The Dolphin Rider (10 page)

“I can't help you,” said Aeolus. “No one can help whom the gods hate. And Neptune hates you. What you call bad luck is his hatred. And bad luck is very catching. So please go. Get on your ship and sail away from this island, and never return.”

“Farewell,” said Ulysses, and strode away.

He gathered his weary men and made them board the ship again. The winds were penned up in their mountain. The sea was sluggish. A heavy calm lay over the harbor. The crew had to row on their broken stumps of oars, crawling like beetles over the gray water. They rowed away from the island, through the bronze gate, and out upon the sullen sea.

Ulysses, heartbroken, almost dead of grief, tried to hide his feelings from the men. He stood on deck, barking orders, making them mend sail, patch hull, rig new spars, and keep rowing. He took the helm himself, and swung the tiller, pointing the bow eastward toward home, which once again lay at the other end of the sea.

Cupid and Psyche

There was a king who had three daughters. The youngest, named Psyche, was the most beautiful. She was so lovely, in fact, that kings and princes and warriors from all the countries around poured into her father's castle to ask for her hand in marriage.

“If we don't marry that girl off,” the king said to his wife, “I'll have a war on my hands. But what are we going to do about her sisters?”

It was the custom, at that time, that daughters be married in the order of their age — the oldest one first, then the next oldest, and so on down to the youngest.

“We'll just have to break the rule,” said the queen. “The palace grounds are beginning to look like a battlefield. They're killing each other and trampling my peonies. I'll speak to her tonight.”

But Psyche was not ready to get married. She was a kind girl and did not wish to make her sisters more jealous than they already were. Besides, there was no one she wanted to marry. She went off by herself to a grove in the woods, and there whispered a prayer to Cupid.

“Oh, archer of love,” she said. “Please do this for me. Aim your golden arrows at two of those who seek to marry me. But make them love my sisters instead.”

Cupid thought this the oddest prayer he had ever heard.

“It's usually the other way around,” he said to himself. “The girl who prays to me usually wants me to help her
steal
her sister's suitor. This Psyche must be the most unselfish girl in the world.”

Cupid was so curious about Psyche that he flew down to take a look for himself. When he saw her, it was just as though he had scratched himself with one of his own arrows. He hovered invisibly in the air above the grove where Psyche was praying. He began to feel the sweet poison spread in his veins, and he grew dizzy with joy and strangeness. Cupid had spread love, but never felt it. He had shot others, but never been wounded himself. He did not know himself this way.

He immediately flew to the castle, and just as Psyche's sisters were coming into the courtyard, he aimed his golden arrows at the first two suitors he saw. That very evening the king and queen were delighted to receive offers of marriage for their two eldest daughters.

“Now Psyche can marry,” they said to each other joyfully. “And peace will return to the kingdom.” Peace came, but not in the way they expected.

Cupid did not want anyone to court Psyche. He cast an invisible hedge of thorns around the girl so that no suitor could come near. Psyche welcomed being alone. No man or boy she had ever met matched her secret idea of what a husband should be. Now, behind the hedge of thorns, she could dream about him.

But the king and queen were very troubled. They could not understand why no one was asking to marry their most beautiful daughter. They understood even less why she didn't seem to care. They went to an oracle, who said:

“Psyche is not meant for mortal man. She is to be the bride of the one who lives on the mountain and conquers both man and god. Take her to the mountain, and say farewell.”

When the king and queen heard this they thought their daughter was meant for some monster. They feared that she would be devoured, as so many other princesses had been devoured, to feed the mysterious appetite of evil. But they had to obey the oracle, and so they dressed Psyche in bridal garments, hung her with jewels, and led her to the mountain. The whole court followed, mourning as though it were a funeral instead of a wedding.

Psyche herself did not weep, but had a strange dreaming look on her face. She spoke no word of fear, wept no tear, as she kissed her mother and father good-bye. She stood tall on the mountain, her white bridal gown blowing about her, her arms full of flowers.

Soon the wedding party returned to the castle. When the last sound of their voices faded, Psyche stood alone listening to a great silence. Then the wind blew so hard that her hair came loose. Her gown was whipped about her like a flag and she felt a great pressure that she did not understand. She heard the wind itself whispering in her ear, saying: “Fear not, princess. I am the West Wind, the groom's messenger. I have come to take you home.”

Psyche listened to the wind and believed what she heard. She was not afraid, even though she felt herself being lifted off the mountain and carried through the air like a leaf. She felt herself gliding down steps of air. She was carried through the failing light, through purple clumps of dusk, toward another castle, gleaming like silver on a hilltop. She was set down gently within the courtyard. It was empty, and there were no sentries, no dogs, nothing but shadows and the moon-pale stones of the castle. A carpet unreeled itself and rolled out to her feet. She walked over the carpet and through the doors. They closed behind her.

A torch burned in the air and floated in front of her. She followed it. It led her through a great hallway into a room. The torch whirled. Three more torches whirled in to join it, then stuck themselves in the wall and burned there, lighting the room. It was a smaller room, beautifully furnished. Psyche stepped onto the terrace which looked out over the valley toward the moonlit sea.

A table floated into the room, and set itself down solidly on its three legs. A chair placed itself at the table. Invisible hands began to set the table with dishes of gold and goblets of crystal. Food appeared on the plates, and the goblets were filled with purple wine.

“Why can't I see you?” she cried to the invisible servants.

A courteous voice said, “It is so ordered.”

“And my husband? Where is he?”

“Journeying far. Coming near. I must say no more.”

Psyche was very hungry after her windy ride, and she finished the delicious meal. The torch then led her out of the room to another room that was an indoor pool full of fragrant warm water. After she bathed herself, fleecy towels were offered to her, and a flask of perfume that smelled like a summer garden at dawn. Then Psyche went back to her room, and awaited her husband.

Presently she heard a voice in the room. A powerful voice speaking very softly, so softly that the words were like her own thoughts.

“You are Psyche. I am your husband. You are the most beautiful girl in the world, beautiful enough to make the goddess of love herself grow jealous.”

Psyche could not see anyone. She felt the voice press hummingly upon her as if she were in the center of a huge bell.

“Where are you?”

“Here.”

Psyche reached out her arms and heard the voice speak again. “Welcome home.”

When she awoke next morning, Psyche was alone, but she was so happy she didn't care. She went dancing from room to room, exploring the castle, singing as she went. She explored the courtyard, and the woods nearby as well, and found only one living creature — a silvery greyhound, dainty as a squirrel and fierce as a panther. Psyche knew it was hers. The greyhound went exploring the woods with her, and showed her how he could outrace the deer. Psyche laughed with joy to see him run.

At the end of the day she returned to the castle. Her meal was served by the same invisible servants. She again bathed and put on fresh clothes. At midnight her husband came to her again, and she wondered how it was that of all the girls in the world she had been chosen to live in this magical place.

Day after day went by like this, and night after night. And each night he asked her, “Are you happy, lovely girl?”

“Yes, but I want to see you. I know you are beautiful, but I want to see for myself.”

“That will be, but not yet. It is not yet time!”

“Whatever you say, dear heart. But then, can you not stay with me by day as well, invisible or not?”

“That too will change, perhaps. But not yet. It is too soon.”

“But the day grows so long without you.”

“You are lonely. You want company. Would you like your sisters to visit you?”

“My sisters! I had almost forgotten them. How strange.”

“Shall I send for them?”

“I don't really care. It is you I want. I want to see you.”

“You may expect your sisters tomorrow.”

The next day the West Wind bore Psyche's two sisters to the castle, and set them down in the courtyard, windblown and bewildered. They were fearful, having been snatched away from their own gardens, but were relieved to find themselves floating so gently to this strange courtyard. How amazed they were then to see their own sister, whom they thought long dead, running out of the strange castle. She was more beautiful than ever — blooming with happiness, and more richly garbed than any queen. Psyche swept her sisters into her arms. She embraced and kissed them, and made them greatly welcome.

Then she led them inside. The invisible servants bathed them and helped them dress, then served them a delicious meal. With every new wonder they saw, with every treasure their sister showed them, they grew more and more jealous. They, too, had married kings, but little local ones. This castle made theirs look like dog kennels. They did not eat off golden plates and drink out of jeweled goblets. And their servants were the plain old visible kind. As they ate and drank, with huge appetites, they grew more and more displeased with every bite.

“Where is your husband?” asked the eldest sister. “Why is he not here to welcome us? Perhaps he didn't want us to come?”

“Oh, yes he did,” cried Psyche. “It was his idea. He sent his servant, the West Wind, for you.”

“Oho,” sniffed the second sister. “So he's the one we have to thank for being taken by force and hurled through the air. A rough way to travel.”

“But so swift,” said Psyche. “Don't you like riding the wind? I love it.”

“Yes, you seem to have changed in many ways,” said the eldest. “But you're still not telling us where your husband is. It is odd that he doesn't want to meet us — very odd.”

“Not odd at all,” said Psyche. “He — he is rarely here by day. He — has things to do.”

“What sort of things?”

“Oh, you know. Wars, peace treaties, hunting …you know the things men do.”

“Is he often away then?”

“Oh, no. That is, only by day. At night he returns.”

“Ah, then we shall meet him tonight. At dinner, perhaps.”

“No… well… he will not be here. I mean — he will, but you will not see him.”

“Just what I thought,” cried the eldest. “Too proud to meet us. My dear, I think we had better go home.”

“Yes, indeed!” said the second sister. “If your husband is too high and mighty to let himself be seen, then we are plainly not wanted here.”

“Oh, no,” said Psyche. “Please listen. You don't understand.”

“We certainly do not.”

And poor Psyche, unable to bear her sisters' cruel words, told them how things were. The two sisters sat at the table, listening. They were so fascinated they even forgot to eat, which was unusual for them.

“Oh, my heavens!” cried the eldest. “It's worse than I thought.”

“Much, much worse,” said the second. “The oracle was right. You
have
married a monster.”

“Oh, no, no,” cried Psyche. “Not a monster! But the most beautiful creature in the world!”

“Beautiful creatures like to be seen,” said the eldest. “It is the nature of beauty to be seen. Only ugliness hides itself away. You have married a monster.”

“A monster,” said the second. “Yes, a monster — a dragon — some scaly creature with many heads that devours young maidens once they're fattened. No wonder he feeds you so well.”

“That's it!” said the elder. “He's trying to fatten you up. You'd better eat lightly.”

“Poor child — how can we save her?”

“We cannot save her. He's too powerful, this monster. She must save herself.”

“I won't listen to another word!” cried Psyche, leaping up. “You are wicked, evil-minded shrews, both of you! I'm ashamed of you. Ashamed of myself for listening to you. I never want to see you again. Never!”

Psyche struck a gong and the table was snatched away. A window flew open and the West Wind swept in. He curled his arms about the two sisters and swept them out of the castle and back to their own homes. Psyche was left alone, frightened, bitterly unhappy, longing for her husband. But there were still many hours till nightfall. All that long hideous afternoon she brooded over what her sisters had said. The words stuck in her mind like poison thorns. They festered in her head, throwing her into a fever of doubt.

She knew that her husband was good. She knew he was beautiful. But still — why didn't he let her see him? What did he do during the day? Other words of her sisters came back to her: “How do you know what he does when he's not here? Perhaps he has a dozen castles scattered about the countryside, a bride in each one. Perhaps he visits them all.”

Then jealousy, more terrible than fear, began to gnaw at Psyche. She was not really afraid that her husband was a monster. Nor was she at all afraid of being devoured. If he did not love her, she wanted to die anyway. But the idea that he might have other brides, other castles, clawed at her. It sent her almost mad. She knew she had to settle her doubts once and for all.