“Who are you?” I whispered to him, my eyes narrowed suspiciously. He claimed to be no god and yet here he stood before me, able to shoot an arrow through twelve spokes effortlessly. This is a feat any commoner such as myself could only dream of accomplishing. “I am Odysseus,” he replied, softly. My mind whirled, as I attempted to comprehend…but how could this be?


Our paths had intertwined when I happened upon his wealthy estate earlier that morning. I was in search of some hay to nap on and a bottle of wine to sooth my worry. Upon knocking on the front door, a servant answered, which brought a smile to my face. A wealthy man’s hospitality is like no other.

I was brought to meet the master of the house immediately. He seemed to be dining for lunch, and the servant spoke to him briefly before I was invited in.

“Not another unwanted suitor, I hope!” the man’s voice echoed loudly and shook the entire house. There was then a murmur of further discussion. Fear suddenly gripped me like it hadn’t in a long time. The man was obviously a person of authority.

Finally the servant beckoned me in. I cautiously crept through the door, and kept my head lowered to the ground. I sensed immediate tension in the room, although I could not understand why. I pondered the subject; did this man not accept Zeus’ rule of hospitality? Or was there a piece to the puzzle I was missing?

“What is your name and where do you come from?” the man’s voice proclaimed sternly to me. Finally choosing to set my eyes on the man, I glanced up.

The shock of his appearance hit me like a great blow. Never in my travels had I ever come across anyone of such physical perfection. Was this man what I thought he was? Was I in the presence of a god? His stature was built, muscled. None but a god himself I guessed could match his strength. His face? Was immaculate. Prometheus could not have molded anything more beautiful. Even the man’s hair seemed to be woven with gold. In all my life nothing could be compared to the wonder I felt in that moment.

I sunk to my knees and looked up at the man with bewilderment. “I am a mere traveler come to rest for the night. But surely, surely you must be a god?”

“I am not.” He replied and then motioned for me to get up, amusement twinkled from the depths of his eyes. Embarrassed beyond comparison, I sprung to my feet.

“Who are you?” I whispered, still stricken.

“I am a suitor of the late Odysseus’ wife,” He replied, staring deep within my eyes, as though daring me to question him. His gaze chilled my bones.

“Odysseus? Surely not the Odysseus - the Trojan War hero?” I inquired, shocked. I had been a part of the Trojan War ten years before. I had known this Odysseus…a clever man, to be sure, but headstrong. My memories of him consisted of admiration for his ingenious plan of the wooden horse, but also in contrast, I remembered an overconfident man who approached every battle as though he was already victorious.

The man’s jaw line hardened, “Yes, the very same. He has been gone for twenty years, however, and he seems to never be returning. A tragic happening, and yet…opportune.”

“Is Odysseus’ death for certain?” I asked, sensing evil in the situation.

The man’s eyebrows furrowed, “No, not for certain….”

Anger flared inside of me, and I spoke without thinking, “Then you have no right to take advantage of Odysseus’ wife’s hospitality! You eat her food, sleep in her house, and make mockery of her honor. This is an abomination!”

At the end of my rant, I realized I had been rash and spoken out of turn, and I awaited the strike of the man’s anger. To my dismay, quite the opposite happened--something stirred in the man’s eyes, was it…respect?

Immediately dropping the subject, the man clasped me on the back, “Let us not quarrel! Come, traveler, let us go to the hall, I was just about to engage in some archery before you arrived.” The man then rose, and beckoned me to follow him through his house towards the great hall.

I followed the suitor, still shaking my head in dismay. When we reached the hall, I laid my eyes on a peculiar sight--a row of twelve axes, handle sockets pointed up. Beside the axes, lay a beautiful bow. The man went to the handsome weapon and I looked on as he strung the weapon with care.

I watched him in amazement. Never had I seen such focus as I did with this man with his bow. He caressed it, tapped it, and stroked the fine edges. Then to my further bewilderment, he set up to shoot an arrow through the sockets!

“Impossible….” I murmured. The task I saw before me seemed to be quite unfeasible. The suitor drew his bow, silently, and ceremonially. And then, with more grace than Apollo himself could have achieved, the man let the arrow fly. The weapon whistled through each one of the sockets effortlessly. With every socket the arrow conquered, and I felt like whooping for joy. I had witnessed the impossible being conquered. The man had made it seem simple, and yet I knew the task he had just accomplished was anything but ordinary.

The man turned around, and I looked deep into his sea green eyes. “Who are you?” I whispered for the second time that day.


The man gave me a small smile, “I am Odysseus.”


I blinked rapidly, “Odysseus? But how could this be? Just moments ago you informed me that you were a suitor? That Odysseus was as good as dead?”


Odysseus looked at me apologetically, “I had to test you, traveler. Part of the story is true…although I am no suitor, there were once many. I was gone for twenty long years. Even though I have finally returned, some still arrive, not hearing of my reappearance. I am sorry for my trickery…but I had to test your character.”


I was struck by the cleverness of this man, cleverness that was similar to that of the man I remembered from the war. But something had changed. He was wiser…softer. The cocky young boy I remembered had transformed into a wise man. What, I wondered, might have caused this transformation?
Curious to continue uncovering the secrets of this man, we retired to the dining room. I told Odysseus I remembered him from the war, although I did not expect him to reciprocate the memories. I had been a mere soldier. Odysseus then embraced me like an old brother, and politely told me my face did look familiar. We then talked of this and that. He seemed particularly interested in my travels. It was obvious that his knowledge of the world far surpassed mine even though I myself had traveled extensively. Although no god, he carried himself in a way of authority. He was wise--wiser than Athena herself perhaps.


“How did you come to be here, on Ithaca?” Odysseus inquired.


An angry pit rose in my stomach from being reminded of my story. “I was a captain sir, and my crew and I sailed to fantastic lands throughout the world, conquering, pillaging, and feasting upon all the world had to offer. This seemed to anger the gods, sir, and so as we neared Ithaca, Zeus sent a storm like no other upon my ship. I, the sole survivor, washed up upon these shores but two moons ago. I have been traveling this island ever since.”


The man’s broq furrowed. I expected Odysseus to console me, offer his condolences to me for the loss of my crew, but in fact, quite the opposite occurred. “Traveler--you have made some grave mistakes, in which the gods have made you pay the price. You must redeem yourself and your character. For it is not for humans to act as gods, running about trying to conquer to world. It is our duty to obey the gods--not to defy them.”


Anger flared up inside of me, “Do you dare question my character?”

He shook his head, and handled the situation with grace, “I myself was once cocky, such as you, and I’m sure you remember it from the war. I looked upon the world as if it was mine to take. But it is not. The world belongs to the gods. It is our job to put our hubris behind us and become better men.”


I spluttered, unable to respond. The mysterious man, however, seemed unwavered by my anger, and stood up swiftly, simultaneously beckoning me to stand as well.


“Come, allow me to introduce you to my wife, Penelope.” He walked me through his luxurious home towards the back patio. My fury had now softened, and was soon replaced by admiration for the man’s fantastic home--its great hall full of armor, as well as the many hallways and fantastic archways. I was quick to compliment on it.


“I built it myself,” Odysseus replied. I sensed the pride shining through his voice. He was not boastful, but was merely satisfied in his own masterwork.


As we stepped through the doors into the warm outside air, Odysseus’ step quickened. I glanced around, and eventually spotted where he was headed. A young boy was seated next to a woman. I concluded it must be Penelope.


The man embraced her tightly, like he hadn’t seen in her in a thousand years. Her laughter filled the air, and the atmosphere brightened, as it always does with the sound of a woman’s laughter. Odysseus practically radiated happiness as he talked animatedly with his wife, and with whom I assumed to be his son. The man was clearly in love with Penelope.


As I looked onto the scene of Odysseus embracing his family, I realized there was a surprising truth to Odysseus’ words. It is not my right, nor any other humans, to challenge the gods. Who was I to believe myself greater than any other? Here before me stands a man, changed and beautiful. Wisdom comes with the knowledge learned from the trials and tribulations of the hero’s journey. As I continued forward on my own journey, I remembered Odysseus, and his wise words. Odysseus was no god, but a human to be sure. But, tell me, is there anything wrong with that?