Orpheus and Eurydice by D.J. Rozell

Orpheus shuffled to center stage, half-sat on the tall stool, slouched over his lyre, and pulled the microphone closer.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining me tonight. A lot has happened since my Argonaut tour.” Orpheus held back a sigh. “So much that I’ve completely revamped my set list.” At the edge of the lit stage, a table of ladies glanced at each other. “Since I was last here, I returned to my home country and got married.” A smattering of applause. “Yes, thank you. It was the greatest moment of my life. My wife, Eurydice, is not only the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, but also the bravest.”

Orpheus began to play a quiet melody on the lyre like water over stones in a stream. Above this line, he recounted the tale of his ecstatic early days with Eurydice. The tune drifted darker as he explained how shortly after their marriage, Eurydice caught the attention of a local politician, Aristaeus, who was intrigued by her charisma despite her public critiques of his corruption. When Aristaeus asked Eurydice to join him, she refused to be bought or silenced, so he sent his secret police. They struck like a viper, abducting her as she returned from a rally.

Orpheus sang of his long search for Eurydice, how he bribed his way into the underground prison and even convinced the guards who were fans of his music to release her. As Eurydice and Orpheus escaped the prison, they knew they would have to flee the country. Her political dissent would never go unpunished. Orpheus already had a visa to go on another music tour, but there was no way Eurydice could leave. Always the resourceful one, she found a wealthy elderly woman whose health had recently declined and could no longer travel to Europe. Being secretly sympathetic to Eurydice’s progressive politics, she offered to let Eurydice travel under her passport in disguise. Within days, the plans were set. A friend who worked in theater disguised Eurydice so well that only a relative would know she was not her wealthy patron.

When the time came to leave, Orpheus could not stand to part with Eurydice. “It is unbearable to leave without you by my side, my love.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she chided. “We are going to the same airport and taking the same flight. As soon as we land in Rome, we need never part again. You must only ignore me until we are safely in the air.”

Orpheus smiled and pulled her close before he left, “Without you, I am nothing.” He kissed the tender lips hidden behind the disguise and left.

Hours later, Orpheus waited impatiently at the gate for his flight with a newspaper spread wide before him. He pretended to read its propaganda in order to avoid looking at anyone, but he could think of nothing but Eurydice. As his flight was called, he folded the newspaper carefully, conspicuously tucking it under his arm to suggest to any observer that his political loyalties were unquestionable. He walked to the boarding queue. Their freedom was so close. But what if she had not made it to the airport? Had not made it through security? Had not evaded the watchful eye of the police that wandered unseen, everywhere? Feeling a rising panic, Orpheus looked around trying not to be obvious. Sure enough, Eurydice, disguised as the elderly woman, was patiently waiting in the seating area, reading a paperback, making eye contact with no one. Orpheus could not resist lingering on her momentarily, imagining the beauty under all those scarves, her easy laugh, and endless compassion. Catching himself, Orpheus recomposed his face and turned back to the line realizing that it was now moving. He quickly closed the gap and boarded the plane. Once they were safely in the air, Orpheus waited for another passenger to use the nearby lavatory to give him an excuse to walk the length of the plane, scanning each seat. Inside the restroom, Orpheus replayed his look back at Eurydice, imagined the secret police noticing his unguarded stare of devotion towards the old lady before boarding the plane. He imagined them escorting her to a hidden room, discovering her true identity as an escaped political prisoner. The loss and guilt were overwhelming. He sobbed into his wadded-up jacket.

Upon landing, Orpheus had already hatched a plan to immediately return to attempt to save Eurydice again. But when he tried to call any of their accomplices, there was no answer. He eventually reached a friend of a friend in a government position who admitted that Eurydice’s near escape had enraged the political underworld. Eurydice was already dead, her close contacts had been rounded up, and Orpheus could never return.

As the last chord faded, the audience was motionless except for a few people quietly weeping. Orpheus pushed away the microphone, nodded his head in acknowledgement, and left the stage. Packing his lyre away, he slipped out of the night club and walked along the canal that paralleled the way back to his hotel. The performance had slightly reinvigorated Orpheus. Singing of Eurydice was the only thing that pulled him from his somnambulistic daze. The streets were mostly empty, but he could here several voices and the clatter of heels on stone pavers approaching from behind.

“Hey, Orpheus,” a bold voice called. He turned to find the women from the closest table at the night club approaching. He waited as they caught up, the less inebriated members holding up the more. “You owe us,” the bold one continued. “I didn’t even want to come, but this is my friend’s bachelorette party and she wanted to hear you sing love songs. You just played a bunch of sad crap. Look at her.” Indeed, her friend, propped up by the remaining two women, was whimpering into the shoulder of the largest woman. The bold one stepped closer. “The least you could do is come back to our hotel room and sing her some happy songs.” She leaned in even closer, “And maybe give her a special time. We’d make it worth your while.”

Orpheus took a step back, “I apologize for making your friend sad when you feel she should be joyous, but I have nothing but such songs in my heart. I cannot.”

The bold one closed the distance Orpheus had opened. “You think you’re so damn special. Well, you’re not.” She shoved him hard.

As Orpheus took a step back to steady himself, his heel met the short parapet at the edge of the canal. He felt himself tumble backwards over the edge. He entered the icy water headfirst and sank into darkness. Righting himself, he came up for air only to hear the bold one yell over the edge “They never should have let any of you into this country!” The dark rotating form of the hard lyre case sailed through the air and caught Orpheus squarely in the face. Then there was only sinking blackness and one word. Eurydice.