‘But …’ began Calanthe
‘We thought …’ stammered Zona.
And then both together: ‘Sister!’
Psyche came towards them, her hands held out and the sweetest smile of tender sisterly love lighting up her face. Calanthe and Zona each took a hand to kiss.
‘You are alive!’
‘And so … so …’
‘This dress – it must have cost, that is to say it looks …’
‘And you look …’ said Zona, ‘so … so … Calanthe, whatever is the word?’
‘Happy?’ suggested Psyche.
‘Something,’ her sisters agreed. ‘You definitely look something.’
‘But tell us, Psyche, dearest …’
‘What happened to you?’
‘Here we are mourning, sobbing our hearts out for you.’
‘Who gave you that dress?’
‘How did you get off the rock?’
‘Is it real gold?’
‘Did a monster come for you? A beast? An ogre?’
‘And that material.’
‘A dragon perhaps?’
‘How do you keep it from creasing?’
‘Did it take you to its den?’
‘Who does your hair?’
‘Did it try to chew your bones?’
‘That can’t be a real emerald can it?’
Laughing, Psyche held up a hand. ‘Dear sisters! I will tell you everything. Better, I will show you everything. Come, wind, take us there!’
Before the sisters knew what was happening the three of them were lifted from their feet and were travelling swiftly through the air, safe in the arms of the West Wind.
‘Don’t fight it. Relax into it,’ said Psyche as Zephyrus swept them up over the mountain. Zona’s howls began to subside and Calanthe’s muffled sobs softened to a whimper. Before long they were even able to open their eyes for a few seconds without screaming.
When the wind finally set them down on the grass in front of the enchanted palace Calanthe had decided that this was the only way to travel.
‘Who needs a stupid horse pulling a rickety rackety old chariot?’ she said. ‘From now on I catch the wind …’
But Zona wasn’t listening. She was staring transfixed at the walls, the turrets and the silver studded door of the palace, all glittering in the morning sun.
‘Come in,’ said Psyche. What an exciting feeling, to show her dear sisters around her new home. It was a pity they couldn’t meet her darling husband.
To say that the girls were impressed would be criminally to understate the matter. Naturally therefore they sniffed, yawned, tittered, shook their heads and generally tut-tutted their way from golden apartment to golden apartment by silver-panelled corridors and jewel-encrusted passageways. Their tilted, wrinkled noses seemed to suggest that they were used to better.
‘Just a little vulgar, don’t we feel, darling?’ Zona suggested. Inside she said to herself, ‘This is the home of a god!’
Calanthe was thinking, ‘If I just stop and pretend to fix the laces of my sandals I could break off one of the rubies encrusting that chair …’
When the invisible staff of stewards, footmen and handmaidens began serving lunch the sisters found it harder to mask their wonder and astonishment. Afterwards they each took turns to be oiled, bathed and massaged.
Pressed for details of the castle’s lord, Psyche remembered her promise and hastily made something up.
‘He’s a handsome huntsman and local landowner.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘The kindest eyes.’
‘And his name is …?’
‘He’s so sorry to miss you. I’m afraid he always takes to the field with his hounds by day. He wanted so much to greet you personally. Perhaps another time.’
‘Yes, but what’s he called?’
‘He – he doesn’t really have a name.’
‘What?’
‘Well, he has a name. Obviously he has a name, everyone has a name, Zona, I mean really! But he doesn’t use it.’
‘But what is it?’
‘Oh my goodness, quick! It’ll be dark soon. Zephyrus won’t fly you at night … Come, dear sisters, help yourselves to some little things to take home. Here’s a handful of amethysts. These are sapphires. There’s gold, silver … Be sure to take gifts for mother and father too.’
Loaded with precious treasures the sisters allowed themselves to be transported back to the rock. Psyche, who had stood and waved them off, was both relieved and sorry to see them go. While she welcomed their company and the chance to show them round and give them presents, her determination to keep the promise she had made to her husband had made the evasion of all their questions an exhausting business.
Back home the sisters – despite the fabulous treasures they now possessed – were eaten up with envy, resentment and fury. How could their younger sister, the stupid, selfish Psyche, now find herself in the position more or less of a goddess? It was so appallingly unfair. Spoiled, vain, ugly creature! Well, not ugly, perhaps. Possessed of a certain obvious and rather vulgar prettiness, but scarcely a match for their queenly beauty. It was all too monstrously unjust: there was almost certainly witchcraft and wickedness at the bottom of it. How could she not even know the name of her lord and master?
‘My husband Sato’s rheumatism,’ said Calanthe, ‘is getting so bad that every night I have to rub his fingers one by one, then apply plasters and poultices. It’s disgusting and demeaning.’
‘You think your life is hell?’ said Zona. ‘My Charion is as bald as an onion, his breath stinks and he has all the sex drive of a dead pig. While Psyche …’
‘That selfish slut …’
The sisters clung to each other and sobbed their hearts out.
That night Psyche’s lover Eros had momentous news for her. She was pouring out all her gratitude to him, and explaining how well she had managed to avoid describing him to her sisters, when he placed his finger on her lips.
‘Sweet, trusting child. I fear those sisters and what they may do to you. But I am glad you are happy. Let me make you happier still.’ She felt his warm hand slide down her front and gently stroke her belly. ‘Our child is growing there.’
Psyche gasped and hugged him close, stunned with joy.
‘If you keep this secret,’ he said, ‘the child will be a god. If you tell a living soul, it will be mortal.’
‘I will keep the secret,’ said Psyche. ‘But before my condition becomes obvious let me at least see Calanthe and Zona one more time and say goodbye to them.’
Eros was troubled but could not see how he might deny so decent and sisterly a request, and so he assented.
‘Zephyrus will send them a sign and they will come,’ he said, leaning forward to kiss her. ‘But remember, not a word about me or about our baby.’
A Drop of Oil
The next morning Calanthe and Zona awoke to feel the breath of Zephyrus ruffling at them like a hungry pet dog panting and pawing at the bedclothes. When they opened their eyes and sat up the wind departed, but their instinct, greed and inborn cunning told them what the signal meant, and they hurried to the rock to await their transport. This time they were determined to get to the bottom of the mystery of their sister’s lover.
Psyche was there to welcome them when they were set down in front of the palace. Embracing her fondly the sisters hid the furious envy they felt at Psyche’s good fortune, presenting instead a flurry of solicitous clucking and tutting, accompanied by much head-shaking.
‘Whatever is the matter, Calanthe?’ a puzzled Psyche asked as she sat them down to a great breakfast of fruit, cakes and honey-wine. ‘Why so sorrowful, Zona? Are you not happy to see me?’
‘Happy?’ groaned Calanthe.
‘If only,’ Zona sighed.
‘What can be worrying you?’
‘Ah, child, child,’ said Calanthe with a moan. ‘You are so young. So sweet. So guileless.’