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An Affair With Apollo
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An Affair With Apollo |
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alatarwen New Member
since 2003-07-12
Posts 2Canada |
This is the first completely original short story i've written and I may start a series of stories about God's and Goddesses. This is the first: An Affair With Apollo I saw him, not for the first time, on a green field where he was herding sheep. I found out later they were not his sheep, but that doesn't matter. I sat on a fence and watched him lead the sheep into their pen. He noticed me then, watching him from so far away. He raised a hand, I raised mine in return. He smiled, I think, then went inside the small cottage and I began walking down the path back towards the city. Somewhere along, the path I was walking converged with another and who did I see but the shepard boy who had been out in the field. He was not a boy, though I never knew his age. His messy blonde hair and smooth skin told of a young man, not yet lived a quarter of a century. But his eyes betrayed wisdom far beyond my twentyone years. He had with him a guitar, beautifully crafted, glinting in the sun. It looked as if it was made of gold. "Do you like music?" he asked. I must have been staring at the guitar. I turned my eyes to his face and found the sweetest, most cluelessly seductive smile ever to cross a man's lips. I nodded and looked down at my feet, hoping my hair hid my burning cheeks. "Would you care to sit with me a while and listen? I'm staying just down the way from here in a cottage near the field." I looked up at him curiously, wondering if I should trust this handsome stranger. I must have seemed more suspicious than I intended for he showed me the palms of his hands, took a step backwards and said, "Unless you are in a hurry, of course. It was merely a friendly gesture to the lovely Aphrodite." This unexpected compliment made me blush. I smiled at him and, finding my courage, answered, "Then I cannot accept your offer as I had planned, for I am not the Greek Goddess of love, Aphrodite, as you have called me." "Than an elf, perhaps?" he replied. "I have read Tolkien and he has said they are lovely creatures of nature. Are you hiding pointed ears under your hair with your eyes?" "No," I answered with a childish giggle. His smile widened into a pleased grin. I lifted up my head and brushed my hair behind my ears, revealing to him their curved tops. "I've got it then!" he exclaimed. "You are an angel, descended from the heavens to explore these curious lands." "I'm a afraid you are wrong again," I said. I shrugged and turned away from him. "I am but a lonely girl from the city who is visiting the beauty of nature, which she loves very much." A hand gently touched my shoulder and a quiet voice asked, "Is she also looking for a companion to cure her loneliness?" I turned around and looked into his deep, dark eyes. With a guilty smile I nodded my head and answered, "If only for a little while." "I can offer you that atleast," he said. "I would much prefer your company than that of a deity or immortal or any other heavenly being, for you are more real and more beautiful than any I have ever met." "You have had dealings with the Gods?" I asked doubtfully. I thought I saw his eyes flicker and his smile faulter, but the moment passed so quickly, had I blinked I would have missed it. I dismissed the thought. "Or is this your clever way of using flattering words to lure in a young, defenceless woman. For I warn you, I am not defenceless." I was afraid for a moment that I had offended him, and was about to tell him that had not been my intention, when he took my hand and kissed it. I stood in shocked silence. I had not expected that. "I'm sorry if I've offended you. I did not mean any disrespect." He was still smiling when he spoke, he knew what I was thinking, I suppose. I realized something then. "Why have you come down this road only to turn around and follow it back?" I was surprised and pleased to see him blush slightly. He lowered his head and chuckled. "I believe you have figured me out," he said. "I saw you watching the sheep weeks ago and everyday since. I've hoped everyday that I could speak with you, but always when I'd finish and come back to meet you, there was no one there to meet. I even wondered, once, if you were a ghost for you seemed to have vanished into thin air. Finally today I thought maybe if I wandered up the road I would come acress you as I have." "Your flattery is appriciated, but unneeded," I said with a smile. "I had made up my mind before we met to go with you, if you asked." "I do not flatter," he answered. At this I frowned. Why would he say such things if not to flatter? Perhaps to use me, was my thought. He laughed and shook his head. "You missunderstand me. I do not flatter, only speak the truth as I see it. That is my way," I wondered at this, for few people I had ever met were truthful. And none of them were so all the time as this man was claiming. Suddenly hunger hit me. It was nearly noon and I had not yet eaten. I asked him if he would like to get some lunch, then perhaps play me a tune or two. He accepted, which should not have been a surprise since he was the one who offered in the first place. I took his arm and we walked under the shady trees to the little cottage. I left my suspicions behind. He laid a blanket from the porch on the ground under an apple tree. He left me and went into the quaint little home. He appeared with a tray of cheeses, sausages and crackers. He also picked two apples from the tree and handed one to me. "You have brought me to your home and have not yet told me your name," I said. He shrugged, betraying nothing of his thoughts or reasons. "You did not ask," was his reply. "I know some women prefer not to know, that way it adds to the mystery of their fantasy. Is that not why you wander out here so often, in hopes of living a fantasy?" "No," I started to say, but then I realised he would sense my lie. I blushed and looked down at the shining red apple in my hands. "I suppose that was the reason. I'm sorry, does that bother you?" "Not in the least," he said. He raised my so I was looking into his eyes. They were so dark, so ancient. "If all I can have is a fantasy with such a lovely girl, then I will take it. But let us not spoil our time with such thoughts. What will be, will be." We left it at that and enjoyed the afternoon. As we ate he told me about the eldarly couple who owned the cottage and surrounding lands, Manos and Acacia. They let him live there in the spring and summer, herding the sheep and enjoying the sun. They spent their days in the city, coming back late in the evenings. I asked him where he stayed in the winter. He merely said with is sister, Adara, and left it at that. He asked me of my life; family, childhood. I told him what I could, though it was not an interesting life. For I was a struggling writer who's parents had died when I was twelve. The only things I had left from them were my mother's books, my father's guitar and their wedding rings. I left some things out in hopes I would beable to talk to this mysterious man again, though I suspected his avoidence of his past and family was a sure sign he had a wife somewhere. With evening approaching and silence fallen between us I finally asked him if he could play me a song. Without a word he picked up his guitar and played a tune that seemed to have drifted throught the ages from ancient Greece, with which I had always been facinated. I watched him play and wished I could stay there forever. His song was enchanting and as he sat there, leaning against the apple tree, his closed eyes partially covered by blonde har, he seemed to glow. I figured this to be a trick of the soon to be setting sun. "You are a wonderful guitarist!" I said when he was finished. He looked down at the guitar curiously. I watched him run his fingersover its golden surface. "I much prefer the lyre," he answered. "But this seems to be the popular instrument in this age." I thought, once again, that he looked as if he had lived much longer than his appearance suggested. I also noticed he was watching the sun with the adoration a child has for its parents. There was so much I did not know about this mysterious man. "I know it is early yet," he said apologetically, "but I have much left to do before Acacia and Manos return." We stood up and headed back towards where we'd met only a few hours ago. He held my hand as we walked in silence. I realised when we reached the crossroads that I was reluctant to let go. "You have avoided revealing your name," I said. My eyes were tracing the edge of the path. "You it be too much to ask, once again, the name of my mysterious companion?" "Of course not." He reased my head and smiled. "I have had manynames. Here my name is Philip-Adonis, though most just call me Adonis." "Philip-Adonis," I echoed. I was curious about his many names and I guess it showed in my face. When he spoke next it was in a sweet, pleading voice. "I must ask you not to question me about this. I cannot reveal anything to you, not now. Perhaps someday if I see you again." "I hope you will," I said. I surprised myself when I leaned up and kissed his lips softly. To my relief he did not pull away. Afterwards he traced my face with his fingers and kissed my forehead. "One more question before we part," he said. "You know my name but have yet to tell me yours. I think it is only fair that I know what to call you when I see you next." "Calypso," I answered. Again I found myself reluctant to go, but the sky was darkening and I knew it was time. It made it easier that he had said 'when' he saw me again, instead of 'if' as I had expected. "Goodnight," he said and kissed my hand. Then he walked away, back to the cottage. I watched him, hoping he would turn back, knowing somehow that he wouldn't. And that was it. The day was over. But more came. For a month I met him on the path and we'd walk or sit together until evening. There would be a song or two, he even made me read some of my poetry. Then a kiss goodbye. Never more, never less. I also met Manos and Acaci. They grew quite fond of me, as I did of them. Sometimes I would stay for dinner, but only if they were having it early. They were good times. But the very day summer had departed and autumn took its place, I found myself alone at the crossroads, our meeting place. Adonis was not there to meet me, as he always did. I knew then that something had changed with the season. I hoped he was merely waiting at the field, perhaps delayed. These thoughts did not ease my mind and I found myself running towards the cottage. I was confused to find Acacia sitting on the porch knitting when she should have been in town with Manos. She had been waiting for mr. "He's not here," she said, patting the seat next to her. I sat down. "He left last night. He's sorry he did not give you the goodbye you deserve." "I knew," I said quietly. I had tears in my eyes, but they were not of sorrow. I'd always known he would leave. "I suppose I was too caught up in the fantasy. I only wish I knew more about who he is." "You are a lover of myths, are you not?" I nodded. My mother's books had been the cause. "Well when you get home, open up one of your books and read some of the ancient tales. It may not explain much, but it may give some understanding." I was confused. What could a book of myths tell me aobut the man I believed I had fallen in love with? Acacia laughed and took my hand. "If nothing else, child," she said, "it will add to the fantasy." I talked with her a while, resisting the urge to ask her what she was not telling me. I could tell she knew more. I stayed until evening, as I always had with Adonis. Finally I rose and thanked her for letting me sit and talk. "I'm sorry I cannot tell you all Iknow," she said. I suddenly had the feeling she knew what I was going through, as if it had happened to her as well. "I knew you suspected I know more about Philip than I have told you, and you are right. But I cannot betray his confidence. I hope you understand." "I do," I answered with a smile. "But I have a curious mind and it's hard to put it at ease without the information it craves." "I know the feeling, dear," she said with a laugh. "Don't worry yourself about it. He may yet reveal things to you one day. But I caution you, be patient. It may not be for a very long time." "Thankyou," I said, then turned and walked home. I sat in my little apartment wondering if what Acacia told me was true. Perhaps he would return. He had been staying at their place every summer for the last few years. But somehow I didn't think he would be returning next spring. Neither did Acacia. But my heart was hoping. I pulled out a large book of mythical Gods and tales. I flipped aimlessly through the pages, wondering what exactly was suppose to catch my attention. Then something did. A picture of a God. It was a painting of a young looking man. His eyes were dark, his messy hair hung in his eyes. He was dressed as a shepard. In his hand was a golden lyre. And there was a glow about him, a glow like sunlight. I read about this god and found many similarities between him and my companion. My fingers traced the name in large letters at the top of the page. "Apollo," I whispered. Many things went throught my mind then; his ancient eyes, his comment about the lyre, the faultering smile when I mention the gods, the sheep. So many things related to Adonis. Even the names had an uncanny resemblace, for his name was Philip-Adonis and the god's true name was Phoebus-Apollo. Was this some kind of sign or truth? Or was it merely coincidence, an addiction to the fantasy? I still do not yet know. I also picked up my father's guitar that day and began learning how to play it. I took lessons and practiced as much as I could. I became very good and switched from writing poems to songs. I began playing at a little cafe in the city, and still do on occasion. I go out and visit Acacia, even after these many years. Manos has since passed away and I now stay with his widow at their cottage in the spring and summer, and she with me in the city for autumn and winter. I play her music on my guitar as she knits on the front porch. We exchange tales of our dreams and imaginations. Sometimes she does not remember me. Those times are hard and have become more frequent in the last year. But she always remembers her favorite story, I believe because she lived it too, many years before I did. And so I sit with her at her little cottage in the evenings and tell her of a young woman's affair with the Greek god Apollo. I have had relationships since then. None have lasted. I wonder sometimes if it is because of the memory of Philip-Adonis that I carry with me always, but I do not think so. I was almost married once, but my fiancee decided he was not ready to settle down. I realised I was not either. Though I know I can never have him with me, I still hope Adonis will return, if only for a little while. And every year on the first day of spring, I walk the path to the field and hope that when I return he will be standing at the crossroads, waiting for me. ****** Alatarwen |
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