Myris: Alexandria, A.D. 340
When I heard the terrible news, that Myris was dead,
I went to his house, although I avoid
going to the houses of Christians,
especially during times of mourning or festivity.
I stood in the corridor. I didn't want
to go further inside because I saw
that the relatives of the deceased looked at me
with evident surprise and displeasure.
They had him in a large room
and from the corner where I stood
I caught a glimpse of it: all precious carpets,
and vessels of silver and gold.
I stood and wept in a corner of the corridor.
And I thought how our gatherings and excursions
wouldn't be worthwhile now without Myris;
and I thought how I'd no longer see him
at our wonderfully indecent night-long sessions
enjoying himself, laughing, and reciting verses
with his perfect feel for Greek rhythm;
and I thought how I'd lost forever
his beauty, lost forever
the young man I'd worshipped so passionately.
Some old women close to me were talking quietly
about the last day he lived:
the name of Christ constantly on his lips,
his hand holding a cross.
Then four Christian priests
came into the room, and said prayers
fervently, and orisons to Jesus,
or to Mary (I'm not very familiar with their religion).
We'd known of course that Myris was a Christian.
We'd known it from the start, when he first
joined us the year before last.
But he lived exactly as we did:
more given to pleasure than all of us,
he scattered his money lavishly on his amusements.
Not caring a damn what people thought,
he threw himself eagerly into nighttime scuffles
when we happened to clash
with some rival group on the street.
He never spoke about his religion.
And once we even told him
that we'd take him with us to the Serapion.
ButI remember now
he didn't even seem to like this joke of ours.
And yes, now I recall two other incidents.
When we made libations to Poseidon,
he drew himself back from our circle and looked elsewhere.
And when one of us in his fervor said:
"May all of us be favored and protected
by the great, the sublime Apollo"Myris whispered
(the others didn't hear) "not counting me."
The Christian priests were praying loudly
for the young man's soul.
I noticed with how much diligence,
how much intense concern
for the forms of their religion, they were preparing
everything for the Christian funeral.
And suddenly an odd sensation
came over me. Indefinably I felt
as if Myris were going from me:
I felt that he, a Christian, was united
with his own people and that I was becoming
a stranger, a total stranger. I even felt
a doubt assailing me: that I'd been deceived by my passion
and had always been a stranger to him.
I rushed out of their horrible house,
rushed away before my memory of Myris
was captured, was perverted by their Christianity.
Greek; trans. Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard
Constantine Cavafy, Greek, trans. Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherard,
C.P. Cavafy: Collected Poems, ed. George Savidis, Edmund Keeley
and Philip Sherard, Princeton University Press, 1975.