Kitap 8
4
Well, you can go ahead and marry him, for all I care. But I hope you remember how you’re showering tipsy abuse on me because of this wine-boy.
4
What nonsense! I suppose we ought to have our wine from your son, Hephaestus, hobbling about, straight from the forge, still filthy from the sparks, having just put down his tongs. I suppose I should take the cup from those dirty fingers of his, and between each mouthful of wine give him a kiss? Why, even you, his own mother, wouldn’t want to kiss his face, all black with soot. That would be nicer, wouldn’t it? Hephaestus was a much more suitable wine-waiter for the table of the gods, I suppose, and Ganymede should be packed off home to Ida? He’s too clean, and has rosy fingers, he’s not clumsy when he offers the drink, and what annoys you most of all, his kiss is sweeter than the nectar.
5
Oh, so now you complain that Hephaestus is lame, and his fingers aren’t good enough for your cup, and he is all sooty, and that the sight of him turns your stomach? You’ve been like that ever since Ida produced this long-haired darling. In the old days, you didn’t notice these things. The sparks and the forge didn’t stop you from taking your wine from him.
5
You’re only making yourself miserable, my dear, and me fonder of him, by being jealous. If you don’t like taking your drink from a lovely boy, you can have your own son serve you, and I’ll have you, Ganymede, all to myself, waiting on me, and giving me two kisses with each cup, one when you hold it out to me full, and a second when I give you it back. Hullo, not crying, are you? Don’t be afraid. Anyone that chooses to hurt you will regret it.
