I Take My Throne
Servant girls bathe me in the red marble bathtub. They anoint my skin with rose-scented oil until I glisten. They drape me in a purple chiton with golden, three-headed dogs guarding the hem. Gingerly, they fix in glittering brooches and place a broad girdle around my waist. They bend obsequiously, strapping my feet in ruby-studded sandals. Without a word, they hold out earrings for my approval: intricate golden boats, a small oarsman in the center of each, and delicate diamond stars dangling from bow and stern. When I nod, the servants slip them in my ears and the stars tickle my shoulders. They load heavy bracelets on my wrists and drape yokes of jewels around my neck. After spending ages on my tangled locks, they hold up a mirror to show me rubies glittering like fire in the dark night of my elegant hair. Then comes my crown: a blazing circlet of golden leaves. Finally, kneeling before me, they bow their obeisance, signaling that they're done.
At the door, another servant meekly bobs her
head then turns to show me the way. I guess we're not taking any
chances I'll get lost. It's time for my grand entrance. I'm about
to take my throne.
My stomach rises in my throat.
I thought about the ceremony the whole time
they were dressing me, and I've decided how to get through it. I'll
enter quietly and make my way discreetly to the dais. Then I'll put
my feet on the little footstool like I've seen in pictures, and
I'll sit tall and keep my mouth shut. I won't do or say a thing.
I'll just watch and listen. That way, nothing can go wrong. I'll be
like a silent sponge on the ocean floor, letting the water waft
information through my open pores.
My golden sandals clatter down the corridor,
echoing into rooms as we pass. It's not like the early morning when
the halls were deserted; servants are everywhere, and they're all
kneeling on the floor with lowered heads. I want to grab their
hands and pull them up, but I don't.
We come to the stairway where the statue of
Hades and the three-headed dog stand guard. But once we go down the
stairs we turn right, down a new hall. I peer in at the doors to
either side as we pass. Another room full of vases. Another lined
with wooden boxes. Another—and then I stop.
In a light, spacious room looking out on a
courtyard, a loom stands fully threaded. Silver weights pull the
warp threads straight and true, just begging for the shuttle. A
silver basket bubbles with balls of yarn. I step closer. There,
carved at the top of the loom, is my name:
Persephone.
"My lady!" says the servant girl in a tiny,
frightened voice. "My lady, forgive me, but we'll be
late!"
I pull myself away from the loom and follow
her into the grandest hallway yet. A double row of broad red
pillars leads to a wall with stone blocks the size of sheep, and
gigantic double doors. We pause in front of the thick wooden
panels, and I can hear rustling and the muted hum of
voices.
I'm breathing so hard the girdle feels tight
around my waist, and the heavy necklaces rise and fall on my chest
like boats riding the waves.
I can do this. I throw back my shoulders and
try to stand tall like a tree stretching toward the sun. Taking a
deep breath, I nod. The servant girl throws open the doors and
stands back for me to pass.
A hush falls over the cavernous room.
Somewhere up in the ether, a roof disappears above red columns.
Waves of cloaks and chitons rustle as a sea of faces turns my way.
At the far end of all those bodies, Hades rises from a benchlike
throne big enough for two. Now he stands, waiting for me.
Even from this distance, his hair is
burnished blacker against golden robes. Where is the man I fell in
love with, the one with an easy smile, the one lounging next to me
on the grass? The man in front of me now is pure power, a
god-king.
And me?
I realize everyone is staring at me: my
dress, my jewels, my hands, my hair, my face. I take a step and
people move back, creating a path.
Only the click, click of my sandals
breaks the terrible silence. Left foot, right foot, head high, left
foot, shoulders back, right foot—right foot! My sandal lands on a
long cloak. Its owner, gasping in apology, jerks it away—and my
right foot with it. The slippery gold sole flies out behind me as
my arms grab at the air. I'm suspended. Time stops. Just me in
midair screeching and every single eye glued to me as I crash to
the floor, my bracelets clattering like a handful of coins flung on
a table.
A winged man picks up my crown, then holds
out his other hand to help me up. I take it and come to my feet. My
face feels so hot, I must be blushing as red as the rubies in my
hair.
Don't even ask me about the rest of it. The
man hands me my crown. He's smiling. Everyone in the whole damn
room is probably smiling, trying to swallow their
snickers.
Somehow I make my way up to the throne.
Hades takes my hand and squeezes it as we face the sea of faces
together. He doesn't let go. He probably thinks he has to hold me
up so I won't fall over again.
I sit and he sits and then an eternity
passes. People approach and lay gifts before us. I clutch the arm
of the throne so tightly, the three-headed dog carved into the gold
bites my hand. People talk and Hades responds, and I don't hear a
single word they're saying. So much for being a sponge.