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the other.
    PENELOPE
    Why, you aren’t afraid of them any more.
(She looks at him, puzzled. Then the door opens, letting in the usual hubbub from the distance and CLIA enters with EUMAEUS shambling after her. He is not entirely repulsive. He has been very handsome in his youth. He is wearing a blanket around him, which keeps shifting out of place. He keeps pulling at it, and—at the moment—is in one of his savage moods. He keeps looking at CLIA , and mutters to himself.)
    CLIA
    Well, now, isn’t that a nice family picture? And what’s this we’ve strapped to our waist? Your father’s hunting knife?
    TELEMACHUS
(Drawing himself up and slipping away from PENELOPE )
    How do I look?
(He squares his shoulders, and puts one hand on the knife.)
    CLIA
    The living image of your father.
    PENELOPE
(Softly)
    Oh, Clia!
    TELEMACHUS
(Swinging round to face PENELOPE )
    Don’t I look like him? When he was my age?
    PENELOPE
    I—I didn’t know Ulysses when he was seventeen.
    TELEMACHUS
    But if I don’t look like him, how will he know me?
(He glances in embarrassment at EUMAEUS , who is standing quite still and expressionless at this moment.)
    I mean —if he comes back.
    CLIA
    He’ll know you at once. Besides, you’re wearing his knife, aren’t you?
    PENELOPE
(Speaking quickly, as she looks out of the window)
    The sun is reaching high into the sky, Telemachus.
    TELEMACHUS
    Oh yes—the sun—well, I’d better be leaving.
(He starts to go out, passing EUMAEUS .)
    See you soon?
(He looks quickly back at his mother, who pretends to be studying the embroidery on its frame. CLIA has noticed nothing wrong.)
    EUMAEUS
    As soon as Clia gives me back my clothes. You go ahead. Had a nice chat with your mother?
    TELEMACHUS
    Yes. Yes—just a nice chat.
(They exchange a small reassuring sign, TELEMACHUS leaves, his step eager, calling over his shoulder to his mother)
    Good-bye now!
(He closes the door with a decided bang.)
    PENELOPE
    It’s all right, Eumaeus. You can relax. He gave nothing away.
( EUMAEUS , and CLIA , too, turn to stare at her. She goes on, crisply, ignoring their looks.)
    Clia, I hear that the men are leaving. Is it true?
    CLIA
    Some are packing, some are squabbling about what they’ll take with them.
    PENELOPE
    Then, why aren’t you downstairs, keeping an eye on them?
    CLIA
    And leave you alone with him?
(She points in horror to EUMAEUS .)
    EUMAEUS
    You took my tunic away from me, woman—
    CLIA
    And filthy it was.
    EUMAEUS
    And you forced me into a bath, and you scrubbed my body, and laughed at me—you and the other maids.
    CLIA
    Well, you hardly came up to our expectations, after all the grand tales you’ve spread about yourself.
    EUMAEUS
    And you made me wear this shroud, and didn’t give me a pin to hold it together.
(He has to clutch it suddenly to keep it from slipping.)
    Isn’t that indignity enough, without pointing that long thin claw at me?
    PENELOPE
    Clia, please go.
    EUMAEUS
    And congratulate yourself that, today, you scrubbed the back of a prince.
    CLIA
    Prince! You’re a swine of a swineherd. Your mother was a sow, your father a hog. And now you fondle a pig on your filthy pallet of straw and call him brother.
    PENELOPE
    Clia!
( CLIA stamps out angrily, PENELOPE looks away for a moment, and then turns to greet EUMAEUS as if he had just entered the room, and all those last minutes were wiped out.)
    I’m so glad you came to see me. You’re looking very smart—is this a new style in tunics?
    EUMAEUS
(Recovering himself from CLIA ’s attack)
    Perhaps I’ll start a new fashion.
(He looks down at the length of the blanket.)
    Not every man’s legs are handsome enough for the short tunic. Or would it be a pity to hide the handsome legs? How could a woman then know what she’s getting?
    PENELOPE
(Amused)
    Eumaeus, you can’t shock me. So don’t waste the strength you’ve got left.
( EUMAEUS grins, and tries to bow, but is hindered by the blanket. It is still unwinding.)
    EUMAEUS
(Tugging the blanket