Pandora Gets Frightened

by Carolyn Hennesy

  He made a move toward Alcie, then—becoming quite the showman—bent down to Iole’s ear.

  “Oh, and there’s also someone here to see you.”

  Iole looked at Zeus, startled, then gazed around the hall. The crowd was rustling halfway back and someone was walking toward the front. Iole’s breath caught in her chest as she recognized the mane of black curls. Crispus, sixteen years old, walked out of the crowd and stopped, gazing up at her.

  “Yes, stay right there, youth. You’ll have time enough later on to explain—and I mean much later on,” said Zeus, as the audience giggled again and he placed his hand lightly on top of Alcie’s head.

  “Alcestis.”

  Then Zeus seemed to stare straightaway into the middle distance, as if incapable of landing on the right word.

  “What is there to say about the maiden with a loud mouth, raucous humor, witty but sometimes inappropriate insights, and a quick temper?”

  Trying to keep the smile steady, Alcie’s face was fast becoming a mixture of shame and confusion. Pandy felt her stomach tighten. Suddenly, out of the crowd stepped Hercules, holding another wreath. He smiled broadly at Alcie as Zeus continued.

  “Except to say that she is also the embodiment of courage. She did what, I dare say, no one else in this room would do; she gave of herself the ultimate sacrifice solely for the greater good. This girl’s bravery is greater than any Olympian seated behind her—greater even than my own. In our battle with the titans, in our present lives, we knew we could not and cannot perish. Our courage has been stunted because we know and count on our immortal state. You have been a catalyst for all of us, Alcestis, as again and again we watched you place yourself between your friends and peril, both physical and emotional, by using your ‘gifts’: your loud mouth, your raucous humor, your witty insights, and your quick temper, all for a cause that wasn’t really yours, a mission you didn’t need to undertake. It is my hope that, in learning from you, we all may take a few more risks when it comes to doing the right thing. We also hope that, even though you have shed a few outer layers of your former self, you will always retain these ‘gifts’ and use them often, to their greatest good. Although We, personally, enjoy the fact that you’ve given up swearing … for the most part.”

  He gazed fondly down at Alcie, who gazed back and began to open her mouth; Pandy saw the word forming on Alcie’s lips and knew she couldn’t stop Alcie any more than Alcie could stop herself.

  “Duh!”

  Alcie slapped her hand over her mouth and winced up at Zeus.

  “Exactly!” laughed Zeus. “And so We have found someone equally courageous to present your wreath. Hercules?”

  Hercules, clad in his Nemean lion skin, his mighty club in his other hand, stepped forward and bent low to place the golden circlet of leaves on Alcie’s head, then kissed her forehead. Alcie’s father let loose with a giant “whoop” and gave a thumbs-up signal to his daughter as other “whoops” and “wooos” peppered the air. Then Zeus turned to Pandy, and the room became so quiet you could hear a hairpin drop. He was silent for a long time, both of his powerful hands resting on her shoulders as she faced the crowd.

  “If I did not already have the most perfect daughters in the universe,” he began slowly, “I would wish for a daughter like you.”

  Pandy looked at her own father, who smiled softly and nodded. For an instant she choked and broke into tears, then she fought them back and stood erect.

  “Let the tale be told from this day on of the maiden who said, time and time again, ‘I can’ and ‘I will.’ Who did not take on lightly the mantle of responsibility. Who, for the rising and setting of six moons, persevered and persisted until the job was done. Who experienced a gamut of emotions far too early and too intense for one so young and yet never said ‘enough.’ Who never took no for the final answer. Who explored, tested, and strengthened the bonds of friendship and in so doing discovered her own strengths and her decided lack of limitation. Whose mind became as sharp as her focus became keen. Pandora Atheneus Andromaeche Helena of the great house of Prometheus, who learned that, when you take responsibility for your personal actions, sometimes you get to have the adventure of a lifetime and, just perhaps, save the world.”

  Then the audience let out an enormous collective gasp as Zeus turned Pandy to face him … and knelt in front of her.

  “For this, Pandy, I present you with a golden laurel wreath. Not only will it be a much safer item to take to school if you ever again need proof of the enduring presence of the gods in your daily life …”

  A ripple of laughter went through the crowd at the mention of the school project that had started the whole mess.

  “… but it will be proof, should you or anyone close to you ever need reminding, that you learned this above all: it is both word and deed that determine not wealth, nor success, nor fame, but simply the quality of your character. It is all you have at the end of each day, all you have to truly call your own.”

  Out of thin air, a fourth golden wreath materialized in Zeus’s hand and he moved to place it on Pandy’s head.

  “Uhhchhahemmmm,” choked Athena.

  “Huhhuh … metoo!” Hermes coughed.

  “Oh, very well.” Zeus sighed, rolling his eyes. “Step forward.”

  The god and goddess fairly raced to where Pandy stood and placed their hands upon the wreath; all three immortals lowering the shiny band of leaves onto her brow. As Hermes ever so gently squeezed her shoulder and Athena kissed her on the forehead, Zeus stood and spread his arms wide, presenting the group of four adventurers to the assembly. In later years, when she would repeat the story to her grandchildren, Pandy would say neither before nor since had she heard such noise, such a clamor as the one that arose at that moment. The crowd went absolutely wild. Not only with relief that their world was safe from evil but that one young maiden and her two—three—best friends had succeeded when everyone thought they would perish.

  “And speaking of those closest to you, Pandora,” Zeus said, rising and quieting the mob. “It is my turn to make something right. Aphrodite!”

  Aphrodite rose up and out of her chair, took something handed to her from a nearby dryad, and sauntered to where Zeus stood.

  “There, I think,” Zeus said, pointing to a spot on the floor in front of the dais.

  “Excuse me, please. Pardon me,” Aphrodite purred as the crowed parted. She walked to the spot and set down the item in her hand. Thinking she couldn’t be surprised any further, Pandy gave a start when she realized it was the small clay jar containing her mother. She tried to catch her father’s eye, but his focus was locked and it wasn’t on her.

  Zeus held both his hands high as if to make a grand, sweeping gesture, but instead he merely flicked his wrists. The jar cracked open and instantly a swirl of ash spiraled up three meters high. Then it quickly compacted into the shape of Sybilline. Dazed, a little light-headed, and slightly achey, she tottered on her feet for a moment and would have fallen had Prometheus not raced to grab his wife. With a respectful nod of thanks to Zeus, Prometheus held Sybilline close and just stroked her hair as the woman’s eyes adjusted to actually seeing for the first time in six months. Finally, she stood steady on her own two legs, leaned back, and looked at Prometheus.

  “Hello, handsome,” she said, groggy. “Why are there so many people in our living room?”

  “Well, they’re not, honey.” Prometheus laughed. “But I’ll explain everything later.”

  “Hi, Mom!” Pandy called, completely unsure how or even whether to approach her mother.

  “Hello, Pandora. Honey, look,” Sybilline said, “Pandora’s onstage with her friends. Did I miss something? Was this a school performance? Oh, Artemis’s little finger, and me not dressed for the occasion at all. And how could you let her go onstage looking like that, Prometheus! She looks like she hasn’t combed her hair in weeks!”

  “Shhh. Shhh,” Prometheus said, putting his finger to her lips, slightly embarrassed. “Just stop ta
lking for a moment. I’ll fill you in later.”

  Alcie and Iole shot sideways glances at Pandy, wondering how she would handle her mother’s comments. Pandy, however, just smiled from her place on the dais and it was in this moment that she knew she’d left, willingly, a part of herself behind for good.

  “Some things never change,” she thought, “so I guess I’ll have to.”

  She turned to Zeus, craning her neck to see his face.

  “Thank you, great …”

  “But wait, there’s more,” Zeus whispered. “You also have someone here who wishes to reacquaint himself.”

  Pandy turned to face the crowd but, as if there were a bright light shining from somewhere high above on his face alone, Pandy could see only one person.

  Douban.

  He walked slowly through the throng, his gaze never leaving hers until he finally had to shield his eyes. Looking up, Pandy saw that Eros actually was operating a kind of spotlight made from several candles and a mirror and was training it directly on Douban’s face, blinding him.

  “Aphrodite,” Zeus said, “mind your son.”

  As Aphrodite scolded the child and the spotlight went out, Douban continued through the crowd until he reached the dais; he stood, like Crispus, looking fixedly at his girl.

  “Who’s that?” asked Sybilline.

  “His name is Douban,” Prometheus answered. “He’s the son of a very famous physician and quite the physician himself. And he’s mad for our daughter.”

  “Uh-huh,” Sybilline said, staring at the striking dark-haired youth.

  “Our little girl is growing up rather fast, isn’t she, Syb?”

  “Yes, fine, whatever.” Sybilline grinned acerbically, mentally calculating the ease and comfort of her old age with the new information. “Oh, Prometheus, I’m so happy! My prayers to Hera have been answered. We’re going to have a doctor in the family!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Punishment

  Prometheus shook his head and turned back to the dais only to find Zeus looking at Sybilline, as if Zeus had heard something out of her mouth that had made him remember something else almost forgotten.

  “As joyous as this celebration is,” Zeus called out, his voice commanding instant attention, “I’m afraid we have now come to a rather unpleasant portion of the proceedings. I must … It is now time to … to … Oh, for My sake, I don’t know who I’m trying to fool: this is the best part of all, and many of you have been waiting your entire lifetimes to see this. Gods and goddesses, immortals and humans, if you will turn your attention out the windows to your left. I give you she who is without shame, she who is without conscience. She who was once the pride of the Olympians and the light in my life. The bearer of all female gifts and treasures; quite a catch when the world was young; now—not so much. She who was one of the sharpest and smartest, who could even outmaneuver me on occasion and yet, she who now finds herself having been soundly trumped at every turn by a mortal, albeit extraordinary, maiden. Put your hands and hooves together and let’s have a big round of applause for the thorn in my side, the worm in my ambrosia, the pit in my nectar, my wife … Herrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaa!”

  As the crowd watched the sky—which was the only thing to see beyond the terrace—two tiny objects appeared in the very far distance. For a long time, they were only black specks in an otherwise blue heaven. Then, quickly, the specks began to grow larger with each passing second.

  “I think,” said one of the pirates, “I think those are cages!”

  “He’s right,” said King Peleus. “I see bars.”

  “But why two?” said Dionysus, waking for a moment, from his chair.

  “Oh, right,” said Zeus, as everyone could now easily recognize a large form in each cage. “And Demeter.”

  The floating cages sailed toward the terrace doors of the great hall and just before they would have crashed through, they stopped, sending both Hera and Demeter smashing against the bars. Then, as the doors opened magically, the cages floated through slowly, almost stately, and came to a stop directly over the dais.

  Demeter was frantic and, had she not been gagged with a silver cloth, Pandy guessed she would have been wailing and pleading with Zeus or anyone to release her. She was hopping and tripping from bar to bar—the floors of the cages were also only bars—trying to make eye contact with any of the Olympians but especially Persephone, who was busy, deep in conversation with Hades, and avoiding her mother.

  Hera, on the other hand, was gagged with a scarlet cloth and sitting calmly in one corner of her cage, like a beast waiting for its caretaker to turn his back. She glared at Zeus—until she spotted Pandora, then, even though her body remained motionless, her eyes narrowed into thin black lines of hate and rage. Pandy stared back and allowed herself the barest hint of a smile, before she turned back to look at Douban and her father.

  “How long were they up there?” Hermes asked Zeus.

  “Since Pandora and the rest were brought here.”

  “Two and a half days, father? You had them hanging over Greece for two and a half days?”

  “They weren’t in the flame pits,” Zeus said with a shrug. “They weren’t somewhere cleaning out lavatoriums. I gave them a sweet deal, because, hey, I’m a sweet guy.”

  Someone threw a ripe tomato with perfect aim through the bars and it landed right on Hera’s cheek. At that point, she made a move to stand and Zeus held up his hands.

  “All right, believe me, I understand, but let’s leave the punishments to me, shall we?”

  He turned and gazed up at Demeter, her hair changing from spring buds to the dried grasses of summer. That and the fact that she’d been up in the air for a while, exposed to the elements, caused the goddess to look incredibly old.

  “You fool,” Zeus said. “I know I applaud loyalty but you, my dear, are ridiculous. For six moons you had all the clues, all the signs that you had chosen the losing side and yet you stayed. You fought alongside the most moth-eaten of minds, the most petty, jealous, and smallest of hearts, and for what? Was not your power over the earth one of the greatest in my universe? Was not the worship you received and would have continued to receive enough for you? You wanted more and now you’ll have nothing.”

  Again, whatever low chatter and whispers there were fell into silence and everyone seemed slightly confused. What did Zeus mean by “nothing”?

  “For your disloyalty to me and my commands, for your general treachery and dishonesty and for conspiracy to commit murder—four counts of it—I sentence you, Demeter, not to the flames of Tartarus. Not to the outer reaches of the known world. Not to the highest known mountains or to a desert island to live out eternity on a scaly peak or burning sands. I do this: I relieve you of all your powers over agriculture, nature, and the seasons. You, goddess of the tangible earth that you love so much, shall have nothing save the gift of immortality and I sentence you to live the rest of the ages with no ability to help, correct, or punish mankind in any way. I doom you to watch what the mortals will do to your precious earth with no ability whatsoever to change their course. I, personally, have looked into the future and have seen how human beings will treat many areas of this planet—it’s a planet, by the way, and it’s much bigger than we think—and, while I do not rejoice at their actions, I feel that justice will be served in watching your heart break.”

  Demeter wailed underneath her gag and shook her head wildly, pleading with Zeus. Zeus waved his hand and the next instant, Demeter looked like she’d been hit from all sides by something huge and hard. As all her great powers vanished, her eyes rolled back until only the whites were showing, then she slumped forward, her cheek smashing hard into the cage bars. With another flick of Zeus’s finger, the bottom of the cage dropped out and Demeter went crashing to the floor, landing on top of Hermes’ empty chair, where she lay for many moments. Finally, taking pity on her mother, Persephone helped her to stand and led the shaken not-quite-a-goddess out of the hall.

  “Buste
r!” she whispered, as she passed by her husband. “Now I can spend all year with you!”

  Then, there was nothing but silence in the hall; not even a breeze from the edge of the terrace to distract as everyone turned to the second cage.

  “Hello, wife.”

  If Hera could have spat at Zeus, she would have. Instead, she just made a spitting motion with her head and snorted, like a cow, through her nostrils. The pressure in her head from the rage and hate now building up, causing small blood vessels in her eyes to rupture, turning her eyes red.

  “I would list all of your offenses for those who haven’t really been following, but your crimes have been page one of our news-parchment, the Olympus Outlook, every day since Pandora left, so I think everyone here is pretty much up to speed. I just want to cover the highlights. Dog-napping. Attempting to exercise unauthorized powers in a different country. Illegal placement of serpents in an immortal’s stomach. Coercion—let’s not forget Aeolus. Conspiracy—that covers both Demeter and Juno. Attempted murder of Pandora—how many times? And, of course, murder itself: you actually did it.”

  Hera looked at Alcie. Alcie gave a little wave.

  “I don’t know why you did what you did, really,” Zeus went on. “Yes, yes, you wanted power. More than mine. You wanted revenge for everything I’ve ever done, or things you think I’ve done. And everything everyone else has ever done to you. Pandora, what’s the phrase you humans use? When someone just goes on and on?”

  “‘Blah, blah, blah,’” Pandy answered.

  “Blah, blah, blah. Exactly right. But it goes much deeper than just wanting power, my hefty bowl of cheese curds. Your revenge dictated utter destruction. Me, our universe, our way of being. Our very existence. Well, sorry, love, but you see, I just can’t have it. I do feel sorry for you, wife. A little. But frankly, I don’t care. Nobody cares anymore, Hera. Your problems, your jealousies, your insecurities, your legendary pettiness—boring now. All of it. You’ve been swallowed up by your minuteness. The once great Hera has reduced herself to living within a tiny box in her own mind, stuffed with hate, poison, and putrefaction. You’re puny and perverse. As far as I’m concerned—and I’m the only one who really matters, my oafish oatie cake—you’re too small to be a goddess.”