The Fall of Phaeton

Pete never knew his dad lived in a palace. Like, a real palace, a magnificent shining palace of opalescent stone within sight of Mount Olympus, a palace with a grand hall that he would have to walk across one day.

Luckily he was wearing his Dodgers’ cap and the long bill protected his eyes from the worst of the glare as he made his way inside.

A palace attendant came running forward, saying, “Tut-tut, no hats in the presence of His Royal Highness King Helios.”

Pete shrugged the attendant away and said, “I’m his long-lost son—Dad won’t mind.” And anyway, he suspected the old man was a Dodgers’ fan. But then another, bigger attendant literally grabbed the cap from his head. So Pete used his hand to shade his eyes as he moved toward the red carpet. The sergeant-at-arms announced in the grand hall, “Phaeton begs leave to approach His Royal Highness!”

King Helios lifted his finger and the salpinx sounded. Toot-ta-toooot!

And there was Dad, surrounded by his entourage. Pete knew their names from the ballads Mom sang late at night, after she was done her shift at the taverna and was tidying up their little cottage.

The attendant behind him, whispered, “Bow! Bow to His Majesty!” so Pete humored him, did a little bend of the knees.

“Phaeton, dear son, at last you come to pay me a visit,” Helios said in his velvet baritone. A hushed gasp went around the room—so the visitor did have royal blood.

“Just passin’ through, thought I’d say hi,” Pete said, playing it cool.

“How is your mother, the beauteous nymph Clymene?”

“Fine,” Pete said, wondering if his dad genuinely cared. Helios hadn’t contacted Mom in two decades. So Pete had his doubts. But never mind. He took a deep breath and declared, “I came to ask you to publicly acknowledge I’m your son.”

King Helios chuckled and said to his entourage, “Do you see how the boy resembles me? Gets to the point right away.” A polite tittering arose from the assembly.

Pete squinted, wishing he could get a better look at his father. He recalled his last birthday, how Mom had dragged him out to the dirt yard at high noon and pointed up at the sky. “Phaeton,” she’d said, “that guy up there who’s dragging the sun across the sky every day is your father.” She’d used his formal name, the one he usually got teased about, and that’s how Pete knew she wasn’t messing around. “Don’t look too hard; you can see him better during the next eclipse,” she’d said. “I’m telling you, now that you’ve reached the age of majority.” Mom never lied to Pete, not even about Santa Claus or the vibrator in her night-table, so why should he doubt her now.

“Ah yes,” King Helios said, “I sampled the luscious ripe fruit that Clymene had on offer,” he said, a leer in his voice. “And look, you are golden-haired, with a glow to your skin… my son.”

“And the same dimples,” a courtier murmured.

“Yeah, but the guys in the ‘hood don’t believe I’m your kid,” Pete said to his dad. “That’s why I’d like proof of my royal parentage. Like, some announcement.”

The king smiled. “I’ll do better than that,” he said, his chest swelling and the luminous flux increasing. “To prove I am your father, I’ll grant you any wish. I swear to it by Styx, the river of oaths.”

“Any wish?” Pete said. Wow, this was going better than he’d hoped. He tried to scrutinize his dad’s face to see if the offer was for real, but he could barely glimpse the king’s cheekbone. “I wanna be just like you, Dad.”

“Oh?” The smiling king cocked his head.

“I want to start the day how you do… I want to work how you do. I’d like to drive your rig alone across the sky and turn night into day!”

The brightness dimmed for a moment. “’Tis not a ‘rig,’ son, ‘tis a ‘fiery chariot,’” the king said.

“Whatever. It’s a cool set of wheels and I wanna drive it across the sky! That is my wish!”

“I spoke too rashly,” the king said. “Please the gods,” he said, glancing toward Mount Olympus, “may they allow me to take back the promise!”

“Too late now,” Pete said, crossing his arms and stamping his foot. Mom had drilled it into him from a young age: the gods were very strict about oaths.

“Have you even driven a chariot before?”

“Uh, yeah.” As a kid, Pete had bugged Mom to shell out for pony rides at Hopalong Stables and once, the nice man had let him take the reins. “It was easy as pie.”

“Oh, oh… this is the one wish I cannot grant, dear son!” the king fretted, tugging at his golden beard. “It’s far too dangerous! Even Jupiter—the greatest of all gods—cannot drive my winged steeds.” He glanced again at Mount Olympus. “Their great wings move the air so powerfully! And the heat from the giant ball is greater than a thousand blacksmiths’ fires.”

“I can drive those horses, Dad. I can guide the cart—I’ll show you I’m truly your son.” Pete tried the charm offensive, putting on his best smile, his posture combining hero worship and certitude in his birthright.

From a distance the goddess Dawn was approaching the palace, swinging her arms, rinsing her teeth, preparing to throw open her crimson doors and shine forth.

Pete stepped outside in the ruddy light to get a look at the chariot. The breeze cooled him. What a set of wheels! Four horsepower—but what horses! What power! Every surface of the chariot sparkled. The spokes of the wheels were of polished gold. The sideboards and carriage were inlaid with glittering gems and crystals. The horses kept flapping their wings and stomping their polished hooves, neighing softly. Just like the Hopalong ponies. Two goddesses, the Horai, fastened the harnesses to the yoke and drawbar of the chariot.

Pete picked up the whip and gave it a shake. Cool. After Mom had revealed to him that his father was not one of the village layabouts, but instead the most powerful being on Earth—for what is Earth without Helios, the bringer of warmth and growth and joy?—Pete had dreamed of the big drag race across the sky. Okay, maybe not a race, but a daylong trip across the whole world, a global parade of him: Dad’s forgotten kid.

The birds began twittering. The moon slid from sight.

“Gotta go, Dad,” Pete said. He knew there was a strict schedule to his father’s day, a schedule full of international travel and social commitments so numerous he hadn’t had time to spend with Mom and his little boy for twenty years. But now, here Pete was, ready to shoulder the duty. He’d help Dad today… and who knew? Maybe he’d be invited to stay and join the family firm.

The king was growing ever more frantic. “But how can you fight the spin of the world and the terrible monsters lurking in the darkness?”

“Don’t be such a worrywart. Everything’s chill.” Pete climbed into the chariot.

“Since you insist… here, you’ll need this.” Helios rubbed a magic salve on his son’s face to protect it from the heat. Then he set his crown of scintillating sunbeams on his son’s head. “Please, listen closely: Keep to the middle path because the sky and earth need equal heat. Follow the wheel tracks already there. Hold tight to the reins because these are spirited steeds—”

“Yeah, got it,” Pete said, slapping the reins lightly.

“And beware the northern bear—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And the twisting snake—”

“Whatever! Gotta go!” Suddenly the four horses leapt forward into the boundless sky.

Seeing his boy jerk forward, Helios’ heart filled with regret, and he began to run alongside the chariot, shouting, “Don’t go! Let me jump on—it’s too soon for a solo ride—” but the youth rocketed ahead, leaving King Helios behind, panting and filled with dread.

*       *       *

“What on Earth is that smell?” Scowling, Jupiter looked out his window. Why had the sun not set? Why was the giant ball of fire still blazing away at this ungodly hour?

He looked downward. The fields were scorched; Mother Earth was burning up! How could that be? The meadows had been moist and verdant green the day before. He stared into the blue dome of the sky. He saw the runaway chariot with its solar payload veering crazily hither and yon through the atmosphere. What madman was careening about, wreaking devastation?

Jupiter rolled his thunder. With his massive arm, he flung a lighting bolt through the sky. It caught in a wheel of the sun-chariot, breaking the spokes like exploding gold spangles. The terrified horses broke free of the harness and Pete / Phaeton, now engulfed in flames, fell from the sky, leaving a trail of sparks, just like a shooting star.

His body fell into the river Eridanos with a giant long hissssssssss. The river god bathed his burning face and the water nymphs bore the smouldering body away. On his stone they carved the words:

“Here Phaeton lies, his father's charioteer; great was his fall, yet did he greatly dare.”

For an entire day the Earth throbbed in darkness while King Helios mourned his son. How he moaned, how he groaned. Kids, they think they know it all! Running before they can walk! Clymene will never forgive me.

A tear slid down Helios’s glowing face.

Maybe he was to blame. Maybe he had spoiled that kid, stupidly trying to make up for lost time with absurd extravagance before the boy’s arm was strong enough and his self-knowledge deep enough.

Slowly, sadly, the king shook his head and swayed in the ancient rhythm of grief. He cradled the Dodgers’ cap in his hands, the sole remnant of his headstrong golden boy.

THE END