Secret

Wake dear Penelope, so you may see with your own eyes, Odysseus is home at last, though late in his coming. 

Penelope instructed for the bed to be removed from their chamber and made up elsewhere.

Speaking in this way put her man to the test. Odysseus was wounded by the bitterness of her words and said to his good wife, 'Who could move my bed elsewhere? Such a task would be arduous unless some god were to move it. There is no man living today who could easily move that bed. Built into that bed is a mighty secret, and no other craftsman but I could have constructed that bedstead. In the courtyard was a sturdy, long-leafed olive tree; its trunk, as it grew, resembled a pillar. My chamber was built around this tree, and from it, I fashioned the bedpost and finished the whole bed. I enriched it with gold, silver, and ivory. The bed was stretched out using ox-leather straps, purple in colour. Such is my secret, but I know not whether the bedstead stands firm in its place or whether the trunk has been cut from below and moved somewhere else.'

Penelope's knees grew weak, and her heart melted as she recognised the truth spoken by Odysseus. She burst into tears and threw her arms around her husband, kissed him and said, 'Odysseus, wisest of men, it was none other than the gods who cast sorrow upon us, envious of the joy we shared, in staying beside one another during the prime of our lives and as far as old age.

Homer, The Odyssey

This fragment from the Odyssey holds deep personal significance for myself, as it perfectly encapsulates the journey I have undertaken: my elegant wife, with her unwavering love and boundless forbearance on one hand, and my determination to find my way back home, though late in coming, on the other.

Note from the editor of Classical Philosophy