Cupid (18 page)

Psyche's beauty stunned Charon into silence, and when she opened her mouth, he reached in automatically and took the coin from beneath her tongue. He wanted to say something to her, but it had been so long since he had talked to a living mortal. And certainly not to a mortal female. Come to think of it, Charon could not remember the last time he had talked with anyone. There was no point in talking to the dead, because all they would do was moan. He had no idea what to say to Psyche and so he allowed himself to be content with her presence, for which he had no words, anyway.

Psyche could feel Charon's eyes on her like fingers. She did not know if she was more frightened of him or of the River of the Dead, which was unlike any stream she had ever seen. So wide that she could not see the other side, it was dirty brown in color and thick like syrup. It moved slowly and stank like rotting meat.

"Help me!"

Psyche screamed as an arm, the flesh hanging from it in shredded strips, reached up for her from the river.

Charon laughed. "That is a mortal who thought he
could get me to take him across to the underworld." His voice was little more than a scratchy whisper because he had not used it in so long. "He is neither dead nor alive. Unless someone pulls him out, he will spend eternity floating in the gruel of the River of the Dead, calling out for help."

"Help me!" he cried out again, his face rising out of the river.

As ghastly as he was, Psyche knew she would have reached out to him had not Aquilo warned her not to. To protect herself from her own pity she closed her eyes and put her hands over her ears and kept them there until, at long last, she felt the boat touch the other side.

"May the gods be with you," Charon said to Psyche as she left the ferry.

"And you," she replied.

Psyche found herself back on a road like the one that had brought her to the river. She walked quickly now, wanting to get her task over with as soon as possible. She was not sure just how much more of this dismal realm she could endure.

Psyche had not gone far when she came upon three women sitting at looms, weaving. The women were only a little older than she was, and Psyche was so happy to see someone near her age that she began to smile. The cloth they were weaving was deep red in color and threaded at regular intervals with strips of orange. It reminded her of daylight, sunshine, warmth, and happiness, everything this
realm was not. How had three such lovely young women come to be here?

Psyche wanted a closer look at what they were weaving and was about to go over to them when she remembered: "After you get off Charon's ferry, you will encounter three women weaving. Do not take pity on them. They are there only to try to take from you the two pieces of bread you are carrying. Please understand, dear Psyche. If you lose even one piece of bread, you will not be able to return to this world."

Reluctantly, Psyche walked by and continued on her way.

The road was more narrow now and going down, deeper and deeper, into the underworld. As eager as Psyche was to fulfill her task and leave, her steps slowed as she came closer to her destination and the darkness deepened until it shone with the luster of jewels.

Suddenly, Psyche stopped. She thought she heard something. She listened. Yes, there it was again! It sounded like all the animals on the face of the earth had come together in one place and were engaged in a fight to the death. But Psyche knew what it was—Cerberus, the guardian of the gates to Pluto's palace, the place Proserpine lived for half of each year.

Though she knew what she was supposed to do to get safely by Cerberus, she was not sure she could. The sounds made by the beast were so ferocious, she feared that the noise alone would devour her. She knew that was not true, but
sometimes truth is not as fierce as fear. How could a morsel of bread distract such a creature? She did not know. She had no choice but to have faith in what Aquilo had told her.

Psyche moved forward very slowly, the noise getting louder and louder as she came closer and closer. She could see him now, standing before the gates to Pluto's palace. He had three heads of dogs and the long tail of a dragon, and along his back grew the heads of snakes. Each dog's head looked in a different direction and snarled and snapped, saliva dripping from their teeth and tongues.

Psyche did not look directly into the eyes of the head pointed in her direction, but reached in her pocket for one of the pieces of bread. She threw it a good distance to the side and away from the gate. The head that was watching it immediately went in the direction of the bread and the rest of the beast had no choice but to follow.

Quickly Psyche went through the gate and closed it behind her. She found herself in a large field with a path through the center. However, the field was not covered with grass and flowers like every other field she had ever seen. This one was thick with plants, all of different shades of green, and most amazing of all, the plants seemed to be speaking, because Psyche heard the low murmur of talk.

As she started down the path, she heard the plants more distinctly as she passed them:

"I am baneberry. Taste my leaves."

"I am belladonna. Taste my leaves."

"I am bloodroot. Taste my leaves."

But there was something in the way the plants introduced themselves that made Psyche suspicious. When she passed a plant that introduced itself as Death Angel Mushroom, she remembered. Her father liked to walk in the woods, and when she was young he would take her on walks and point out plants she should not even touch. One, she recalled, was Death Angel Mushroom. Were all these plants poisonous?

As if in response, the entire field of plants erupted into cackling laughter and then began shouting their names:

"Hemlock!"

"Mandrake!"

"Moonseed!"

"Wolfsbane!"

Psyche covered her ears and ran until she was out of the field. The path continued into a forest of tall trees, but trees unlike any she had ever seen. They were a pale, ghostly white with bloodred twisted limbs and branches. She wondered if the trees were going to introduce themselves, but as she continued along the path among them, there was only silence.

Finally, she emerged from the forest to find herself standing before a palace built from thick slabs of darkness. Psyche knew if she stood there looking at the building, she would become too frightened to go inside, so she hurried toward what looked to be the doorway. But there was no door handle, though this had to be the door, because it was
set in from the rest of the building. How was she supposed to get inside?

Maybe the door was already unlocked and all she had to do was push it. She did so, and she gave a little scream when her hands, instead of meeting something solid, went through the blackness. Psyche pulled her hands back and looked at them. They looked the same. She rubbed one hand with the other. They felt the same, so she put her hands out again. Very carefully, she pushed against the darkness. Her hands went through. She followed her hands and arms and found herself on the other side of the darkness and in a large room, larger even than the Great Hall in her father's palace.

There, at the far end of the large room, sat a woman on a throne of bleached bones. She was pale and looked as if all the blood had been drained from her body, yet there was no mistaking her beauty. Her dark hair was parted in the middle and so long that it almost touched the floor beneath her throne. As Psyche came closer, she could see a smile on Proserpine's thin lips.

"Greetings," the Queen of Death said.

Psyche curtsied. "My lady."

"What a delight to see a living person, and one of such extraordinary beauty. Living here as I do for half of each year, there are times when I miss the world above. You must sit and stay awhile. I will order my servants to bring you food and drink so that you might relax and renew yourself."

How Psyche wished she could have time to relax and eat something delicious. But Aquilo had warned her against accepting Proserpine's invitation.

"Your invitation is very gracious," Psyche responded, as she sat down on the floor. "I wish I had the time to avail myself of your hospitality but I do not. However, if I could have just a piece of bread, it would be more than sufficient to raise my spirits."

"As you wish," Proserpine answered, and a servant appeared out of the air and offered Psyche a piece of bread on a plate made from bone.

"Since a mortal risks his soul by coming here while still alive, you must have urgent business. What can I do for you?"

"Not for me, but for the goddess Venus."

"I would be more than happy to do anything Venus would ask of me."

Psyche produced the mother-of-pearl box. "The goddess has been under a great deal of stress of late, and her supply of beauty is running low. She asks that you fill this box with some of your beauty. She doesn't need much. Enough for a day."

"It will be a pleasure."

Proserpine took the box from Psyche, went behind the throne, and disappeared. Before long she reappeared and handed the box to Psyche.

"There. Please give this to Venus and tell her that I look forward to seeing her soon. It is almost time for me to bring
spring back to the northern places of the world above."

Psyche stood up. "Thank you, my lady."

She curtsied and then hurried away. "I did it! I did it!" Psyche whispered over and over to herself. She couldn't believe it. By herself, without any help from ants, Pan, or a giant bird, she had come to the heart of the underworld and spoken to the Queen of Death.

So elated was she that she ran through the forest of ghost-white trees, through the field of poisonous plants, and slowed only when she came to the gate guarded by Cerberus. She reached in her pocket and took her last piece of bread and threw it a distance from the gate. The three-headed dog ran to get it, and Psyche hurried through the gate, past the three women weaving, and up the slope to the River of the Dead.

Charon stood with his ferry, as if waiting for her. Psyche put the remaining coin in her mouth, then got on the ferry and opened her mouth. Charon took the coin.

Once the ferry reached the other side, Psyche began running again, clutching the box close to her breasts. She passed the lame man and his lame donkey and the fallen pile of wood, and before she knew it, she could see the entrance of the hole.

"I did it! I did it!" she shouted aloud now as she burst through the hole and into the gray light of Taenarus. She hurried over the stony earth until she came to a field, and there, she lay down and flung her arms out.

"I did it!" she screamed as loud as she could. "I did it!" And she laughed and laughed and laughed.

She lay there for a while to catch her breath and to let the enormity of what she had accomplished sink in. Finally, she sat up, feeling rested, and began searching the skies for Auster, who said he would know when she had emerged from Pluto's realm.

Psyche still found it hard to believe that her ordeal was finally at an end and she was, at long last, going to see Cupid. Then she realized, with horror, "I probably look worse than a kitchen maid." She did not have a mirror but she was sure she looked frightful. She ran her fingers through her hair and it was a tangled mess. Her gown was dirty and torn in places. And her face! She did not want to try to imagine how it must look after all she had been through.

Psyche looked at the box she was carrying. She could hear Aquilo's voice telling her not to open the box. But what harm could it do if she took a little of the beauty Proserpine had put inside? She didn't need much. Just enough to make her look as beautiful as Cupid remembered. She had done everything Aquilo had told her to do. Neither he nor Venus would know she opened the box.

Psyche lifted the cover slowly. Out came a large cloud of black smoke. Startled, she screamed, but the smoke enveloped her and choked off her cry.

Psyche slumped to the ground—as if she were dead.

While Psyche was making her way into and out of the underworld, events were unfolding at Venus's palace.

Every evening Venus went to see Cupid. All she wanted was for him to apologize for the pain he had inflicted on her. Venus did not think that was too much to expect after he had so blatantly disobeyed her and made her a mockery among the deities.

Perhaps Cupid would have given his mother the apology she felt she needed if she had not been so insistent about it. But day after day he lay in bed, his body turned away from her, and listened as she paced back and forth across the room, ranting and pleading. What he heard startled him.

Venus's words were not about him; they were only about herself. Nothing mattered except her hurt at his disobedience, her disappointment that he had not lived up to her expectation, and the embarrassment he had caused her.

But what had he done that was so awful? Why was he on the receiving end of so much anger and wrath? All he had done was fall in love, which was not something he had planned or sought.

Love happened. Love came to show you that you could be more than you could ever imagine, because love forced you out of the narrows of yourself and thrust you into a vastness that stretched from one end of time to the other.
Nothing mattered except being in the presence of love, the greatest beauty of all.

But he had foolishly thrust Psyche away. Why? Because she had disobeyed him. With sadness he realized that he had acted toward Psyche as Venus was acting toward him. He sought to punish Psyche for disobeying him, just as Venus punished him for disobeying her.

Venus was angry because she had lost control of her relationship with him. How was that different from his anger at Psyche for looking at him? It wasn't. He had not known how much he was like his mother.

That evening when Venus unlocked the door and entered his chambers, she was surprised to see him standing at the far end of the room. She smiled. "Has he finally come to his senses?" she wondered. Was he now going to apologize for how much he had hurt her?

When Cupid heard the door open, he turned to face his mother.