The time machine shook and sputtered as it traversed through time. When it finally stilled, they heard the quiet rustling of waves. Andy and Gary stepped out onto the grasslands of Chios, where Homer purportedly lived.
They surveyed the beautiful, unbroken landscape around them, not distracted by roads and boats and billboards, whose lush green meadows, tall dark trees and rolling hills were flooded with light from a warm sun, and whose view of the vast blue Mediterranean would have made human observers even today believe life, truth, and even human destiny were endless. Yes, that’s what this sea, wine-dark in the times of storms, wine-dark to the drifting wanderer, without a sight of food or pasture for miles, and yet, on bright days like these, without a cloud to interrupt the sun, cerulean, sapphire, even as blue as the bright sky itself, conveyed: the blue of the sky ultimately gave one the sense of hope that even the coldness of an inscrutable, infinite and breathless universe must one day blush warm into periwinkle, that even sometimes the cruel, merciless sea will be bathed with the warmth of the sun as we ourselves long to be warmed by meaning and possibly love.
Andy and Gary identified the hills as hills, the sky as the sky, and the Mediterranean as the Mediterranean with much less microplastics and chemicals, its blues as hexadecimal values. They began their search.
They encountered a youth herding sheep with his crook; he wore the classical Greek chiton, a woolen tunic falling on but one shoulder. He saw they were women; he was excited; unfortunately, modern men like women thin; what is there to pinch? he frowned; they like women pale as snow; where is the warm-colored, olive nape to plant kisses on? he asked; they prefer blondes; what, no raven tresses on these homely girls? he sighed, beat the sheep with his crook, and departed from them.
Andy and Gary called out to him. Is your name Ὅμηρος?
That’s what my mother calls me, he answered.
Are you the poet of the Ἰλιάς and Ὀδύσσεια?
Never heard of them, he answered.
If I were given the chance to live any life, I would abhor the one of poet; the mind isn’t for memorizing verse; the hands aren’t for performing; and the heart isn’t meant to recount the lives of other men; no, I would prefer to live the life of a fighter! At this, Homer leapt onto a rock, shaking his crook as if it were a sword dark with iron. The mind is only good for outwitting one’s foes! He wittily countered a lunging sword. The hands are only good besting the strong! He brought his fist upon the ribs of an invisible foe. And the heart is only good for swooning women! And he brought his wrist to his heart, as if his hand were the hand of a young girl resting on his chest.
The machines were considering whether Homer was a popular name, given thoughtlessly, like James, or Justin.
At this moment a black ship arrived onto shore; they saw strong, hardened men attending the oars; two stepped out and approached them.
We are Ἀγαμέμνων and Μενέλαος; we have come to ask brave warriors to conquer and loot tall-gated Ilium, overflowing with honor, treasure, and women.
Andy looked at Gary; Gary looked at Homer; Homer cried, This must be divine providence, and scampered onboard; they too boarded the ship.
© 2025 Jay Lee