Night. The bedchamber. The central structure is now ULYSSES and PENELOPE’S marriage bed; the same cloth lies across it as a bedspread. Two spotlights illuminate the bed, one for each side.
ULYSSES sits on his end of the bed, absorbed in working a knot into a length of rope. His palms are red.
PENELOPE enters from the palace side carrying their pillows. She approaches her side of the bed and watches him work. He does not notice her.
ULYSSES (to himself)
There. That will hold.
PENELOPE
There you are. When did you get in?
ULYSSES
While you were in the bath.
He turns to her with a radiant smile, continuing to work the rope without conscious effort. She smiles back, restrained, then sits on her side of the bed.
PENELOPE
Where have you been?
ULYSSES
The harbour. We visited what was left of the old crew.
PENELOPE
Any takers?
ULYSSES
All.
PENELOPE
Oh…
ULYSSES
All wished they could. Half have the strength to sail, and fewer—the will.
PENELOPE
Mariners who turn down the oars?
ULYSSES
Who know the open sea, yes.
PENELOPE
How many?
ULYSSES
Not enough, but more may come at dawn. Menekrates searches for recruits.
She watches him handle the rope, then takes his hands and examines the reddened palms.
PENELOPE
Dear—your hands!
ULYSSES
They will callus. But they still know their work.
PENELOPE
Tying knots?
ULYSSES
The tightest of knots.
PENELOPE
Enough to hold a ship?
ULYSSES
If anchorage is the goal.
PENELOPE
Show me—on the bedpost there.
He smirks. He unties the knot and smooths out the rope. Taking her hands, he shows her how to tie it.
ULYSSES
Tying is only half the trick.
PENELOPE
Then I’m only half a captain now. Perhaps I’ll start as deckhand.
ULYSSES
That is too high a rung.
PENELOPE
Stowaway then.
ULYSSES
Stowaways take what the captain gives them.
PENELOPE
And if she’s hungry?
ULYSSES
He gives her food.
PENELOPE
Thirsty?
ULYSSES
Drink.
PENELOPE
Tired?
ULYSSES
A bunk.
PENELOPE
No private beds aboard?
ULYSSES
Only the captain’s.
PENELOPE
This knot should keep her there.
ULYSSES
She’ll wake filthy. There are no baths aboard.
He tucks a curl around her ear.
PENELOPE
Is not the sea but a bath of water?
ULYSSES
Only to those who sing of it.
Pause.
PENELOPE
But for you?
ULYSSES
Cold and terrible and salty.
PENELOPE
Yet you still mean to cross it?
ULYSSES
Yes.
PENELOPE
West—of the Pillars of Hercules?
ULYSSES
Farther.
She smirks.
PENELOPE
How far—the sunset?
ULYSSES
Farther.
Beat.
PENELOPE
What if you don’t…
She studies his eyes. Then she slaps him. Silence.
PENELOPE
Why would you do this?
ULYSSES
Because I must.
PENELOPE
Must what? What is out there you haven’t found at home?
ULYSSES
I must…know.
PENELOPE
I don’t understand you, dear.
He looks toward the harbour.
ULYSSES
That it’s not over.
PENELOPE
But you might not return.
He nods.
PENELOPE
You may die.
He nods again. Pause.
PENELOPE
And if you stay…
He looks at his reddened palms.
PENELOPE
Then I will come with you.
ULYSSES
Then I do not go.
PENELOPE
Why?
ULYSSES
I risked war and gods and fate itself at sea. Will I risk you?
PENELOPE
Yet you came home.
ULYSSES
Yes.
PENELOPE
To me.
ULYSSES
To you.
PENELOPE
Did you?
I waited for you then. You’ve been back twenty years—why am I still waiting?
ULYSSES
Dearest—
PENELOPE
Don’t dearest me! When Telemachus was young, do you know the weeks and the months he begged me to bring you home—and the years he stopped when he accepted you weren’t?
Do I have to do that with Persepolis too!? He will ask me what his grandfather looked like when he was young because Telemachus can’t answer it. Only I know you apart from song.
For twenty years, I held this kingdom together without its king because I knew you were coming back. But now you sail for good—from me!
She runs her hands along the bed frame, steadying herself before speaking.
PENELOPE
Do you remember when you came home how I knew you were my husband?
ULYSSES
You tried to move the bed and I said it was impossible.
PENELOPE
Because you built it into this olive tree.
ULYSSES
Years before I ever left.
PENELOPE
These roots held our bed together.
ULYSSES
They still hold.
PENELOPE
Must these be uprooted?
ULYSSES
No.
She studies his reddened hands.
PENELOPE
And if I hold you, what becomes of these hands?
Silence.
PENELOPE
And us?
He interlocks their fingers.
ULYSSES
We remain.
PENELOPE
Will we?
ULYSSES
Ask it, then. Ask me to stay and I will stay.
PENELOPE
What have I been doing this whole time?
ULYSSES
In the way you did before all of this—before Troy, before the crown: the way you would whisper in my ear as if you held a secret, but it’s only my name—shared with me alone.
She recoils.
PENELOPE
You used to call me just to watch me answer to your voice. When did you stop calling my name!?
She tears away from him and lies down in bed, her back turned.
Go, Ulysses!
The spotlight over ULYSSES’s side goes out; PENELOPE’s side remains lit. A long silence passes until she stops tossing in bed and her breathing settles.
The second spotlight reappears, cast onto ULYSSES sitting on the floor, his back against the bed frame. He rises and looks down at PENELOPE.
ULYSSES (aside)
I am a part of all that I have met;Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fadesFor ever and for ever when I move…
He takes a few steps from the bed, stops and looks at her, then turns back harbour-side.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!As tho’ to breathe were life! Life piled on lifeWere all too little, and of one to meLittle remains: but every hour is savedFrom that eternal silence, something more,A bringer of new things; and vile it wereFor some three suns to store and hoard myself—
He reaches the edge of the spotlight.
—And this gray spirit yearning in desireTo follow knowledge like a sinking star,Beyond the utmost bound of human thought…
He lingers, taking a last look at his wife.
ULYSSES (softly)
Penelope…
End Scene Four