And now I need to find Philomena.

   My mother and I walk side by side out the doors and into the shadowy anteroom. Beyond the pillars, a huge crowd stands in the blazing sun, staring up at a tiny dot disappearing into the sky.

   I start to walk forward, but my mother puts her hand on my arm. "Give them just a moment," she whispers. "They'll move on."

   The blind bard plucks out a few bold notes on his lyre, and everyone gathers around him expectantly. Has he already immortalized today's events in a song? Now the crowd stills, and the white-bearded bard begins to sing, his voice deep and confident.

"Hideous Hades ripped her away

From her mother's arms that fateful day, When all she wanted to do was stay

Safe in her mother's arms, oh!"

   He nods at the crowd expectantly and they echo the last line back: "Safe in her mother's arms, oh!"

   Wait! That's all wrong! My mother's hand tenses, and she glances at me.

"Down to the sulfurous lands below

He forced the cowering maid to go,

Not heeding her tears, their endless flow—

He only saw her charms, oh!"

   "He only saw her charms, oh!" roars the crowd in unison.

"Demeter, the goddess of grain and good

Reacted as any mother would:

Denied her daughter, she sent a flood

Over the valleys and farms, oh!"

"Till Zeus, he heard the clamorous cry And said, 'Then bring Persephone nigh!' And back with the maiden did Hermes fly,

Answering all the alarms, oh!"

"Answering all the alarms, oh!"

"Sweet girl-child, no longer chafe,

In Hades' arms, his captive waif.

Demeter's strength will keep you safe, Safe in your mother's arms, oh!"

   "Safe in your mother's arms, oh!" the crowd sings one last time, before bursting out in a thunderous round of applause.

My mother's eyes narrow. "The mortals are mistaken," she says. "I'll tell them the truth."

   This time I'm the one pulling her back into the anteroom. "Wait."

   She stops. There's a long pause while I gather my words.

   "These people have been through drought and famine and flood," I finally say. "They've lost crops and homes, buried those they love. With this song, people are saying they suffered for a reason: so you could save me. But if they're told it was for nothing, because I couldn't speak my mind . . ."

   I hear her breath.

   "Mortals need something to believe in so they can get back behind their plows," I say. "If this is the story they need, shouldn't we let them have it?"

   The darkness in here makes her eyes look like bottomless pools.

   After the bard has been raised onto men's shoulders, after he's strummed and sung the crowd downhill, my mother turns to me. She takes a step, I take a step, and then our arms are wrapped so tightly around each other, there's no space between us.