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.Her handshang limp and empty at her sides; she s dropped her basket,spilling all the grain out on the ground.In the air around meand under my feet, everything is thrumming.A bird calls out in single notes, a cascade of three.260The RingI m wandering along by myself today, following where myfeet want to go.Earth and I have this agreement: I help hergreen and bloom, and she fills my ears, nose, eyes, tongue,and fingers with indescribable beauty.The trail winds up a hillside.Under a sturdy pine, a cho-rus of daffodils blazes a vibrant yellow song.Rhododendronsline the path, fat buds jostling among shiny green leaves.Ireach up to stroke a bud; it starts to uncrumple into a purpleflower, still shell-shaped, like a wet chick.I hear footsteps coming up the trail behind me and I turn. Hermes! I cry in delight.I run toward him, reaching out to grab his hands.261EMI LY WHI TMAN How is he? I ask eagerly. What did he say? Does hemiss me? Is he busy with the horses? How is he doing withthe greetings now that I m not there? What was he wearingwhen you saw him? Did he  Whoa! Hermes chuckles, giving my hands a squeeze,then letting go to run his fingers through his curls. Youneed to let me talk if you want to know the answers.I lift my hand to my lips and pretend to turn a key, lock-ing them shut.Hermes collapses in laughter, and now I haveto wait a full minute while he regains his composure. Oh, that s a good one! he finally says, snorting. Notallowed to talk! Hurry up, Hermes.Tell me how he is. Impatient for you to come back, that s how he is.Lotsof pacing, as if that could make any difference.Some troublesleeping, he said, without you there.I sigh in contentment. Got himself a new horse to break in, says Hermes. Hethinks that will help take his mind off the waiting.Oh, andhe started this system for the shades, some kind of announce-ment board.When I bring over newcomers now, their namesget etched on this big wall.There s always a cluster of shadeswaiting around to check the new names and there s.He did it! My idea to let shades know when their lovedones arrive, Hades put it in place!.lots more hugging going on around there.It s kind262Radiant DARKNESSof noisy, if you ask me.And you should have heard yourfriend when I told her you d found her daughter.Oh, and Ialmost forgot!He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small wooden boxtied with a scarlet ribbon. He said to give this to you.Toremember him until you get back, that s what he said.I grab it out of his hands and start picking at the knot. Would I have been in trouble if I d forgotten that! saysHermes.I open the box, and there, nestled in purple cloth, lies asmall golden ring.I slip it onto my finger, lifting my hand tosee the design.A ripe, round pomegranate is embossed onthe shining band.If you love me, if you truly want to return to my side.A pomegranate, the seeds that will bring us togetheragain and again and again.My heart overflows with joy andlonging.Soon.I ll be back soon. I d better be going, says Hermes. Lots to do, I mafraid.But I ll see you next  Wait! I cry. Can you carry something back for me?He nods.I run over to the daffodils and gather a dozenstems.If only they were narcissus! I lay them in Hermesarms.It s not enough! I snap off some rhododendronbranches, now flowering, and add them to the pile, and thensome twigs with leaves so new they re translucent, tracedwith veins like dragonfly wings, and263EMI LY WHI TMAN Stop! cries Hermes, peering over the top of the pile. It s not like I have the chariot today.Maybe next timeyou ll think of something smaller to send.He takes off down the trail and disappears around a bend,leaving me alone again.I look down at my hand and the golden ring encirclingmy finger.I press it to my cheek, covering it with my otherhand to hold it as close as I can.Not so alone, after all.264GoddessesOnly six days now and I head home again.Just thinkingabout Hades makes my heart beat so fast I get dizzy.So much has happened.Those first light-filled leaves gaveway almost overnight to heavy branches and dense shade.Everywhere you look there s green.All that mud coated theground with new life, even richer than before.Sometimes I go to orchards or fields with my mother,but more often I go by myself.Just because we realizedwe love each other doesn t mean it s easy for us to betogether all the time.I like to stretch my wings andexplore.And my mother Well, think about it! She s alwaysneeded her solitude, roaming her blossoming sanctuary265EMI LY WHI TMANand being one with the green and the growing.Tomorrow we re going to be worshiped together for thefirst time at the new temple on top of the hill.Our temple. Don t forget, she said. Wear something grand.I reach out to some blossoms for strength.This is goingto be interesting.A huge crowd stares reverently at the stone altar in front ofthe columns.I ve never seen so many people in one place.My mother leans over and whispers in my ear. Now wego into the statues, she says.Two towering figures stand side by side, brilliantlypainted, laden with gold but underneath, hard, cold,unmoving stone.I stare at the draped folds of my statue schiton, thinking back to the time I saw a sculptor carving myface from marble.I realize I don t want to enter the statue.I ve worked so hard to be more than a figurehead. You go ahead, I say. I ll watch from out here. But it s always done this way, she whispers, impatient. You ve always done it this way.She opens her mouth to snap at me, but then the priestessintones her name, and the crowd takes it up like a chant, andI see my mother s face change.She drinks up the praise asif it s nourishing her.The priestess pours a libation, and mymother nods appreciatively.The mortals, at least, are doingthings to her liking.266Radiant DARKNESSStaring at me pointedly, my mother steps into her statue.Something shifts subtly in the stone.Her eyes gaze out fromits eyes.The priestess sings of grain and light, dark and death, asif my mother s golden wheat becomes a blazing torch and Ihelp people carry that light with them into the underworld.And now the priestess pours a second libation, this timeintoning my name.Chanting after her, everyone turnstoward my statue, the empty statue, and bows.Everyone, that is, except for one old, white-beardedman.His eyes stare sightlessly ahead; a lyre is strung overhis shoulder.He sniffs the air, smiling as if inhaling per-fume from the freshest spring flowers.Then he turns directlytoward me and bows.The bard.The one who crouched outside the door ofZeus s temple as my mother told her story.The one whoselyre I heard as he rushed from the temple to write his songtoo soon, before I set the story straight.I see the priestess moving her lips at the altar, but I don thear her.Instead, I m hearing his song.Hideous Hadesripped her away.I know it by heart.Everyone does now.Mothers croon itto their babies [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]