Thomas Swann - The forest of forever

Then, at the end of three days, he came to me, a tired, bespattered figure dusty with limestone, cockle-burrs in his mane, and sank to the floor. I sat on the couch and smoothed his mane with a wooden comb (he did not approve of my tortoiseshell comb; shells should remain on tortoises, he insisted).

“Aunt Zoe, was there ever a time when you lost everything?”

“There have been times when I thought I had.”

“But I know I have. I could have learned to live without Kora. I already had, in a way. One day I may be able to accept her death, since she wanted to die. But the children. Icarus…”

“You’re quite sure you’re never going to fall in love again? You’re only eighteen. What about the next five hundred years?”

“Almost nineteen. Yes, quite sure. Three years ago, I was happy, Aunt Zoe. So happy! I thought I had everything I wanted, except my parents, and I knew they were safe in the Underworld.”

“It isn’t in the scheme of the Great Mother for us to have everything we want. If we did we wouldn’t need her, and even a goddess likes to be needed. The lucky ones among us get half. But reach high, and half is enough. Now I sound like Moschus when he’s drunk too much beer and thinks he’s a philosopher. But I do know this. You haven’t lost everything. You still have your friends. Don’t forget them.”

“But Kora and the children…”

“Kora is dead. You can’t resurrect her from the Underworld, but you can be sure that the Griffin Judge has judged her kindly. I think that world is lovelier for this world’s loss. And her children are alive and loved by their father and uncle.”

“But I can never see them again.”

“Never? Oh, my friend, that is a word for cynics. I don’t pretend to be a prophetess. But like most of my race, I can sometimes catch glimmerings of the future. And I hope-I think-you will see your children again. Last night I had a dream. My soul went out of my body, as Kora’s used to do, but it wandered in the future, not the present. And I saw a young girl-oh, how beautiful-and a boy with a crown of green hair, and where do you think I saw them?”

“Where?”

“A great bird was carrying them through the sky and right toward this forest!”

“But that was only a dream. If I try to go to them, Minos will have me killed.”

“But they were coming to you. Kora dreamed of a prince and called him into the forest. It’s true he brought her sorrow. But the fact remains that he came. Keep on loving Thea and Icarus and perhaps they will hear you. Remember, the forest is in their blood. It is half of them. Perhaps it will call to them too.”

“I’m not Kora. I can’t live on a dream.”

“And you shouldn’t. If I have any wisdom at all, it is this: dreams by themselves are for children. But if you dream and reach and wait all at the same time, then pygmies can topple giants, cities can rise from rubble! Strong hands and a dream and patience built Babylon, and it wasn’t really Zeus who built Knossos.”

I ran my hand through his soft-as-milkweed mane and held him by the horns and kissed him on his smooth face, almost the only part of his without hair.

“I’m not good for much, Eunostos. Beauty I had, and maybe there’s a little left, if you don’t mind a few wrinkles. Wisdom-I leave that to Chiron. But if you ever want to cry, this is the place to come.”

“I’m not worth your love, Zoe. I’m nothing but the last Minotaur-and maybe it’s just as well.”

“The last-or the best?”

He laid his head in my lap. Then he looked up at me, with those unbearable green eyes which windowed his soul, and said, “Zoe, I know you’ve loved a lot of Beasts and Men and gotten over them. But was there ever anyone you loved more than the rest? And lost him? And thought you were going to die?”

“Yes, Eunostos. Though I can’t say I lost him since I never really had him.”

“I can’t imagine anyone not loving you.”

“He did, I think, in his way. But not in my way.”

“What did you do?”

“Ached, my dear, and baked a weasel pie!”

“And did you finally forget him?”

“I didn’t want to forget him. He was much too precious to me. I just rearranged my memory. Forgot some things, remembered others.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You’ll learn in the next hundred years or so.”

“And you aren’t sorry?”

“Not for a moment. I haven’t regretted any of my loves. Least of all the one that hurt the most.”

“Will you tell me who he was?”

“Someday, my dear.”