'I won't know until I've translated the whole thing. In Chapter One, the eidesis mainly involves "hair" or "manes", "mouths" and "maws" that "scream" and "roar", but—'
'"Manes" and "maws that roar"?' she interrupted simply. 'It could be referring to a lion, couldn't it?'
And she ate the cherry.
I hate the way women always arrive at the truth effortlessly, by the shortest route. It was my turn to go very still and stare. 'A lion, of course ...' I muttered.
'What I don't understand,' Helena went on casually, 'is why the author thought the idea of a lion so secret that he had to hide it through eidesis ...'
'We'll find out once I've translated it. An eidetic text can only be fully understood once you've read all the way through.' As I spoke, I was thinking: A lion, of course . .. Why didn't I think of that?
'Right.' Helena considered the conversation at an end. She bent her long legs, which had been stretched out on a chair, put the plate of cherries on the table, and stood up. 'Get on with the translation and let me know how it goes.'
'What's surprising is that Montalo didn't notice anything in the original manuscript,' I said.
'Why don't you write to him?' she suggested. 'It'll make you look good and bring you some kudos.'
And, although at the time I pretended not to agree (I didn't want her to know she'd solved all my problems at a stroke), this is exactly what I have done. (T's N.)
5 'The surface is sticky; one's fingers slide over it as if smeared with oil; the central area is fragile, like scales,' states Montalo, regarding the pieces of papyrus that make up the manuscript at the opening of the second chapter. Could it have been made from the leaves of different plants? (T's N.)
II 5
Slaves prepared the body of Tramachus, son of the widow Itys, according to custom: the horrific lacerations were glossed with ointments from a lekythos; agile-fingered hands slid over the ravaged flesh, anointing it with essences and perfumes; it was wrapped in a delicate shroud and arrayed in clean clothes; the face was left uncovered, the jaw firmly bandaged to prevent the horrifying rictus of death; an obol to pay for Charon's services was placed beneath the slimy tongue. The corpse was then laid out on a bed of myrtle and jasmine, feet towards the door, watched over by the grey presence of a guardian Hermes; the wake would last all day. At the garden gate, the ardanion, the amphora of lustral water, served to make public the tragedy and to cleanse the guests of contact with the beyond. From midday, the hired mourners intoned their sinuous canticles, and tokens of condolence rained down. By afternoon, a line of men snaked the length of the garden path. All stood in silence, beneath the cold damp of the trees, awaiting their turn to enter the house, file past the body and offer their condolences to the family. Tramachus' uncle, Daminus, of the deme of Clazobion, acted as host: he possessed a considerable fortune in boats and in silver mines in Laurion, and his presence drew many. Few,
'Eidesis,' I explained, 'is a literary technique invented by the Ancient Greeks to transmit secret messages or keys in their works. It consists in repeating, in any text, metaphors or words that, when identified by a perceptive reader, make up an idea or image that's independent of the original text. Arginusus of Corinth, for example, used eidesis to hide a detailed description of a young woman he loved in a long poem apparently about wild flowers. And Epaphus of Macedonia inserted his will by means of eidesis into an epic tale describing the death of the hero Patroclus. And Euphronius of—'
'How interesting,' smiled Helena, bored. 'And would you care to tell me what's hidden in your anonymous Athenian Murders?'
'I won't know until I've translated the whole thing. In Chapter One, the eidesis mainly involves "hair" or "manes", "mouths" and "maws" that "scream" and "roar", but—'
'"Manes" and "maws that roar"?' she interrupted simply. 'It could be referring to a lion, couldn't it?'
And she ate the cherry.
I hate the way women always arrive at the truth effortlessly, by the shortest route. It was my turn to go very still and stare. 'A lion, of course ...' I muttered.
'What I don't understand,' Helena went on casually, 'is why the author thought the idea of a lion so secret that he had to hide it through eidesis ...'
'We'll find out once I've translated it. An eidetic text can only be fully understood once you've read all the way through.' As I spoke, I was thinking: A lion, of course . .. Why didn't I think of that?
'Right.' Helena considered the conversation at an end. She bent her long legs, which had been stretched out on a chair, put the plate of cherries on the table, and stood up. 'Get on with the translation and let me know how it goes.'
'What's surprising is that Montalo didn't notice anything in the original manuscript,' I said.
'Why don't you write to him?' she suggested. 'It'll make you look good and bring you some kudos.'
And, although at the time I pretended not to agree (I didn't want her to know she'd solved all my problems at a stroke), this is exactly what I have done. (T's N.)
5 'The surface is sticky; one's fingers slide over it as if smeared with oil; the central area is fragile, like scales,' states Montalo, regarding the pieces of papyrus that make up the manuscript at the opening of the second chapter. Could it have been made from the leaves of different plants? (T's N.)
II 5
Slaves prepared the body of Tramachus, son of the widow Itys, according to custom: the horrific lacerations were glossed with ointments from a lekythos; agile-fingered hands slid over the ravaged flesh, anointing it with essences and perfumes; it was wrapped in a delicate shroud and arrayed in clean clothes; the face was left uncovered, the jaw firmly bandaged to prevent the horrifying rictus of death; an obol to pay for Charon's services was placed beneath the slimy tongue. The corpse was then laid out on a bed of myrtle and jasmine, feet towards the door, watched over by the grey presence of a guardian Hermes; the wake would last all day. At the garden gate, the ardanion, the amphora of lustral water, served to make public the tragedy and to cleanse the guests of contact with the beyond. From midday, the hired mourners intoned their sinuous canticles, and tokens of condolence rained down. By afternoon, a line of men snaked the length of the garden path. All stood in silence, beneath the cold damp of the trees, awaiting their turn to enter the house, file past the body and offer their condolences to the family. Tramachus' uncle, Daminus, of the deme of Clazobion, acted as host: he possessed a considerable fortune in boats and in silver mines in Laurion, and his presence drew many. Few,
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