And then what happened, I mean, to Odysseus? Well, that depends, I suppose, on who you believe. The Greeks, having one best seller, wrote a sequel, but I think they made it up. I heard that he stayed home, and grew tired. After the battles and the glory, he kept alive the memory of city walls, and one shining solitary figure. Some say the memory ate him away, ounce by ounce; others that the life of peace dismantled the vision, stone by stone, until the walls were a rubble, the woman an indistinct blur of light. Either way, the skin on his face and shoulders loosed tiny fingers and fell away, the muscles melted into a pool of soft tissue, the bones separated into sleep. Either way, he grew tired, and relaxed, at last, into a pool, a sleep.