My Amazon
By Counselor
A father's memory of how his son was conceived.


This is a story of how I imagine a young man must have experienced an amazon.
It comes from a study of history and of the interactions between young men and
modern day woman athletes.

Sleep peacefully, my son. Are you dreaming? I remember that in your sixth
summer you dreamed of flying with the eagles and the next day were nearly
killed trying to soar from a tree branch. Perhaps even now you dream that you
are in the forest with the animals you love and understand so well.

Tomorrow you will go forth perhaps never again to sleep under this roof. You
will build your own home and care for your flocks. You will guard and watch
after them as you have learned to guard and watch after mine. You will be a
man among men. It is time that you leave, but I will grieve, nonetheless, for
I will miss our companionship in the forest and even more the looks that pass
between us as we share understandings that others are not given to see.

I remember so well how you came to me. I was little older than you are now,
living, just as you will live, alone in a small cabin that I have since made
into this home. One summer evening a tall young woman stood in that very door
with a sword in her hand and half shield at the ready. She was almost as tall
as I with a broad forehead and high cheekbones very much like yours and the
reddest lips I ever saw. Her face was a dark tan and framed by very short
hair, black like coal. Her red pointed cap matched her lips. Her tunic of tan
cloth, gathered at the waist with a goatskin belt, left bare her right
shoulder, both arms and most of her thighs. Her leather boots came up only
just above the ankles. Even though I had never before seen such a woman, I
knew immediately that she was an Amazon.

She looked warily about the room gazing first at one part and then another. I
stood by the fire as still as she, every sense alert, watching and waiting. At
length she seemed satisfied that I was alone and that there were no hidden
dangers. Then, still silent, she looked straight at me. Her gaze was so
piercing that I caught my breath. It seemed that those blue eyes took in my
every detail and then probed my innermost thoughts. It was as though I were
naked and totally open before her. I became self-conscious and picked at my
tunic. Finally her look grew softer and she said, "I have come to make a
child."

My heart leapt inside me and my belly knotted. You see, I was still a virgin,
kept that way by my shyness and a certain fastidiousness. A new desire was
stirring, but fear also. I tried to hide my feelings, so I nodded as if such
events happened every night. I poured two cups of hot brew and held one out to
her. She laid her sword and shield on my newly-made table and took the cup. We
sat across from each other staring while we both sipped hot liquid. Her eyes
were a dark blue like those of Spartans: never had I seen such blue eyes with
black hair.

"I am Lealla," she said. Her Greek was accented, but perfectly understandable.
Her voice like the music of a harp went straight to my soul. There it found a
home and echoed, "Lealla, Lealla."

"I am Eclid," I responded finally, keeping my voice steady.

She reached out and touched my hand. Her fingers moved to my forearm and then
to explore my face. I touched her fine, soft hair. Our faces drew close. We
looked into each other's eyes, deeper and deeper so that our minds touched.
Somehow I came to know her almost as if we had grown up in the same village,
but at the same time she was different, foreign, beyond my understanding. For
a moment as in a dream I saw horses and grasslands and felt her thrill of
riding free on a dappled pony. Then there was a spear and terror and then
rejoicing. But strangest of all was that in every vision women seemed to fill
the background and like the chorus in a play give meaning to the story. Then I
realized that as I was knowing her she was knowing me and seeing my brothers,
sisters and parents and feeling with me the tragedy of their loss. Tears came
into her eyes.

And all the while love was passing between us and filling the room. But our
love was not that of ordinary men and women; we were two young creatures wild
and free, brave but still wary, a bit frightened by what we were learning,
ready to venture or to flee.

Together we seemed to make a decision and we were in each other's arms. Our
bodies strained against each other, loving, but not yielding, rather striving
and testing. Then we were matching strength against strength, and like two
wrestlers probing for weaknesses. I remember as if it were yesterday the
sweetness of her scent, the smoothness of her skin, the firmness of those
breasts, the strength and suppleness of her body. As we tested one another we
laughed happily. I would not have hurt her for all the gold in the Peloponese,
but yet I strove to overcome her, fighting as if she were a man, using all the
strength and cunning I possessed. Without a word we struggled scattering my
few belongings around the cabin until overcome with fatigue I could scarcely
lift my arms and my chest ached from the heavy breathing.

In the end she overthrew me. I lay on my back exhausted but full of love,
ready and waiting. I am sure she was a virgin like me, but, nonetheless, she
came on me fierce and strong. I felt as though we were floating above the
blankets and out of this cabin, locked together as though we were one forever.
We were straining to reach Mount Olympus and, just as we touched eternity, the
gods granted us to know their bliss and new life passed from me to Lealla.

When it was over she was smiling. Happiness caught us up and filled this cabin
along with our love. We held each other kissing while she crooned that strange
melody that I sometimes sing to ward off the sadness of the night. Then we ate
and drank with our bodies touching. As the sky lightened I lay down and gave
myself to her again and then she was gone.

As the days went by that night seemed like a dream half remembered, too sweet
to be true.

Twenty-two moons later in the late fall she stood again in my door-frame. Her
sword was not drawn; rather she carried a bundle crooked in her right arm. She
came in as if she lived here and laid a sleeping baby on my blankets. She
uncovered it so that I could see the child was male. She kissed the babe and
motioned for me to do the same. From that instant I loved my son, the child of
our love, as I loved her.

Then we kissed each other and sat together, eating and drinking and touching
until she said, "We must make another child." That night there was no
striving, only gentleness. I lay again in the blankets and life passed to her
from my willing body. When dawn came, she picked you up, held you in her arms
and kissed you. Tears fell on your forehead. Then she smiled and handed you to
me. There was one sob that tore my heart in two and then she was gone. You and
I have been together since that moment.

I took myself a wife. Together we created your brothers and sisters. I love
them dearly, but they are of the land and the rivers while you are of the moon
and the stars.

Tomorrow you go on your own way. Perhaps some evening a young huntress with
sword and shield will appear at you door and claim your love so that together
you will make a new life. If so, I hope that the baby will be a man-child so
that this story might not end, but go on, forever.