The Dig (23 page)

I‘d jab her in the ribs if I weren‘t afraid of accidentally breaking her little nymph bones, so instead I just ask, ―How are you, Creusa?‖

―Why not come to the vale and see for yourself.‖ I look at Zeus. ―You did say you were hungry...‖

―I surely did.‖

―Thanks to Goddess Zoe, we have more than enough food to accommodate you.‖

―Sounds great,‖ he says as he takes my hand. ―But I think my girlfriend prefers to be called Zoe. Minus the ‗goddess‘ part.‖ When Creusa shakes her head and smirks, a cloud of sparkles floats off her and I can‘t help but see it is a sign that everything is going to be okay.

Of course, I would be wise not to be so eager to see everything as some sort of a sign.

Finally, for the first time since arriving in ancient Greece,
I
get to be the tour guide. Zeus has never been in the vale of nymphs. He didn‘t know the code to get into the tree and the reversal of roles is exciting. For once, I‘m not the one staring in awe and I get to see this whole other side of him, the wide-eyed boyish side. Creusa is running up and down the tree as he watches in fascination and we‘re going to Candy Land together any second now.―You‘re going to love it in here,‖ I tell him.

―I just love that you‘ve been here. Five hundred years and I‘ve never been invited.‖

―Oh, Creusa was just, well, she felt sorry for me, you know, lost and wandering and all.‖

―She didn‘t feel sorry for you, Zoe. She just saw how great you are.‖ Creusa backflips toward our feet, spraying us with sparkly dust.

―Actually, I felt sorry for her,‖ she says.

―Very funny, Creusa,‖ I tell her.

She shimmies. ―Just kidding.‖

Zeus and I stand there like a new couple on their second date at a county fair. I swear I can smell cotton candy and roller coaster grease and I hear the Tilt-A-Whirl grinding in the distance.

Our whole lives are in front of us and this one night is just as exciting as the hundred years to come.

―My goodness,‖ she says. ―Do gods require engraved invitations? Come inside!‖

And we‘re off.

It‘s all even better than I remember. Or is that just because of the way Zeus‘s eyebrows arch when he feels the velveteen floor with his hands? Is that because I‘ve found someone appreciative, someone who sees things the way I see them, who isn‘t afraid to feel things? We belong here in the vale of the nymphs, where bright colors and plush surroundings seem even brighter and plusher now that we‘re sharing them. The hours—or is it minutes?—play like a montage of iridescent, wonderful moments, both blurry and distinct at once. I can‘t think of a more perfect place to go with someone you‘re falling in love with and I can‘t believe my good fortune that I get to be here with Zeus.

There‘s the pack of nymphs we pass, who gather around us, holding hands and dancing in a circle. When we kiss, they cheer and the sparkle dust descends on the tips of our noses, sticking to our eyelashes.

There‘s the time I‘m distracted, talking to Creusa, and almost miss the sight of Zeus cradling a baby nymph in his arms. He has a gentle hold on the baby. He is trust personified.

There‘s the joy that springs in my heart when we reach the pasture and find it flush with unnameable fruits, giant orange oblongs, vines ripe with tiny striped pellets that you chew like gum, and all of it, insists the lead gardening nymph, because of my help. And I‘ve finally learned how to accept a compliment; I did help them, even if at the time I didn‘t know how I‘d helped.

As we stroll hand in hand through the rainbow Candy Land, I‘m tempted to stay forever.

We get on well with the nymphs and they love having us here. It‘s safe and protected. The fruit is delicious and filling. If we wanted, we could easily make our home here. I plead my case to Zeus.

―But this isn‘t where we belong,‖ he says.

―I don‘t belong anywhere.‖

―Zoe…‖

―What if something goes wrong. I mean, once we get out there, anything could happen.‖

―You must imagine good things.‖

―But I have a bad feeling.‖

―You thought we would die in the labyrinth.‖

―I know but…‖

―You thought I was in love with Hera.‖

―Yes but…‖

―Zoe, don‘t you understand? We‘re safe now. We have each other.‖ And so I hug Creusa and vow to come back, somehow, someway, and she presses the lever. I know leaving is dangerous. But staying isn‘t possible.

As the bark slowly crawls up and the forest comes into view, I hold tight to Zeus‘s hand. He looks over at me and I nod and smile, preparing to exit.

But I still have a very bad feeling.

Minutes later, when the most dangerous thing to have crossed our path is a surly striped squirrel, I am forced to admit that I was wrong. My so-called bad feeling was totally off base and I was probably just woozy from all the sparkles and colors.

―One more time, for me,‖ Zeus says.

I roll my eyes. ―Fine. I was wrong and you were right.‖ He pumps his fist. If he wasn‘t so cute, I might have to hit him.

―So, tell me more,‖ he says. ―You know, about your world.‖ I jab him. ―You‘re supposed to say ‗Tell me more, you know, about
you.
‘‖ He picks me up and spins me around and around and kisses me and it‘s still there, that charge. He holds me close and whispers, ―But I already know about you, Zoe. You‘re amazing.‖

I can‘t blame him for wanting to know about the future. I mean, that‘s normal, right?

There‘s so much I could tell him. I don‘t know where to begin—with electricity and cars and global warming or Newton and Darwin and Freud, and it feels like my head might explode. I remember the first time I felt this way on this trip, when I was really nervous and scared and overwhelmed, when I didn‘t know what those feelings even really were.

―Do you like to sing?‖ I ask.

―Sing what?‖

―I‘ll start. And you…well, you‘ll see.‖

He‘s hesitant. I‘ve found Zeus‘s weak spot. ―Okay.‖

―You can‘t sing, can you?‖

He‘s blushing, and it‘s a relief that even a god is human sometimes. I start low and soft, and probably really off-key.

I‘m not sure exactly when he starts singing along. I only know that he does join me, and we‘re almost dancing here in the woods with the music we‘re making, singing Rihanna‘s

―Umbrella.‖ I‘ve never felt closer to anyone in my life, and never more far away from the rest of the world. And I think that‘s how I would describe love right now if someone asked me: You‘re so connected to someone else that the world and all its cliques and challenges and traumas and mysteries can‘t hurt you that much.

―You never could carry a tune,‖ Hera says.

We break off singing and spin around to see her, standing with a metal spear in her hands, hate practically steaming out of her ears in devil-red clouds.

Zeus moves his body in front of mine. ―Hera, what is this?‖

―Oh, this is really very simple, Zeus. This is the end.‖

―The end of what?‖

―The end of Zoe,‖ she says, and she steps forward. She growls. The Minotaur was nothing compared with this.

Naturally, Hera didn‘t come alone. Girls like Hera never do their dirty work by themselves.

She has roped in five of the gods to be on her side.

I nudge Zeus and ask, ―Where are the other five?‖

―They must have refused to be a part of this,‖ he says.

―I don‘t need all the gods to take care of one ratty-haired human,‖ Hera hisses.

Ares whispers something into Hera‘s ear and she laughs. Of course
he’s
here, the one who looks like he‘d catch the winning touchdown pass with one hand and wedgie a band nerd with the other. He‘s the god of aggression.

His muscles are all that matter to him. And I‘m not surprised to see that his girlfriend, Artemis, is here too. Those hippie-dippy privileged types with over accentuated cheekbones and aristocratic noses and handmade clothes that drape on their narrow frames are
never
as sweet as they seem. Maybe in the 1970s, when hippies were still about love, those hippie chicks were nice.

But Artemis isn‘t a nice girl. And the new me isn‘t afraid to put that knowledge into action. I stare her down. She looks away. I win.

―Your pants have torn.‖

It‘s Athena. I bet I can turn her. Deep down, she‘s not bad. She‘s just jealous, insecure of her powers. She‘s only here because Poseidon is here. I bet she wouldn‘t have come if she wasn‘t in a relationship with him. I won‘t let her get to me.

―You‘re right, Athena. That‘s why we both know that clothes would have been a better gift.‖

She has to know what I‘m talking about. Granted, it‘s not like we sat and bonded for hours, but we did have that moment together about footwear and gift giving.

She looks away quickly. For a moment I think she‘s gathering her courage, ready to be her own person at last. But then she looks back, and her face is all scrunched up, as if I smell, as if I‘m poison. ―Huh?‖ she says.

―What are you talking about?‖

I simmer, fighting back my anger. ―Never mind,‖ I say.

―Athena didn‘t come here to help you,‖ says Hades, god of fire, the one who casually wipes out entire villages just because he can. I scan the group.

Persephone isn‘t here.

―And I see that Persephone didn‘t come here to help you,‖ I say to Hades. ―Guess you couldn‘t keep that fire lit.‖ But Zeus squeezes my hand and I know I should stop barbing them.

We have no chance as it is, six against two, and we have less of a chance if I poke them and tease them, but it‘s hard to be quiet when you know you‘re about to suffer and die at the hands of people like this, people who believe they are nothing without their collective power. My arms are shivering and my eyelids are twitching and my cowlick is back with a vengeance, tickling the bridge of my nose. How weak I must look now.

Meanwhile, Zeus and Hera are holding their respective grounds, having an irritatingly measured debate about what to do about me. I‘m starting to think that we‘ll spend the rest of our lives standing here and debating the situation. I guess the main difference between humans and gods is that the gods have a lot more time on their hands. They don‘t have homework or curfews or swim practice or TV; this is what they do. They‘re like a super powered debate club.

―Hera, there is no theory of twos. Zoe poses no threat to us.‖

―You‘re wrong, Zeus. Until she is gone, there is no peace to be had.‖

―Hera, please. If this is about us, let‘s talk. Let‘s just you and I go and sit down and you can say whatever it is you need to say to me.‖

―I have nothing to say to you.‖

―I don‘t think that‘s true.‖

She huffs, ―You really are arrogant. You think this is all about you? Oh, Zeus, I am done with you. You‘re nothing but a fool and I see that now.‖

―I understand you‘re hurt. It‘s natural that you feel hurt right now.‖ I‘m about to elbow Zeus in the gut. How can he know so little about girls? That was pretty much the worst thing he could have said to a scorned girl. I almost don‘t blame Hera for growling. First she gets dumped.

Now she gets pitied?

―I am not hurt, Zeus. I am disgusted. She has come here to strip our powers and dethrone us all and you are too blind and stupid to see it.‖

―She has done no such thing.‖

―Oh, is that so?‖

―Yes, it is so.

She jabs her spear into the ground. ―In the future humans worship each other instead of the gods!‖

―I know,‖ he says.

―And you don‘t care? The thought of a world without us doesn‘t bother you?‖

―The future is not ours to decide, Hera. It‘s larger than us.‖

―Well, I don‘t want to die. All of us don‘t want to die. We want to maintain our power and our order and preserve our authority for hundreds of years to come.‖

―Are you really that happy, Hera? Does power actually mean that much to you?‖

It‘s the wrong question. The answer is yes, because clearly Hera cares about her power very much. I feel sorry for her, I do. I feel sorry for all the lonely queen bees out there who care more about how they‘re perceived than about how they actually feel when they climb into bed at night and switch off the lights. She has nothing but her authority. And there‘s nothing more dangerous than an opponent whose only source of power and confidence has been threatened.

I roll my shoulders and let my backpack fall to the ground.

It‘s time for some tough love.

Zeus looks at me and I know what he wants. I reach into my pocket for the Minotaur‘s nose ring from the Petros and slip my hand into his.

―I wish you didn‘t need this.‖

―Me too.‖

―Are you ready?‖

He nods.

The second we break hands, his wings swell and soar, so fast that a breeze rustles my hair and I focus on a valley in the distance and see the dirt crest like a wave and crash. We‘re back. We have power. And we have each other.

―I‘ll never leave her,‖ he says to Hera.

As she runs forward, thrusting her spear at me, she hisses, ―I know.

Hera and I are two giant tumbleweeds rolling at each other with a vengeance, and then suddenly we collide, and I am inside a blinding and binding typhoon of darkness. I can‘t move. I can‘t see. I can barely breathe. What energy I do have left I‘m using to contain Hera, coring her in a giant ball of dirt. I hear her scream with trapped rage and I push the dirt harder at her with my mind. I hope to smother her—but it‘s not true, is it, Zoe? You don‘t have enough venom in you.

You‘re still missing that bloodthirsty gene. You‘re still you, hoping for some kind of reconciliation.

It feels like I‘ve been trapped in this dark rolling place for hours even though I know it can‘t have been more than seconds.

―Hera!‖ I shout.

I hear nothing at first. And then she mutters something, sounding choked.

―You can‘t breathe and I can‘t see. I think we can work this out.‖ She emits a high-pitched growl. I take it as a sign of agreement.

―When I say ‗go,‘ we‘ll both drop our powers. Okay?‖

―Yes!‖

―Go!‖ As soon as I release her, the darkness begins to lift. It‘s slight, but I think I can see my own hand.