A/N: The final act is complete. Please tell me what you think; we authors feed on reviews, just like the dead on the flowers of Asphodel.

-- Leia

Exit SISYPHUS, leaving THANATOS pinned to the rock and MEROPE, unthinking and unknowing, beside him. As the CHORUS sings, they recede into the darkness and the scene gradually begins to change.

CHORUS

Strophe

Now Sisyphus hath three times shamed

The gods, and thrice his fate refused:

When first Lord Thanatos proclaimed

His death, he by a cunning ruse

Beguiled the god to put his own

Immortal hands in fetters bound.

King Sisyphus, his death postponed,

Lived on til Ares dragged him down.

He bade his wife show no lament,

Nor cleanse him, nor his corpse inter,

Then with Persephone's consent

Returned to life to punish her.

And now again he hath defied

The heavens with his godlike pride;

With his immortal pride.

Antistrophe

Now reaches he the heavy gates

Of bronze, whose vicious sentinel

Tisiphone(1) keeps guard and waits

For men who seek escape from hell.

But though the blood-drops in her glare,

The fearsome lash she carries and

The serpents writhing in her hair

Would frighten any other man,

Yet Sisyphus with crueler eyes

But seizes her about the wrists

And flings her down, and in surprise

She like a cow'ring dog desists,

And watches with a helpless cry

The fearsome fugitive pass by;

Her prisoner pass by.

Strophe

Now where the deathly river flows

The Hellhound(2) paces to and aft

Along the bank, to savage those

Who seek to board the boatman's raft

And cross into the living world.

Upon his back a sharp-fanged wreath

Of serpents hiss; his lips are curled

To bare his triple sets of teeth,

But Sisyphus subdues the hound

By striking at him with the chains

That once his kingly wrists had bound.

Then reaching Acheron, he gains

Aged Charon's boat, and crosses o'er

The river to the lighter shore;

The river's earthly shore.

Antistrophe

Now he hath reached the gloomy maw

That joins the living and the dead;

And though we shadows watch in awe,

Yet colder grow our hearts with dread.

For Thanatos hath loosed the sword

That pinioned him, and leaves his snare;

Now like a hound he prowls toward

The passageway to Earth – beware,

Lord Sisyphus, where wilt thou hide?

How long wilt thou avoid thy tomb?

What living men will take thy side

When Hell and Heaven seek thy doom?

Though thou escaped, and thou art free,

Thou ever wilt a phantom be;

Thou wilt a phantom be.

The scene has changed to the mouth of the Underworld at Taenarum, a cave overlooking the rugged coastline of the southern Peloponnese. It is an early summer evening. SISYPHUS emerges from the cavern and pauses at its threshhold, gazing out upon the world he has not seen in so many years. His tirade at THANATOS and his difficult escape have tired him, and he is somewhat calmer than before. (Note that the CHORUS remains in its place beside the stage, but does not take part in this scene.)

SISYPHUS

Have I escaped? Is this the mortal world?

Here sounds the living ocean, so unlike

the silent surface of the Acheron,

and here cicadas sing, their voices more

familiar and brotherly to me

than all the chorus of the human dead.

This sky extends unbound, no longer but

a coffin's lid, and hues I have not glimpsed

in all my years in Tartarus now paint it.

Yes, I have reached the earthly realm; I have

escaped from hell, and made a mockery

of all the gods who thought they could detain me.

(examining his hands, the severed chains still trailing from his wrists)

And yet my hands are cold – they have no blood

to heat them, and this air, though milder than

the chilling ether of the Underworld,

can warm them not. I seem to breathe it – aye,

it fills my chest – and yet its taste is stale;

did not the scent of flowers used to make

it sweet? There blooms the yellow fennel on

the slope, yet not as brightly as before.

Its hue has muted, faded, like her eyes.

Even the silver-glinting ocean's waves

are not as radiant as I remember them.

Though darkened by the sunset's fading light

this world is dimmed by something else than night.

Enter THANATOS from the cavern, holding his sword. He stands a short distance behind SISYPHUS, regarding him silently. A grudging respect has complemented his scorn for the man.

SISYPHUS

(without turning around)

You have escaped, and come for me again.

THANATOS

Why have you not departed from this place?

SISYPHUS

(his voice low and cold, but more controlled than before)

I shall in time. You cannot conquer me.

THANATOS

It is no matter; the Furies will pursue

you, 'til they snare you with their claws

and drag you back into the Underworld.

SISYPHUS

I do not fear them, nor any of the gods.

THANATOS

You have a heart of adamant, but this

is recklessness, and you will suffer for it.

SISYPHUS

Then let me; I have suffered all my years.

THANATOS

If that is so, you brought it on yourself.

SISYPHUS

For what – that I was born a mortal man?

THANATOS

That you rejected your mortality.

SISYPHUS

Then blame the gods for cursing me with it.

THANATOS

Be grateful that they let you live an hour.

SISYPHUS

No one but slaves and captives say such things.

THANATOS

Where will you go? Your city, Corinth, has

another king; none of its people will

remember you, and none will welcome you,

a lifeless phantom and a fugitive.

SISYPHUS

It is no matter; I shall be alone.

THANATOS

Below the earth, at least, your fellow shades

gave you their comfort and their consolation.

SISYPHUS

That was in vain – I never wanted it.

THANATOS

What do you want? What value do you find

here in this world that you so longed to reach?

SISYPHUS

You cannot understand; you will not die.

THANATOS

Nay, I shall not. Be gone then, phantom; I

have no intent to capture you again,

for though a ghost, you have retained the strength

and vigor of a living man, and you

would fight with all the hatred in your heart.

I leave you to the talons of the Furies, who

will soon pursue you like a horde of wolves,

and tear your still unliving flesh from off its bones.

If you desire for anything like peace,

surrender now and willingly return.

SISYPHUS

(bitterly)

Like peace? You toy with me. How dare you speak

to me of peace, you who have haunted me

through all my life? You never have allowed

me peace. E'er since I left my cradle I

have sensed a shadow slinking after me.

I saw it – saw you – everywhere: between

the stars, behind the sunlight, in the eyes

of dead and living men, and even 'neath

the sweetness of my wife's caresses and

my children's smiles, and all the riches of

my kingdom. You were always watching from

the corners of mine eyes, and like a beast

that trails its bleeding quarry you pursued

me to the last hours of my life. How could

a man so hunted ever be at peace?

THANATOS

Phantom, I never hunted you; I but

awaited you, as I await all men.

SISYPHUS

What does that matter? Does the wolf not hunt

its prey, although it lies in wait for it?

THANATOS

I hear the curses of a thousand men

each day, but only when I claim their shades.

Throughout the greater portion of their years

they keep their thoughts from me, and are content.

SISYPHUS

So children are, before they learn of death.

THANATOS

Most men are not as fortunate as you.

You were a king, and ruled an envied city;

you took a goddess wife, who bore you sons

to carry on your house. You lived for years

beyond your fated hour of death. Yet still

you claim injustice, and you ask for more.

SISYPHUS

Aye, I had all these blessings, yet one curse –

but one – destroyed their meaning and their worth.

THANATOS

One curse?

SISYPHUS

That I was mortal, and must die.

You speak of all these things as if they were

a compensation. What did kingship bring

me? Robes and jewels, baubels and annointments –

are corpses not embellished in such ways?

A hundred kingdoms and a thousand sons

could never make me go to death at peace.

Cannot you understand? My life was no

less worthless or less futile than the child

that dies unborn within its mother's womb.

THANATOS

These words are strange and senseless to mine ears.

All men are born to die, yet some find peace.

SISYPHUS

If so they but deceive themselves, and feed

on fantasies of bright Elysium.

THANATOS

Such men are happy – is that not enough?

SISYPHUS

Were it enough, I would have joined with them.

THANATOS

You set yourself apart from them instead.

I cannot see why you have chosen this.

SISYPHUS

(after a moment, quietly)

Tell me, you wretch – do you feel nothing for

the men and women that you drag to death?

Have you no pity, no compassion? I know

that you have none for me – that is no matter –

but for my children and my grandchildren,

and for my guiltless wife…do you feel nothing?

THANATOS

I take to death those men whose threads of life

the Fates have severed. I can do naught else.

And no one knows – not man nor god, nor Zeus

himself – with what design the Fates conduct

men's lives, and weave their births and deaths. In truth,

phantom, I think that there is none at all.

SISYPHUS is silent. He still has not turned to look at THANATOS, but continues to gaze out across the somehow foreign landscape. Something else is beginning to underlie his anger. The god of death watches him curiously.

THANATOS

What troubles you so greatly, shade? You vowed

to reach the living world, and now it lies

before you. If you truly think yourself

more powerful than death, depart this cavern

and live – why do you stand here motionless?

There is another long moment of silence. When SISYPHUS finally begins to speak, it is more to himself than to THANATOS. The bitter anger in his voice has been tempered by sorrow.

SISYPHUS

So many years have passed since I have seen

these earthly things. I still remember them.

The view from Corinth's walls was like this, when

the sun had set: the flower-covered hills

sloped to the sea, beneath a sky still blushed

with rose, and on the dark horizon ships

would wander, trading places on the tide,

some drawing near to port and some departing.

Tomorrow, in yon shallows, boys and girls

might wade, just as my Glaucus once immersed

his toddling feet and fled the waves, and laughed

as they outpaced him. From the dunes my wife

and I would watch and smile, my hand upon

her swollen belly, hers upon my arm,

her hair so sweet with flowers and her breath

yet sweeter on my cheek, and for a moment

nothing would touch my heart but happiness.

The world embraced us then so mercifully.

I have not felt that mercy since – not once.

That peace lived fleetingly; it died and fell,

just like an autumn fruit whose sweetness turns

to sickly rot. The shadows came again.

E'en now the world is dark, although I thought

to see the sunlight when I left the dead.

Sweet Merope, what has become of your

immortal eyes, that even tearless used

to shine with sympathy and bring my heart

a briefest consolation? Now they stare

like burned-out stars. O Glaucus, child of mine,

what horror paled you as your death approached?

I knew that horror, even if I spurned thee.

And Grandson, have you found your peace, along

the banks of Lethe's numbing flow? Where drifts

your phantom now upon the plains, its eyes

unseeing and as blank as uncarved marble?

Ah, shadows, shadows – I had thought that I

had left them in the Underworld, but now

I see them everywhere: beneath the slope

of every hill, below the cresting waves,

and even feasting on the flowers like

a swarm of dark-winged moths. I fled

them, and they seized the world within their jaws.

They strangled everything – my wife and sons,

my house, and every man and woman that

I knew. They even wormlike burrowed through

the lofty wall of Corinth, and a day

will come when it will lie in ruins. I know

now why the world seems pale and muted: it

is dead, as empty as my hollow veins.

How lonely – 'tis the hardest thing of all,

to feel so lonely – but a man cannot

be otherwise; we all are strangers in

the grave. What dampness is this on my cheek?

In all my cold and still unliving form,

it is the only thing that has a warmth.

Then cast yourselves upon me, O you shadows,

and battle with my heart, and with my pride;

for all my sorrow and my suffering,

I yet can say that you will never break it.

There is a long moment of silence. THANATOS, who has been listening quietly, finally speaks.

THANATOS

I cannot understand these sentiments;

they are beyond my deathless grasp. 'Tis clear

you have a mortal heart, King Sisyphus,

although perhaps you should have been a god.

SISYPHUS

(finally turning to look at him)

I would not choose to be, if it would mean

that I would be like you – unpitying

and without comprehension. Be gone, you dog.

Complain to high Olympus, curse me, send

the Furies after me, but never speak

to me again – you are not worthy of it.

Exit THANATOS into the cave, leaving SISYPHUS alone again. The scene slowly begins to shift back to the Underworld as he speaks.

SISYPHUS

Farewell, thou earthly world. 'Tis only now

I know that thou wast never truly mine.

Farewell, ye hills and vales, ye meadows and

ye flower-covered glades, ye rugged peaks

where hunting dogs would bay, and ye green slopes

where olives grew, and where my sons would make

their playground; and farewell ye shores, where I

would walk alone and yearn to feel at peace.

Despite it all, at times I almost could.

If all the universe is shadow, then

I face it without fear. Ye hands, prepare

to feel yon boulder's roughness once again,

and thou sad heart, though drained of blood,

I know thou hast the power to endure.

Aye, thou art mortal – and of mortal flesh

the proudest and the strongest things are built.

Rejoin thy boulder, and resume thy climb;

endure thy burden to the end of time.

SISYPHUS resumes rolling his boulder up the hill as the CHORUS begins to leave the stage.

SISYPHUS and CHORUS (exodus)

O ye who someday must descend

Into the dark of death's domain,

Ere ye forget your lives, and wend

Your way onto the dismal plain,

Seek out the shade who labors here,

Within his heart a bitter pride

And in his eyes a brimming tear.

Creep close to him, ye men that died,

And with your weak and fading breath

Converse ye with that fallen king,

And journey not alone to death,

But with your fellow phantoms sing

As all your waning senses dim

For mortal man a fun'ral hymn;

For man a fun'ral hymn.

SISYPHUS continues to roll the boulder as the stage fades to black.

FIN

(1) A Fury

(2) Cerberus, the triple-headed dog who was said to guard the far bank of the Acheron

A/N: Well, that's it. This was rather challenging to write, though it was the ending I had always planned. I knew that nothing anyone could do – not Thanatos, nor the Furies, nor any of the gods – could ever make Sisyphus change. The only thing that could change him was himself. So I gave him everything he wanted, and let him realize that it wasn't enough. He escaped from death, but couldn't enjoy the world anymore, because everything he had ever loved in it was gone. What I wanted was for him to realize that death affects everyone – it isn't a personal curse from the gods to him. And with that realization he's able to identify with and pity the rest of mankind, and finally sing together with the chorus, which gives him the only "peace" that is possible for him. It's not a happy ending, but it was never going to be. I see his return to the Underworld not as an "acceptance" of death, nor as any kind of suicide, but as a decision to continue to exist in the world despite the fact that it is meaningless. I think that involves willingly experiencing feelings of anger and sorrow, but knowing those feelings are part of human existence and cannot be avoided. Sisyphus's error was thinking he could escape death. He realizes now that he can't, but determines to go on existing anyway. And in the end, I think that's all that any of us can do.

I have to say I still think my first play "The Chromenos" was better, overall – but I got of a lot of enjoyment out of this one too, and I think -- or I'd like to think -- that my use of verse improved. I can tell I'm going to miss Sisyphus a lot. sniff