Dion: His Life and Mine

by Anstey, Sarah Cate

  What had I said?

  What hadn’t I said?

  What had he said?

  What hadn’t he said?

  Had I laughed at all his jokes too loudly or not enough?

  Had I eaten too much?

  All the questions led to one word - why?

  It took me a few days and half of Bris’s herb pouch to realise that I wasn’t going to get all the answers I wanted. The truth is, you can’t make somebody want you. And if you could, why would you want to? That’s not to say that in those first few days I wouldn’t have busted Theo’s balls, but even those feelings evaporated when I heard about his father. I had bigger troubles on my mind. I had escaped from Crete, only to be marooned on another island.

  After a while, the stars began to lose their appeal and I needed to get some money. Five days after Theo left me, I found myself waking up with someone else. The beach was full of revellers waking up to dazzling sunshine which made them regret the night before. My companion, Nyx, woke with a start and with a moan of “Oh Apollo!” fell back on the sand again.

  “Good night?” I asked her.

  “Yes, but boy do you pay for them in the morning!” I nodded back wisely, although I had no idea. I rifled around in Bris’s herb pouch until I found the dried berries I was looking for and made an infusion from them.

  “Here,” I said, passing it to Nyx.

  “No, I’m sworn off juice until tonight.” I made her drink it. She fell back to sleep again and woke an hour later, a new woman.

  “What was that stuff?” she asked me brightly. I was about to explain when she put her hand up.

  “No, don’t bother, I make it a rule not to know what I’ve drunk.”

  “Don’t you think that’s what got you into trouble in the first place?”

  “Yes,” she replied with a cheeky grin.

  We swapped stories. Nyx loyally interjected “bastard” at the appropriate moments, during mine.

  “You know there’s an easy way to get some money,” she said when I’d finished. She downed the dregs of her cup and handed it to me.

  “This stuff is gold dust,” she continued and gestured around the beach where the other revellers were beginning to crawl back home.

  “See you same time tomorrow.” She smiled as she left, “I’ll spread the word”. She jumped up and ran along the beach, laughing and shouting to the disbelief of her nightly companions who were too weak to tell her to “shut the Hades up!”

  So my entrepreneurial skills came about purely by accident. But then, isn‘t that how all, who have succumbed to dubious and desperate measures in order to survive, rationalise their antics? All I had was the knowledge of plants Bris had given me. The only gift anyone had ever given me.

  By the same time the next day, I had made enough to move off the beach. My customers were from all over Greece and as coins exchanged, so did the news. It was from these interchanges that I learnt about Theseus’s father, news closer to home and the tragic ending for another father and son.

  When my father discovered I had run away with Theo and that his Minotaur myth had gone up in smoke, he looked around for someone to punish and found Daedalus. He locked the craftsman and his son up in a tower, until he could decide the best way to make an exhibition of his old servant and try to regain some face. However, the inventor was full of resources. Daedalus attracted birds to the tiny windows with crumbs. He then collected their feathers and set about making two sets of wings for his son and himself. He stuck them together with the wax from the few candles my charitable father allowed.

  When the wings were finished, father and son attached them to each other and practised. Daedalus made a flight plan. By the position of the sun, he determined which direction his prison was facing and decided it would be best to make for the island of Santorini. It wasn‘t far from Crete, in case their arms grew tired. Once they were away from Crete they would be free to go anywhere.

  At the dead of night, with the moon to guide them, father and son flew from their prison window and escaped Crete. They were making good progress and Icarus began to realise that he had a talent for flying. He hadn’t inherited his father’s craft and had always felt inferior because of it. He was envious of the time Daedalus spent with Aster and blamed my poor, deformed but artistically-superior brother for lapping up his rightful inheritance. The realisation that he was finally good at something went straight to his head and he started going higher and higher.

  Daedalus worried that his son would use all his energy going vertically instead of horizontally, and shouted to him to stop messing around. But, what young person has ever listened to their parents? Certainly not me, but then Daedalus hadn’t been my father. Icarus ignored him. He was absorbed by his new found skill.

  Daedalus felt something hot and sticky on the back of his neck and, horrified, realised that the wax holding Icarus’s wings together was melting. He shouted, this time in terror, but it was too late. As the sun rose further in the sky, Icarus started falling towards the sea. Daedalus watched, helpless, as his only child plunged past him, fell, with a plop like a pebble, and was embraced by the silky waves of the sea below.

  Despite the relish of detail they added, none of my clients knew where Daedalus was now. Some speculated he’d last been sighted on the island of Samos. Wherever he was, he was keeping a low profile. After all, he was a fugitive, with my father on his trail. He wasn’t about to send out change of address cards any time soon.

  With little remorse or consideration for a father who, like himself, had lost a beloved son, my father didn’t waste much time sending out the order for Daedalus’s arrest. One of my clients, who stocked up gossip as if there was about to be a shortage, gave me a newspaper article about Daedalus’s plight and my father’s demands for his capture. I was worried that attention would also turn to me, but thanks to a tan and the sun’s effect on my hair, I had started to look less and less like the photographs which had been taken of me, during my brief spell as a celebrity accessory. As I skimmed the article, I was surprised to find that, not only was my disappearance not given as the reason for Daedalus’s imprisonment, but I wasn’t mentioned at all. It seemed my father was trying to play down a story for the press for once. Instead, he had made sure that Daedalus’s life was laid bare on the front page.

  Daedalus was born of high-ranking parentage in Athens, the newspaper reported. This much was true: unlike Theo, Daedalus was Athenian born and bred. Although he had spent twenty years on Crete, his eyes brightened at the mention of his birthplace and he had bombarded Theo with questions. Had Theo seen the view from the Acropolis? Was Anchises’s tavern, in the Agora, still there? Anchises’s wife made the best honey cakes and Anchises could beat anyone at Knuckle Bones, but he was a big cheat! Theo had said that the taverna was still there and that he had lost many a pouch to its owner. Daedalus was thrilled, although a little staggered that the old rogue hadn’t been whisked off to Hades, remarking; “He must have been approaching seventy when I left!”

  The article went on to list Daedalus’s many talents in arts and crafts, his skills as an architect and his beautiful statues which were incredibly life-like. This also I could testify to; as children, Andro, Phaedra and I would creep up close to the ones Daedalus made for our home, in order to hear them breathing.

  Then the article turned poisonous. It said Daedalus was so envious of his nephew’s talent that he killed him and escaped punishment by going to Crete where, unknown, he was welcomed by the King of Crete renowned for his hospitality towards strangers.

  “He sounds vicious, doesn‘t he? I shan’t be able to sleep at night until he‘s caught!” said my gullible friend when I had reached the end.

  “Pack of lies,” I spat out vehemently. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers,” shoving it back to my astonished companion. “You never know what they might write about you,” I warned her. Later, I would hear Daedalus’s side of the tragic tale.

  After a few days I began t
o know my regulars, what time they would come and how strong they’d need their infusion to be. But there was always a new face. One morning a young man, I hadn’t seen before, joined the queue. He didn’t look like my usual customers. Too clean for a start; people usually needed my herbs to revive them before they could start the day. But this one looked like he’d gone home, had a decent sleep, breakfast and a shave before meandering down to the beach. In short, he didn’t look like he needed my services. Still business is business. I soon realised he had other business on his mind when I passed him a cup and he smelt it distastefully. He made a show of sipping it before launching in;

  “You’re Ariadne of Crete aren’t you?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “The Akra Enquirer.”

  I gave him a cold stare and turned my back on him, but he powered on.

  “Bit of a comedown isn’t it? For a Princess? Brought up in one of the most beautiful palaces in the world, whisked off by one of the handsomest men in the world and now reduced to selling dope to dopes on the beach of a backwater island? – What happened love? Your boyfriend dump you?” He sneered spilling the contents of his cup on the sand.

  I told him where he could go.

  “Nice, very charming. I’d always assumed you Princesses washed your mouths out with soap and water. But then you were apprentice to a junkie, nympho witch weren’t you?”

  “It’s a lie. Bris wasn’t … Who told you that?”

  “Let’s just say I was due some holiday and spent the weekend on Crete. Very hospitable place - can’t think why you wanted to leave it.”

  I was boiling with rage, but managed, with as much dignity as one can, on sand, to walk away without punching him.

  “You might as well talk to me.” He shouted after me. “I’m going to write it anyway, so you might as well get paid for it. Your sister said the money would come in very handy …” He was right. I should have taken his money. It was obvious that he had the article in his mind, probably already written it, when he spoke to me. He may have changed it if I had said something interesting, but the truth doesn’t interest hacks like him.

  Nyx brought me the article two days later: Pretty Princess Laments Sister’s Shame. It was evident Phaedra had inherited our father’s flair for manipulating the press to advance personal agendas. I could put most of it down to envy but my thick skin was still growing and the line about Phaedra being left to mourn Aster’s death alone set it back. It was a cheap trick to sully Bris in such a way, but I had to hand it to her for the way she diplomatically praised Theo. Clearly that flame was still glowing, if ever he had need of its warmth.

  Any publicity is supposed to be good publicity. I don’t believe it and I know Dion didn’t either, but I admit that the newspaper article didn’t damage my business, it increased it. Amongst my newest clientele was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, or rather one of them. I had noticed a group of similar women on the beach, the afternoon of my encounter with the Akra hack, all tall with perfect figures and black hair cascading down their backs. This one was wearing a top with glittery letters on it, which made it difficult to read. Compared to my usual customers, she looked exquisite. She strode past the queue confidently, handed me an envelope and, taking a cup, strode past the rest of my open-mouthed customers without looking at them.

  I handed Nyx the envelope along with her usual revival, which she downed in one go.

  “Tickets to tonight’s Libertia concert! How did you get them?” Apart from their heads, the biggest problem my clients had was getting hold of Libertia tickets.

  “Friends in high places,” I shrugged.

  “And their warm-up group’s Thiasus! They’re worth seeing with or without Libertia.”

  “Do you want to come?”

  “Do I?” Nyx looked at me as if I had just asked her what my own name was.

  “Are they good?” I ventured. Nyx looked at me as if I had not only forgotten my own name, but as if I had forgotten I was a woman.

  “Good?” She said incredulously, “Apollo! They’re magnificent!” Seeing my face she looked at me more seriously. “Are you honestly saying you’ve never heard any of their songs?”

  “My father only liked ‘certain types’ of music on Crete.”

  “So you’ve never heard “Persephone” or “Brother Breathe Again”?”

  “No, but I know the healing properties of sage, parsley and rosemary” I said, becoming irritated at being made to sound ignorant, “which is the reason why I’ve got these tickets.”

  “Point taken.” Nyx said smiling wryly. “Actually, I envy you. I wish I could experience listening to Libertia for the first time all over again. I’ll never forget when I first heard “Reborn in Hades.” I’d been going through a really rough time and, Apollo, did it help me pull through. It’s been criticized for being morbid, but people who say that just don’t get Libertia. It actually has a really uplifting message, but everything’s about interpretation isn’t it? And that can be so subjective.” I thought about my family and nodded.

  Nyx was already on the beach when I arrived that evening. Before I had the chance to say hello, she grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to the taverna, mumbling something about getting there early. I soon understood her rush. The band wasn’t due to play for another two hours, but the street was already teeming.

  “It’s going to be tight,” Nyx told me, as we joined the back of the queue. “The Styx and Stones is a fab venue; the acoustics are great, but it is tiny. It was fine last time because the band wasn’t well known, but since Semele reached no.1 well …” Nyx gestured in front and behind us, “now fans have travelled from other islands to get here, so now we need tickets to get into our local.”

  After what seemed like an aeon, we entered the tavern. Nyx led us through the bar, where some regulars were drinking, unperturbed by the growing crowd outside, and down some stone steps. I was relieved, when we descended, to see how large the basement was and realized how deceivingly small the taverna looked. A bar ran along the back wall and Nyx headed straight for it; “You always get a complimentary drink with your ticket, it’s Libertia’s policy.” She’d explained.

  While Nyx was getting our drinks, I surveyed the basement. There were wooden tables, down the side walls, at which music lovers were drinking and talking. The walls, themselves, were covered with posters, pictures and articles about Styx and Stones or bands that had played there. Nyx caught my eye and gestured towards one nearest me. It was brown with the name of the venue at the top and then, in bright orange, the words ‘Olympiad Night,’ underneath which were written a list of music acts; Capricious, Libertia, Orpheus and The Constellations. Coming out from Libertia’s name were three lines with writing at the end of each: ‘Great Atmosphere, Great Acoustics Great Audience – Thanks S&S Likertes.’ Above it, someone had written, ‘To all at S&S, thanks for the warm welcome. Cal.’ The third, written in a hand I would come to know as well as my own, said ‘Thanks for loving our music and for getting us. Dx’

  I had barely finished reading when Nyx pushed a glass into my hand. It was full of reddish liquid.

  “Go on…” Nyx insisted. “It’s diluted.” she assured me, her glass was already half-empty. I put the glass to my lips and within moments the sweet-tasting liquid cooled my throat and warmed my insides. Any feelings of despair or ill will towards Theo, which I still harboured, vanished. If my father had been standing before me looking horrified, I would have jumped in his arms screaming “Daddy!” Nyx grinned at me. I smiled back and then looked around the room again. The stage, or rather a slightly higher level which I took to be a stage, was surrounded by three rows of clones of my mysterious customer. Each had a top with the name THIASUS written on the back and was drinking a redder version of the liquid Nyx had given me.

  “I take it they’re Thiasus fans.” I said gesturing.

  “Or ‘Maenids’ as the press likes to call them; Thiasus’s lead singer’s called Mae.” Nyx explained when I looked bla
nk.

  Before long, the club started filling up and I recognized some of my luckier clients who had managed to get tickets. When they noticed us, they plied us with drinks. No sooner had I finished one than another was forced upon me. Then, when I didn’t think it could get any better, the shouting started and Thiasus stepped onto the stage. Their fans went crazy, tossing their perfect hair and moving their limbs in time to the music.

  “That’s the woman who gave me the tickets.” I told Nyx pointing to the stunning woman who had taken her place at the microphone. Nyx looked incredulous;

  “That’s Mae.” She told me.

  Mae’s voice matched her appearance; she was mesmerizing. There was a raw soulfulness about her voice that seeped under your skin. It wasn’t so much you felt her emotions, you actually felt you had become her. This sensation was particularly acute when she sang “Briefly Unrequited, Eternally United.” You might put it down to the liquid, but I felt the pain and joy of the love she felt for the song’s recipient (at the time there was much speculation that it was Dion) and anyone who heard it should have guessed the tragic outcome it would bring for both of them and those of us that loved them.

  The Thiasus fans screamed for an encore and the band obliged. As they started a roar of approval went up among the Libertia portion of the crowd. “It’s a Libertia song.” Nyx mouthed at me. Halfway through the music seemed to get louder and there were shrieks of delight.

  “What’s happening?” I shouted.

  “Libertia are joining in,” she explained. Then she grabbed my arms and pushed her way through the crowd so we were nearer the stage. At first, I was unable to see the infamous Dion, until the spotlight fell on him. He was shorter than I expected. Thin, giving him a look of vulnerability, but his toned arms showed he could look after himself if it came to it. His head was bowed and his shaggy blond hair covered his face. If Mae’s voice soaked into my skin, Dion’s seeped into my soul. Towards the end of the set, they played “Brother Breathe Again” directly followed by “Reborn in Hades.” It was as if Dion knew about Andro and Aster, understood my loss and wanted to give me something to believe in again. The notion that Andro and Aster were together, in Hades, living a better life; one which wouldn’t be cut short before Andro’s talents had blossomed, and one in which Aster could walk, in the Elysian fields, without fear or prejudice, healed my battered heart. My soul felt at peace, as it did when my brothers lived.