Invitation

I couldn’t resist. You know what I’m like.

Because I know how confused mortals can get, I was careful, though.

The muses would have laughed. I wore black and shrunk myself down into the form of an elderly widow. Uncomfortable, but I could bear it for the hour or so that this would take.

I must say the tiny velvet hat adorned with a black-petalled rose was the exquisite final touch.

A black lace curtain concealed my face.

I walked with a slight hesitation as if maybe I needed a walking stick but was too proud to use one. This was something of a mistake because a tall, strapping lad offered me his arm.

I couldn’t extricate myself from his kind offer, so I had to rest my fingers, gloved of course, on the sleeve of his dark suit.

No, not at all, what do you take me for?

I kept my fire interior, so nothing smouldered.

When the shadow of the entrance to the church enveloped us, I thanked him in a quavery voice and made my way to a pew.

Very boring, these modern places of worship.

No rams or goats or even doves get sacrificed. No priestess waits to provide answers from the Oracle. Nothing like we had back in the day at all.

Everything is subdued too, as if nobody dares talk too loud in case their God hears them.

Oh, yes, a little singing, but, as far as I’ve seen anyway, mostly half-hearted and sometimes out of tune. They sometimes have choirs which are much more spirited and tuneful, but not for a funeral.

Do not the dead deserve a choir? I would say they do, definitely.

I have composed some appropriate funerary verses myself for a range of voices and instruments, enabling those mourning the loss of various important figures in the modern world to find the flame of gratitude within their fog of grief.

I listened to the tributes spoken about myself, of course, but tuned out the rest of the service. Having picked the perfect vantage point, I could see everyone attending my funeral.

I felt the usual temptation to make myself known, to assuage their solemn thoughts with a dawning awareness that I was not truly lost to them, that I continued on as perhaps I always would. Some of them had travelled hundreds of miles to attend and paused their busy lives to do so.

The most touching tribute came from a young woman who, as a child, had fallen asleep to my lullabies. Her mother had soothed her with my melodies, though not very talented herself, to help her feel protected from any monsters that might lurk in the night.

Now rated as one of the best violinists in the world, she described how inspiring it had been to work with me while I composed music especially designed for her particular skills. I remembered her vitality and how eagerly she responded to the initial challenges that I set her. I always could nurture the abilities of mortals in whom I took an interest.

When we gathered at the graveside, the preeminent violin player was given the honour of being the first to drop a long-stemmed white rose into the grave. I nearly shed a tear myself at the sad expression written on her beautiful face. This moment, I felt sure, would inspire my next composition, though it would not be heard for a while as I needed to let my old identity rest before deciding where to establish my next one.

I didn’t like to decide in advance, for letting go of the previous notion of my self was an important step, not to be rushed, and, after being so very much in the public eye, a little retirement would be most welcome.

Inevitably, I saw him then, standing at the back of the crowd around the grave, head and shoulders above everyone else. He still loved to show up as an impressive figure, even though he no longer courted the attention of mortals except on a purely individual basis as had always been his wont.

Only I heard the low rumble of thunder as his gaze met mine despite the lacy veil that I wore, that smile of his appearing that had dazzled so many. He saw right through my disguise of course, a quirk of amusement acknowledging that I had outdone myself. I bowed my head slightly under his fatherly regard.

Come home with me.

The words resonated in my mind like an obvious conclusion reached after long pondering.

I nodded slowly to indicate my agreement.

Lightning flashed in his eyes, ever pleased when anyone went along with his plans, the more so now that his powers were so very much less than they once had been. He could no longer command us like he used to do, his influence over mortals having waned though his name continued to be better known than some of us.

I suspected he was gathering us again, as he had some while ago.

I imagined a reunion with my twin sister among her beloved trees, perhaps a wolf cub in her arms or maybe only a feral puppy in these diminished times. I would shine for her, allow my natural radiance into expression and play my golden lyre as the wind whispered through the leaves while a stream murmured nearby. I was certain she still had a small community of followers, so she remained rooted in the country of our origins.

We could all retire from mortal sight for a while and enjoy each other’s company.

Pleased that my chosen abdication from my role as the Maestro had no doubt given rise to this possibility, I smiled as I watched roses being dropped into my grave. I had done well to choose the veiled hat to conceal my face.

The poet in me had, of course, considered burying my violin to say farewell to my abandoned life, but no point in sacrificing an instrument that was so very much a part of me.