The Daughter of Atlas

I sat alone, taking in the sight of the dying day. Nothing but the rhythmic sound of the tide ebbing and flowing interrupted the tranquility of my Isle. Purples and golds stretched across the evening sky, as sculpted clouds lazily passed through it. On my lips a song began. An old one, from a time before the Greeks came to be. There in the distance, I could see a speck. A small ship loaded down with food and drink. A single man steered it. Odysseus. My dear Odysseus.

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Before I begin my tale, I wish to share a secret with you. The gods are to be pitied. We cannot die, yet we are no less terrible than the mortals. Our power does not make us good, but often cruel. Our emotions carry us away, like the wind drives the waves. They are our chains, the true steerers of our terrifying might.

I, Calypso, known as the nymph who would not let Odysseus go, am indeed named rightly. For there is much concealed about my life…and my love. The gods will say that it was their idea to release poor Odysseus from my care. That Zeus commanded me to send him on his way. But let me tell you another secret. Gods and goddesses are often liars.

I first laid eyes on Odysseus the year he sailed to Troy. His fleet passed within a few miles of my isle, Ogygia, though none but I knew it. I could see the soldier, so sure and confident of his expedition. I—who am gifted with the sight of all the world—kept watch as gods and goddesses entangled themselves in the war between the Achaeans and Trojans. But my eyes remained on that one man, whose wit and intellect delivered the city into the hands of the Greeks.

I cannot say when I first felt that inner burning toward Ithaca's king, but once he set off to return, my heart was already lost. Like a stone falling into a well, that sinks down into the cool depths of fresh spring water, lodging in its bottom without any hope of being freed, so was my heart. I became passion's slave.

For the longest time, my heart was a stranger to me. My father, Atlas, chose poorly in the war of the Olympians, and was condemned along with the other Titans. Day by day, night to night he holds up the heavens above. The same arms that once embraced me, that gave to me food and all I needed, now eternally bears the weight of the sky itself. He does not see much of the earth, for most of his power is expended on his endless task. So I came to the Isle nearest his face, where he simply has to look down in order to know it, and I endowed Ogygia with as much wonder as I could muster. Every color of flower imaginable. Every plant that catches the eye. Every delightful fragrance. Pomegranate’s red, hyacinth’s scent, and the soothing dove’s coo. I did this all for my father, so that he might find comfort in what he sees, hears, and smells.

But such a task is quite hard. For the ages of time do not stop, and immortality never ends. Odysseus once asked me, “What is it like to be immortal?” I have often thought of that. Those simple words. Words that etched themselves in my mind. A mortal cannot understand immortality. But were I to say it in one word, to be immortal is to be alone. It is to spend your years no longer satisfied with drinking your fill of every pleasure or whim. It is to be surrounded by selfish gods and goddesses, who only care about their next dramatic conquest or affair. It is to experience day upon day where everything leaves you and no meaning can be discerned. And what is ageless life without meaning? Little better than the torments of Tartarus.

Yet my thoughts wander. On with my tale. You, I am sure, are familiar with the journey home of brave Odysseus. But the poets have forgotten much in their telling of his story. Sharp-eyed Athena, who gave him aid at every turn, and Zeus who supported her. This is what you have heard. But in fact, it was I who often intervened in the life of Odysseus. From the time he left from Troy to return to Ithaca, over and over again, I guided his hand. When he passed through the waters, after losing his entire crew, it was I who shielded him from being seen by Scylla. When he sat in the Cyclops lair, unsure of how to escape, I whispered in his ear about hiding under the rams. And when he left my isle, it was I who ensured he reached the kind Phaeacians.

I did this because my love for him surpassed that of any other goddess or woman. I knew fate said we could never be, but I spurned it’s counsels and cast caution to the wind. His near lifeless body washed up on Ogygia’s shore and I fed him with ambrosia and nectar. I nursed him back from the brink of death. With songs I comforted his heart, for all the loss and pain he felt. He in turn gave me his love. I said that we could be together forever, and that he would never have to taste the bitter pangs of Hades. But he and I knew that such could never be. We knew it was wrong, that the Olympians would not approve of our betrayal of poor Penelope. (The divine hypocrites, who preach justice, while practicing every evil and vice.) Seven years we had before the god Hermes visited my home, 


“I have never seen the like of your Isle, divine Calypso.” The god sat in my cavern, sipping on nectar.

“It is lovely, no? I have tended it with the care of a mother with her child.”

“The island is not the only thing you care for Calypso.”

“My servants are here, yes, and there is the man Odysseus, whom I rescued from the sea.”

The god’s eyebrows raised, “And what is to be done with poor Odysseus?”

“Why, he has chosen to stay on Ogygia. I hope to one day soon be his wife.”

Hermes snorted, “Such can never be. You know the Fates and their decrees. Odysseus must leave you and sail away to Ithaca.”

At this I stood to my feet. “And why, pray tell, must such be written? Why must the gods decide to take and never give?”

“You truly do love him, all-seeing Calypso, do you not?”

I paused unwilling to spill my heart before the immortal messenger.

“I do, yes.”

“Then you must tell him this, his house is in ruins, devoured by ungrateful suitors. His wife continues to keep back their advances, and his son, Telemachus, is in danger of being murdered by these worthless men.”

My eyes fixed on the skies outside my cave. The words were sharper than a knife cutting into my breast. I knew what they meant. I knew what would happen if I related such a message to Odysseus. I looked back down, but the god was gone. And then I sensed it. Odysseus already knew. He had stood at the entrance of the cave listening to our entire conversation.

The next day I found Odysseus among the tall groves, cutting down trees.

“I cannot stay here,” he said, hearing my soft footsteps behind him.

“You cannot? Or you will not?”

“Cannot or will not, it makes no difference. I must be away.”

I wrapped my arms around my sides, feeling my silver threaded robe. “So then, none of this has meant anything to you?” Odysseus dropped the plane in his hand and stared into my eyes.

“I am a married man, immortal Calypso. A man who has not been home in twenty years. I thank you for saving my life. I truly do. But this has to end. I am going home now.” He paused, his eyes falling to the ground, and added, “I’m going to see my wife…Penelope.”

“And what about the gods, Odysseus? What about Poseidon, who has vowed to kill you? Or Helios, whose cattle your men ate?”

“Don’t threaten me Calypso. I have watched my men torn to shreds by Scylla, passed through the realm of the dead, and escaped the hands of the Cyclops. I do not fear death.”

I let out a short hot breath. “I’m not threatening you! I have never once told you that you could not leave my isle. I only warned you of what might be.”

Odysseus kept his hands busy, concentrating on crafting the wood beneath him. My voice nearly broke as I spoke, “Do you…do you feel shame for what you’ve done, for what I have been to you these seven years?”

The man would not look up at me, but I could sense the flush creeping across his face. The guilt. The fear. Mortals never know how transparent they are to us. “What are you afraid of Odysseus?”

“I fear,” he began, his voice faltering for a moment. “I fear that I have left dear Penelope to be ravaged by wolves. I fear that Telemachus will die young never having known his father. I fear that I have abandoned my family for a dream. A deathless life that I can never have.”

There it was. The truth. The lord of lies was speaking honestly to me, finally. I turned from him. I did not want him to see the tears in my eyes. Hopes broken that I knew were never mine to be owned. He was right. He had a duty to fulfill. She was his dear wife. He loved her. But he also had loved me.

“Tell them, I kept you here against your will,” I said.

I heard Odysseus stop his work. “I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can. You’re Odysseus the cunning. The wise. The liar. You can make anyone believe any story you wish. Even a goddess.” The last line I dragged out. His hand touched my shoulder, “I never meant to…” I drew away. “Whatever you did or didn’t mean to do, it is done. You are right to go home. But tell them nothing about you and I but lies. These years are mine to remember and mine alone.” With that I then went up to my cavern, to prepare supplies for his journey and to weep.

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“I love you,” I whispered beneath my breath. I could feel the twin babies growing within my womb. The children that would grow up to be men. Still the speck on the sea grew smaller. The horizon swallowed up fair Odysseus on his make-shift ship. My hand was guiding him. Though he could not feel it. My eyes would never leave him throughout his journeys. Until he took his revenge and embraced his wife.

The two little hearts beating within brought me back to myself. The days had grown long, and now I sat at the entrance of my cave. Bright light from the burning stars seeped down to me. I could almost make out the outlines of my father’s face as he bore the skies on his shoulders. Smiling. Could he be smiling?

“Something good came from our evil,” I said to the image of Odysseus in my head. “You left me two little lives. And now I am no longer to be alone.”