Amousos

I stopped, as yet another pebble had finagled a way into this damn pair of shoes. – Jen Luby

I’d needed a cheap pair of hiking shoes and they seemed like a good idea in the market. Jack wanted to see Mount Olympus and he promised an easy hike. Ha! How could I say no, though? He was a lot fun.

We’d met at the bar perched on the beach, a couple of well-traveled Americans losing themselves in Greece for the summer. I’d picked Plaka because it was small, quiet, and had both beaches and mountains. A good place to stop for a day or two. Jack just added to the appeal.

I bent down to free the pebble. It was a surprising shade of green stone on this plateau of windswept grey rock and alpine plants. I rather liked the look of it as bits of mica shone in the sun zipping in and out of thickening clouds. I dropped it in a pocket of my cargo shorts. The pebble was small enough to carry, at least for a bit. Jack shouted at me from the scree path ahead, waving towards the stacked stone ruin we were aiming for. Well, for the Muses Plateau, I had expected some sort of lush grove of trees or something, not this barren scoured place. Yet, the mountain peaks were breathtaking.

I caught up to Jack and we scrambled through the boulders to the ruin.

“Elijah’s tomb? Church? Mountain retreat?” I asked. He grinned.

“Something like that. C’mon!” and he took my hand. That warm firm grip could lead me anywhere today. As we climbed inside the small wall of the enclosure, raindrops began to sputter from the darker clouds. Jack tugged at the angled door tucked into the tiny shrine and we tumbled inside just as the skies opened. Sudden thunder made us jump and we chuckled as we knocked heads on low beams.

Jack fished out his cell phone and activated the flashlight so we could get a better glimpse of our mountain shelter. A small wrought iron kneeler held a rack of blown out candles before a tiny altar and some framed Greek Orthodox icons. A collection box watched us hopefully from the corner, a handful of fresh candles and matches tucked in a niche.

“Huh,” said Jack. “I was hoping for something more impressive than this.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “More goatherd than patron saint isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “Well, at least it’s keeping the rain off.”

“What now?” I turned to him. “Do we pray to Elijah and these saints for deliverance?” I smiled and stuffed my hands in my pockets looking for a stray coin and finding the little green pebble. It slipped easily into my fingers, a natural worry stone. I held it to the light. “I don’t think this will do. Got a coin?”

“Really?” muttered Jack.

“Hey, I need all the help I can get.” I shrugged. My lapsed Catholic upbringing gave me a soft spot for lighting candles. I figured it didn’t hurt and a few bucks along the way was worth the potential blessings, karma, or whatever.

Jack dug through his pockets. “Here you go.”

I dropped the coin in the box and placed a fresh candle in one of the empty holders. Once lit, a rather romantic light filled the tiny space. I placed my little green stone in front of the candle and knelt. I don’t pray, really, but I threw some wishes at the universe, just in case. As I got to my feet, the stone looked a little lonely. It seemed a shame to leave it there all by itself. I palmed it again and turned to Jack.

“Any prayers for you?” I smiled.

Jack grinned. “I don’t know about Elijah, but I could use a muse or two.” He was a journalist and at loose ends.

“We could certainly offer something to the Muses, I suppose.” I tucked my chin at the icons. “Think they’d mind?”

“I’m pretty sure this place pre-dates Christianity” observed Jack.

I stroked my thumb across the warm smooth stone. One step and I was in his arms. “Then maybe we should give the Muses an ancient style offering,” I murmured reaching up to cradle the nape of his neck.

The storm passed quickly and the brilliant Aegean sun sparked off the wet rock when we emerged. I tossed a mental salute to our little shelter and hoped the Muses were pleased. I was definitely keeping that little green stone.

***

Rainy grey September light seeped across my kitchen floor as I nursed a mug of coffee and pondered my now-dead houseplants on the windowsill. A draft raised goosebumps on my arms and I wished for a blast of Greek sun and salt. And maybe one more afternoon with Jack. I’d been back in my apartment less than a week and the cool Northwest fall seemed like a dunk in cold water. I carried the mug with me to my single bedroom. It was past time to unpack and trundle the laundry down to the communal washers. It was time to put away all those shorts and t-shirts for next year.  

I dumped my backpack and old leather suitcase on the bed. I shook out shirts and went through pockets as I tossed clothes into the laundry basket. Something bounced down and rattled under the bed. After a bit of tussling with some dust bunnies, I found a familiar round shape. The green pebble’s mica flakes winked at me and I smiled with happy memories. I polished it on my jeans and set it carefully on my dresser.

*** 

I was drifting, headed towards sleep when a slither of fabric brushed its way into my fading consciousness. Eyes closed but now wide awake, I held my breath. The windows were closed so no one but me should be rustling around my bedroom. There it was again, a quiet whisper of cloth. My heart pounding in my ears, I tried to remember if I had anything I could use as a weapon besides the cheap novel I was reading before sleep tried to claim me.

I cracked open an eye to take a quick peak, saw something white, and made a mad grab for the paperback, launching it as I tried to spring out of the covers. Two pained yelps sang out as I walloped the intruder and I bounced off the nightstand earning some epic bruises. I flipped on the light and we both froze. Facing me, startled and scared, was a dark-haired woman draped in white with a wreath of leaves on her head.

“Who are you?” I cried, scrambling for my phone, hands shaking. 

“Πού είμαι.?” she cried in a language I didn’t know. Or…wait. That sounded familiar. I peered at her, assessing her dress, her hair. She looked lost and scared, not threatening.

“What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“Τι είναι αυτό το παράξενο μέρος;?” she replied. And then she shook her head and squinted at me. She motioned with her hands to keep talking.

“OK, lady, who are you and why are you in my bedroom?” I repeated. She brightened.

“Ah!” She tried to smile. “I’m sorry! It takes a few sentences before the translation begins.” She looked me up and down. “I have come to answer your plea!”

My head was spinning, and I sank down on the edge of the bed. “My what?”

“Your plea! Your offering! Maybe a prayer?” she asked.

“I have no…how about we start with who you are?” My thumb was ready on my phone.

“Oh, la! Of course, you must think this a big joke. I am Thalia, Muse of Comedy, here to inspire you!”

I think my jaw hit the floor. Seriously? A Muse. “Um…I don’t…” I remembered the little green stone and blushed. “Let’s go out to the kitchen and make some, er, tea, and sort this out.” She grinned and paraded out the door. I tossed on my ancient flannel robe and dropped my phone in its pocket.

“I will explain,” she began, cradling a steaming cup of peppermint tea. “You made a very generous offering, my sweet, and, while it took us a little while to notice, we Muses appreciate any veneration. You touched the stone and thought of us. It was enough to direct me to you at last. We have been looking for you.”

I breathed in peppermint steam, bewildered. This woman was wearing actual flowing robes. At my kitchen table. “So what happens now?”

“Well, usually a Muse is here to inspire. I am Thalia, the muse of comedy and idyllic poetry.” Thalia smiled. She seemed to have a rather happy air about her. “Need a poem?”

“Not at the moment, thanks,” I replied. What I needed was a new job, a new car, a new life. Summer in Greece had been a whirlwind escape after getting laid off. Again. Thalia eyed me from across the dinette table.

“So. No poem. How can we help? You earned a great deal of our favor on the Muses Plateau.”

“Oh,” I sighed. Why not? Let’s see what happens. It’s not every day you have a minor Greek goddess at your disposal.

Over the next few minutes I laid out my sorry state of affairs as Thalia drank mug after mug of tea. She listened closely and studied me. After an hour or so, she sat back, thoughtful.

“You have had an eventful life, little one,” she sighed. “Let me talk to the ladies, but I have many thoughts.” She patted my hand. “We haven’t had a project in ages and this will be fun!”

***

You can get used to a lot of things once you suspend belief. In the next few weeks, I had to adjust to ladies in diaphanous robes drifting about the place. I kept having to sweep up laurel leaves and joke books popped up on the coffee table. I gradually met eight of the nine Muses. Clio cleaned up my driving history so I could lease a decent car. Euterpe tried to teach me how to sing while Terpsichore attempted dance lessons. I got better, I guess. The dance tips came in handy when I took Erato clubbing. We did have a lot of fun with those guys. Polyhymnia started a garden on my balcony and I finally cracked open a cookbook. The ladies loved my bolognese. Urania found me a job at a travel magazine and Calliope helped me with my resume. I start next week globetrotting the world, hunting down stories. Thalia took quite a shine to me, and it was she who drifted in most often.

October had arrived in a whirlwind of muse attention, new job nerves, and the possibility of an interesting man. Thalia hung out on the couch in a peasant blouse and maxi skirt, thumbing through the fashion magazines that fascinated the ladies. She looked up when I arrived home, dropping my keys in the dish by the door.

“Ah, there you are.” She slid her bare feet to the floor.

I smiled and set down my bag. With a graceful wave, Polyhymnia finished watering the basil and misted away in the low evening light.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“We have enjoyed our time, dear one, but our favor is nearing its natural end. Urania has kept a balance sheet. Yet, there is one of the nine which you have yet to encounter.”

My stomach fell. I didn’t really want to meet Melpomene, the muse of tragedy. I’d had enough of that in my life.

“Take my hand, little one,” instructed Thalia as she crossed the room. “It is time to receive the gifts of Melpomene.”

I didn’t have a choice and grasped her warm, dry fingers. Instantly, the room fogged over and a wind pushed through my hair. In the space of a few breaths, the fog cleared and we stood at the gates of a cemetery outside the city. A tall slender muse with grapevines in her hair stood waiting by the opening. We walked together, a muse on either side of me, down the gravel road and through the twisted paths until we stood under a pair of old cedar trees releasing their fragrance to the evening.

Melpomene touched my shoulder. “Here, little one, is what you have been seeking.”

The muses stepped back, giving me space to read the headstones at my feet. My throat closed on my tears and I fell to my knees in the wet leaves, brushing them away from the two small stones. There were my grandparents’ names, the couple that had given me seven stable years of childhood. They had died in a car crash and I had been swept into the foster system, never knowing where they laid. Tears flowed down my cheeks as memories crowded in. At last I dug into my pocket and found the green stone. It seemed like a good place for it to rest and watch over them. I tucked it between the headstones and stood, brushing futilely at my muddied jeans.

I walked to Thalia and Melpomene. “Thank you,” I murmured, my heart still full. They each took my hands and in a blink I was back in my apartment, their warm touch fading from my shoulders. I looked up, hoping for a last glimpse. Thalia smiled her wicked smile.

“Now, my dear, you are no longer amousos, without muses, without knowledge. We will always watch over you. Be well,” she fondly commanded.

It’s been a year filled with change, but I have love, and work, and I’m still watering the basil because I promised a Muse.