Section Twenty Five

The Farnos Bull. This statue is the largest in Antiquity and what it depicts is revenge - REVENGE - a very common subject in statuary of this epoch, so pay attention please - the revenge in question is that exacted by the twins Zethus and Amphion on behalf of their mother, Antiope, upon Dirce, queen of Thebes and wife of Lycus, because what she'd done was to...
No, "I'll make it easier for you: listen", to quote Julie Andrews - let's take this in stages:

Her toes squeaked slightly on the marble as she kicked her feet out. -Yeah, thanks a lot, John. -Explain away.

What had happened was this: Zeus, being immortal and all-powerful, was inclined to indulge his all-powerful and - perhaps rather decadent - tastes on occasions, and although he was relatively happily married, he was also in the habit of playing away, as we say.
On one of these King-of-the-Gods nooky hunts, he appeared - as a satyr, no less - to Antiope, who was daughter of Nicteus, King of Thebes, when she was asleep and, reading through the lines of the textbook euphemisms, one presumes he had his Zeusly way with her.
Now when her old man, Nicteus, found out, he wasn't too impressed by all this as no doting father would be, to paraphrase Albert and the Lion. In fact, his wrath was terrible to behold. So, to escape the aforementioned wrath, she fled to a place called Sicyon. As you would. There, she married the king, Epopeus. As you would. Are you still with me?

-Yeah, still with you. -Just. Her lips formed the words. They were dry. She licked them.

So, now she'd got married, without her father's consent and he was even less impressed by this, so unimpressed in fact that he declared war on Epopeus. Then he died - some say at his own hand - and left his Kingdom to his brother, Lycus.
This is where the true mayhem begins. Lycus was one mean son of a Greek and he went trucking off to Sicyon, killed Epopeus and dragged Antiope back with him. She then gave birth to the twins - no-one ever makes it clear whose they were - but they were turfed out and left alone, exposed on Mount Cuithaeron. Fortunately, they were rescued by a kind shepherd.

She stopped. Breathed in the waxy atmosphere. Checked the scene. No-one. Read some more.

Have ever you noticed that in Greek Mythology, there's always a kind shepherd around when you need one? I mean, they're not like buses; you don't hang around on the hillside for fifty years and then three of them poke their heads over the brow simultaneously. No, they're predictable. Reliable. Like a good dial-a-pizza service, if I can use such a sacrilegious simile in this city.

She giggled. Looked up. A formidable matriarch with a sparkling child in tow scowled at her. She looked down and carried on reading. The woman's feet echoed dully down the hall, slowly decreasing in volume.

Antiope was held captive by Lycus and suffered appalling cruelty at the hands of his wife, Dirce. However, one day her bonds miraculously loosened and she fled to the mountain to rejoin her sons. They were told all about it and went straight away to Thebes, where they killed Lycus, abducted Dirce and bound her by the hair to the horns of a mad bull. And that's what the statue depicts. Thank you for your attention.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her ears were pounding like a pair of timpani. She opened her eyes and stared at the mosaic again.
The creatures writhed and interlaced before her. The tentacles of the octopus undulated, the tiny tiles clicking and clacking, the suckers opening and closing; they stirred up the fishy stew around them; they leapt into place, forming alphabet soup letters:
IL TORO
It was like a colour-blindness test that formed a message that no-one else could see. She looked around. Suspiciously. Checking out that no-one was sharing her secret. The schoolchildren were drifting in one door and out the other without pausing. They were unusually subdued.
-So, is that it? -Is that the next clue? -Is this some Godforsaken treasure hunt? -OK, Mr. Bull, let's have a butcher's at you. She tucked the folder under her arm and strode back down the stairs, sweeping protesting children out of the way. She jumped the last two steps. She knew exactly where to go. She scudded along the slippery marble, as magnetically-drawn as a sperm, intermittently catching glances at the statuary in viaggio.
The statue of Heracles hove into view on her starboard side as she sailed down the aisle. A quick glance: he seemed to bulge his muscles at her. -You're magnificent, matey, but I'll have to catch you on the return journey. -Got to see this bull.
She slowed. She almost tiptoed the last few steps. The cool gigantic recess was almost deserted.
And then she came to rest before it. It. It. It.
The thing was immense. She was far enough away to see every detail in focus, but it still blocked out everything else. Yet it was still - impossibly, but unmistakably - dainty. It was pink and warm and beautiful. It was grey and stern and strident. It flicked to a changed aspect with every microscopic change of light. She honed in on the four main figures: the two men - just youths, really, though one was bearded - one with a lyre, the other with a club, one wrenching with a rope attached to the horns of the bull, the other forcing the creature's head to one side, holding on to one horn, tensing his muscles, wrenching the mouth back with the other, putting every vestige of strength into the task; the half-naked woman, fastened to the curl of the rope, cowering beneath the rearing animal; and finally, the bull itself.
It seemed to bring its foam-flecked presence to her, it was sweating and desperate and enraged but was also - undeniably - beautiful.
It was massive.
-Well, yes, you really are a lot of bull.
It loomed, perfectly poised.
-But what of it? -What about it? -Why have you brought me here? -Why all these pointers? -Why have your fishy messengers sent me here? -What have you got to tell me? -Will I find what I'm looking for here? -If not, what use is your history to me?

-Well, no message then. -So, what good are you, you jerk-sack of testosterone? -What is there in you to keep me here? -Well? -Tell me, you Farnos Bull, you trumpeting lump of maleness, have you anything at all to say to me, or are you just dead - dead as the people who made you? -Why am I here? -What have your dead civilisations to say to me?
"More than you might think."
-What?
"I believe you heard me correctly the first time - 'more than you might think.'"
-Who said that? -Where are you?
"Where am I? I'm the biggest thing in this place and you ask me where I am? I'm only the largest statue in Antiquity, that's all. Am I that inconspicuous?"
-You? But bulls can't talk.
"Oh, we have a few problems with the bull issue, do we? A touch of speciesism here, methinks: you can suspend your disbelief sufficiently to accept that statues can talk. That's no problem. The fact that I'm made of stone and have been subjected to so much restoration that I don't know if there are any original bits of me left doesn't give you any grief at all, but the number of my legs and the sounds normally emitted from my vocal chords apparently pose too insuperable a problem for milady's imagination."
-All right. -All right. -I'm sorry. -No need to get so grumpy.
"Grumpiness is endemic in bulls. It is part of our function. We are supposed to be grumpy. We are designed for aggression and rampant sexuality. We are supposed to paw the ground. This does not predispose us to a calm and gentle frame of mind."
-OK. -OK.
"SO DON'T TELL ME NOT TO BE GRUMPY!"
-Sorry. Sorry.
"Don't worry: only joking - you have to play up to the stereotype from time to time - it keeps a bit of respect. And you were certainly getting a bit cocky: 'have you anything at all to say to me?', indeed!" I don't know, you start getting stroppy because I don't communicate with you, and then you're shocked when I do.
-Sorry. -I shall know my place in future.
"Oh, we're still a bit sharp, aren't we? Well, no matter, enough of this invective. You'll probably get your come-uppance soon enough. Tell me why you are here."
-Well you sent for me, didn't you?
"Yes, but why have you come to Naples?"
-Well...
"Well?"
-Well...
"It's all right; we all know."
-All? (Glancing around.)
"Well, not all. Not them. Don't be silly. They're just pieces of bronze and stone. Can't expect them to know anything. Pity, really. Imagine, if some of these statues could speak. Unbelievable! Suffused in all that history! But, alas, no. There's not many of us in here can talk."
-What about him? (A diagonal nod of the head.)
"Heracles? Yes, well, he's one, though he's a gruff old bugger - the strong, silent type - prefers to flex other muscles than his tongue.
-Any more?
"No, not in the immediate vicinity. So it's a bit quiet, really. That's why I tend to witter on a bit, I suppose. Excuse me; don't let me get too carried-away by speaking to someone for a change. I know what you're about. Like a lot of people, you've got a quest - you're looking for this guy - you think he's in trouble - and you think you're going to pick up some clues in here. Well, one thing I can tell you, you won't find him in here. Nowadays, the entrance fee's a bit much of a luxury for him."
-So you do know him?"
"Yes."
-Well, tell me about him. -Where is he?
"Now? I don't know. I don't get out, you see. I'm just a lump of stone that's been around since a couple of years or so BC, so, all in all, I've had a pretty sheltered life, really. Apart from some fairly extensive - not to say excruciating - restoration."
-Are you really two thousand years old?
"Yes, I'm afraid so. Zeus!"
-What's that like?
"What's that like? Embalmed in this stone overcoat for two millennia? Well, it's not exactly stimulating, let me tell you."
-No, I suppose not.
"Still, let's not knock it, 'cos if I'm ever released from here, I've got to perform my duty according to the fates; I've got to drag this woman here there everywhere bashing her from rock to tree to rock again until she's dead and then I'm supposed to deposit her body in some fountain or other, and pollute the water-supply, I suppose. How would you fancy that? Talk about being shackled to your destiny - I mean, she deserves it, revolting old cow - whoops, pardon my pathetic fallacy - touch of reverse anthropomorphism there - but that's not the point - it's a messy business and I want no part in it but then I don't have any choice - it's fate, kismet - and you're in the same predicament really, aren't you?"
-Yeah. -I guess. -But I think your destiny's a bit different from mine. -At least I've got some vestiges of hope.
"Hope? No. No. Believe me, no. I think you need to wise up, my gentle visitor. I've seen all this. For nearly two thousand years. No, if you believe in fate, hope's not really an issue: hope is where you think things are going to turn out alright. Fate is where things'll turn out the way they turn out and there's nothing you can do about it and no point in hoping."
-That's a pretty bleak philosophy you've got there, Mr. Bull.
"Yes."
It all went black behind her eyes. -Look, I don't want to do this, you know. -I shouldn't be doing this. -All I wanted to do was suss this place out for my own purposes. -This was supposed to be me, right? -This was me being independent: from him, from my mother, from my mother's ghost, the whole sick crew. -Why the hell his sister had to ring me up just at the wrong moment, I don't know. -And here I am, sucked in again. -Fate. -Kismet. -All that works, I suppose. -Oh, you little shit, why have you dragged me back down into this cycle of dependency again? -Why are you taking me over? -This is so degrading. -Can't you just tell me he's all right, and let me get on with my life? -Oh, why the hell did I let her lumber me with all this responsibility? She could feel the tears start to drip down her cheeks. She felt like one big slow-melt candle. It was all coming out of her. -It's just so bloody unfair!
"But that's what life is - an unforgiving beast - just like me. Life is like being tied to a mad bull."
-Well if it is, it could be worse. -It could be talking to the statue of a mad bull. -I don't believe this. -I must be as mad as you are.
"Do you really think I'm mad?"
-Well, aren't you?
"Well, think about it: if you'd had your head wrenched around at right angles by some avenging twin, getting your muscles strained and your circulation cut off for almost two thousand years without even the slightest chance of retaliation, you'd get pretty pissed off about it, let me tell you, so what do you think?
Well?
Well?"
She was silent.
"Well, no, I'm not mad really - not in that sense - I'm as rational as the next bull."
She hugged her guidebook against her chest. -More bullshit. -More bullshit!
"I heard that."
-Yeah, well. -The fact is you can't tell me anything, can you?
"No. Sorry."
Still clutching her folder to her, she rocked from one foot to the other. -But you brought me here!
"Yes. I wanted to talk to you alone, away from your new-found friend."
-All the way here, just to tell me nothing.
"If you like."
-Even using your fishy friends as bait.
"Yes. Quite a neat reversal that."
-But what's the point? -You don't know anything about him.
"No, no, I do; he was here quite often. Making notes. Looking around. It was a sort of sanctuary, I thought, but I couldn't tell - couldn't home in and communicate with him. He wasn't like you. You've come here looking for something, so your mind's very open to communication, but he was here to write things down and tell things to people: his mind was fixed, so he was rather more closed off."
-And?
"And?"
-What happened to him? -What's going to happen to me?
"I don't know. I don't know everything. In fact, I don't know much at all really."
-Well, you should know! -You seduced me into coming here! -God, I think I'm going to scream!
"Don't do that: they'll only evict you. And don't be hard on me, either. It's not my fault I don't know much. I've led a pretty sheltered life, really. I certainly don't know the future. Except my own. Possibly. And I don't fancy that at all. I mean, this woman's not done anything to me. She seems a bit of a bad sort, but that's human business - well, mortal business, to be more precise - you've always got to watch these things with these Ancient Greeks. I mean, pardon me for saying it, but it's all the fault of that bugger Zeus that we're in this mess. I mean, going around disturbing the sleep of your would-be mortal consort dressed as a satyr so you don't get recognised in all your immortal glory and frighten people with your immense majesty. I mean, do you believe that? - a satyr! I ask you - pretty inconspicuous, that."
She sniffed. -Yeah, he might have disguised his identity, but hardly his intentions.
"That's right. That's better. Stay calm. Don't let things get to you too much. That's something I've learnt. You see things from a different perspective in here. I don't know if I've got a soul at all and if so, if it's here, or if it's in the original Hellenistic bronze or what - it's so difficult. They were buggers for nicking and copying things, the Romans - they were post-modernists before their time: you know the sort of thing - Farnos Bull, the Bronze mix. Anyway, you can imagine going from the hurly-burly of being a so-called mad bull to a statue. A slight reduction of metabolic rate there. So you learn to calm down. You breathe more slowly. Because you're breathing for ever. Probably. And you learn to accept things. And you see things you might not have seen otherwise. And that's what you should do."
-What?
"Slow down. You won't accomplish anything by running around all over the place, tripping over your own feet."
-So what do I do, then?
"You keep going. Steadily."
-That it?
"Yes. You keep going. Persistence in a righteous cause brings reward: listen to your mother. So, what you do is; you stop looking. Well, not so obviously, anyway. Learn to look in the opposite direction. You don't find crocks of gold by looking at rainbows. And don't pin your hopes on hope."
She rubbed her eyes. -Yeah? -Thank you. -Any more aphorisms?
"No."
-Well, you've been a big help, you know that? -And you know something else, you talk just like him.
"Yes, and there's a lesson there, I think. So I won't say 'Good Luck', just 'Goodbye'."
He froze back into his silence.
She knew without doubt that nothing further would be forthcoming.
She was tempted to tap his flanks, check for hollowness. She would have got away with it, too. No-one was watching. But she bottled out.
She stared at the group, saw for the first time the pain on the creature's face, the terror of the woman whose hair was about to be tied to the bull's horns, the mute acceptance of the onlookers, but most of all the quiet resignation to their destiny of the twins, who were so immersed in their task, they had abandoned all doubt, all morality. Fate. Kismet.
-Are you going to speak to me again?
Silence.
-In that case, I'll keep looking. -Or not looking, as the case may be. -Smile! -Say 'formaggio'. She aimed the camera. The flash lit up the whole tableau, chilling out the subtle tonal range, turning the statue to cold stone for less than a second. Somebody tutted.
She flounced her hair, turned and walked away, marble squeaking underfoot all the way. She passed Heracles; -Catch you next time, son, and squeaked all the way to the exit, surrendered her yellow disc and reclaimed her rucksack from the taciturn woman who had replaced the old man, and cantered down the steps and out into the fetid air.
She leant against the stone door-surround, trying to pick up some radioactive message from the stones. Nothing. She realised what she was doing. Straightened up. -God, must get my head sorted out. She swung the rucksack onto her shoulder and lunged down the steps.

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