Dead Beautiful (14 page)

She looks up at me; our eyes meet. I read something there difficult to translate: a bit like sadness, a bit like resolve.

“I have a suggestion.”             

Cyane

I don’t know how it happened. It’s so cool how Darryl and I end up in the same places. It’s like we were meant to run into each other.

Anyway, before I met him I had no idea hardware stores were so interesting. Now they’re my favorite places! I mean, you walk into a lingerie store and plunk down a whole handful of drachmas and all you get is one little frothy item and it barely weighs anything (although the right lingerie can make up for a multitude of sins, my mom says). You walk into a hardware store, on the other hand, and for two drachmas you can buy a whole bunch of bricks and they weigh a lot and you know you’ve got your money’s worth. At least, that’s what Darryl says. I’m not sure what I’d do with all those bricks, but anyway.

So there I was in the local hardware store, just going up and down the aisles looking at all the really interesting stuff — nails and levers. There was this one short, old, bald guy standing in the lever aisle yelling, “Give me a lever and I can move the earth,” or somesuch. All the other guys there sort of gave him a wide berth, shaking their heads and muttering, “Yeah, yeah, Arky.” One guy says to another, “Off his medication again, eh?” The other guy says, “Yeah, he should take a bath, you know, cool down.”

I was just so interested. This big muscley guy comes up. “Need any help, ma’am?” he asks. But I’m, like, “Not thanks, just looking.” Sales help can be so pushy. But I think he liked my diaphanous gown and I have to say he had a real nice smile and I was thinking about going back and asking him about tiles when who should I run into in the aqueduct aisle but Darryl! We had to laugh.

“Never thought I’d bump into you here,” he said.

“Oh, yeah. It’s my favorite place. There are so many cool things. Like, uh, this.” I reached out and pulled the first thing I touched off the shelf.

“I never thought of gravel as cool,” he said, examining the bag in my hand. “But now that you mention it —”

“So why’re you here?” I took the bag out of his hands and put it back.

“Oh, I’m doing a little job for a friend of mine. He’s got rising damp in his house and I thought I’d try one of these new drains on it.” He lifted up a length of clay pipe. “It’s kind of cutting-edge technology and there isn’t a lot of data on how well they work, but I figure it’s worth a shot.”

“How interesting. How does it work?”

“Well, I bury one end of the pipe where the problem is and run the other end to where it’s dry — away from the house — and the idea is the pipe will carry the water away from the house.”

“Sounds kind of complicated.”

He nodded. “Yeah, well I try to keep up with new developments.”

“Have you seen Pers lately?”

He frowned. “No. Is she back? I haven’t heard anything.”

“I don’t know … I just thought maybe …” I shrugged, kind of looked around. “I mean, I thought maybe she’d sent you a message telling you where she was, when she was getting back.  It seems like the considerate thing to do. If I cared about someone, that’s what I’d do. I wouldn’t want them worrying.”

“Yeah.” Darryl frowned a bit more.

“I’d never call Pers selfish …”

“No.” He shook his head.

“But it does seem a bit thoughtless to take off without saying something.”

“Yeah, it does.” He nodded.

“I mean, I would never do it.”

He looked at me closely. “No,” he said. “I don’t think you would.”

I gave him a smile, then said, “I am so thirsty.”

“Me, too,” he said, as if he was surprised to realize it. “Want to go for a drink?”

“What a good idea.” I linked my arm through his. “Tell me about your friend’s house.”

Persephone

I thought he took it well, once I explained my idea.

“You mean, like a greeter? At a store? Someone wearing a smock with a name tag, standing around saying, ‘Haveaniceday’? I don’t see the point.”

“No, not like that at all. May I?” I pointed at the chair directly opposite. He nodded. I sat down. “For the souls who are met by another soul, there’s no issue. They don’t need directions. For those who seem to know their way, again, no issue. But for those who arrive and are not met by anyone, and who seem lost or confused, I will welcome and guide them.”

He tipped back in his chair, his hands fingertip to fingertip in front of him. He dipped his head, touched his index fingers to his lips consideringly. “To what end?” he asked finally, his eyes fixed on me above his hands.

“You’re always trying to improve the quality of the souls’ experiences. Why should they wander, lost and uncertain, when I can so easily comfort them and set them on the right path? When word gets back, people will meet death with less horror. You won’t have them collapsing in hysterics as soon as Charon docks. You won’t have the piteous keening that upsets the others.”

“If people don’t fear me, won’t it erode my power? Won’t sacrifices diminish?”

“Quite the opposite, I suspect. People will always have due respect for death,” I told him. “It’s so irrevocable. But if they see that you have concern for their welfare, their affection may grow.”

“Anything else?”             

I stood. “You must upgrade Charon’s ferry and you have to get rid of that three-headed dog,” I said. “He scares the daylights out of the souls.”

“Cerb? He’s a pussycat. His barks are worse than his bites.”

“He sheds everywhere.” I brushed off my gown; a small blizzard of dog fur silted through the air. “It’s a real problem for people who are allergic to dogs, too. And you need to consider accepting foreign currencies at par. It’s a nightmare trying to figure out all the exchange rates. People can’t help it if they take the Big Dirt Nap while they’re out of the county on a business trip.”

His glance was cryptic. “This is a lot to think about,” he said. “Give me a couple of days.”

I nodded.

“Don’t forget,” he continued, “dinner with Radamanthys tonight. He wants to  implement some sort of multi-culti introduction program for souls before they come to judgment to clarify cultural terms, or something. He wants to run through his ideas tonight.”

“Sevenish?”

“Yes.”

“Formal?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “No. It’ll be shop talk. Wear something comfortable. That purple diaphanous gown you had on last feast day was very nice.”

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

“It really showed off your figure nicely,” he grinned. “You could make the dead rise in that one.”

Hades

I am in the middle of short-term population density projections — I usually file once a year but with the flood of new arrivals it seems prudent to make a semi-annual report — when Hermes materializes suddenly at my elbow. I am so startled I almost drop the clay tablet with my calculations on it. “Don’t you ever knock?” I demand.

“Hail, Oh, Rich One, peace be up— ”

“Hades — the name is Hades. Drop the formalities and cut to the chase. Why are you here?”

“ ’k, unc —”

“I am not your uncle.”

He seems unable to keep still, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His words tumble out in a rush. “Dad sent me to find out if you know where Persephone, Daughter of Dem— ”

“I know whose daughter she is.”

“Right, well Dad wants to know —”

“What business is it of his?”

He’s standing by my desk, his arm dangling aimlessly. His fingers make contact with the desktop and he starts tapping out a syncopated beat until I stare pointedly at his hand, at which point he whips it away as if it’s been burned. “Have you been getting a lot of new arrivals lately?” he asks.

I glance at my calculations. “Your point?”

“Persephone’s missing.” He lifts up one finger. “Demeter’s pissed.” He lifts up a second finger. “She’s taken off — no one knows where she is.” A third finger.  “There’s floods and droughts and snow and famine all over the map and humans are dropping like flies.” Four digits. “Dad’s freaking because he thinks we’re sliding in the polls.” His thumb pops up. “And so he wants to find Persephone and hook her back up with Demeter so Demeter will get back to work. And Demeter thinks Dad knows where Persephone is but he doesn’t, and …. like that.”  He stares at his hand — hoping another finger will pop up?

I see. I lean back in my chair. For some reason I assumed Persephone had discussed things with her mother. I thought Demeter knew how things stood and approved, or at least agreed to Persephone being here. I see I was wrong in this. This puts the situation in a new light.

Why didn’t Persephone tell her mother? Is she ashamed of the relationship, of me? Or was she apprehensive about her mother’s reaction?

At any rate, it isn’t up to me to break the news to Demeter. That is Persephone’s responsibility. My wife may have had reasons for not telling her mother; I would not presume to know what they are, or to break her silence. This is something the two of us must discuss. To Hermes I say, “Please tell your father I can give him no information.”

Hermes shrugs. “Okey dokey. Ciaou.” And disappears.

Zeus

“ ‘I can give him no information.’ What kind of answer is that?” I demand, my trigger finger itching. Launch a few thunderbolts his way and we’ll see how much information Hades can give me.

“Dunno, Zooos.” Hermes is bopping around the throne room to some inaudible tune running through his head.

“He’s always been a slippery, conniving —”

“It means,” my wife’s voice wafts through the air as cool as an Arctic breeze, “that Persephone is definitely with him.”

“Come again?”

“If she weren’t, he would have said, ‘What are you talking about?’ or ‘Why would she be here?’ or variations on either of those themes.” She turns to Hermes. “Did a look of surprise or confusion cross his face?”

“Nunh-unh.” He shakes his head. “Cool as a cuke, uncle Hades. All dressed in black. A bit dangerous-looking, but hip. Actually, if Persephone did fall for him, I can kind of see why.”

“Don’t start,” I snap.

“The question,” Hera continues, gliding up to stand beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder, “is whether Persephone is there under duress, or whether she decided to go with Hades of her own volition.”

Volition? What’s this about volition? That’s our job; we’re Gods; we get to determine what goes on. Volition doesn’t enter into the equation. “What’s the diff? Either way, she’s got to come back or Demeter’s going to keep causing problems.”

“Dear,” she settles at my feet. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Certainly, if Hades has coerced her he must be prevailed upon to send her back, although that will require some diplomacy. But,” she rests her hand lightly on my thigh, “if Persephone went willingly, and if she has eaten, for example, some pomegranate seeds, that’s a whole different scenario.”

“What does it matter if she ate pomegranate seeds, or a whole pomegranate, for that matter? She’s been gone a while. She’s probably hungry. I’d eat some if I were her.”

“Seeds,” Hera repeats, rubbing my thigh.

Her hand feels great — just a couple of inches further left and — “Oh. Seeds.” I feel the stirring of a headache starting. “Gods, if that’s the case —”

“Exactly,” Hera murmurs, withdrawing her hand.

I rub my temples. “O.k., for the sake of argument, let’s say Persephone is with Hades, seeds and all. What next?”

Hermes is about twelve feet up in the air, zipping from one side of the room to the other like a huge gnat. It’s starting to drive me nuts. “Settle down,” I snap. He shoots me a resentful glare and drifts down to sit sulking beside Hera’s throne.

She stands, sets her hand, as cool as marble and wonderfully calming, on my shoulder. What a Goddess! What would I do without her clear-headedness in situations like this?

“We have to tell Demeter,” she says. Her hand drops from my shoulder. She walks away, her head tilted to one side in thought. “But we have to do it the right way. We want to avoid explosions of temper. Things are bad enough without her setting off a tornado or two.”

“Damn straight.”

“I think we should frame it this way; Hades is a fine catch for Persephone. He’s rich, he’s got a good job — he isn’t known as The Rich One for nothing. And he’s family, so we know he’s the right sort.” She has been pacing slowly back and forth across the room, now she stops and stands facing me.

“I’m sold.”

“Hermes.” She crosses to where he sits leaning against her throne. “Sweetie pie, do you have any idea where your Aunt Demeter is?”

“Not a clue,” he replies, fiddling with a lace.

“Well, why don’t you take these,” she says, producing a pair of very handsome sandals fashioned out of soft leather with a pair of magnificent wings at the ankles, “and go find her. For mother, dear.”