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| Syrinx Remix - Side B It's the twelfth hour, silvery hot. A boy, no, not a boy, but not yet a man, is sleeping in the shade of an olive tree, a net woven from cicada song surrounding him. By his side there is a nymph, long-limbed daughter of the river. White-blond the hair that falls down on her hips and her eyes are clear and bright like the lakes high up in the mountains. Absent-mindedly she waves away the flies from the boy's face. What a negligent shepherd that boy is, whose flock huddles under a huge pine tree a little further down the hill. Now and then the sheep bleat sleepily and quietly the stream murmurs down in the valley. Soothingly, the midday hour envelops them with its dreamy song and their eyes fall shut. And so it comes that they do not see him, the master of this blue-silver hour, the one who walks over hilltops in bright, glaring sunlight. He plays the flute and calmly the clear tunes sail over the hills and sink down to the valleys. Strong is the magic of the ancient tunes. Promptly he beholds the two sleepers. On the boy's curved lips his gaze lingers and on his dark curls. And in that very moment, an arrow flies through the air at the goddess' capricious bidding, invisible yet infallible, striking the wanderer as he watches the boy. Immediately a wild yearning seizes the flute player; a desire going beyond all the desires he has known before. He kneels down and bends over the sleeping boy. "I want you and you shall be mine. Soon. But not through violence, by cunning tenderness I will triumph this time." Gently his fingers caress the young man's lips. Does the boy already know, he wonders, of kisses other than those of mother or foster mother? Over collar bones and chest the fingers travel and rough fingertips part the finely-woven chiton. Suddenly the barking of dogs can be heard from afar, startling the wanderer. This call is too powerful to be ignored. His wishes will have to wait another day. The sun is sinking already; he braces himself, swiftly jumps to his feet and is on his way again. "I will come back tomorrow, and then, I will lie with you." The boy sighs in his dreams as a kiss touches his lips - hot-burning foretaste of caresses yet to come. The sun is low in the west when the boy finally wakes. Long gone is the nymph, gone to lower valleys and cooler waters. Only a faint blue golden echo still hangs over the hills; of distant flute songs and the sounds of dogs barking. The boy does not know what has happened. Carefully, hesitantly, he touches his lips. There is something there; a strange, foreign taste, both salty and sweet. And instantly he knows that he will never get enough of that taste. Lost in thought, the boy finally rises and rallies his herd. Many times he looks back when walking up to the high walls. A mystery, dark and wonderful, seems to be hidden under those olive trees. But what could that be? He cannot say. At night the boy seeks out the maids' rooms. Chattering and whispering excitedly they open their doors for him. Clandestine laughter, shadows dancing on the walls in the flickering light of torches, and garments fall to the ground quickly. Their skin is soft and warm, but their lips taste so different. There is no mystery there, no promise of forbidden, bitter-sweet fruit. So he leaves the maids soon and climbs the stairs leading up to the high, lonely walls. From the deep blue firmament the stars shine, distant and bright. His heart weighs heavy and he doesn't know why. The next day, everything happens anew. A gentle breeze rustles the olive trees and the midday hour fades away in silvery haze. Again, the boy falls asleep, only his sheep around him. This time no nymph watches over his sleep. Unmistakable was the warning that reached out into her dreams. "Get thee away, you prying waif. You shall fare badly if I find you again tomorrow." She knows only too well from her mother and sisters, from the dark bruises on their shoulders and wrists, that a high price has to be paid for not obeying the lord over meadows and fields. Suddenly, swift footsteps can be heard and dogs' barking, and there he is again, the wandering flute player. Without a rest he has crossed valleys and hills. Now he sinks down next to the boy, breathless and full of desire. Hot are the kisses, hungry and greedy, like they were the day before. Impatient hands expose the boy within seconds. The boy sighs, his eyelids are heavy. He wants to wake from his slumber, but as if enchanted, he can't. At the same time he presses himself up closer and closer, writhing under skilled hands that touch and caress him and start milking him so sweetly that the boy feels like he must perish. Into broad shoulders the young man digs his fingernails. Onto sinewy arms he tries to hold fast as he feels like falling, deeper and deeper. He cries out when, all of a sudden, he releases hotly over belly and thighs. Licking his lips the man with the sea-grey eyes smiles and begins to lick the salty traces out of the boy's navel. He licks the dark circles of the boy's nipples, dipping his fingers into the milky-white fluid. But just when he starts to caress the boy's most secret place, to stretch and to widen him there, the call sounds again. Oh, how he would love to take the boy now, to enter him over and over, to lose himself completely in that exquisite creature. But again, it is not meant to happen. Desperately the wanderer looks up to the sky. "Why did you give me this precious gift, cruel lady? Only to deny me the boy time and again? "Tomorrow, tomorrow," sings the wind. And so the wanderer rushes off again. This time it's almost dark when the boy awakens. Bewildered, he looks down his body and finds himself naked. His fingers shake when he touches himself. His body seems to be burning as if he had lain in the sun for too long. Fiery marks glow on his skin, invisible signs he cannot decipher. On the way home he stops by the river; submerges his hands and wets his forehead. From the depths, wide blue eyes watch him with sorrow. "What is happening to me? Tell me, beloved." Silently the nymphs look at him, shaking their heads. "What should we say to you, Syrinx, son of our mother's sister? The water is muddy and we could not be with you, up there in the mountains." The boy walks home, his mind and his senses bewildered. The torches are already lit in the palace. The boy looks into the fire and his heart beats madly, full of yearning and unfulfilled desire. When the maids let the boy in that night, they soon notice he is no longer the one he once was. All his youthful eagerness and impatience are just sham. In his mind he is somewhere else, not on this bed, not in this chamber, but out there, beyond the gates, up in the mountains. Where the ground is still warm from the day's heat and the night air is filled with the sweet fragrances of grass and herbs. And when lying with the girls, dark-eyed like himself with a skin as golden as his, he wonders how it must be to be opened and to receive. A new day rises after a long, sleepless night. Like so many times before his father admonishes him that such a low task was not fitting for the son of a prince. Nevertheless, only a few hours later, the boy leaves, heading again for the mountains and for his flock. And everything happens like it happened before. Soon after the boy has fallen asleep the flute player appears again and the two embrace each other passionately. And like the previous day, the boy feels like dying, such lust the other man brings him with lips, tongue and hands. But then something unexpected happens. Just when the boy lies spread out before the man, in blissful rapture after spent pleasure, just when the wanderer slowly parts the boy's legs and pulls him closer, the spell breaks and the boy opens his eyes. Holding his breath, the stranger stops, is rendered motionless by that gaze full of black-dark desire. When his eyes are open the boy is even more beautiful, even more desirable. And there's nothing the wanderer wants more than this gaze resting on him, not leaving him the moment he finally pushes in. A spell is cast on the spell-wise lord over forests and fields. As if in a daze he watches the boy's almond-dark eyes widen. They are almost black now, but no longer filled with desire. The boy's beautiful face reflects nothing but pure horror. For the first thing the boy sees are green-grey eyes, wild and full of want, and hotly lust flames up in him. But what's this? From wild red-blond strands of hair crooked, winding horns rise over the stranger's forehead. Further down the boy's eyes wander; over hairy arms and chest to the stranger's erect member, rising darkly from amidst black hair, a milky drop already gleaming on the tip. The boy sighs again and, almost against his will, his thighs fall apart. In that moment, however, he notices the long tail swinging rapidly through the air and around the other man's hips. Is this a man at all? The powerful thighs do not end in dark-skinned calves and five-toed feet but in course fur and goat's hooves. "No! No! What horrible beast from the underworld are you?" the boy cries horror-struck, leaping up instantly. The God is still spellbound by the boy's moves and looks. So this sudden, unexpected rejection, a swift, well-aimed push against his broad chest, overtakes him and he fails to seize the boy. In a wild hurry, as if pursued by the Furies themselves, the boy is already darting down to the river. "Help me, please, help me, Nereids!" In an instant he has as reached the banks of the river where wild reeds grow. Already the water is wetting his feet. Right behind him is Pan, for it is no one else but him, in whose company often madness and wild lust travel, and who now is half mad with desire and fury himself. Within seconds he has caught up with the boy. He already embraces him from behind and wants to penetrate him here and now. For he has waited much too long. Suddenly, the boy cries out in pain. "What is happening to me? No. No!" In despair he looks down on his hands which begin to transform themselves into long, slender straws. Soon, arms, legs, the body and all that once was soft skin and flesh turns into firm, flexible reeds. In the end, the miraculous, but terrible transformation reaches the boy's face. His dark, dark eyes are widened with fear; his mouth opened in a toneless cry. And then it is over. The boy is no more. The horned God sinks down on his knees amidst the wild reeds that now sway softly and calmly in the wind. Tears stream down his face. "Why did you do that, you � you vindictive creatures, you ill-deemed watchers of virtue and chastity? From now on your own virtue will be put to a hard test!" And thus it comes. From that time on Pan pursues Nereus' daughters without mercy. The louder they cry out and the stronger they try to resist him, the greater pleasure he gains. But his pleasure alone is not the only reason why he impregnates them against their will again and again. Their mother and Syrinx' mother had been sisters and so he hopes, against all hope, that one of the many bastards might resemble the beloved boy, might have the same dark curls and almond-coloured eyes. Eyes that once reflected all the desires and pain of a mortal. But the children all have a fair skin and white-blond hair, just like their mothers. So Pan finally ceases his horrible deeds. In the end, nothing is left for Pan but the pipes he had made himself from the stand reeds near the river. When he walked over the hills you could hear him playing and his sad tunes were full of yearning. Soon, however, the melodies sounded more and more distant and finally they lost themselves in the haze over the hills and in the course of time. But the flute still bears the name of that poor beautiful boy, Syrinx. AN: Nereus Son of Pontus, he is also called The Old Man of the Sea. He is known as a gentle and trustworth god, who never lies, and is full of kind thoughts. With his wife Doris he fathers fifty lovely daughters, known as Nereids in his honor. Pan He was the son of Hermes and Penelope (later married to Odysseus) in some myths, and the son of Zeus and the nymph Callisto in others. He was the god of flocks and shepherds. He is the god of goatherds and shepherds. He is mostly human in appearance but, with goat horns and goat feet. He is an excellent musician and plays the pipes. He is merry and playful frequently seen dancing with woodland nymphs. He is at home in any wild place but, is favorite is Arcady, where he was born. He is always in pursuit of one of the nymphs but, always rejected because he is ugly. The Erinnyes Also known as the Furies, punish crime. They persue wrong doers relentlessly, until death, often driving them to suicide. |
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