Dead Beautiful

by Melanie Dugan

  “Where am I?”

  “In my bed,” he says.

  “No — where?”

  “In my realm, in Hades.”

  A shiver of panic runs through me. “I’m dead. Am I dead?”

  He rolls onto his back, stares upwards, exhales. “Define dead.”

  “You know, not alive. Dead.”

  Hades chuckles wryly. “You can be walking around in the upper world, the picture of health, looking as though you’re bursting with life, but if you have nothing or no one to love, nothing you care about, no ideas in your head, you’re deader than most of the spirits under my jurisdiction.”

  “But am I dead?”

  He rolls over, faces me again. “Do you feel dead?”

  “No.” In fact, in some ways I feel more alive than I ever have before.

  “That’s because, my Persephone, you are definitely not dead.” There is a throb of emotion in his voice.

  I turn away from him. What have I done? I bury my face in my pillow.

  “Persephone.” He sounds so faint and far away.

  I have abandoned the sunbright upper world, I have abandoned my mother, and for what? This place of shades?

  “Persephone.”

  I turn to him, avoiding his eyes. My cheeks are wet. His fingers trace the tracks of tears on my face.

  “I was afraid of this,” he says sadly. “And yet, you chose. I would not have brought you here against your will.”

  “But I didn’t know what I was choosing,” I protest.

  “Of course you didn’t,” he says with some irritation. He sits and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “That’s what making a choice is about — taking a gamble. Choice, chance — it’s no coincidence the two words sound similar.” He sighs, stands, pulls on his chlamys. “I must go make some arrangements. I’ll send in your breakfast.” He turns, leans down as if he’s going to kiss me, hesitates, seems to change his mind and pulls away. He stands for a second, then walks quietly from the room.

  In the emptiness he leaves behind I give in to my tears. I am surprised how large a part of me seems to be missing with my mother’s absence. After a while I stop. Tears solve nothing. If mum were here she’d tell me to pull myself together. Almost Level-1 Goddesses don’t waste time feeling sorry for themselves, they make the best of things. If life hands you a lemon, hybridize it into something sweet. What is there in this situation that can be sweet?

  I get out of bed and cross the room, pulling open the heavy, wine-coloured curtains covering French doors that lead onto the terrace outside. Beyond the terrace lies a realm of grandeur and beauty.

  The scene before me is bathed in a faint, silvery light so soft and gentle it’s as if it’s lit by the waning moon, though there is no moon to be seen, or stars, or sun, only an overarching velvety darkness. Far off stand tall mountains, their vertical walls etched by the subtle illumination. Between the mountains and this place stretches a wide plain covered in vast forests that pull back here and there to admit fields. Rivers traverse the plains, snaking through forest and field.

  In the world above such a scene would be bustling with activity — shepherds guiding their flocks, farmers working their fields, dogs barking. Here it is silent.

  I turn from the window, feeling small and overwhelmed.

  Hades reappears carrying a gold plate. He comes to stand beside me and holds out the plate. A pomegranate lies there, cut into sections. Seeds spill out and roll around; the plate is red with their juice.

  I look at it hungrily. I haven’t eaten since I arrived, and I am starving. “I don’t think I’m supposed to,” I say.

  He smiles. “The pomegranate seeds are a metaphor, my love. We’ve already covered that territory.”

  I remember last night, his body against mine, our limbs twined together. “A metaphor?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean it doesn’t matter whether I eat this or not, the deed is done?”

  “He nods. “Exactly.”

  I take a section and push some seeds into my mouth. A thought occurs to me. “What’s my mum going to say?

  “Persephone,” I hear impatience in his voice again, “you’re an adult.”

  “I don’t feel like one.”

  “It can take a while,” he admits. He selects a slice of pomegranate and sets down the plate on a nearby table.

  I feel so lost and uncertain. Until now I have always been my mother’s daughter. That was my place, my home in the world. I knew what was expected of Demeter’s daughter, even when I resented doing it, or was bored by it. But now I am something else, no longer simply my mother’s daughter. Now I am Persephone, and I must learn who that is and what that means.

  “Oh, Rich One —”

  “Please,” he says, sounding annoyed. “My name is Hades.”

  “But I thought protocol prohibited me addressing you so informally.”

  “I don’t care,” he says. There is impatience in his voice. Somewhere I hear a rumble, like heat thunder on a summer day. “I am so tired of all these nicknames — ‘Oh, Rich One,’ ‘Oh, Unseen One,’ ‘Oh, Kind Host.’ No one ever calls me by my real name. My name is Hades. Call me Hades.”

  O.k. then. “Hades?”

  His eyes are on me, intent. “Yes?”

  “May I explore your realm?”

  “Of course. I will be happy to show it to you.”

  No, I mean alone.”

  “Oh.” This request seems to make him more somber than usual. I sense his feelings are hurt. But, “Feel free,” he says.

  “I just need to sort some things out.”

  “I understand.” He turns away, his face hidden from me. “Take as long as you want. Go safely.”

  And then he is gone, but on the floor beside me sit a pair of sandals. When I put them on, I find they are crafted of the softest leather and cradle my feet gently. I have never worn such comfortable shoes. “Thank you,” I say to the empty air. I open the French doors that lead to the terrace, and step out.

  Cyane

  So Pers is gone and Demeter comes around asking questions with this look in her eye that makes me think maybe I won’t tell her the whole story. I don’t want her turning me into a stinging nettle plant, or crabgrass.

  The story is inside me, though, itching to get out, but there is nothing and no one I can tell it to. I can’t even whisper it to the marshy reeds because we all know what that leads to.

  So I get a bunch of the girls together — other water nymphs — and we’re talking and messing around and I don’t remember how it happens, but before we know it a river — a small one, really only a creek — has risen and a bridge — a tiny one, not more than a couple of planks over a puddle — is down.

  The next thing I know, Darryl shows up. I guess the old guy whose little mud hut beside the river got a bit damp supplicated him, and there he is, sort of annoyed and all official.

  “Let’s see your F-1-37 girls,” he says, demanding the requisition we’re supposed to file before any small floods are initiated.

  The rest of the nymphs all get quiet and big-eyed and start evaporating.

  “We don’t have one,” I admit.

  “No?” His blue eyes are sparkling, maybe with irritation, but it doesn’t matter. It adds to his general cuteness. “That’s a fairly serious infraction — an unauthorized flood.”

  “It wasn’t a flood, really,” I tell him. “More of a surge.”

  That’s when he looks at me, really looks at me. He frowns. “You’re Persephone’s friend, aren’t you?”

  I nod. “Cyane. Yeah.”

  He glances around. “The rest of you can go — this time. But the next time I get wind of unauthorized activity I’ll have to file a report, o.k.?”

  “O.k.” “O.k.,” the rest of them chorus. They’re fading out as fast as they can, their voices mere whisperings, the sound of water slipping over stone.

  I’m about to turn into a trickle and clear out myself, when Darryl puts his hand on my arm.
“Not you,” he says.

  I’m a bit scared, but I say, “O.k.” I can’t go much weaker at the knees, but if he keeps up this masterly demi-God stuff, I’m going to turn into a puddle right here at his feet, which would be so embarrassing.

  “What’s going on with Persephone? I haven’t seen her around Olympus. Her mom says she’s away on training but she doesn’t seem to know when Persephone will be back.”

  I can’t tell him what really happened — what I think really happened. For one thing, it would hurt his feelings. For another, how do I know for sure Pers went with Hades? Maybe he took her against her will, in which case, if Demeter finds out, maybe he’ll be forced to give her back. And if Darryl does find out Pers is gone and Demeter thinks I told him, she may make things really unpleasant. I’ve got to come up with an explanation that sets his mind at rest so he quits asking questions.

  “She left kind of suddenly,” I tell him. “I don’t think she wanted to say anything until she knew she was accepted for the training course, but she didn’t hear until the last minute, so she had to take off right away. Someone else cancelled and a place came up — something like that. And I think the course is dependent on germination times, so she wasn’t sure when she’d be back.” Will he buy it?

  “Oh, I see.” He lets go of my arm. “Sorry if I was a bit abrupt there. How have you been?”

  I feel speech abandoning me. Really, all I want to do is stand here, close to him, and look into his eyes, admire his blond hair, his six-pack — “Pardon?”

  “How have you been?” he repeats, waving his hand at a nearby outcropping of rock, which modifies into a comfortable-looking seat. Another pass of his hand, and there’s a soft cushion of moss. Feeling that I must contribute something, I snap my fingers and a clear stream comes trickling down the hillside nearby, adding music to the air.

  Darryl smiles at this, and motions for me to take a seat, which I do. The stone bench is surprisingly comfortable. Aspens tremble overhead, the stream murmurs its song, we sit in the cool, dappled light beneath the trees.

  “Me?” I say, trying to sound casual, which is not how I really feel. My heart is going chug, chug, chug like storm waves lapping up against a dock. I feel sort of light-headed, as if I’m on the verge of turning into mist. “I’m doing fine. Sort of at loose ends with Pers gone, but I keep busy. There’s always a little pond that needs filling up, or a stream that needs attention. You know, humans will build their houses right over streams, and then spend all their time and energy trying to divert the water. They don’t seem to realize once a stream, always a stream. You can’t just plunk a structure down where a stream runs. If you do, you’ll have water in your basement no matter what you do. But people keep doing it, and I keep having to help the stream spirits find their way out.”

  Darryl nods. “Tell me about it. I was called to this house the other day; the fellow built his house right on a flood plain, and he expects it to be dry! I couldn’t believe it. He wants to know why his mud bricks keep dissolving. I said, ‘Well, if you’re going to build on a flood plain, you’ve got to expect floods.’ ”

  I laugh. “I like that. ‘If you’re going to build on a flood plain —’ Good one.”

  Darryl brightens. “I could have gotten in touch with you. Asked you to come help me appease the local water deity. That might have helped the guy.”

  “Any time,” I tell him.

  “Really?” he says. “What about now?”

  “Right now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, sure.”

  He takes my hand preparatory to de-materializing. If Demeter gets wind of this, there could be trouble. But he is awfully cute. And how’s she going to find out, anyway? It’s just a little job, it won’t take long. I hold on tight.

  Hades

  I offered to show her around. She turned me down. I guess she needs to find her own way, but I can’t say it didn’t hurt a bit. Not hurt, I guess, but I did feel somewhat shut out. Her out there tramping around on her own didn’t match how I’d pictured our first few weeks together.

  Since then she has spent the last couple of days poking around the place. She gets up in the morning and leaves after breakfast, then she shows up again at dinner. I asked if she wanted a shade or two to accompany her but she brushed off the suggestion.

  I have to admit, it’s turning out to be a bit of a relief. Vernal equinox is the busiest time of year — I don’t know why. And recently there’s been a real influx, a flood of new arrivals. We’re getting vague reports of some sort of disturbance topside. If I weren’t so swamped, I’d pop up and check it out myself, but no time. So I’m glad Persephone is managing to entertain herself. It’s not the togetherness and intimacy I’d imagined, but I’m beginning to see how a little independence in a consort might be a good thing.

  And whatever she’s up to during the day — the nights rock.

  Now, where did I put that C-24 Impermanent Resident form?

  Demeter

  My daughter is gone. Helios tells me she is with Hades, but where has he taken her? How am I to find her? Where can I find entry to his realm? No one will tell me. Cyane, that silly water nymph, says she doesn’t know anything. She’s foolish enough for that to be the truth.

  I have asked the naiads, the Nereids but they tell me they saw nothing, and then they turn into seaspray and fly off.

  I ask the locals, people whose crops I have worked so hard for, nurturing and sustaining their seedlings, ensuring rain enough to water their fields, sun enough to warm the sprouts. “Have you seen my daughter?” I ask them. They turn blank eyes on me, shake their heads, deny, deny, deny.

  Fine. That’s the thanks I get for all my work on humans’ behalf and for all the goodwill I’ve cultivated for Zeus? Two can play at this. No more Ms. Nice Guy. Kill two birds with one stone; get the humans where it counts and Zeus where it hurts.

  You want crops? Supplicate the Big Guy upstairs. Tell him to give me back my daughter. Want warm summer breezes, gentle showers? Send up a prayer — throw in a sacrifice for good measure.

  I will walk the earth until I discover her. I will wear out this set of shoes, and the next and the next until there is nowhere else on earth to search.

  I light the torches and carry them before me as I step into the tarry black night.

  Zeus

  So, how do things stand at this point in time? Time for a reassessment.

  Demeter has disappeared. The weather systems are all out of whack. Ceres is doing her best, but she’s not up to speed with all the new software. We’ve got glaciers moving down from the north pole and up from the south pole. The Sahara is burning to a crisp, meanwhile the Indus Valley is flooding. I look down from on high and see little cows borne away on a muddy torrent. I am fond of cows, such gentle, docile, placid creatures unlike some of my nearest and dearest who can be, shall we say, high maintenance?

  Needless to say, with all this chaotic weather the crops are failing. Humans are taking what food they do have and are sacrificing it to me, asking me to remedy the situation. The irony of this is not lost on me.

  “Hermes.” I have a headache from all the weeping and wailing and supplication — crop failure, drought, freezing, flood, that’s all I hear about these days — to say nothing of the stench of turnips and okra rising up to me. In the absence of good quality sacrificial material the humans throw whatever they’ve got into the pot. I hate okra.

  “Right here, Dad.”

  “We’ve been over the Dad thing.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  No he isn’t. Not for a nanosecond. “Any idea where Demeter is?”

  “As far as I can tell, she’s taken off.”

  “Taken off?”

  “You’re the omniscient one —”

  “ — nigh omniscient —”

  “ — don’t you know where she is?”

  “Give me a moment. I’m getting … shoes. Lots and lots of shoes.”

  “Shoes?”

  �
�I’m getting — whoa.” Anger. A tidal wave of it. Directed at me. “She thinks I know where Persephone is. I don’t — do I?”

  “Dunno, Daddio.”

  “Hold on. I’m picking up more. Hecate. Hecate dropped in on Demeter. Something about Hades.”

  “Hades,” says Hermes. “Heavy.”

  “Hades has Persephone?” A cool voice from the doorway. Hera, looking composed.

  “Why does everyone around here insist on popping in unannounced?” Hermes must get that from Hera’s side of the family, too. “Now I’ve lost my concentration. If I could please have a moment’s peace and quiet?”

  “Of course you can, dear,” Hera says. “Hermes, run off you silly boy. We’ll call you if we need you.”

  “Sure thing, oh, Hera.”

  “Now, now — call me mummy.”

  In a blink, Hermes dematerializes.

  “Did we ever hear back on his ADD assessment?” I ask.

  “Don’t worry your head about that,” Hera says soothingly. “You have more important problems to deal with. Now, what’s this about Hades?”

  “Hecate — Helios — Hades — that’s what I’m picking up from Demeter.”

  “Hades.” There’s an edge to her voice, which usually means trouble.

  “Now don’t you go getting all worked up.”

  “No, no.” She waves her hand. “I had hopes that perhaps Artemis — that would have been a splendid match, two of the twelve Olympians. But this may suit. I suspect Artemis and Hades are too much alike, each too serious for the other. Persephone is a silly girl. She’s just the thing. It takes a stupid girl to manage a smart man. He can never guess what she’s thinking — because she isn’t thinking. It creates an air of mystery. And there is overall stability to consider; Hades needs a consort so he won’t keep gallivanting around with nymphs and Nereids, stirring up trouble, introducing foreign blood.” I glance at her, is she implying something? But no, she’s smiling like the cat that just swallowed the last of the cream. “Persephone, though frivolous, is one of us. She knows the rules. There won’t be any newcomers vying for power. This may work out better than I had anticipated. Of course, first we have to determine whether it’s true, and then we have to bring Demeter onside.”