The Flesh of a Metaphor
Lysicles
As he did once before by the granting of admittance to his personal
library, Hadrian has again provided me with a most remarkable gift
of access. Yet whereas the first was given to welcome me into a
guarded room of ancient wisdom, this latest has been tendered to
admit me into the company of that astonishing sage whose name is
Favorinus. What’s more, the current extravagance was presented
to me quite explicitly under the auspices of my XVIIth birthday.
What a surprise it was – after several weeks of doing exactly
what I had predicted I would be doing here in Tibur – to arrive,
on the closing of my big day, at a very private dinner set for three,
and discover at the table the supple figure of that sophist I had
all but relegated to my fantasies.
“Did you think me blind?” asked the amused Hadrian on
seeing my amazed face. “Did you think me unaware of your attraction
to him?”
I smiled at him sheepishly, and replied, “With respect, it
was not you, my friend, whom I assumed was blind.” And with
that Hadrian laughed loudly and joyously. Favorinus looked at me
with admiration: “Hardly was I blind, Antinous. On the contrary,
I was positively stupefied by the revelation of your beauty. And
yet, it did not take long to discover that you were also –
how shall I put it? – reserved for another, and that to trespass
upon the claim of that other could prove disastrous to my ambitions
for a long and prosperous life.”
Hadrian seemed amused by that, and yet there was an obvious restraint
in him when he replied: “Antinous has not yet been named a
favourite, and is therefore quite free to arrange his own schedule
of appointments, trysts, luncheons and conspiracies.”
“Indeed,” said Favorinus. “Which raises in my
mind a most intriguing question – one that you may be sure
has occupied me since I received your invitation. And that is simply:
Why the delay? Surely this youth is ripe enough to at last be picked
from the vine of your paedogogium?”
Hadrian stared at me for a long time before answering: “What
is ripeness, Favorinus, but the prelude to something imminently
after it?” Favorinus scoffed at that: “The fruit is
made to be eaten and enjoyed. If that you do not, it shall but rot
and die, and you who foolishly missed the opportunity shall never
know what it was to taste it at the height of its sweetness.”
Hadrian smirked, and replied, “Are there not other fruits
to be eaten, Sir? All from a common vine and thus tasting exactly
the same? To be sure, I have eaten of many fine and gorgeous youths.
My concern is for this particular and perfect specimen: one whose
flesh but wraps around a very promising soul that holds in it the
seed of something great, yet still, I fear, unknowable.”
Favorinus considered that. “I do not understand your logic,
sir,” he finally said. “Neither do I,” replied
Hadrian, “which is ultimately the source of my problem. For
it is hardly logical; hardly within the realm of intellectual comprehension.
I would desperately love to eat of this fruit. To taste it. But
what then am I to do with the seeds that I discover there remaining
when the flesh has all but been consumed? Where shall I plant them?
How shall I address them? Cherish them? At the very least, by keeping
them wrapped in this uneaten form, I may preserve, for a time, their
promise.” Favorinus looked at me for a moment, and then back
to Hadrian: “So you would rather watch from afar as this beautiful
fruit slowly rots upon the bough?” A profound sadness swept
like sea-blown clouds across the face of Hadrian as he struggled
with that.
“There is a problem, gentlemen, with your argument,”
I said. They both turned to me, and I continued: “It so happens
that the fruit to which you allude is not, in actual fact, a fruit.
He is, rather, a conscious being – capable of love and admiration
and the exchange of thoughts, therapies and physical pleasures.
Thus he deems your extended metaphor to be annoyingly inappropriate,
and is somewhat offended by his exclusion from your discussion.”
Both of the men smiled then, and by a silent gaze between them agreed
that I was probably correct. “See?” asked Hadrian of
the sophist: “Did I not tell you?” Farvorinus turned
to me and said, “Forgive us, Antinous.” And with that,
our meal began.
I was invariably amazed to occasionally disengage from my body and
stand apart from it. From such a vantage, I could behold the youth,
Antinous, who was seated within the innermost sanctum of an incomprehensible
apparatus. Three beings – none of them, by birth, a Roman
– engaged in a private, personal, and pleasant chat at the
very summit of Rome’s mountainous heights. I saw a table laden
with delights: the wine warm and sweet; the venison fresh and scented.
I felt a wave of awe as I contemplated this young fellow’s
unintended and decidedly undeserved place in the world. Who was
he to be included among such a pair of greats? What was his worth,
when objectively compared to those other two and their mortal accomplishment?
It was a frightening awareness, and yet not so paralyzing as to
render me incapable of enjoying myself. Thus I consistently willed
myself back into my body; demanded of my own mind to fully engage
in the discussion at hand.
We talked of the shared Hellenic heritage between Favorinus and
I – marveling at the fact of its dispersion across the vastness
of the earth – and of Hadrian’s boundless love for it.
We talked of what it means to be a prodigy; to be one selected;
one who stands apart from the common and synchronized existence
of others. We debated its merits: was it a gift or a curse? We talked
of morality – of the obligations to state and society, laws
and propriety – that seemed forever to labour in jealous distrust
of men’s carnal desire for the flesh. And we talked of rubbish:
of wild boys, silly girls, and the futility of attempting to live
one’s entire and unbroken life beneath the unwavering gaze
of piety. I daresay it was this last item that made the night such
a smashing success, for it rendered us completely undignified and
utterly at ease, free from the constraints and expectations of a
whispering world. This, in turn, no doubt enticed the gods to relax
a little more in our midst. To recline and rejoice among us as we
dined. It felt wonderful.
As the evening wound to a close, Hadrian announced that he had prepared
for himself the company of a page he chose not to name. He bid us
a good night and took his leave, making it clear to Favorinus and
I that we were welcome to continue our revels without him. His meaning
was unmistakable.
Favorinus looked at me with a smile. “Shall you join me in
my bed tonight?” he asked. “Absolutely,” I eagerly
replied, and thus went we together unto his chamber.
To watch him undress was an astonishing experience, for his flesh
was at once soft, yet of a masculine character. I shed my clothes
and climbed with him beneath his covers. It was clear to me who
he wished to be active on this night, and I was very glad, for such
had also been my desire as well. I maneuvered myself behind him
and spoke softly into his ear: “May I confess to you, Favorinus,
how profoundly your first oration moved me? For I have lived these
past several weeks amid the warm glow of my imagination’s
flame, with fantasies fueled most hotly by the lamp-oil of your
unforgettable performance.”
Favorinus breathed luxuriantly, and pressed himself toward me. “Then
I shall be forced to compose an entirely new treatise,” he
purred, “whereat imagination in its turn becomes the lamp-oil
of a man’s most erotic action.”
“Thus action begets memory, memory imagination, imagination
action, endlessly,” I said. He shook his head, and replied,
“It is not endless, Antinous. For there must always come a
time when the lamp-oil is at last depleted; when one’s world
falls forever into unrecoverable darkness.”
Indeed, it was a somber observation. And I admired him all the more,
that even as we descended completely into the swirl of our physical
pleasures, he could yet remain sagacious and alert to the subtleties
of a potent metaphor. In deference to his gorgeous mind, I made
a final and valiant effort to linger with him in its presence: “Then
let us stay warm and visible,” I answered, “while the
flame burns brightly still.” He mumbled agreement, and I took
that to mean what I ardently desired: that at last we might shut
off our brains, and become to our flesh and its urges wholly devoted.
From that point forward, the night was thoughtless, wordless, and
succulent. A.
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