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Letter from Persephone to Demeter
Hades, first night of the sixth moon after the Summer Sun stands still.
Dear Mother,
Please please don't be cross with me. It's really not my fault. I meant to come home when I said, I really meant to. It was such a beautiful day, with the sun shining, and the meadow sprinkled with flowers, and the sound of the river in the distance crashing into the chasm. My girl friends made me forget. Well, I know I shouldn't blame it on others. But if you'd been there, you'd understand. You were a girl once?
It's dark here and it smells of mouldy bread, and other things I'd rather not name.
Herkunia made me a chain of day's-eyes, then the others found myrtle and they made my long loose hair into plaits, weaving in the blooms. Then they tied the plaits together at the back of my head, making me a princess with a floral crown. They danced around me. In honour of you. It was sweet of them: they are never jealous. They love me because I am your daughter. There is nothing mean in my girl friends, and they love me because of you. You won't be cross with them, will you?
There are invisible servants here, or at least, things I can hardly see. But they obey me.
I didn't realise at first that I could write to you. I forgot about writing. These angly marks our Greeks got from the Phoenicians. Well, I am the daughter of a goddess: I ask for anything I want, a goose quill, oak gall ink, the tanned skin of an animal, and I get it. But we managed without writing for so long, before the Greeks came, and even after. I suppose since this place is hidden from the Sun and has always been here, I may have been here before. Time doesn't work properly. If I was here when there was no writing, I couldn't have written to you. If I couldn't write to you I couldn't stand it. Please write back. Please tell Herkunia and everyone I'm alive. And tell me you still love me.
I am a Queen now. Not just any queen, but the bride of a god! I'm not a girl any more. I know it's not the way you'd have wanted it to be, but now I am a goddess in my own right. Everyone down here does what I tell them. You would be proud of me!
I should explain. We were in the field, picking flowers, when a shadow passed over. I didn't think anything of it: perhaps it was a cloud. Then suddenly there was a man. A tall man, beautiful. He had tied his horses, black horses, to a tree over at the edge of the wood, and there was a flash of gold in the darkness, which turned out to be his chariot.
The girls were afraid, but I wasn't afraid at all. He had such a wonderful figure, a broad chest, muscly arms. I have never looked at such a man before. I couldn't see his face properly, because he had a helmet on, so his eyes were dark. His helmet was wonderfully made, with reliefs of warriors fallen in battle, and other scenes of the slain. His cloak was red and gold, sunset colours.
He looked at me and I couldn't see his expression exactly, but his eyes burned. I knew he wanted me. He didn't look at the others at all.
Mother, I've never been wanted in that way before. Do you understand? Maybe you were a girl once? Please, forgive me, I never thought about it before. You've always been my mother, I never imagined you as once having been a girl. But you were once?
I wanted to be wanted.
I know you wanted me mother, but it's not the same. I don't know why. I can't explain it.
But it's not my fault anyway. I didn't ask him to come there, did I? I was going to come home in a moment, as soon as we'd danced one more time. We couldn't waste the sunshine and the warm breeze. I didn't plan it this way.
It's cold here. And there's no-one to talk to, just ghosts. 'Twittering shades' is what the poets call them. They twittered when they were alive and they still twitter down here. Some of them twitter in a quite educated way, actually. They even formed a school and taught philosophy when they were men, and here they are still arguing about the nature of the world. I can't understand a word they say, and when I try to talk with them they blow away. At least the servants answer when I speak! The philosophers believe that I, their queen, am not here at all. They say I am a puff of wind or some other natural thing, and that there are no gods. Mother, it's absurd! How could a puff of wind speak in the roots of trees? And they say even more nonsensical things that I really can't be bothered to understand, even though I've got time on my hands.
I heard that there's someone down here called Tiresias who retains some sense, although in that case I can't see why he's still here. I'd like to talk to him if I can find out where he is.
Anyway, Hades took me away. He was lifting me up under his arm as though I were a cloth doll, squeezing the breath out of me, jumping onto his chariot, and then we were plunging, I can't describe it, flying, but downwards into the earth, soft and warm and yielding. It was. I was. I felt sick but he was gentle. His body was firm. I fainted.
He is my king.
He doesn't talk much. Tell Herkunia I miss her.
When I woke up I was alone. I was hungry. I was supposed to come home and have supper. Nobody told me anything, how was I to know?
Mother I miss you. I didn't mean any of this to happen. Please don't be angry with me. I mean it is my fault, but nobody told me anything, I didn't know how it was going to turn out. Nothing is the way it was. I don't want to be here. I'm really sorry, please forgive me. Mummy. I want to come home.
Please write.
Your ever loving
Persephone