Thomas Swann - The forest of forever

Fortunately, no one else seemed to notice his hesitation. Eunostos and Myrrha were looking rapturously at the baby, a piquant creature in spite of her grave countenance, with generous green hair (but then, Dryad babies are never born hairless).

Eunostos could no longer remain in the background. “Let me hold her, Aeacus. Kora, can’t I hold her? I won’t drop her. I’m her Zeus-father, remember?” He cradled the child in his arms and the grave, troubled look left her face, and she began to smile. Who would have thought that such a big, rough-handed boy, without any brothers and sisters for practice, could have held a baby so gently that she would give her first smile?

“Sleep, little Thea,” he whispered. “There won’t be any Striges in your night. You have two fathers to look after you.” Then he began to hum an old lullaby: “Sleep, little Dryad, sleep in your tree. Listen! The wind sings silverly.”

Aeacus was not looking at his baby. He was looking at Eunostos, for the first time with unmistakable jealousy.

Time passed even in the timeless Country of the Beasts, though as imperceptibly as the dripping of a water clock. For three winters, snow fell on the mountaintops, melted with spring into a hundred silver freshets which cobwebbed the forest like a giant spider web, dried with summer to stream beds which grass and clover and violets hurried to green, as if dry beds had no place in so rich a country.

And there were changes among the Beasts. Eunostos was eighteen, a strapping young Minotaur who toiled from cockcrow to lamp-lighting time in his workshop but, I am pleased to say, resumed the wenching which his unfortunate courtship of Kora had interrupted. I myself had enjoyed six new lovers, five Centaurs and one precocious and surprisingly well-mannered Paniscus. And my tree, aside from looking a trifle scarred from the depredations of woodpeckers, thrust its vigorous limbs to the sunny skies and showed no signs of decay or decline. Bion had left his nest and come to work in Eunostos’s workshop, where he labored at his own table and cut gemstones or embellished Eunostos’s furniture with mosaics and intricate workings in copper and bronze. Only Partridge never seemed to change, the eternal adolescent, chewing his onion grass and trotting after Eunostos, who still loved him and pretended that he was the brightest chap in the country.

A second child, Icarus, had been born to Kora less than a year after the birth of Thea. Eunostos had asked to adopt him and, being refused, came even more frequently to visit at her tree. Kora’s beauty was undiminished but different. There was a greater fullness to her body; her alabaster cheeks were faintly flushed, like roses reflected in snow. If mystery had gone from her, even for Aeacus, familiarity had given her a becoming softness, and she seemed indistinguishable from loom and cradle and brazier. As for Aeacus, he kept his own counsel. He still hunted with Eunostos, though not so often as in the early days. If he loved the maternal Kora less than he had loved the maiden, at least he was unfailingly courteous to her, and no one could question his love for his children, especially Thea, whom he adored with the adoration which he had once reserved for her mother. But his walks in the forest had become a frequent occurrence and I, for one, wished that one day he would keep on walking until he reached Knossos.

It was morning. Eunostos sat with Kora on the porch. Icarus and Thea lay side by side in a large cradle, a product of Eunostos’s workshop. Eunostos was talking; at the same time he was gently rocking the cradle with his hoof and watching the babies with the corner of his eye. Icarus was gurgling happily, plump as a robin, but Thea was looking uncomfortable, if not quite disgruntled.

Eunostos was eating raisins in large handfuls and when Kora turned her head, he would slip a few to Icarus, who was not supposed to eat them, said Kora.

But Eunostos knew better, since his own mother had fed him raisins as soon as he was weaned. Thea, on the other hand, grimaced whenever he made her an offer.

“The Centaurs destroyed Phlebas’s lodge yesterday,” he said, sharing some news brought to him by Partridge. “They rowed out in a raft and threw torches onto the roof before the Panisci could get out their slingshots. Of course the lodge burned in a few minutes. All the Goat Boys and their Girls escaped, as the Centaurs intended, but they’ll have to find a new place to keep their stolen goods now.”

“It’s high time,” said Kora. “It was the dirtiest place you can imagine.”

“I can imagine. I know Partridge,” said Eunostos, “though,” he hurried to add, “his dirt is honest.”

Aeacus walked onto the porch in noiseless sandals. “I’m going to call on Chiron,” he said without explanation. He was not rude; he was never rude. But there was something a little strained about his smile. Surely he isn’t jealous of me after all this time, Eunostos thought. Perhaps he is just homesick for Knossos.

“Would you like to take Thea with you?” Kora asked.

“You know she’s afraid of the forest.”

“But she wouldn’t be with you. At least not after the first few times. Do you realize she’s never been further than Zoe’s house in two years?”

“She’s safer where she is.” It was not that Aeacus considered her a burden who would spoil his walk. In the house, they were inseparable. It was almost as if he did not want her to know and love the forest.

He lifted her out of the cradle and laid her over his shoulder and patted her. She almost never laughed, but she seized him around the neck and hugged him, and looked displeased when she was returned to the cradle. Eunostos felt a lingering pang. Scarcely a month ago, she had come to him as soon as to her father, but all of a sudden she had begun to seem frightened of him. “Was it something I did?” he asked me. “It’s only a phase,” I reassured him, but I had a hunch that Aeacus, in his smooth Cretan way, had somehow turned her against Eunostos. Perhaps he had told her a story about a demon with horns and a tail and a red mane. At any rate, Icarus hugged Eunostos as often as he had the chance and clearly preferred him to his father. I wondered how soon Aeacus would start to tell him stories.

“Good-bye, little Thea,” Aeacus said. “Rest well while I’m gone.” Then, with a pat to Icarus’s head and a kiss on Thea’s cheek, and no farewell at all for Eunostos, he reentered the house to descend the ladder and waved to Kora from the ground. It’s because he’s so used to me, Eunostos told himself. I’ve become like a piece of furniture to him.

“Kora,” said Eunostos suddenly. “Thea is nearly two, and she’s never seen my house. Do you realize that every time I invited her, Aeacus thought of a reason why she should stay at home? For that matter, you and Icarus have stayed at home too much lately, too. If you aren’t careful, you’ll turn into a loom.”

“I don’t think Aeacus would like me to bring her,” she said hesitantly.

“Well, why not? I’m Zeus-father to both children, and if I don’t have a right to entertain them, I don’t know who does. Remember, I built a special room for them. There are still toys in it-the ones I haven’t brought over here.”

“Aeacus seems to think that something might happen to Thea in the forest. He keeps bringing up the time I was kidnapped by Phlebas and sold to Saffron.”

“Saffron is dead and Phlebas was so frightened by Chiron that I don’t think he’s much of a threat. Besides, there’s some kind of danger everywhere, even here. Your tree might catch on fire.”

“All right, we’ll go!” she said with the sudden enthusiasm of someone about to be slightly mischievous. “We’ll have a real outing. Which baby do you want to carry?”