II 

The Schoolmaster

METROTIME: Lampriskos, the dear Muses allow you
enjoyment of life upon condition that you
cudgel this boy across the back until
his wicked soul just hovers upon his lips.
He's gambled away the roof above our heads
playing spin-the-coin. Knucklebones
are not enough, Lampriskos. It's worse
than that by far! Where the schoolhouse is --
the cruel thirtieth demands tuition
even if I wail like Nannakos --
he probably couldn't say. The gambling house,
where thugs and runaway slaves hang out, that
he knows well and can point the way to another.
His wretched tablet that I'm worn out waxing
every month lies abandoned by
the bedpost close against the wall, except
when he glares at it as though it were Hades and writes --
nothing any good and wipes it clean.
His dice lie more gleaming by far in
his bags and mesh carryalls than the flask
we use day in, day out for oil. He can't
recognize the letter a, not even
if one shouts it five times to him.
His father the day before yesterday
was teaching him to spell the name "Maron,"
and this fine scholar wrote the throw "Simon."
I call myself an idiot that I didn't
teach him to pasture asses rather than reading
books -- I'd have support for my old age.
Whenever his father or I ask him to
recite -- just as you'd ask a little child --
his old father failing in hearing and sight,
then he strains as though through a pierced jug:
"Hunter Apollo." Your poor granny, I say --
and she's illiterate -- could recite that,
or any Phrygian you'd meet. But if we dare
to grumble anymore, for three whole days
he doesn't know our door -- he's pillaging
his granny, whose cupboard's bare, or on the roof
he spreads his legs and crouches like an ape.
Can you imagine how my insides writhe
when I see his wickedness? It's not so much
him, but every tile that's broken -- like
a wafer -- and winter's coming -- costs me
an obol and a half. I weep for every
single tile I have to pay for.
In all the apartments they're saying, "This is the work
of Kottalos, Metrotime's son."
I dare not open my mouth to deny it.
Look at his back -- all scales! It comes of wasting
his blunted life in the woods. You'd think that he
was some Delian fisherman, potting with weels.
He knows his festive sevenths and twentieths better
than the astrologists. He can calculate
the holidays -- even in his sleep.
But, Lampriskos, if you hope for good success
in life and to chance upon the better things,
give him not less.... LAMPRISKOS: Metrotime, stop --
he'll get no less. Where's Euthies?
Where's Kottalos? Where's Phillos? Quick, lift
Kottalos, shoulder high. Expose him to
Akeses' moon. I approve your conduct, I do!
Knucklebones are not enough, palms up
with your chums. You've got to go to the gambling den
and play spin-the-coin with those thugs?
I'll make you more decorous than a young girl
who disturbs not even a straw -- if that's what you want!
Where's my sharp whip, my oxtail scourge,
with which I maim fettered rapscallions and such?
Hand it here before I choke on my bile.

KOTTALOS: By the Muses, Lampriskos, I beg you,
and by your beard and little Kottalos' life,
not with the oxtail! Maim with the other!

L: You're so wicked, Kottalos, that no one
would praise you, even if you were for sale, or in
the country where the mice would eat iron.

K: How many lashes, Lampriskos, will I get?

L: Don't ask me. Ask your mother how many.

K: Ai, ai! How many, you two? M: As I wish to live,
all that your wicked hide can possibly take.

K: Stop! Lampriskos, enough! L: You
stop your bad behavior. K: I won't do a thing,
I swear by the dear Muses, Lampriskos.

L: You, what a lot of tongue you've got to wag,
I'll gag you with the mouse if you grumble more.

K: Look, I've shut up. Don't kill me, please!

L: Kokkalos, let him go. M: Don't stop now,
Lampriskos, flog on till sunset.

L: But........................

M: He's more full of tricks than the Hydra by far.
You've got to him -- even over his book,
the cipher! Twenty more if he's going to read
better than even Clio the Muse herself.

K: Nyah -- L: May you happen to coat your tongue with honey.

M: On second thought, I'll ask the old man,
Lampriskos, once I get home.
I'll bring him fettered so that the revered Muses
whom he's insulted can see him jumping up
and down with both feet bound together.