Clytemnestra

by Costanza Casati

Clytemnestra took Helen’s hand in hers. It was warm and smooth. “I am sorry. You were frightened and I didn’t leave.” Helen shook her head. “I wasn’t,” she said. “I was with you.”

She didn’t say it, but Clytemnestra heard it. Sometimes she could feel Helen’s pain in her own body, her sister’s sadness wearing her down. It was as if their hearts were beating together, as if they’d learned to keep in rhythm after all this time spent side by side.

“It is noble to be gentle, to save others from pain. But it is also dangerous. Sometimes you have to make life difficult for others before they make it impossible for you.”

“But it didn’t teach you to accept defeat and that to achieve what you want from the men around you, you must allow them to believe that they are in charge.” “If that is what a woman must do, I don’t want to be one.”

How is someone not killed by such sorrow?

There is nothing more powerful than a strong-willed woman. That is what you have always been and must be no matter what others do to you. It is easier for a man to be strong, for we are encouraged to be so. But for a woman to be unbent, unbroken, that is admirable.

Although they are very different from one another, they have something in common—they believe they are special because no one but them sees the horrible things that need to be done. They believe others shy away from the brutal nature of life but that they are clever enough to see and act upon it. This is also what they tell everyone else: we have no choice, the gods demand it, war is a brutal affair, and we can’t win unless we too are brutal. These are all lies. They had a choice.

“Gods do not care about us. They have other concerns. That is why you should never live in the shadow of their anger. It is men you must fear. It is men who will be angry with you if you rise too high, if you are too much loved. The stronger you are, the more they will try to take you down.”