She chuckles, a ghostly sound, like branches scraping against a window on a storm-filled night. “I know all the wild places.” She stands, snaps her fingers. Several small, dark, many-legged shapes scoot towards her and disappear beneath the hem of her robe.
“It must be soon,” I say. “She grows weaker by the day.”
“Tomorrow at dawn, then,” she says. Is there an echo of laughter in her voice? I search her face but see only sympathy there. She bows with utmost civility. “Until then, Hades” she says, and is gone.
Demeter
“His wife? I don’t believe it for a second. He took her against her will. She’s not his wife, she’s a prisoner.”
Hecate is sitting on a fallen log. Around us trees crowd in. We are in a clearing in the middle of a forest. She is checking over baby rabbits the mother rabbit has brought to her. She plucks one up, pulls back its upper lip, peeks into the mouth.
“I think not,” she murmurs, turning the small body over so she can see inside its ears better.
“What?”
She checks its tail and underneath. “Oh, don’t start, Dem. You know you’ve been an overprotective mother. Do you really think she would have told you about Hades when she knew how you felt? You forced her into secrecy.”
“Overprotective? Me?” Clouds start to darken the sky.
Hecate gives me a look. She sets the small one down, pats it on its bottom so that it hops back to its mother, then picks up a second one.
“What is that look supposed to mean?” I ask.
“First off, settle down,” she answers, scrutinizing the rabbit. “Enough with the clouds. You don’t want to get into that with me — stirring up the weather. I taught you all you know, and we both know who would win in a show-down, unlike that great galoot upstairs who thinks he’s such a hotshot, but couldn’t hit the side of the Parthenon at 20 feet.”
I drop onto a nearby rock. “O.k., but what do you mean overprotective? It’s always been just her and me — you know her father was no use. I’ve only ever wanted the best for her.”
Hecate works a tick free from the rabbit’s haunch, then sends it after its sibling. “At a certain point,” she says, watching the rabbit family disappear into the woods, “wanting the best for her means letting her make her own decisions.”
“I did,” I protest.
She shakes her head. “No, you didn’t. You tried to manipulate things — you and Hestia, you two old bats — although the bats of my acquaintance have more sense than the two of you have shown. You should know better. That demi-God is no match for Persephone — thick as a brick, he is. If she’d married him she’d have gone nuts with boredom inside of six months. She had the wisdom to know that, more wisdom than you. Would you have been satisfied with Derek —”
“Darryl.”
“ — whatever. Would you?”
Suddenly a mushroom sprouting from the tree closest to where I sit becomes fascinating. “He’s a nice young demi-God,” I say.
“He is. He’s as nice as the husband your mother picked out for you. But you weren’t satisfied with him, were you?”
That hurts.
Hecate leans towards me. “The truth does hurt. You wanted nothing less than the top dog god — Zeus. Can you blame Persephone for choosing the best as well?”
“The best? He’s ruler of the dead. What sort of husband is that?”
“He’s one of the Big Three. And he loves her.”
My eyes lock on her. “What?”
She nods, pats the empty space beside her on the log. “He loves her,” she repeats as I move over to sit beside her. “I was there this morning, although you wouldn’t know it was morning, down there. He’s distracted with worry, can hardly keep still, can’t think straight.”
“But Ruler of the Dead.”
“Hades is a fine individual. Measured, steady, fair-minded. Beneath that admittedly dour exterior beats a passionate heart.” She gives me a sly grin. “He’s a much better choice than Zeus was. He will be an excellent father to your grandchild.”
“Grand —” I am so surprised I almost tumble backwards off the log. Hecate steadies me. “ —child?”
She nods, pulling a bur from my gown.
“I’m going — I’m — I —” the words sputter and die in my throat. My hands are on her shoulders, I stare into her eyes.
“Grandmother is the word you’re looking for,” she says. “Yes, congratulations. You’re going to be a grandmother.”
Suddenly tears flood my eyes, stream down my cheeks. I am barely able to breathe for sobbing. Where the tears land, small green sprouts appear: apple, orange, almond, plum.
“But,” and suddenly Hecate’s tone is serious, her hand on mine, “she needs you. She is pining for you. Hades is worried she may fade away, may die, in fact, for want of you. He has sent me to find you, to ask you to come to her.”
“Of course.” I stand, straighten my gown, pat my hair in place, dry my eyes and cheeks. “Let’s go,” I tell her.
Persephone
We ascend slowly, rising toward a pinprick of light. I feel as though I am waking up, swimming out of sleep through layers of dreams, fears, worries and hopes to wakefulness, to the hard and tangible certainties of the daylight world. Or as if I am surfacing from a dive, rising through the dense weight of water toward Poseidon’s silver shield that separates his realm from the air-bound world.
Hades is beside me, supporting me. I am a bit faint, but also excited. I lean on his arm.
At first the point of light is very small and faint against the surrounding shadows, but as we get closer it dilates, pushing away the gloom that presses on it.
I see the utter blue of the sky, wispy clouds scudding across it high up. All is light, all is movement. I hear the rush of wind, the whisper of water, the husky thrumming cries of cicadas. All is song.
At the edge of the light — I recognize the place now, it is the cave near the river — stands my mother. I see her as if for the first time. In a way, it is the first time I have really looked at her. Before, we were always together, and her face was more familiar to me than my own. How old she looks, how tired. Has she always looked like this, or has worry about me aged her?
When Hades and I reach the cave, my mother and I fall into each other’s arms laughing. “I missed you so much.” We both say it at the same time, which makes us laugh some more.
“How are you?” she asks, holding me at arm’s length. “Let me look at you. Ahh,” she says, smiling, and gathers me in her arms again. “It’s so good to see you.”
“And you,” I say, feeling myself swallowed in her embrace. I lean against her and feel her strength. We stand that way, pressed to each other, for a long time. Then I pull away.
“Mother,” I say. “This is my husband.” I take Hades’ hand and pull him forward. He has been standing in the cave’s shadows.
Her eyes darken. For a minute I think she is about to say something cutting. She has a sharp tongue — I have seen it myself. But she pauses, swallows the angry words that rose to the tip of her tongue, and nods in his direction.
“Hail Demeter, daughter of rich-haired Rhea,” he says, more formally than is required. He keeps his voice low and even. I can tell he senses her anger.
“Oh, Rich One —” she begins, but he stops her words with a wave of his hand.
“Hades will do,” he says.
“Hades, then.” Her tone is ambiguous — hard to tell if she is polite, or angry.
“Your daughter returns to you,” he says.
Mother’s eyes move to me, then back to him. “I am glad.”
He bows, then turns to me. He lifts my hand to his lips. Over my hand, our eyes lock. His gaze burns bright, then his eyes fall, he straightens and says, “You know how to reach me.” The next instant there is empty space where he was.
I turn to Mother. It is as if a storm has passed and dark clouds have cleared. She smiles easily and the worry I read on her face has evaporated. Laughte
r plays in her eyes. “Come, come,” she says. “You must tell me everything.”
I stand on the breathing earth and energy flows into me. The heat of the sun sits on my skin and throbs in my veins. Smells stir memories that flood my mind. It is as if I am awakening from a long, smoky dream.
“I would love,” I say, “to see my flowers.”
Her smile falters. There is a moment’s silence. “Of course,” she says presently. “But don’t be disappointed. They are not as you left them. I had so much on my mind …”
As we walk I hear how she first realized I was gone, the terror that took hold of her inch by inch.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I should have told you.”
Her eyes shine with unspilled tears. She smiles through them. “It doesn’t matter,” she replies. “You are here now, that is all that matters.”
“I wanted to tell you,” I continue, “but I thought —” you would be angry — I don’t want to say that — wouldn’t understand — not that, either.
“It’s all right, it’s all right.” She doesn’t seem to notice my hesitation. “You’re back.” She loops her arm through mine and we walk together as we used to.
“I hear — ” she begins, then hesitates. “Hecate tells me I am to be a grandmother.” There is both anticipation and apprehension in her words.
“Yes,” I answer. “In four months.” I stop and place her hand on my belly. “Can you feel it?” The passenger is moving slowly and dreamily.
“Was that it?” Her voice is quick with excitement.
“Yes … there it is again.”
She smiles. “You were like that,” she tells me. “Restless, eager to get out.”
“Really?”
She nods. “Oh,” she cries. “I am so happy you’re back.”
Demeter
She is so pale. When I first saw her, the breath was knocked out of me. She looked wan and frail. Ghostlike. Her colourless skin was almost translucent; her eyes huge and dark in her pallid face.
She wore an expression I had never seen on her face before, serious and austere. Where has my laughing daughter gone? What has become of my sweet girl, full of mischief and playfulness? She has been replaced by this silent young woman who carries herself with such dignity and self-possession.
We walk the fields again. She takes my hand and places it on her swelling belly: hard and round and taut as a melon. I feel the little one within flutter gently, turning in the inner sea.
“I would not have chosen such a husband for you,” I mutter.
“You didn’t,” she tells me. There is a new tone in her voice: assertiveness, confidence. “I chose.”
Silence blooms between us, a landscape, a plain on either side of which marshall armies of unspoken words.
“He is a good husband,” she says quietly before I have a chance to speak. “Kind and thoughtful. If it were up to him, I wouldn’t be here. He would rather I stayed in Hades. He was concerned about my health and the baby’s. But he saw how homesick I was, so he called Hecate and arranged it all.”
“I see.”
She smiles, a bit sadly, and shakes her head. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
I stop, take her shoulders in my hands, and turn her so she faces me. “Not understand?” I say. “Not understand the rush of blood and passion that blind you to all but the one you love? Not understand being consumed by the thought of that person — the smell, the sight and sound of them? Not understand the hunger for their touch, their voice? I understand,” I tell her. “I understand completely. And I know what it’s like when that first ardour has cooled. Perhaps I wanted to spare you that.”
“Or perhaps,” she smiles, “perhaps you just wanted to keep me with you.”
“I see my little girl has grown up,” I laugh, taking her arm in mine again. “Maybe that, too.”
Cyane
Persephone is back. Did she get in touch with me, the way a real friend would? No, I heard it from a little breeze — one of Zephyr’s hangers-on. She said she was zipping along, minding her own business, when she looked down and saw Demeter and Persephone walking together. “Hand in hand,” she told me. “Just like before. And where they walked, a carpet of lush grass and beautiful flowers sprang up. It was so beautiful.” She let fall a few drops of rain.
“Hey, hey,” I cried, ducking beneath a nearby tree, out of the shower. I checked my hair and gown to see how wet they had gotten. “No downpours here.”
“Sorry. It’s just so nice to see them back together again.”
Sentimentalist I thought, then: now she’s back she’ll want to hook up with Darryl again. I know how these things work. I’ve been much nicer to him than she ever was, but all he’ll have eyes for is the Level-1 Goddess. He won’t have time for a simple water nymph anymore. It’s not fair. And if she finds out Darryl and I have been hanging out together she’ll probably get all shirty at me.
I didn’t say any of this to the breeze. I simply smiled and nodded. “Yes, it is.” But she was already on her way. Short attention spans, that bunch.
I found a stream and sat down beside it. Should I be pro-active about this and track down Persephone? She’s the one who left without saying goodbye — I really think it’s up to her to get in touch with me. On the other hand, it might be best to take the bull by the horns and go find her. That way I can get my story to her first.
But what is my story?
I know: Oh, Pers, I’ve missed you so much. Darryl did, too. The two of us have spent the last couple of months just sick with worry. Especially Darryl. I had to keep an eye on him after you vanished, I was so afraid he might have a breakdown or something. He’ll be so glad to see you. I know I am.
And Darryl won’t say anything different. If I put it to him that’s how it was, he won’t remember our long walks, our long conversations. If I tell him I was just keeping him company while Persephone was away, that’s how he’ll remember it.
It’s not fair.
I’d better get going.
Persephone
O, the wild joy of plunging your hands into the living earth! There is nothing like it, nothing. To feel the currents that spark the seeds to life moving through it. I feel the energy humming there.
How I have missed the mossy smell of rotting leaves, the sharp, iron scent of water, the whispering of winds and streams. And light — most of all I have been hungry for Helios’ bright gaze.
Mother was right. My fields were blasted. Where once tulips, roses, morning glories, lilies bloomed there now stretched a desolate wasteland. All that remained were bleached, withered husks.
We spent a few days collecting the dead plants and piled them to compost or to use as mulch on the new beds I would plant.
“I’m sorry,” Mum said, standing beside me, surveying the damage, her face grim. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” I told her, spinning a brittle tulip leaf in my hand. “I can start new, avoid the mistakes I made before.”
“That’s true.” She bent to pick up a pile of dried leaves and stems. “It will be better than before.”
At night I plan what I will plant: masses of white galanthus, with their heads that will bob in the breeze, vast carpets of jewel-coloured tulips interspersed with brilliant daffodils. Trailing up and down: clematis, roses, sweet peas, scarlet runners, wisteria, thunbergia. In the forest, orchids to grow on air. In shady places: hostas, impatiens, ferns.
Each night I fall into bed exhausted, my mind a riot of colour. The flowers’ names a lullaby to soothe me to sleep.
Zeus
Good. It’s all sorted out; Persephone’s back earth-side, Demeter’s back at work, I’m in my place, and all’s right with the world.
Now, maybe, things will settle down, there’ll be some peace and quiet, and I can get onto that coffee problem I was thinking about earlier. Or maybe Hera and I could get a little quality time in together. That’s a thought. I’ll go see what she’s up to.
Persephone
The dreams grow in intensity. They seem so real, and my journey so long, that each morning I wake up more tired than when I fell asleep the night before. There is an urgency to my search now, but the point of it remains a mystery. I only know I must keep traveling down the tunnels in search of something unnamed.
The baby inside me seems restless, too, whether because of my dreams or my uneasiness it’s impossible to tell. It spins and kicks throughout the day and night. (Perhaps I dream the baby’s dreams.)
I send a note to Cyane and one afternoon she drops in to chat. She tells me how worried she and Darryl have been, but I glance at her from beneath lowered lids when she doesn’t know I’m watching and I see eddies of anxiety and resentment move across her face like currents through water. She is afraid I have come to take Darryl away from her. She wants him — or, not him, but what I have had (she doesn’t know this herself). What will she feel when she learns the truth? But I don’t worry about her — she will do fine. It’s Darryl I feel sorry for, tossed back and forth between the two of us like a shuttlecock. But Cyane will have him, and she’ll convince him he is happy with her. Whether she will be happy with him is another story.
We talk for a while, Cyane angling for answers to questions, and then mum comes in. Apprehension flits across Cyane’s face quick as a blink, then it’s gone. She drops a pretty curtsey. “Hail, oh Demeter —”
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