The day dawns clear. I get dressed as quickly as I can, grab my gardening gear, and head out toward the oak. As I approach, I see someone kneeling in my garden. She's working the earth around some new plantings, pulling out stray strands of grass and loosening clods with her fingers.

   I clear my throat, and she jerks her head up like a deer hearing a twig crack. She runs her eyes over the spade in my hand and my simple chiton. A smile illuminates her face.

   "Are you the gardener?" she asks. "I was hoping you'd come."

   She scrambles to her feet. Her chiton is coarse linen and very plain in style, as if she never had the time to weave a pattern. She's sturdy looking and brown skinned. Her arms are muscled, and as I come closer, I see her hands are rough. I think she's about my age. A mortal shade, and newly here, I'd guess.

   "Is it all right if I work here?" she asks. "This garden is so pretty. Someone's been doing a beautiful job. I bet it's you. You're the one to ask, aren't you?"

   I'm tongue-tied. What do I say?

   "At home I was always working," she goes on. "I love keeping my hands busy, but here everyone seems to think I should be happy lazing around doing nothing. As if that's fun! I need to work or I'll lose my mind. I bet that's why so many people end up in that river."

   She glances toward the Lethe. "I almost went in by mistake. I didn't know it erased you! I was here for days before there were enough of us for the throne room, where they tell you these things. Was it like that for you?"

   I'm still frozen. Misinterpreting my silence, she sighs. Her shoulders slump. "I understand. If I'm not supposed to be here, I'll go."

   As she starts to walk away, a panicky feeling clutches me: I'm losing her.

   "No, no!" I call out. "Stay! I am the gardener. You're right."

   I don't know which is back in front of me faster, her body or her eager smile.

   "I, um, I don't know many people here," I say, scram bling for words. "I think I'd like working with you. And I can tell you know your way around plants."

   "Really?" She waves a hand toward the palace. "Do I need to clear it with someone official?"

   "No. It'll be fine."

   She grins, looking ready to burst with energy. Then she sits back down and starts pulling weeds again, chattering away. As I kneel to work beside her, I'm surprised by how light I feel.

   She tells me her name is Melita and she comes from a mountain valley by a river. Back there she was married, and her daughter, Philomena, was just starting to toddle. That's why she's glad she didn't go in the Lethe, so she can recognize her family when they come. She asks if there are more tools at the palace and I say I'll check, and then she turns to me and says, "Listen to me, rambling on. What's your name?"

   Without thinking I answer, "Persephone," then catch my breath.

   "Persephone? Just like the queen? That's funny."

   What am I going to say? Do I tell her and have her go all scared and formal on me? I don't think so.

   "Just like the queen."

   "Two Persephones in one place! I guess you call her 'my lady.' And I bet she doesn't even know your name. Still, it's funny, isn't it?"

   "Yes," I say. "It's hilarious."

So now I have a friend. And she's a mortal.

   Is it so wrong, letting Melita think I'm mortal, too? She doesn't know who I am, and I don't want to tell her.

   I came barefoot, holding my sturdy new spade. I saw her glance at my dress, its weave immeasurably finer than hers, and at the engraved brooches on my shoulders. But she thinks it's because I'm a servant in the palace, and I don't want to tell her otherwise.

   She even said she saw the queen once, when she was finally called for greetings, but the throne room was so big and she felt so scared, all she noticed was a crown and a purple chiton.

   Even then, I didn't tell her who I am. Because I've heard all the stories, how mortals act when they meet up with gods. They cower and swoon, or they try to win your favor. The last thing I need is someone fawning all over me like an overeager puppy begging for approval. I need a friend.

   Still, sometimes I think of Zeus disguising himself as a swan, and I start to get a queasy feeling, the one that comes with questions I don't like. If I let Melita think I'm a servant, doesn't that make me one more opportunistic god in disguise?

   And I always answer myself the same way. What I'm doing is completely different. I would never try to manipulate Melita. I just want someone to laugh with and work next to in the garden. Zeus left Leda laying an egg, but nothing I do could change Melita's fate: she's already dead.

   No, everything will be fine. I can keep my immortality to myself. I'm not exactly brimming over with special powers, anyway.