Read Online Flow Down Like Silver: Hypatia of Alexandria by Ki Longfellow - Free Book Online Page B

myself.   He seems also to guard me, but from other than unwelcome suitors, what need?   Who am I?
    Father’s “man” has begun to please me.   He pleases all in my family for one or another of his qualities.   Minkah is skilled and if he has yet to master a skill, he learns it quickly.   He can speak and when he speaks he makes sense.   How many can this be said of?   Not always of Father or myself, for scholars often do or say such truly foolish things.   Even Lais has from time to time uttered nonsense.   But what has convinced me is this: both Desher and Ia’eh greet him as quickly as they greet me who have loved them all their lives.   Father cannot do without.   Ife simpers.   Lais seeks his advice.   Jone pretends disinterest, but her interest is plain to all.   And if I am honest, I am more than pleased.   But to say more is to understand more, and I do not understand what it is I feel.   This I do know.   He is Egyptian.   As I am a Greek, he can never do more than please me.
    In my ear Minkah whispers, “Murder, mistress.   You were saying…”
    I shake my head to push his away.   I do not need to hear what I was saying.   I merely lost myself for a moment, and now I am found.
    I finish this day’s lecture on the nature of Divine Consciousness expressed within the self—which has so far been greeted by nothing more than the soft murmur of interest and the scrapings of stick on wax—by stating with great flourish that the most important concept ever put forth was that matter, all matter, with no exceptions from stone to star to starfish to student to sovereign, is as divine as all else in the cosmos, for all flows from Consciousness, the Word that came before the World—and all, in time, will flow back.
    And oh! finally—an uproar.   Euoptius of Cyrene has turned to face his fellows so he might address as many as possible in loud outrage.   His brother, Synesius, makes no noise but stares up in mute dismay.   I smile down at him, not sure he hears me say through the din that all this was spoken of by Hindu metaphysicians a thousand years ago.   It would not help if he had heard.   Many I teach are Christians and to Christians such thoughts are heretical.   They tolerate the Greeks, admire the Romans, puzzle over the Persians…but Indians!   Outrageous!
    Oh foolish Hypatia!   Does this clamor mean I shall be contradicted?   Does it mean I have gone too far?   There have been teachers banished, even stoned, for less.   These are the sons of the rich.   Without the rich, where should my family be now that I am their sole support?
    No matter how they shout or scowl or smash their slates on the floor of the Caesarium, I hold to my seat.   This is Alexandria.   Freedom of thought and of expression is Alexandria.   And I am Hypatia of Alexandria.
    Behind me, unseen, Minkah has taken hold of my tribon .   He will pull me back if he has to, force me to safety.   But the uproar fades; the shouting is replaced by chatter.   They are discussing the idea!   Though none will accept it.   My Christians think only their Christ divine.   My “pagans” think divinity is gained by the few through pain and suffering.   My pessimists think nothing is divine but do not say so for that is the most heretical idea of all.
    Still, they give it thought.   To think wrongly is better than not to think at all…although I may be wrong about this.
    Leaving, I am delayed by that one who seems to see me as goddess, little good it does either of us.   Synesius of Cyrene, an artless soul, is pushed this way and that by Euoptius, a brother who would have him a bishop.   All Synesius desires of life are his horses, his dogs, the hunt, and, I suspect, me.   Synesius lacks spine, poor youth; therefore, a bishop he may one day be.
    He asks so many questions and so quickly, I hold up my hand for silence.   “Synesius!   You wear me out.   If you wrote me a commentary, one I could read at my