Six Seeds

Persephone was starving, and she had not known she could. For days, she had wandered the underworld, edge to edge. Nothing. No way out. She knew there was an entrance, she had passed it, following her new husband down. She remembered the smell of damp earth, of dog’s fur. A growl when Cerberos saw her, then silence when Hades raised a hand. 

She had come with him willingly, so long ago. He offered a way out, a reprieve from courting and proposals. No one knew he had taken her, he assured her. If they knew, they would consider her his wife. Her heart ached for her mother, but it could not be helped. She had grown up on Olympos, she knew her suitors. They were not for her.

Persephone had walked for hours, days, maybe even years. From the end of the world to the beginning. And first now had she wandered into the remains of an orchard. The trees were rotted, branches twining like skinny limbs. The ghost of vegetation. The fruits still hung heavy, like they had rotted all at once, without falling. Persephone was ravenous, and even considered plucking a fruit, but the sweet stench dissuaded her. She never knew how much she’d miss greenery. Would anything ripen now, that she was gone? 

A sheen caught her eye, amidst the gloom. She followed it. And there, before her, a perfect pomegranate. Deep red and juicy, it hung ripe from a dead twig. She reached out to pluck it, but hesitated. It felt like sacrilege, finding life in the grave just to end it. But there was no ambrosia here. What sustained Hades, or any of the minor deities dwelling here, she did not know. And she did not wish to find out if a god could die from hunger. She plucked it, and it shone even brighter in her hand. She made a resolution: I will eat six seeds, she told herself. Six, and no more. The rest I shall plant here, and pray a new orchard will grow. Perhaps her powers of the harvest were enough to make them live, even here.

Persephone ate her six seeds, broke their skin with her teeth and felt their bitter juice run down her throat. It was better than any nectar, any ambrosia, any human concoction. She wept then, with relief, for her powers were returning. They filled her veins, like liquid gold. Her hair grew glossy, her cheeks grew rosy. Exactly how close she had been to death, she did not care to know. She kissed each seed, infusing it with her will, and planted them, one by one. And then, she returned to Hades. He did not keep track of her, she was free to roam his domains. But she always returned to the palace.

Persephone did not tell anyone where she had been or what she had found, but everyone knew she was different. This world was her antithesis, it had beaten her down. Now, she held her head high, she seemed to glow. Hades did not mention it, but the gleam in his eye told her he understood. 

Everyone was searching for her, she was told. Demeter scoured the earth, the sky, the seas, but she could not enter Hades’ domains. No one suspected him, anyhow. He had never shown any interest in marriage or brides. Persephone wept for her mother, but marriage scared her more than she wished for Demeter. Silent, she bore the news. Until everything began to die.

It started slow, and Persephone did not know for how long she had been taking refuge here. One soul after another, they trickled in and left coins for Charon. Then more, then more. Fewer and fewer carried coins. They were stuck on the other edge of Styx, crying for respite. Charon pretended not to hear. Persephone asked what was going on, and the answer came: Nothing can grow in your mother’s sorrow. “Then I must return to her”, she said. “Or everything will perish.”

Her brother Hermes had been one of her suitors, one she had wished to escape, but now he was salvation. He came before Hades’ onyx throne and politely asked to take Persephone back with him. “I do not keep her here”, Hades replied. “She is free to go.”

She followed her brother, guided by his winged, golden sandals. Would he be her husband now, she wondered. She did not care for his impish nature, his sneering grins. But she knew, and perhaps had always known, that she could not hide forever. Perhaps her mother knew this, coaxing her out of hiding with threats of a mass execution. Was Demeter so cunning? So ruthless?

“I’m impressed”, her brother said. “You look healthy.”

She barely listened to him, so absorbed in her musings. A cold wind passed through her, maybe a ghost. A wailing sounded in the distance. Drop, drop, drop from a stalactite somewhere far away. Was that sunlight, way ahead? She felt it on her skin already.

“Anyone would have needed to eat by now”, Hermes said, and this caught her attention. The moment of relief flooded her again, the sweetness on her lips, the glow of the fruit. She felt it resting in her palm, firm and beckoning, and she swallowed. 

“Why do you say that, brother?”

“Food of the underworld binds you to the underworld.”

Everyone required sustenance, even gods, even Hades. There had been ambrosia here, just not for her. She remembered the orchard, how a single fruit pulsed with life among the dead. The feel of her ribs, protruding under her skin. The gleam in Hades’ eye, as he saw the change in her. She is free to go. 

She stopped in her tracks, feeling blood pounding in her ears. She dared not breathe, dared not break this moment. Once she did, nothing could be the same. Hermes turned, looked at her with a puzzled frown. Drop, drop, drop.

“But I did,” Persephone said, her voice disconnected and distant, as if she was speaking underwater. “I did eat something.”