Persephone had a secret, one she could never tell her mother.
She had never enjoyed the gossip, the pointless aggravation, and the churning of vanities and ambitions that surrounded her life in the living world, the daily rehashed dramas of the nymphs’ latest trysts, the self-centered empty dalliances of the male gods, the petty envies of the spurned minor goddesses, the closed-minded expectations of the powers that be, the gaudy, useless pomp, the empty rhetoric.
When tall, dark, and handsome walked her way, she had rolled her eyes at first, in exasperation of having to endure yet another episode of the over-inflated male ego, and was determined to evade his attention as soon as feasible and with as little damage to her eardrums as possible, but he turned out to be nothing she expected.
He didn’t tell her who he was, of course, out of fear he’d be rejected before he had a chance to speak his woo, and by the time they got closer, he had even more reason to keep his identity quiet, grateful for the miracle of her and worried not to lose her love.
She was young and pretty, Persephone, even though a bit of an airhead, perhaps, like most young girls were, but that was not what had attracted him to her. There was a sweetness about her, a genuine warmth that soothed his soul like a balm, and which always reminded him of the delicious taste of pomegranates.
She was an old soul, or at least appeared to be, when her far-away gaze dwelled upon the horizon, forsaking the world’s tumult and wasted expectations.
They spent a lot of time together, in silence, in the early days of their dating, enjoying blessed peace, and the more time they spent together, the more it became clear she was his soulmate and he was her home.
So, naturally, since they had found unexpected happiness, the world put its wheels in motion to thwart it: one of the Erinyes told a dryad, who told a nymph, who started the gossip mill, which reached the ears of Demeter, who was instantly incensed anyone would dare accuse her blameless daughter of carrying on with the king of Hades.
She stormed upstairs to complain to her all-powerful brother, Zeus, whose debt of gratitude to the ruler of the underworld made him rather unresponsive to her plight, and she raised hell, claiming rape, incest and dishonor, and threatening to let everything burn to cinders if her daughter wasn’t returned.
Back channel negotiations started, during which it transpired Persephone really didn’t have a problem dating the king of the dead, thus fueling Hades’s confidence and raising his stakes in the dealmaking.
During his repeated bargaining meetings with his older brother, Persephone paced, filled with anxiety and rage for having her fate decided by someone else yet again, blaming her mother, her uncle and her female gender in random sequence, as emotions inspired her.
The compromise all the parties resentfully accepted was nothing she desired: no young bride volunteers to spend half the year away from her beloved, and the mere thought of leaving the peaceful warmth of her home to get drowned in the noise of the madding world and digest its pointless gaggle made her nauseous.
With the passing of time, her biyearly commute became routine, modulating her emotional waves into an endless sinusoid of frustration and release.
Frustration approached right now, as she looked at herself in the mirror, getting ready for the questionable privilege of rejoining her mother to perform her duties under unnecessary guardianship.
Her keen eyes sought fault with her own countenance, a tiny wrinkle, maybe, or a blemish, only to encounter the flawless peaches and cream complexion that so endeared her to her betrothed, and she breathed out slowly, grateful and relieved for the gift of eternal youth.
Her eyes looked too old for her face, and the illusion of seeing someone else wear her face like a mask made her recoil.
“You are beautiful,” Hades whispered in her ear, with a little kiss, placing his hands on her shoulders and leaning over to admire her graceful mirror image. “Stop worrying, you look perfect.”
“Tell my mother that,” Persephone sighed, comforted.
“You know your mother doesn’t speak to me,” he smiled back, indifferent to the family drama.
“Yes, I am fully aware. And you know why? Because she spends six months a year, every year, elaborating on her reasons. I so wish I didn’t have to go.”
“I drank from the Styx on this solemn promise. You know I can’t break it, right? I wish you didn’t have to go either, but fall will be here soon.”
“Why don’t you ever come visit?”
“People don’t appreciate being reminded I exist, makes me feel unwanted.”
“I want you. Who cares what everyone else thinks?”
“Your mother.”
They had the same conversation every year, equally frustrating every time, with Persephone’s soul bouncing wildly between love and revolt, as she dragged her feet behind Hecate towards the portal to the world of the living.
She knew her mother would be there, waiting outside the palatial cave of Cumae, with its hundred entrances and just as many resounding echoes, like one would the release of an incarcerated from a prison in which they refuse to step foot.
Persephone stopped for a moment in front of the open portal, bracing herself for the inevitable deluge of pity and questioning, and getting twirled around like a top and looked at from every angle to make sure she’s intact.
She sighed, took a deep breath, and crossed the threshold.
The cave of Cumae was bathed by the sunrise of the spring equinox, looking a lot more impressive than she remembered it, and the Sybil bowed deeply before her as she passed by, honored and intimidated by the presence of the goddess.
Persephone didn’t have a haughty bone in her body, but engaged in the pageantry of the Olympians anyway, barely nodding, stony faced, to her humble servant.
“Thank the gods, daughter! Well, not all of them, of course, my poor innocent child, what has become of you! Come! Come! You must be starving, you look so thin! I made barley, your favorite, see?”
She offered her daughter a thick sheath of barley, tied with decorative ribbons, which the latter welcomed into her arms like a bridal bouquet.
All around the entrance to the cave, the ground was covered in barley seed, an inch thick, mulching the soggy ground so the mud underneath couldn’t reach Persephone’s delicate sandals.
She suddenly remembered the world of the living had seasons, and she should have picked more substantial footwear.
To her relief, a golden chariot awaited, not too far, and its silk cushioned upholstery and fine woolen rugs looked a lot friendlier to dainty apparel than the wet dirt path of spring.
The breeze felt chilly, but also carried a familiar fragrance, that of daffodils, which she breathed in deeply to fill her lungs with it. Existence felt so primal above ground, crude, untamed, unwise, excessive. It reminded her of the innocence of youth, innocence, ignorance. It’s all in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it? The age when one simply doesn’t find the time to think ahead, because everything around one is so new, so interesting and so overwhelming in the present.
She felt out of place in her gossamer tunic, lighter than the breeze, hanging on to her shoulders secured with fancy gold pins and gathered around her torso with a belt of woven silver and gold.
“How can you still wear that, Persephone?” Demeter recoiled in outrage at the sight of the fateful item, which brought back very dark memories of her daughter’s abduction.
Persephone’s retinue didn’t dare face Demeter’s wrath to tell her how they came into the possession of the belt, or the real details of the girl’s disappearance, so they got together and agreed on the story the earth opened up and swallowed her whole, circumstance during which the belt allegedly came undone.
“Speak, daughter, or did your dark husband take your voice as well!” Demeter snapped.
“I’m thrilled to see you, mother,” Persephone smiled, for she loved her mother and this whole circus of the eternal feud between the gods drove her to despair.
“I should hope so! You look like you’re happier being dead!”
“I’m never dead, mother. I’m immortal. I couldn’t be dead if I tried!”
“You know what I mean. How you spend months and months in the dark with that beast is beyond me.” She brushed off the aggravating imagery. “To happier subjects. I’ve prepared your work list. We’re having a unique blend of plant preponderances for harvest. You should familiarize yourself with it as soon as you get settled. Spring came early this year, so you’re already a couple of weeks behind schedule. There will be a worshipful ceremony at your temples tomorrow. Do something nice for the people, will you? Your subjects expect to hear from their goddess. Oh, and talk to Dionysus, he asked. Something about the equinox after-party. Youth these days!” she stiffened at the thought of debauchery and excess.
‘Yep. Exactly as I remembered it,’ Persephone sighed, exasperated, but said nothing.
“What about the sowing schedule?” she changed the subject. “Is everything ready to go in the ground?”
“Of course not! Everyone was waiting for your instructions. They wouldn’t dare decide without your approval! People got smitten for less!”
The bitter taste in Persephone’s mouth started to dissolve in anticipation of engaging in her worldly passion - tending to the needs of the plant kingdom.
Demeter saw her daughter’s eyes light up and went quiet, not wanting to jinx it. She didn’t understand how the girl could be happy with the ruler of the dead and was relieved to see her enjoy herself above ground for a change.
