Chapter 16

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Chapter 15      Chapter 17

It had been a rough night.

Psyche had been unable to sleep for most of it. She imagined her new husband and all of the possible horrors he had planned for her. Fear and panic took turns until she finally, utterly exhausted, fell asleep. 

As the sun rose the next morning, Psyche found herself bound up somehow. 

Had he tied her up while she had been asleep? Was his plan of torture already in motion? 

Her panic subsided as she realized it was just the tangle of her wedding dress and veil which kept her confined. She struggled to free herself, but she wasn’t as fearful. 

She eventually sat up and got a good look at her surroundings. 

It was, indeed, a cave. 

She did a cautious visual sweep but couldn’t see any indication of rotting corpses or stray bones. 

The cave was simple, sparsely furnished and clean. She was laying on a bed of animal skins, which instantly made her feel sorry for the animals. As she examined them more closely, though, she was relieved to find that her blankets were actually plain wool that had been dyed brown. 

She tried to stand, but had to sit down again. The tangle of layers and chords of her dress were still wound tight. She wished she could be free of the ridiculous wedding garb which was overdone anyway.  As she struggled, the knots somehow loosened, and without much effort she shook off some of the layers and discarded them onto the bed. 

That was much better. 

Now wearing a basic underdress, she stood and took a few steps towards the door, a large hole in the rock. 

Just outside of the cave she could see was a vast garden. It wasn’t exactly the most well-kept garden, but it had a few beaten paths and occasional sprays of color and beauty in it. 

As she stepped outside, she relished the fresh air and breathed it in deeply. Her muscles from the night of imagined terrors ached. 

She walked around, exploring the gardens, wondering who tended it. The garden hadn’t been totally neglected, but it certainly could have used some more care. 

After a while she began to feel hungry. If only there was something to eat. As she made her way back towards the cave, she noticed a berry bush mixed in among some of the shrubs and flowers. She picked some and instinctively melted with pleasure at the perfect sweetness of the taste. 

Wait. 

Was this a trick too? 

Was she slowly being poisoned? Some display of mercy to take the edge off of her untimely death? 

The next mouthful of berries tasted bitter and she spit them out. 

She made her way back to the cave. 

This time as she entered, she realized the bed she had been sleeping on was not at all primitive and crude, but was a rather nice bed of brown linens and soft blankets. It looked so inviting that she decided to take a small nap to make up for the restless night. 

As she curled up into the folds of the blankets, feeling safe and comfortable, she allowed herself to wonder whether her husband didn’t have ill plans for her after all. 

Psyche didn’t know how long she slept, but she opened her eyes feeling more rested. She sat up and looked around realizing that it wasn’t actually a cave where she was, but she was in a little house. It wasn’t a grand palace, but it reminded her of some of the more comfortable villagers’ homes. 

Had she imagined the cave? 

She was still hungry and decided to look around for something to eat. She was happy to find a hearty porridge simmering on some embers of a fire. 

Had she not noticed the hearth before? Perhaps in her daze, she hadn’t fully looked at the cave. 

Well, the home.  

She didn’t spend too much time lingering on the subject and focused on answering the grumbling of her stomach. She looked around and found a bowl and spoon and was soon eating. 

It tasted quite good. 

Not the most delicious meal she’d ever had, but as hungry as she was, it was perfect. 

After eating she wondered what she should do with her dishes. In the palace there had been someone to take them away. Here, she was alone. She didn’t want to leave things untidy, so she looked a bit more and found a basin of water where she could rinse and wash her dishes. 

Satisfied, she decided to venture out into the garden again. 

This time as she emerged, the garden seemed to have changed. It had more winding paths and more intricate designs. 

Fascinating. 

She explored the changed gardens and marveled at how much it differed from her earlier exploration. Things were more neatly lined and flowers were more deliberately arranged. 

She didn’t know how long she wandered, but she found herself getting tired. As she rounded a bend, she found a nice bench with a table and a bowl. 

She looked inside the bowl. 

Empty.

She wished to try the berries again. She couldn’t remember whether they had been sweet or bitter, but at the moment, she would have been happy with either. 

She sat for a moment before recognizing another berry bush just across from the bench. She got up and tried one. 

Oh good. Sweet, not bitter. 

She took the bowl and picked more berries until it was full. The occasional stray berry that went to her mouth was deliciously sweet. 

With her bowl, she happily returned to the bench and sat down to enjoy them. 

The air was crisp and turning cool as the sun began to set. 

The sky was so beautiful. 

She admired the colors as the bright oranges and pinks turned to reds and dark purples. She couldn’t recall seeing such clear skies and brilliant colors before. 

As the colors continued to change in the sky, she realized it was growing dark.  

She looked around. She needed to get back to the house. She had wandered without thinking and now struggled to retrace her steps. Things looked vaguely familiar, but it was getting more and more difficult to see. 

She ended up back at the bench, its white marble now the only thing distinguishable in the darkness. She was too distracted to notice the table and bowl were gone. 

She focused on trying to find the path again. It wasn’t as bright as the bench, and she could barely make out the separation of grey dirt and green grass. She took a few steps in the direction of the house, trying her luck again. 

She didn’t get far and soon found herself face to face with a rose bush.

Psyche turned back and found the bench again. 

How was she going to make it back in the dark?

Psyche sat down, considering how comfortable the marble would be if she had to stay there all night. 

The grass would probably be better. 

“Do you need help?” he asked.

Psyche yelped and stood up.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. But I noticed you seem lost here in the garden,” he said.

“I’m not lost. Well, not exactly. It got dark and I couldn’t see my way back to the house,” Psyche said, feeling somewhat foolish.

“I can help you,” he said. “Follow my voice.” 

He began moving along an unseen path and Psyche did her best to follow.  She did well for a while until she found herself stumbling into one of the hedges. 

He caught her arm and pulled her back before she fell. 

His hand was soft and smooth and seemed to be shaped like hers. 

“Hmm… This won’t do,” he said. 

Still holding her arm, he started walking with her haltingly following behind.

After a moment, he stopped.

“It would be much faster if I carried you. Do you mind?” he asked. 

“Carry me?” she said, uncertain.

“It would be a lot easier,” he said. 

Psyche hadn’t been carried since she was a child. 

“I guess so,” she said. 

He picked her up and began walking towards the house. 

She felt awkward and heavy as she bounced along in his arms. She wasn’t sure what to do and so she lay there as he bounced along. 

“It would make it easier if you held onto me,” he said.

Psyche blushed at the idea of holding onto him, but she reached up and fumbled for his neck.

It felt firm and smooth. He seemed to have skin like hers. No scales or fur.

He held her closer to him and it made it easier to hold on. She seemed to bounce less clumsily.

As he walked, she took note of his rhythm. He must have two legs, she thought. Was he a satyr?

“I hope it’s okay to ask …” Psyche started, then trailed off. 

Maybe he would be embarrassed to reveal what kind of creature he was.

“Ask anything,” he said.

“It’s nothing,” Psyche said, feeling foolish for wanting to ask.

“No, really,” he said, as they continued to bounce along. “I don’t mind.” 

Psyche decided to be brave. 

“What kind of creature are you?” she asked.

He chuckled.

“I have two arms, two legs, ten fingers, ten toes. I am in a form like you — only a man,” he said.

That didn’t sound like a monster.

They must have reached the house because suddenly he was setting her down.  Psyche instinctively leaned against him as she tried to find her balance in the dark. 

“Do you still need help?” he asked, steadying her.

“Well, I can’t see. I’m not sure how to navigate around the room without bumping into something,” she said. 

“Oh, right,” he said.

He took her arm and led her to somewhere in the room.

“There’s a chair here,” he said.

She felt for the seat before cautiously sitting down. 

“I still don’t understand the need for the dark,” Psyche said as she sat. “It’s not as if I would judge you or be afraid.”

“You might be afraid,” he said. 

The tone of his voice gave her pause. 

Was he worth fearing? 

“Anyway, most of the gods fear me,” he said, as if it was common knowledge. 

“Oh?” Psyche said, feeling her heart beat a bit faster. “Why would they fear you?”  

“Because I have the ability to make them miserable,” he said simply. “Most beings, mortal or otherwise, fear being miserable.” 

How could he make them miserable? 

“But,” he said, changing the subject, “how do you find my palace?” 

“Your palace?” she said, confused.

“Yes. How do you like it?” he asked.

“Oh,” she said politely. “It’s quite pleasant.” 

“Really?” he said. 

Psyche thought about how to answer. She was also trying to remember and make sense of the things she had seen. 

“Our home was a cave at first, wasn’t it?” he said. 

So that hadn’t been a dream.

“Why, yes,” she said. “Though I thought I imagined it, given how tired I was.”

“True,” he said. “After your nap you allowed it to change.”

“I allowed it to change? What do you mean?” she said.

“Like I said last night, this world can only become what you’re ready for it to become. How were you feeling when you went to sleep after I left you?” he asked.

She remembered her thoughts of terror, her feelings of fear. She couldn’t possibly let him know how scared she was. It might hurt his feelings. 

“Well, everything was quite strange,” she said carefully. “I didn’t sleep very well.”

“That contributed to what the palace could be. It was limited because of your fears,” he said.

That didn’t make sense. 

“How would my fears have anything to do with your house?” she said.

“You’re in it. Your presence affects what my house can become,” he said. 

Strange.

“You notice how it changed after you woke up later in the afternoon?” he said. 

“Yes, it became a cottage,” she said.

“Right. You let it change,” he said. “You let it become something better as you let go of some of your doubts and fears.” 

“I let it change?” she said, trying to process these novel concepts, “by letting go of my fears?”

“Yes. As I said, it is built on what you want, what you expect, and what you allow things to become. I imagine you were still fearful at first and your fears kept things from realizing their potential,” he said.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “How could I possibly change things? Aren’t things just what they are? A chair is a chair, a house is a house?” 

“That’s true in the mortal world. Things are confined to what they are,” he said. “A chair can only be a chair exactly as the carpenter built it. It gets used, grows old, rots or dries out. At some point it becomes too brittle and breaks. Eventually it is no longer useful.

“Here, it has more potential. Not just in how it lasts, but in how it grows. It’s not just pieces of things forced together — cut, sanded, and hammered. They come together, form a chair, and continue to grow in its purpose and function. 

“But it’s based on the creator — you. And, well, me. We can either limit what things can be, or we can let them grow into something better — something more.” 

“How do we let them grow into something better?” Psyche said.

“You have to allow for the possibility. You have to encourage it. When you want something better, when you allow for the possibility, you give space for it to grow and change,” he said. “It depends on what you want. It depends on what you will allow. When you give permission, when you encourage it, things find the energy and power to change.” 

“Like the gardens?” she said.

“What did the gardens look like the first time?” he asked.

“They were a bit unkempt,” she said. “Did I do that too?” 

“Yes,” he said. “You were afraid. You were doubting.” 

She frowned. 

“But then you allowed it to become something better,” he said.

“True,” she said. “It became a more beautiful garden when I woke the second time.” 

She thought about the berries. 

“The berries I ate,” she said. “What about those?”

“How did they taste?” he asked.

“Um, sweet, and then bitter,” she said.

“What were you thinking?” he asked.

She hesitated. How could she say what she had been thinking? 

“I was worried,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t ask for more of an explanation.

“That’s what made them bitter,” he said. He didn’t seem offended. 

“Did you have anything else to eat?” he asked.

“Porridge,” she said. 

He chuckled. 

“To fit the cottage,” he said. 

“I guess,” she said, trying not to feel embarrassed. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked. 

As if on cue, she felt her stomach rumble. The berries hadn’t lasted long.

“I guess that answers my question,” he said. “Would you like to eat something?” 

“Yes, thank you,” she said. “But…”

She hesitated again.

“What?” he asked.

“How will I eat? I can’t see anything,” she said. 

“You don’t need your eyes to chew and swallow, do you?” he said. 

She thought for a moment. 

“I suppose not,” she said. 

So why did she feel panic rise as he suggested she eat in the dark? 

She struggled to calm her primal fears. What if this was another way for him to poison her, drug her, further lure her into some stupor and control her mind? 

The ways of this world were strange and unknown. 

“Here,” he said.

She didn’t know what to do.

She felt him take her hand and he placed something into it. 

“Try it,” he said.

It felt smooth and slightly squishy. 

“What is it?” she said.

“A persimmon,” he said. 

“I’ve never had one before,” she said. “Is it good?” 

“Yes, it’s very good,” he said. “But, would you prefer something more familiar? A fig or a pomegranate perhaps?” 

A pomegranate. 

That made her think of the Queen of the Underworld, sentenced to six months of darkness because she ate six pomegranate seeds. 

Could he be tricking her into something equally scheming as Hades had done to Persephone? 

“I’ll try this,” she said, trying to push down her fear and brave the strange fruit and the potential consequences. 

This was, afterall, her punishment for her blasphemies. 

And anyway, she didn’t want him to suspect what she was thinking. That might make things worse for her. He could be angry at her lack of trust.  

She brought the strange fruit to her mouth and let her lips rest against it. 

Collecting all of her courage, she opened her mouth and took a bite. 

Her teeth cut into the skin and a rush of bitter juice filled her mouth. She tried not to gag as she instinctively spit it out. Some of the bitterness lingered and she reluctantly swallowed.

“It tastes bitter?” he asked, surprised.

“Very,” she choked, still trying to recover. 

“Psyche,” he said calmly. 

The way he said her name. His voice was filled with such care and kindness; such concern. 

She felt herself relaxing a little. 

“You have to be calm. I’m not here to hurt you. I would never hurt you,” he said. 

She felt his hand on her arm. She tried to let his hand give her reassurance, but his touch brought mixed feelings. 

A man was touching her. Not just any man, her husband. She still didn’t know who her husband was. A monster, yes, but what kind of monster?

His hand followed her arm until he held her hand where she still clutched the persimmon.

“Do you know what you hold in your hand?”  he said. “This is my favorite fruit. It is mildly sweet and comforting. It isn’t tart or overly sweet. It’s perfect.”

He moved her hand and the persimmon up to her nose. 

“Can you smell it?” he said. “Can you smell the soft sweetness?”

She focused on the fruit. This was his favorite. It tasted good. 

She could smell the sweetness. It didn’t smell like anything she’d tasted before, but it smelled good. 

She took a breath and took another bite.

It was good. She instinctively closed her eyes, enjoying the taste. 

It didn’t just taste good. It tasted so good.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“It’s delicious,” she said. 

“See?” he said. “When you were afraid, when you doubted my intentions, it couldn’t do what it was meant to do. Your doubt and fear stopped it from tasting good to you.” 

She took another bite, chewing on his words as well as the new fruit.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for teaching me and giving me a chance to try something so delicious.” 

“Would you like to try something else?” he said. 

“Yes,” she said, feeling more confident this time. 

He took the persimmon out of her hand and put something new in it. It felt hard and reminded her of something.

“Is this cheese?” she asked.

“Yes, but you might find the flavor somewhat different. Don’t worry,” he said. “It tastes quite good.” 

She didn’t hesitate this time and took a small bite of the cheese he had placed in her hand. 

It tasted lightly salted, and slightly more sharp and bitter than the cheeses she had tasted at home. But the aftertaste was especially heavenly.

“It’s good,” she said. 

“Here,” he said, bringing her hand to something on a table nearby where she sat. “Here is a plate of a variety of different foods you can try. Taste them and see which ones you like. Let the food exceed your expectations. Let it be as delicious as it wants to be.”

She carefully felt around the plate, noticing the different shapes and textures. Some things were wet, others sticky. Some were smooth while others were covered with something. Without thinking, she licked her fingers. She found a mixture of varying, but harmonizing flavors. 

The two of them sat as she tried various things and asked him questions. He patiently answered and did his best to explain the things which were less familiar. 

Everything was simply mouthwatering. Psyche didn’t realize how hungry she’d been as she continued trying things from the plate. 

“That was absolutely delightful,” she said as she finished. 

“I’m glad you liked it,” he said. 

“I never knew food could taste like that,” she said, enjoying some of the lingering flavors. 

“That’s how it works,” he said. “You have to embrace it, enjoy it, appreciate it. If you do, if you embrace what this world has to offer, everything around you will become more than anything you could possibly imagine.”

“I’ll try,” Psyche said.

But it was hard to visualize how she could accept a house becoming something more. How could a house be more than what it already was? Was she supposed to visualize a new wing? A more decorated column? 

It was difficult to imagine.

The food had been absolutely delicious, at least. She felt confident that she wouldn’t starve. Even if she had to wait for him to bring her an evening meal, she could tolerate berries and porridge during the day. The berries had been quite delicious too, and she had no complaints about the porridge.

“Psyche,” he said. “This world depends on what you want; what you think you deserve.” 

“What I deserve.” she said, more to herself.

According to the Goddess Aphrodite, she deserved to be punished. 

For herself, she hadn’t really thought about it. It wasn’t about deserving or not deserving. It was about simply accepting what was given. 

Everyone had to accept their lot in life. 

At least, that’s what the pious said. 

Every creature had to accept what the gods had given them. Each creature had to be grateful. A worshipper might humbly ask for something more, but that required a gift or token for the gods. 

She had nothing. 

But, even in her own world, she’d found that things could be better with a little encouragement. Encouragement could be a powerful thing. 

That’s why the first few worshippers gave her credit. She’d been encouraging. 

Over time she had pieced together that whenever she had helped someone, they felt as if she had been responsible for the blessing. 

Only, she knew it wasn’t her power that had made things better. It was the power a person found within themselves, power given them by the gods. It was a power they had to reach for and which helped them, in turn, reach greater heights. It allowed them the courage and the strength to try a little harder and to reach for more. 

Were mortals meant to reach for more? Was her work to provide help and encouragement the thing which angered the gods the most? 

Or was it simply the misplaced worship?

She didn’t know.

As she lay awake in the darkness later that night, she reflected on what her husband was trying to teach her. This new world was a puzzle. She had to let things grow, even the inanimate objects. She had to let things reach their full potential. 

The key to that was Psyche herself. 

She sighed, feeling discouraged. She didn’t like the idea of holding anything back. To think, her doubts and fears could stop things from reaching their potential? 

The burden felt quite heavy. 

And really, if she failed to let things flourish, she was the one to suffer the consequences. The persimmon had tasted painfully bitter at first. 

That was her doing. 

But what kind of world did she deserve to live in? How could she let things reach their potential? 

She didn’t know. 

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