Jason and Medeia by John Gardner Read Free Book Online Page A

and musicians, all looking wry at
    the smell
    of the merchants, making ingenious jokes at the
    merchants’ garish
    or grandly funereal dress. —But when, from time to
    time,
    a merchant, philosopher, or king keeled over, slain by
    the light
    or brushed by a careless god, the poets and musicians
    would praise
    the nature of man, abstracted to green, magnificent
    song,
    their eyes like waterfalls.
    The gray-eyed goddess kneeled
    at Zeus’s feet and, speaking softly, eyes cast down, she said, “My Lord, Almighty Ruler of the Universe, most just, most wise, I pray you, do not forget the needs of Corinth, Queen of Cities. I have tended her lovingly, cherished her, guided her gently through stunning
    catastrophes.
    Throne after throne I have watched kicked down
    through the whimsical will
    of malicious, barbarous gods—gods who amuse
    themselves
    like boys pulling wings off butterflies. Yet I’ve kept her
    pillars,
    shrine of the arts, seat of all taste and nobility. Preserve my work! Give Jason the throne—for the
    city’s sake.
    Surely a city means more in your sight than one mere
    woman!
    Pity Athena as she’d have you pity our beloved
    Aphrodite!
    Grant my request, and grant Aphrodite some other gift still dearer to her.”
    Hera smiled, but the gray-eyed Athena
    maintained her mask of innocence. Those who
    attended her
    bowed, heavy with solemnity, and tapped their scrolls, their money-boxes, crowns, and harps. Aphrodite’s cheek burned dark red. Zeus said nothing.
    Her head bent
    as if in supplication to the Father of the Gods,
    Aphrodite
    rolled her eyes toward her sister. “Don’t play games
    with me,”
    she whispered, “immortal bitch! How wonderfully
    reasonable
    you always make your desires sound! Do you think
    they’re fooled,
    these gods you play to? They know what you’re after.
    Power, goddess!
    You want your way no matter what—no matter who
    you walk on.
    But you can’t come right out and say it, can you? That
    wouldn’t be civil,
    and the lovely Athena is nothing if not civil!—Well,
    so are
    sewers! indoor toilets!” She trembled with rage. Athena smiled, as calm and serene as the moon above roiling,
    passionate
    seas. Suddenly the goddess of love burst into tears, wept like a shepherdess betrayed. The gray-eyed goddess
    of cities,
    magnificent queen of mind, shot a quick glance at Zeus,
    then widened
    her eyes as if in amazement. “Why Aphrodite!” she
    exclaimed,
    â€œmy poor, poor love!” She gathered her sister goddess
    gently
    in her arms like a child, and Aphrodite cried on
    Athena’s breast.
    Hera smiled.
    But the brow of Zeus was troubled. He looked
    from the love-goddess to Athena. “Enough!” he said.
    The hall
    grew still. The stillness expanded. The eyes of the
    Father God
    were like thunderheads. After some minutes had passed,
    he said,
    â€œYou’re clever, Athena. You’d outfox a gryphon. Yet
    even so,
    you may be wrong, and Aphrodite right. You talk of cities, of how they’re more important than a single
    life.
    But the city in which that’s true would be not worth
    living in.
    I’ve known such cities. One by one I’ve ground them
    underfoot,
    slaughtered their poets and priests and planted their
    vineyards to salt.
    You pleaded against such a city yourself for Antigone,
    goddess!
    Has it slipped your mind? ‘Where the dead are left
    to the crows,’ you said,
    â€˜where a life means nothing, let the whole white hovel
    be crows’ fodder.’
    Justice demands that I grant Aphrodite’s wish.” He
    was silent.
    Then Hera turned to him. Her eyes flamed. “And my
    wish, sir?”
    she hissed. “I knew I was a fool to leave my business
    to Athena!
    How can mere reason compete with that?” She pointed.
    Aphrodite
    covered her bosom, blushing. “I agree, it’s wrong to make cities more important than the
    people who live in