Calliope the Muse

by Joan Holub

  He took a few steps to the side of the stage so that he was no longer directly in front of Calliope and her sisters. Then he made a grand sweep of his arm in their direction. “And so, without further ado, I give you a very special and melodious treat for your ears—the nine Muses!”

  At a signal from Urania, Calliope and her sisters began their first number. It was Homer’s “Hymn to Earth, the Mother of All.” Since it was a song they performed often, Calliope relaxed into it and let her lilting soprano voice ring out.

  “O universal mother, who dost keep

  From everlasting thy foundations deep,

  Eldest of things, Great Earth, I sing of thee!

  All shapes that have their dwelling in the sea,

  All things that fly, or on the ground divine

  Live, move, and there are nourished—these are thine . . .”

  She gazed out at the audience, some of whom were singing along. Aphrodite, Persephone, Artemis, and Amphitrite were all sitting together. They caught Calliope’s eye during the song and waved to her. She smiled at them, but of course she couldn’t wave back. That would have been unprofessional!

  When the song ended, the crowd erupted in applause. Calliope’s heart soared at the warm response. If only Homer had been in the audience too, admiring her singing. And her sisters’ singing as well, she mentally added quickly. But she liked to imagine him singling her out as special.

  The Muses’ second song was the chorus from The Bacchae, a tragedy by the playwright Euripides. It was a wistful, somewhat sad song that started like this: “Where is the home for me? O Cyprus, set in the sea . . .” When their song eventually came to an end, the crowd applauded with enthusiasm again.

  Scanning the rows of seats nearest the stage, Calliope noticed several audience members quietly wiping tears from their cheeks. Then suddenly her breath caught. Was that blue hair she’d just glimpsed in the third row? Spiky blue hair? It was! She felt a thrill flutter in her chest. For there, smack-dab in the middle of the third row, sat the dreamy, talented, cute Homer!

  Why hadn’t she spotted him earlier? Maybe he’d arrived late? Who cared? At least he’d come! After his lukewarm response to her invitation yesterday, she really hadn’t expected him.

  When he happened to glance her way, she caught his eye and smiled at him. He gave her a curt nod, which, given Homer’s personality, passed for friendly. Something about his standoffishness appealed to her, though. Because he was distant and hard to get to know, he seemed all the more intriguing.

  Happily, she began singing the Muses’ third song on cue. It was during this number that she ran into trouble. Halfway through, she completely forgot her part! This was mostly due to a lack of practice, but also to an attack of nerves now that she knew Homer was watching.

  She lapsed into silence and pretended to mouth the words. Since there were nine of them singing, she thought no one would notice, but when she had been looking at the song the night before, she’d neglected to note a solo part. Her part. Suddenly her sisters’ voices dropped out.

  Calliope froze in horror. For a measure or two there was dead silence. Then the sisters on either side of her, Melpomene and Erato, gave her a nudge. Calliope started in again, “Oh mighty Zeus doth bring great storms to vanquish the wicked and . . . um . . .” Having forgotten the rest of the line, she mumbled, “Something, something, something.”

  From somewhere in the audience came a surprised giggle. And whispers. Calliope’s face went hot. Suddenly remembering the next line, she forged ahead. “So lift your voices in perfect harmony and sing like a beautiful bird!” Unfortunately, her upset from muffing the previous line caused her vocal cords to tighten up on the word “bird.” The resulting note was way off-key and sour.

  More uncertain titters came from the audience. Horrified, Calliope stopped singing altogether. Luckily, her sisters came back in to finish the final verse and chorus.

  Don’t look at Homer, don’t look, don’t, she told herself. But she peeked anyway, and saw that he was frowning at her. It figured that he’d finally pay attention to her at the one time when she’d rather he didn’t! Sigh.

  Despite Homer’s obvious disapproval of her performance, relief washed over Calliope as the Muses left the stage. At least the disaster was over.

  “What happened out there, Baby Sis?” Polyhymnia asked as they gathered offstage. Their other sisters leaned in close to hear Calliope’s answer, wearing expressions ranging from irritation to concern.

  “I . . . um . . . didn’t memorize the lyrics well enough,” she admitted.

  “What? But you only had to learn one new song!” Euterpe said in a disbelieving tone.

  “I know, I know. I’m so sorry,” said Calliope. She avoided looking at Urania, who had, after all, offered to practice with her several times. Calliope hated letting others down, especially her sisters. And it was awful to think that, along with everyone else, Homer had witnessed her humiliation.

  “Everything is still new at MOA. You must be very busy adjusting,” Terpsichore said, sweetly coming to Calliope’s defense.

  “All those classes to study for,” Thalia added understandingly.

  “And anyway,” Terpsichore went on, “I bet a lot of people in the audience didn’t even notice anything was off.”

  Recalling her sour note and the titters that followed, Calliope doubted that, but just the same she was grateful to her favorite sister for trying to make light of the catastrophe. “Besides,” Terpsichore added, “even if anyone did notice, they’ll forget all about it as soon as the next group performs.”

  Calliope hoped she was right.

  The sisters had just sat down in seats that had been saved for them in the second row, when the herald pinged his lyre again. “Next up, and without further ado, two numbers by a group called . . .” He broke off for a moment to pull a notescroll from his pocket. “The Nine Pie Rides!” he finished, sweeping his arm toward the group.

  On cue nine princesses began walking downhill past Calliope and her sisters on their way to the stage. “That’s Pierides—PEER-rih-deez,” hissed a member of the new group.

  “Yeah, is that so hard? Why does everyone say it wrong?” hissed another.

  Calliope frowned. Yuck! The nine daughters of King Pierus of Macedon? She hadn’t realized who the other group was going to be. But she and her sisters had run into these princesses at other performances. They were spoiled rich mortal girls who fancied themselves the Muses’ equals. Their father encouraged their arrogance and had even given his daughters the same names as the nine Muses!

  As they filed by, wearing diamond tiaras and chitons of the latest fashion, Calliope’s Pieride counterpart glanced over at her. A snarky grin came over her face as she came to a brief halt. “Such an aMUSEing performance you gave in that last song of yours.”

  The Pieride named Urania gave a fake yawn, patting her mouth with her palm. “Not! It was a total Muse snooze!”

  “Yeah, a real Muser-loser!” said the one named after Calliope’s sister Thalia. Then all nine of the Pierides laughed scornfully and high-fived as they continued on down to the stage.

  Wishing she could sink into the stone floor of the theater, Calliope stared down at her silver sandals, feeling utterly humiliated. Had Homer overheard those preening, presumptuous Pierides? Hopefully not. Though she’d been careful not to look directly at him when she’d sat down, she knew he was still sitting just several seats over in the row behind her.

  “Those bratty mortals. How dare they!” muttered the true Urania.

  “We can’t let them get away with that, princesses or not!” muttered Euterpe.

  “So what should we do?” asked Terpsichore as the Pierides began to sing their first number. It was called “Soar Like a Bird” and was a song the Muses knew well, since they’d often sung it themselves.

  Rallying a little at her sisters’ support, Calliope cocked her head and listened to their adversaries croon. At the same time, she was remembering her conversation
about revenge with Medusa the night before. A sly smile came over her face. “I have an idea,” she said.

  After she shared her plan with her sisters, they all looked to Urania for approval, since she was the oldest. “Okay?” Calliope asked her.

  “As a responsible adult, I can’t approve this plan,” Urania informed them. But then a mischievous sparkle lit her eyes. “Only, there was so much screeching onstage just now—hmm, or was that singing?—that I don’t really think I heard the plan at all. I can hardly protest against something I know nothing about,” she finished, giving them all a wide-eyed, innocent look.

  Calliope grinned at her, knowing this meant they could put their plan into action. The Muse sisters waited until the Pierides were nearing the end of their song. Then, as those princesses sang the last line about “soaring over the heads of all,” the Muses chanted a spell in unison:

  “Girls into magpies. Take to the skies.

  Chatter, chatter . . . scatter!”

  • • •

  At once, all nine Pierides morphed into black-and-white feathered magpies. Chattering in dismay, they rose into the air and did as magically instructed. They scattered. The audience broke out in applause and cheers as the birds swooped over them. Everyone probably figured the transformation was a planned part of the performance! (And in Calliope’s opinion it was the best part, because no way were those pampered princesses better singers than her sisters.)

  Instantly the herald took center stage again. “Now wasn’t that a fun surprise! Thanks, Pie Rides!” he said quickly. “Guess they’re off to their roost . . . er, home . . . in Macedon.”

  “That’s PEER-rih-deez,” one of the nine birds cawed back before the magpies flew off toward the horizon.

  “Looks like we’ll be skipping over the Pierides’ second number, however,” the herald went on. “Instead we’ll go straight to intermission. And when we return,” he added, “it will be time for our special event. Marsyas versus Apollo in the musical challenge of the century!”

  The audience cheered in anticipation.

  “Do you think the Pierides will suspect that we’re the ones who changed them into magpies?” Calliope asked her sisters.

  Terpsichore grinned. “I hope so. Then maybe next time they’ll pay us proper respect!”

  Urania put her hands over both her ears. “La, la, la, la, la!” she sang out. “Good thing I didn’t hear any of that!”

  “If I hadn’t flopped so badly, they wouldn’t have been able to criticize us, though,” Calliope said glumly.

  Urania uncovered her ears and gave Calliope a quick hug. “Live and learn, Baby Sister. Next time you’ll be better prepared, right?”

  “Right,” said Calliope, nodding like she meant it. Which she did. After all, if she wanted to be treated as a grown-up in her family, she really did need to be more responsible.

  Terpsichore gave her a playful head noogie. “In my humble opinion, you need a bit of a break from MOA,” she told Calliope. “I’ve got a dance recital tomorrow, but how about if the two of us meet in the Immortal Marketplace for some ‘retail therapy.’ Monday afternoon, say around four at the central atrium? We can shop till we drop and just have fun.”

  Cheering up, Calliope smiled. “I’d love that. Thanks!”

  For the moment, all thoughts of her Architecture-ology project had flown away, just like the magpie princesses!

  6

  The Challenge

  NOW THAT IT WAS INTERMISSION, a lot of people were leaving their seats to visit with friends in other parts of the theater. Homer might have still been in the row behind her, but for once Calliope didn’t try to get his attention. He could be kind of a perfectionist, and she was too embarrassed about her musical mess-up.

  She watched Aphrodite, Persephone, Artemis, and Amphitrite rise from their seats a few rows away. They would probably be too polite to mention her botched performance if she went up to them.

  “See you guys after the break,” she said quickly to her sisters. “I’m going to go talk to some friends.” If she could peel Aphrodite away from the others, maybe she could ask her to spend the night. Then, with luck, she might land a roomie! Would they share her room or Aphrodite’s? she wondered excitedly.

  But as she started up an aisle toward the girls, she heard Homer call out her name. “Calliope. Over here!” Unfortunately, he was set on a course to intercept her before she got to Aphrodite.

  A picture formed in her mind, of his frowning expression following her muffed solo. Unable to face him so soon after her disastrous performance, Calliope pretended not to notice him. She felt certain that, unlike her goddessgirl friends, Homer wouldn’t let politeness stifle his frank opinion of her singing snafu. Swerving in the opposite direction, she quickened her step.

  Not daring to look back in case he was following her, she headed for a wooden building called the skene that was directly behind the stage. It was where scenery for plays was stored and where performers could make quick costume changes too. Hearing footsteps coming closer, she ducked inside.

  Calliope pulled up short when she saw Apollo was sitting there in the small building. He was practicing scales on his seven-stringed lyre in preparation for his turn onstage. He stopped playing when he saw her. “So how did your performance go?” he asked.

  She paused, one ear cocked toward the entrance. However, she relaxed when the footsteps she’d heard continued on past the skene, accompanied by voices, none of which was Homer’s. Phew. Maybe he hadn’t followed her after all!

  Looking over at Apollo, she replied to his question with her own question, “You didn’t hear us sing?”

  He shook his head and plucked a couple of lyre strings. “I was practicing. Sorry I missed you guys, though.”

  “Don’t be,” Calliope said. Then she told him about forgetting the words to the Muses’ last song, thus messing up her solo, and about her chagrin at the sour note she’d hit.

  “Ouch,” Apollo said sympathetically. “A singer’s worst nightmare.”

  Calliope nodded. She peeked out the door and saw that the coast was clear. She wasn’t taking any chances of running into Homer, though. “Okay if I stay a minute? Or are you . . .” She glanced at his lyre, wondering if he needed some alone time before he performed.

  “No, it’s okay. Might help to have company,” said Apollo.

  Huh? Was he hinting that he was nervous? Surely not. After all, he had performed gazillions of times. He even had a band called Heavens Above that played at MOA dances and other events.

  Deciding to stay put a while longer, she started wandering around the room. As she idly studied various props, including a fake crown and a large plank painted to resemble a castle battlement, she spoke again. “My sisters were nice about my flub-up. But still, it was humiliating. And then those copycat Pierides princesses had to rub my face in my mistake. You should have heard their snarky remarks!”

  It made her cringe to remember, but then she smiled. “My sisters and I got revenge, though. Ms. Nemesis would’ve been proud of us.” MOA’s Revenge-ology teacher was big on punishments when justice demanded them.

  Apollo quirked an eyebrow, looking intrigued. “What did you do?”

  Calliope told him about the magpie spell. “Since the song the Pierides were singing was about soaring birds, everyone in the audience thought the princesses’ transformation at the end was a part of their performance,” she finished up.

  She was gratified when Apollo laughed so hard that he almost fell off his stool. “That’s classic. Served them right,” he said once he had finally managed to gain control of himself again. After a pause he spoke in a serious tone, almost as if to himself. “Seems like there are some who don’t respect immortals anymore.”

  “I know! They hold us to an impossibly high standard,” Calliope agreed, thinking of Homer now.

  “Then, when we fail, they decide they’re better than us and that it’s okay to challenge us.” Staring into space, Apollo frowned.

  Alth
ough the two of them had been talking about the Pierides, Calliope guessed he was thinking about Marsyas and the musical battle that would begin as soon as the intermission was over. She picked up a couple of fake swords, studying them.

  “ ‘My word, how mortals take the gods to task!’ ” she said, brandishing one of the swords in a mock-fight as she began reciting her and Medusa’s favorite quote from Homer’s The Odyssey. “ ‘All their afflictions come from us, we hear. And what of their own failings? Greed and folly double the suffering in the lot of man.’ ”

  Apollo punched a fist into the air. “Exactly!” he crowed. “Homer sure got that right!”

  “I wonder, though,” Calliope mused, gazing at the shiny blade. “Maybe it’s not a lack of respect that causes mortals and other Earth creatures to challenge the gods. Maybe the cause is their desire to be like us.”

  “Huh?” said Apollo. “You mean as in, they’re jealous of us?” He’d idly begun to strum his lyre again.

  “More like over-the-top admiration.” Calliope pushed off a fake tree she’d begun to lean against. “Think about it.” She wagged the fake sword at him as if it were her finger. “Mortals find immortals endlessly fascinating. We’re like pop stars to them, the way they devour everything that’s printed about us in Teen Scrollazine, and build temples to honor us.”

  “Hmm,” said Apollo, still strumming. “You’ve got a point.” He glanced at the sharp tip of the fake sword she still held, and grinned.

  “Ha-ha,” Calliope said, getting the joke and grinning with him. She put the sword down and went over to peek outside once more. No one to the left, no one to the right. “Well, I guess I’d better go,” she said. “Intermission must be almost over.”

  “Wish me luck?” Apollo called after her.

  Surprised, she looked back over her shoulder at him. “Okay, good luck,” she said. “But you won’t need it.”

  “Maybe not,” Apollo said, “but Marsyas really is an awesome musician.”

  So he was nervous! “Yeah, but you’re the godboy of music,” Calliope told him firmly. You can play that lyre upside down and backward! Don’t worry.”