Telemachus
dismisses the ragged beggar, tone curt: “Almost- American story. Absent dad. Twenty long years, no-contact. Never cared about the left-behind wife, infant. Reappears in FiDi. Without warning. Disguised. To startle, maybe. Cruel!”
Odysseus, taken aback, pleads, Boston-accent: “Joined war against wish. Faked madness. Catch-22. Had to obey the Oath. Return from the front involves heavy costs. Forever scars, traumas, losses, burdens. Happy to find you. Finally! Where, Penelope, my wife? The house is locked. Broken.”
Telemachus is bitter. “She fled. Stormy night. Unable to take anymore. The pressure, uncertainty, killing. Foster homes. Street-skills. She, dim figure. You, too, a ghost.”
The young man starts walking towards NYSE. “Over! Everything.” He mutters.
Shell-shocked veteran, tearful: “Wait, kid! I am the father you pined. Here, I am, arms open. Hug a battered man, dear son, please!”
Athena does not appear, this time. Bronze Age, different!
Telemachus remains unmoved: “Excuse me, Sir! I have got work to finish.”
And, shouts over thin shoulders: “Don’t follow me, again! I am done.”
His “?????,” hangs in the stiff air.
The light turns green.
.
Sunil Sharma
Picture Giovanni Battisa Tiepolo
