For who could ever learn to love The One who doesn't know love?
By Asso
Chapter Six
Time had passed.
And nothing had happened.
Persephone did not understand.
Yes, it was true. It was true that in her hands the flowers covering up the verdant meadows glistened more vivid.
They shone with her own vivid light.
And it was true that the sky shone more azure than ever when she lifted her blue-green eyes to it.
It was true.
And it was true that the breeze blew milder and sweeter when she opened the white mantle covering her bare shoulders. And that the bluish-green surface of the sea sparkled in the sun as never before when she walked agile and light along the waters shore. And that the gilded crops appeared even more gilded when her hand stroked the wheat ears tenuously tremulous in the caressing waft of the gentle zephyr.
It was true.
It was all true.
But was this the thing, that new thing, never before existed, that she had to bring into the world?
That... that...
The Spring. The bright and sweet Spring of which she was the Goddess.
A... a season. That was its name.
A season, in a world which had no seasons. Which did not even know the true meaning of this term. Exactly like her. And - to tell the truth - just like everyone else, God or demigod that he were. Everyone was talking about it, but what was in fact this mysterious Spring of which she was lady?
What was what she had to really bring in the world?
In a world made in her mother's likeness?
This one, the world, as well as all things ... yes, here, all seemed to acquire more vibrancy - more life - when she tried to exert some influence on them, and this had manifested itself more and more with the passage of time.
But was it all here?
No. It could not be just that way. The influence she exerted on the world fashioned by her mother was not the influence she felt she had to exercise. As far as it were growing increasingly intense, it was not this, what she felt she had to do. She was certain, she felt it clearly.
There was something missing. And something very important.
But what?
What was missing?
And a strange, bizarre thought started to creep, slow and intriguing, into Persephone's mind.
Her thoughtful gaze rose from the flowered field that her bare feet were treading, light and gentle.
It stared far away.
On the immense and dark forest that bordered the lawn. Over there, to the north.
Obscure. Impressive.
Mysterious.
Dangerous.
The forest from where well far away she and the Nymphs who were her usual company always kept themselves.
That dense, intricate forest, which seemed to conceal inside frightening secrets.
And… and alluring.
Alluring.
Alluring…
Why had she always felt attracted to that dark forest?
It was gloomy. It was obscure. An immense black stain of ugliness which defined in distance, towards the blue mountains, whose shining peaks were visible from beyond, the lush beauty of that splendidly flowery meadow; which contrasted sombrely with the bubbly beauty of the nearby seashore that bordered the lawn on the opposite side; and with the cheerful beauty of the river gurgling on the third side of the lawn, going to throw festive in the foaming waves of the sea; and with the bucolic and soothing beauty of the large and pastoral dwelling, hers and of her mother Demeter, on which, at the last of its sides, the marvellous flowery field on which she was marching opened up.
Alone.
For the first time alone.
Alone with her thoughts.
Persephone's look became even more pensive.
Beauty. Ugliness.
Light. Darkness.
That forest was ugly. And dark. Opposed to the beauty and the light of what surrounded her.
This her mother had always told her.
And this she had always thought.
Or... or maybe was this what she had always forcibly wanted to persuade herself to think?
And nevertheless it was absolutely true. That forest had nothing nice. Her mother had never laid her blessing hand on its dark tangle.
Too big. Too dense. Too obscure. Nothing beautiful could ever arise from the dense tangle of the twisted branches of the dour trees that formed it.
Ancient trees. Trees existing from before the beginning of the reign of the Olympic Gods.
Trees marked with darkness.
That forest was the border, labile and tenuous, between life and death.
It was rumoured...
It was rumoured that the real reason why it was still here, the real reason why her mother Demeter had never laid her hand on it, it was that it was not possible because...
Because it was the road to... to...
Shaky and afraid voices whispered that it was concealed in its heart the road for the dark realm.
Was it true? Wasn't?
Better not wonder.
Better simply to leave it afar.
And stay away.
Far, far, far away.
From that ugly forest.
Better to stay in the beauty that resided outside that dense, dark, ugly forest.
The beauty that resided outside…
Outside…
Beauty…
But…
But what was beauty?
Beauty… beauty exists because there is ugliness; as opposed to ugliness. If beauty were not there, how might one say of something that this something is beautiful?
And…
And the good? Couldn't it be said the same of good in opposition to evil?
And of the warmth in opposition to the cold?
Of the quiet in opposition to the storm?
Of… of the light in opposition to darkness?
So then… so then…
But what odd, bizarre thoughts!
Strange, strange!
Could it be... could it be that the Springtime, that of which she was the bearer, could really shine, and be perceived and felt really for what it was, if... if, acting as a counterweight, there had been something that was not there yet? If not there, far beyond the boundaries of the orderly world forged by her mother or, much more nearby, in that obscure forest that seemed to occupy a space of darkness in the middle of the beautiful and bright world of her mother? And...
And down there.
In... in that other world.
The one whose access road it was murmured that lay in that dark, scary forest.
That. Other. World.
His world!
Where there were…
The cold.
The chill.
And the dark.
The storm.
Time had passed.
And nothing had happened.
Demeter did not understand.
Why had Zeus ordered her to keep Persephone, her beloved and single daughter, under such a close surveillance? Without wanting – never – to explain her anything about the why, despite her questions?
And this since the moment of her birth.
And even more since the time of her consecration as Goddess of Spring.
Two years before.
But time had passed without anything happening.
Two years.
Two full years.
Two quiet and peaceful years of total tranquillity.
How could have it been possible for her, after two years like that, to have the heart of refusing to that so sweet and obedient daughter the delight to enjoy a little bit of quiet solitude?
Of sweet freedom.
Oh she - her beautiful daughter - was all for her! And she would never share her with anyone else!
But what could ever happen?
Everyone - everyone - loved Persephone!
Everyone.
Everyone vied to enjoy one of her wonderful smiles!
Who - who ever! - could think of hurting her?
Nobody.
NOBODY!
So then?
Why ever had that God, Zeus, - magnificent, but so full of himself - who was her brother and former lover, so obstinately wanted Persephone to be kept under constant surveillance?
Demeter did not understand and, in truth, maybe…
Maybe did not even want to understand.
She did not want her heart to tremble for something that might happen to her Persephone.
Something that Zeus feared.
Of course, it was difficult - impossible - to ask no questions herself.
Could it be… could it be Hera?
Hera. Her sister. And sister of Zeus. But also his wife.
His jealous wife. And with good reasons. Zeus was not exactly a champion of marital fidelity.
And nevertheless… nevertheless… in reality, Hera had always showed an unexpected favour - even affection - towards Persephone, and this was much more than merely strange, because Persephone was the result of Zeus' betrayal towards his wife.
One of his many betrayals.
But this time, more serious, much more serious, in Hera's eyes.
And not without valid motivations, in all honesty.
Persephone was daughter of Zeus and of her, of Demeter. Of the King of the Gods and of one of his great sisters. One of the mightiest goddesses.
A member of the same brood Zeus and Hera belonged to.
A member of the restricted circle of the Gods of the Gods.
So…
So actually it could be Hera the reason of Zeus' fear. Something, just to say one, she had told she could do against Persephone and even more so after the consecration. And, logically, Zeus didn't want let her – Demeter – to know what was swirling around in his wife's head.
And nevertheless… nevertheless, to well think about it, this was not true. It was not true because what was true was that everybody loved Persephone. Everybody. Even Hera. It could be seen from her ways of behaving towards her, from her gestures, from the unusual sweetness of her words when she spoke with her. From her... well yes, from her kindness.
No. Not even Hera would ever do anything that could harm Persephone.
And time had passed.
And nothing had happened.
And, into the bargain, in the last few months Zeus hadn't longer let himself be seen, as if he had decided it was time to stop.
Because Hera had resigned herself once again to the fate of being the unlucky wife of the greatest champion of infidelity? A fate that she – she, Hera herself - had forged with her own hands when, wanting to be the Queen of the Gods, she had agreed to be the wife of Zeus? She knew what the price she had to pay was. She knew who she was marrying.
Yeah. She knew.
And she knew there was no remedy. Therefore... therefore, not to mention the obvious, unusual sweetness that Hera showed towards Persephone, it could not be her renewed resignation the reason of Zeus' easing of pressure.
Could it be that the threat Zeus thought was looming on Persephone's head did not exist anymore? For that had Zeus ceased to be so pressing? Not to say that he had almost disappeared from the horizon?
Two years.
Two full years.
And nothing had happened.
And two years during whose course little by little Zeus had oddly loosened his pressure on her about the surveillance Persephone had to be subjected to.
To the point of being no longer there to remind her of that.
So then... so then it could only be that way. Everything collimated. Everything.
Whatever the cloud Zeus had feared that gathered over Persephone's head, this cloud no longer existed.
And so then... so then... why deny to her daughter, on the day of her eighteenth birthday, after two whole years of absolute quiet, or, better said, after eighteen – eighteen - years of total tranquillity, a little - at least a little - of freedom? Fulfilling her desire to wander alone, finally alone, into the vast flowering field that bordered their dwelling?
A brief moment.
A fleeting instant.
Nothing more.
What could ever happen if nothing had happened during those two years? And during all the previous years?
Nothing could happen.
Nothing.
Nothing was looming up on the horizon that could hurt Persephone
No storm was thickening on her head.
No...
No storm.
Time had passed.
And nothing had happened.
As Zeus knew it would have been so.
Two years.
Two full years.
Two quiet and peaceful years of total tranquillity.
Two full years without anything happening, since his brother Hades had pulled down around his head, with quick and unexpected move, by seizing it from the wide armrest of his throne where it had remained laid, the helmet - the gift of the Cyclops, the means he had utilized to disarm Cronos and offer this one helpless to Poseidon's trident and his lightning - that gave him total and absolute invisibility, disappearing suddenly from his high siege in Olympus, after pronouncing that sentence.
For who could ever learn to love The One who doesn't know love?
But his voice had sounded again.
From that empty throne.
Lowest than ever.
Zeus had even wondered if it would not resonate only in his mind.
But not one of the words that that ghostly and disembodied voice had said could be forgotten.
"I will wait for two years. Until the day of Persephone's eighteenth birthday. Until the day of her adulthood, her majority, in the manner of Humans. Then I will act."
The voice had remained silent. Then had resumed, if possible, even lower.
"It will be up to her to decide whether she can be able to teach to love The One who does not know love through her love."
Still a break. And then the voice again. Low, low, low.
"She may want to do it or not. The decision will be hers. But only hers and of no one else. Therefore, exactly between two years I will follow your example." A tiny, sardonic laugh had made itself be heard. " Europe teaches."
Then, after another brief pause…. A very chilling pause. Really.
"At that precise moment I will kidnap her."
Zeus had not even had time to wince.
The voice had stopped him.
"In this way I'll snatch her from any possible influence from her mother or anyone else. I will allow the decision to be hers and hers alone, and, I swear on the Styx, I won't treat her unworthily nor will I force her to make a decision that may be in my favour. Nor, I swear again on the eternal river, will I oppose her decision whatever it may be. And you, my august brother, you may try to stop me or not. You…"
The silence of that further break had been horrifying. Worthy, truly worthy of the Lord of the Underworld.
"... you may want the war or not. This will be your decision. You may want the war or..."
And the voice had become a whisper so low that it almost seemed to not exist.
"... or you may want to give me a chance."
Then the voice had vanished.
And Zeus had known that Hades was gone.
Come back to his Realm.
The Realm without life.
Without light.
Without love.
He was back down there, where he, Zeus, had damned him to be.
Leaving him alone to make his decision.
Oppose. Fight.
Make war.
Or...
Or leave to Persephone the decision.
And give Hades a chance.
And he, Zeus, had made his decision.
His true, real, definitive decision.
The King of the Gods got up from his throne, where he sat lonely, in his great palace.
Hermes had asked him if in the evening, that evening, he should prepare himself to summon everyone for a big party for the eighteenth birthday of Persephone.
He had not answered, leaving Hermes confused and puzzled.
The evening.
The evening of that day.
Which began with that morning.
The morning of the eighteenth birthday of the Spring Goddess. His daughter. His luminous daughter.
Zeus walked slowly toward the two tall columns delimiting the colossal entrance to his palace.
He looked out between them at the turquoise sky.
A beautiful morning.
A wonderful morning.
A sunny morning.
A morning that didn't let foresee any storm.
For who could ever learn to love The One who doesn't know love?
Endof Chapter Six
TBC