The Hanged Man: Part 2: Mabon
Post #9: In which two women cross Death's threshold ...
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CHAPTER 4
MARIA
Rocks hurt her bare feet. Her skirts were in the water now. Three more steps and the current pushed against her. It was hard to keep her footing, between rocky bottom and swift current. Another step, and another. The last step took her into the middle of the river. The bed dropped away under her. Heavy clothes clung to her legs. She gave herself to the current, lying in its arms and looking up at the sky. The dawn colors would make a beautiful rug. She would lay such a rug across the threshold of an eastern-facing door so rug and sky could look at one another every morning. She closed her eyes and water flowed over her face. Yes. She would have done that if she possessed a door, a threshold, and a rug woven in colors of dawn sky, if life had been different.
***
Maria felt no cold. She felt no wet. She felt no body at all. She was weightless. Am I a thought, or a dream? she wondered. She wasn’t in the river. Everywhere she looked—but I have no eyes! How do I see with no eyes?—she saw rock and shadows. She groped for a color. She decided it was all the color of dust. A no color. Not brown, not grey. A soft smudged shadow smelling like stale air under the bed. A color of old hair, dead skin, desiccated pollen, tiny anonymous microbes and insects, crystals of dried sweat, forgotten dreams and wakeful night hours.
There were others around her, murmuring.
“Can I talk?” she asked aloud.
Evidently, she could. But how could she speak with no mouth and hear with no ears?
“What’s your name?”
It was another. It looked like a disturbance in the air, the ghost of a curtain moving in a breeze. This gave her an idea.
“Are we dead?”
“Yes,” said the other. This is the Underworld. What’s your name?”
“Maria.”
A light shone, dim, but the brightest thing Maria saw in this place. It came from a lamp sitting on a bracket in a stone wall. A woman lit the lamp, a woman with a plait of honey colored hair. She wore an orange skirt and a pink shirt and there were flowers in her hair. Maria recognized them. They were small golden poppies.
Maria and many others like her were in a large cavern. Air stirred and stilled again as the woman spoke.
“I’m Persephone. You’ve come to the Underworld. You’re welcome here. This is a resting place between your life before and what will come after. You may stay with us as long as you like. Before you leave, you’ll tell the story of your life, either to me or to Hades, Lord of the Underworld. Then you’ll choose what you want to do next.”
The air around Persephone trembled subtly. Maria thought of the dusty brush of a moth’s wing, or the movement of air from a passing bat at dusk in a high-ceilinged barn. She dropped back. She didn’t want to be in a crowd. She didn’t want to speak to anyone.
She held to one desire, one hope. Were they here? They’d only been a few minutes ahead of her. They must be here! Yet just minutes ago she’d wanted to leave hope and love behind.
She moved through the cavern. She heard whispers and sensed slight movements. She didn’t dare cry their names aloud. She searched, checking every shimmer in the air, listening, trying to catch the scent of their skin. She found no sign of them. In fact, there were no children at all. They weren’t here.
She couldn’t weep. Her body, a companion so constant and faithful its companionship was invisible, was gone.
Maria wedged herself into a corner of a rocky cavern. She turned her senses inward, away from horror. She had nowhere to go and nothing to do.
Time was not there. A moment came when Maria became aware of another close by. The other trembled. Maria pitied it.
“What’s your name?” she whispered.
The other stilled. After a moment, it answered, “Eurydice.”
“Eurydice. I’m Maria.”
“We’re dead,” said Eurydice. It wasn’t a question. Her tone was desolate.
“Yes. We’re dead.”
“I’d only begun to live.”
“Was it an accident?” Maria asked with some hesitation.
“It happened so fast! So fast…“ the other said. “I think…I think a snake bit me. I felt a slash of pain in my foot. I fell onto grass. The girls around me were calling for help and crying and then… and then…”
“You were here,” said Maria.
Time was not. Nothing happened. Maria thought about her story. She couldn’t tell it to anyone. She couldn’t tell it to herself. Nowhere to go and nothing to do went on.
Eurydice was there. Then she wasn’t.
“I was a tree nymph,” she said once. “What were you?”
“I was a weaver,” said Maria.
Yes, she thought. I was a weaver.
“Are we still what we were?” she asked Eurydice.
“I don’t know. I was a tree nymph and a young wife. I don’t know what else I was. There wasn’t time to find out.”
“Now what are we for, Eurydice?”
“I don’t know.”
Time was not. Nothing happened.
Eurydice said, “There’s a door.”
“A door? Do you mean you found a way out?”
“I don’t know. No. A door. It’s shut and locked. It’s for me.”
“What do you mean?” Maria asked.
“I mean there’s something for me on the other side of the door. I want to sit in front of it and wait for it to open.”
“Will you show me?”
Eurydice and Maria made their way down one stone passage and another. The way ended and they found a closed door in the wall.
“I’m going to sit here. What will you do?” Eurydice asked Maria.
“I don’t know. I’m lost.”
“Maria,” whispered Eurydice, “Maria, you aren’t lost. You’re here. Tell me a story.”
“I don’t know any,” said Maria.
“You know one. Tell me a story while I sit in front of my door.”
“No,” Maria said.
“No, I can’t,” Maria said.
“Tell me.”
“No, I mustn’t.”
“Tell me, Maria.”
“I lived in a little mud town by a wide river where chickens scratched in the street and people earned enough to live, but no more. I was a weaver. I wove the colors of river, sky and earth. I made blankets and rugs and clothing.
One market day, as I sold my rugs, a fine horse galloped down the dusty road and wheeled into the village square. Oh, it was a prince of horses! Its bridle and saddle were set with silver and turquoise. A young man slid from its back and strode across the square. His hand looked smooth and narrow against my rugs.
His name was Juan.”
“Juan,” said Eurydice.
“Juan,” agreed Maria.
“We made two sons, Juan and Carlos. Their eyes were dark, like their father’s. Juan gave me money so I didn’t need to work so hard at my weaving. He didn’t want his children’s mother working in the market.
I knew when the babies came Juan would marry me and live with us. He was so proud of his sons! Yet he spoke no word of marriage and I felt ashamed. People whispered about us. They called my sons bastards.
One day Juan came to say he would return to Spain with his family. A wedding was arranged for him to a high-born Spanish girl. He intended to take his sons with him. He bade me make them ready. He didn’t get off his horse. He didn’t look at me.
I cried. I couldn’t sleep. I vomited until my stomach felt sore and empty. My mind darkened. When morning came, I felt weak and trembling. My clothes were torn. There was blood on my face from my fingernails. I made a bundle of my unsold weaving. It was a small bundle because I hadn’t touched my dyes or loom for more than a year. I took Carlos on my hip and Juan by the hand. I walked to the river.
I threw the bundle of weaving into the water. The river swept it away. I lifted Carlos off my hip and threw him into the water after the weaving. I waded in with Juan and when I felt the current pull at us, I let him go. He screamed and cried while the water took him.”
Time was not. Nothing happened.
“Maria.”
“No.”
“Maria.”
“No more.”
“Maria, then you walked into the river.”
“And then…” said Maria.
“And then you were here,” said Eurydice.
Time was not. Nothing happened.
The door stayed closed.
“Thank you,” Eurydice whispered. Maria could hardly hear her. “Thank you for your story, Maria.”
The pale form of a servant came to say Lord Hades asked for Eurydice.
“Come with me, Maria,” whispered Eurydice.
Reluctantly, Maria followed Eurydice to a large room where Hades and Persephone sat side by side. A young man in a sapphire blue cloak knelt before them with a golden lyre. His hands were still, but the notes of the lyre lingered in the room. Maria saw tears on Persephone’s cheeks.
“Orpheus,” whispered Eurydice.
Orpheus fixed his gaze on a spot beyond the servant’s shoulder. His face was a study in joy and anguish.
“Eurydice! Eurydice! My love! I’ve come for you!”
“This is against all rule and custom of the Underworld,” Hades rumbled. “I return her to you, Orpheus, for the sake of your music. Never again will I make an exception. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my Lord.” Orpheus bowed his head.
“You may take her out of the Underworld by the path you descended. You mustn’t look back until you’re both free of the shadow of her tomb, or she’ll return here and the way will be shut to you.”
Hades gestured toward the place Maria and Eurydice were. To Maria’s amazement, the dim figure of a woman appeared beside her, generously curved and strong-bodied. She didn’t return Orpheus’ eager gaze, but stood with bowed head, thick dark hair shielding her face.
“Stop!” Persephone sprang to her feet. Her hands were clenched and her jaw tight. She glared at Hades, who looked surprised.
“Do you think,” Persephone asked with steely courtesy, “we might ask Eurydice what she wants to do before you give her away, my Lord?”
Hades opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again without speaking.
Persephone swept across the floor to the transparent form of Eurydice.
“My dear. I’m Persephone. What do you say about all this?”
“Eurydice!” Orpheus sounded agonized. “I need you!”
“Eurydice,” Maria said.
“Oh, Maria,” said Eurydice sadly.
“Don’t do it,” said Maria. “Go back to your door.”
“I can’t,” said Eurydice. “I can’t. Maybe there’s nothing but him. He needs me. Maybe I’m not—without him.”
“No!” screamed Maria, but she could only whisper, thin, like the far away sound of a child screaming.
“I’ll go with him,” said Eurydice to Persephone. “Thank you, Lady.”
“Ah,” said Orpheus. His face showed triumph. Without another word, he turned and walked away. Eurydice followed. They moved out of sight.
“You beast!” Persephone turned on Hades. “You arrogant, self-satisfied beast! How dare you treat anyone like that!”
“But he loves her…” Hades began.
“He does not! He doesn’t love her, you fool! Didn’t you see he only loves himself?”
She flung herself out of the room in a sweep of skirts that reminded Maria of a summer storm.
Hades slumped in his chair. He drummed his fingers against its arm. His beard seemed to grow blacker and thicker as he retreated behind it. He hooded his eyes.
Time was not. Nothing happened.
Then Eurydice returned.
***
“He turned and looked,” she whispered. “I wasn’t yet free of the tomb’s shadow.”
“Ah. Uh…Eurydice?”
“Yes, Lord?”
“It seems I’ve made a mistake. Uh…I wonder…what would you like to do?”
“I’m bad,” she said dully.
“No,” whispered Maria.
“No,” said Hades. “Eurydice, you’re not bad. Your death belongs to you. I was wrong to make you powerless.”
“I’m not safe here now. He knows…”
“You’re safe,” Hades assured her. “But…would you like to go somewhere else, somewhere he can’t find you?”
“Where?”
“There’s a place, a boarding house on the sea in the North. You can go there and no one will disturb you. Perhaps something waits for you there.”
“The sea,” said Eurydice. “Lord—are there trees?”
“There’s a pine forest,” replied Hades.
“Yes, please. I’ll go there.”
MARIA
Eurydice was gone. Time was not. Nothing happened.
Maria approached Persephone.
She told her story.
“It’s a hard story,” said Persephone. That was all.
“Now what do you want to do?” Persephone asked Maria.
Maria told her.
PERSEPHONE
One day Hecate came to Persephone and Hades after a long absence. After much talk of the news of Webbd and a meal, Hecate revealed her purpose.
“I come with news of Demeter.”
Persephone looked down at her hands in her lap.
“You know the famine is over,” Hecate continued. “Once again Demeter blesses the seed, but there’s little joy in her heart. We’re concerned for her state of mind.”
Persephone looked up.
“I have a proposition.”
Hades raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
“If Persephone were to go back to the Green World for a visit, I think much could be healed. Are you willing to be parted for a time?”
Hades looked at Persephone. “This is your choice,” he said. “What do you think of this plan?”
Persephone was silent. She didn’t want to leave Hades. Yet the estrangement from her mother was painful and she longed for reconciliation. She could see the Green World again! Was it possible her mother could bless her new life, love Persephone the woman as she’d loved the child?
She looked up and met Hades’ eyes, smiling and touching his hand. “I’ll go,” she said. “But my life is here with you and I’ll return.”
His face relaxed. He turned to Hecate. “When will you take her?”
“As soon as may be, Lord.”
Persephone spent the night in Hades’ arms and the following morning she set out with Hecate. Hades accompanied them to the great gate. There he and Persephone parted after a wordless embrace.
Once more under the sun, Persephone saw color and life in every direction. Fields were green and golden. Trees bore fruit. The Green World was vivid and beautiful. Flowers lined the road and dust lay soft and thick. They came to the sloping hill from which the Wild Hunt had swept her so many months ago. As they stepped out upon the flank of the hill, a figure wrapped in a grey and amethyst cloak came out from the trees on the far side. Hecate stopped but Persephone continued on, walking and then running to meet her mother. Demeter opened her arms wide to embrace her, and Persephone flung herself into them, weeping.
Demeter smoothed Persephone’s hair and spoke words of comfort and Persephone quieted. Demeter took her daughter’s hand, turned, and made a sweeping movement with her arm. The hillside swathed itself in golden poppies in full bloom. Persephone gasped. Hecate, knee deep in glowing flowers, raised a hand, turned and walked away.
As day followed day, Persephone told her mother about her new life in small, tentative pieces, unwilling to disrupt the fragile harmony between them. Demeter listened with interest and attention, asking questions and expressing wonder. She told Persephone, with unmistakable pride, that she’d heard rumors that Hades was transformed into a place of beauty and powerful transition.
Persephone relaxed and soon mother and daughter were once again as close as they’d ever been.
Weeks passed. Rain fell on seed sown by Demeter’s hand; the sun shone in its turn and the world was green. Trees grew tall and healthy. Everywhere flowers showed their faces. Persephone reunited with every horse and cat in the stables, rose with the sun and went out to the barn, and then spent bright days wandering in field and forest, drinking color and scent and sunlight. She filled the cottage with flowers. She harvested herbs, baked bread and dried olives and figs in the sun.
Persephone was filled with gratitude for reunion with her mother, but she began to ache for Hades. Her nights became broken. She sat by her open window and heard her life calling from the far-away gates of the Underworld. It was time to go back.
Hecate visited and the three of them worked out a plan. Every year Persephone would visit Demeter in the Green World.
Once again mother and daughter parted, this time with acceptance and love and the next visit to think of. Hecate and Persephone traveled together, and when the gates of the Underworld stood ahead and she saw Hades waiting, Persephone ran, heart full of joy, into his arms.
(This post was published with this essay.)