Pandora Gets Heart

by Carolyn Hennesy

  “A little respect, Alcestis, if you please,” Hermes cautioned. “His name is Paris. Yes, he has a bowl of lentil stew where his brain should be. Yes, he is the worst shepherd on the mountain. Yes, he curses and kicks his dogs until they run. And yes, he dresses some of his sheep and certain tall trees as villagers and sings to them in the moonlight, because his people skills are tragic. But, he is still a prince of the Royal House of Troy.”

  “But,” Pandy said, “he doesn’t know that, does he?”

  “Not yet,” Iole answered.

  “Right,” Pandy went on. “The legend says that Paris doesn’t find out about the prophecy— that he’s going to bring about the Trojan War and the fall of Troy— until Athena tells him today. He thinks he was born to be a shepherd. He doesn’t know he’s a prince in . . . in . . . oh!”

  “Exile,” Iole said.

  “Sheesh! Thank you. And in fact his father in Troy, King Priam, thinks he’s dead! Thinks that the old shepherd who took Paris as a baby actually left him on the mountain to perish as he was instructed, right?”

  “Right,” said Iole.

  “Is his name still Paris?” Alcie asked.

  “It is,” Hermes answered. “The shepherd that raised the prince never felt any need to change it, seeing as how the child would never be going back to Troy.”

  “A lot he knows,” Alcie retorted.

  “So we can’t let on to Paris that we know anything that’s going to happen,” Pandy said. “We have to be casual about it. We just start, like, chatting. And we happen to be hanging around when three goddesses appear.”

  “Still doesn’t answer the question of how you get possession of the golden apple, in front of the most powerful goddesses in the universe, when Aphrodite gives it to Paris for the judging,” Iole said.

  No one had noticed that Hermes had brought the oxen to a halt.

  “We have to get to him first,” Pandy said.

  “Won’t work,” Homer said.

  “What won’t, Homie?” Alcie asked.

  “Your plan, Pandy. He’s on a mountainside. With sheep. He’s probably been up there for days, or weeks. Three maidens and a youth just don’t go walking around mountaintops. And he knows everybody from his village. He would be on guard. I know I would be.”

  “Very good, Homer,” Hermes said. “Paris has the general intelligence of a tomato, but he would be suspicious. Now, if you were to try a different approach . . .”

  Again, Iole tensed, looking at Hermes out of the corner of her eye.

  “He dresses sheep and trees like people,” Alcie said. “He might be grateful to have someone human to talk to.” “We don’t even know where he is,” Pandy said.

  “See those peaks?” Hermes pointed to a high crag. “There’s a little pasture on the western slope.”

  “Apricots! I mean, hey, great! You’re taking us all the way up there in this?” Alcie said.

  “Regretfully, our time together has come to an end. It is going to be my duty, my unbridled joy, to escort three selfish creatures to that pasture in just about the time it will take all of you to get up there,” Hermes said.

  “Huh? Us?” Alcie said.

  “We couldn’t climb that high in a week. We’ll never make it in time,” Pandy said quietly, looking up.

  “I could,” Homer said.

  “Fleet-footed Hermes,” Iole asked. “What did you mean by ‘a different approach’?”

  “Homer will make it in time. You all will,” he replied. “Tangerines, how?” Alcie cried.

  “Four legs are swifter than two.”

  “Wha—?” Pandy said.

  “What would a shepherd appreciate most if he saw it coming at him? Especially one with goat cheese for brains who has lost his own pack?” Hermes asked, smiling.

  “Pack?” Alcie asked.

  “No!” Iole cried.

  “You’ve got it, my fluffy mutt-let!” Hermes said, beaming at Iole. “Paris just might love a visit from a large youth and his pack of herding . . . !”

  Pandy didn’t see any part of Hermes’ body move: not a twitch nor a flick nor a blink. She only knew that, on instinct, she had turned to look at Alcie. One moment she’d glimpsed Alcie’s full head of auburn hair, and the next . . .

  . . . Alcie was a dog.

  Reddish brown and curly haired, with green eyes and a huge, lolling pink tongue. Iole, still sitting in the front and wagging her tail, was now an extremely small brown-eyed dog with a shiny black coat. Both Alcie and Iole were just staring at her. Stunned, Pandy looked down at her own paws, covered in rich brown hair. Suddenly, the delicious scent of fried egg yolk hit her new, long, black-tipped nose, which was far more effective than her original, and without thinking, she inhaled deeply, licking a tiny, errant drop off her furry jaw.

  “This is your figgy fault!” Alcie barked to Pandy.

  “You were going to do this all along!” Iole yelped at Hermes.

  “Watch the tone, scruffy,” Hermes said. “And yes, I have been planning this for a bit. You should thank me. And you will . . . later.”

  “Dogs?” Pandy cried. “This is helping?”

  “Much later.”

  “I’m a dog!” Alcie barked.

  She turned to Homer, still very human, and very surprised.

  “Homie, I’m a dog! He can’t even understand me. Can you understand me, Homer?”

  “It’s a little rough, but yeah,” Homer said, catching the vowel sounds amid the growls.

  “Good,” Hermes said. “All right, all of you, off and running!”

  “Wait!” Pandy said. “Our things! Where’s our stuff?”

  “Check the neck,” Hermes replied.

  Sure enough, around their necks hung small pouches securely tied with strong leather bands.

  “It’s all in there. It will be restored to its original shape and size when you are.”

  “But our hands!” Pandy howled. “We can’t use our hands!”

  “As you like to say,” Hermes replied, “you’ll think of something.”

  Without warning, all four were standing on the side of the road, watching Hermes flick the oxen with his crop. The cart moved down the road, and they could see it dematerializing into thin air as the wind carried Hermes’ voice back to them.

  “Run!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Paris

  The speed and agility with which her four new legs carried her body over the rocky terrain frightened Pandy at first. Like a rope tossed to someone drowning, Pandy held on to Hermes’ last few words that all but assured her she would be returned to her normal human shape. Then, when she passed what certainly had to be their first kilometer almost straight uphill and she realized she wasn’t even breathing hard, she began to delight in her new abilities. Stones and sharp rocks that would have hurt or tripped her human feet, even in sandals, were harmless to her padded paws. Steep ledges and large, slippery outcroppings that would have had to be skirted were now leapt over with ease. Suddenly, she was hit with a memory: Dido, running over the road to meet her after one particularly horrible day at the Athena Maiden Middle School. Running like he was being chased, or like he was a crazy dog. She’d thought then that he had sensed her mood: her frustration and her depression, and that he was running so fast to be able to comfort her. Now she realized that while, yes, Dido loved her and wanted Pandy to know that it was unconditional—no matter what kind of day she’d had— he also just loved to run! Four strong legs moving together— this was bliss!

  Alcie, standing triumphantly on a large boulder, howled with joy as Pandy jumped up beside her.

  “I might wanna stay like this,” Alcie said.

  “I know!” Pandy said, although Homer, coming up behind them, only heard, “Rye row!”

  Then they all three saw Iole even farther up the mountain, sitting on her hind legs.

  “You are gallingly and inordinately sluggish!” she yelped at them.

  “Oh, you are so dead!” Alcie said, and took off.

/>   Homer had kept pace in the early going, but two-thirds of the way up, he began to falter, pausing too often.

  “Hey!” he called to them. “Let’s cut it back a little, okay?”

  The girls slowed only a bit to allow Homer to stay alongside. Then, after almost an hour of constant running, Pandy finally felt her lungs tighten and her stomach grow sour. The muscles in her legs were starting to cramp and there was a pinch along her rib cage.

  As she stood panting on a flat patch of dirt, Alcie came loping up beside her with Iole in her mouth, hanging by the scruff of her tiny neck.

  “Miss Big Words got a little tired, didn’t she?” Alcie said after she set Iole on the ground.

  Iole lay breathing hard, then she raised her head, her black ears flopping at crooked angles, and looked at Alcie.

  “Shut up,” she said, then put her head back down.

  “Aaaaannnnndddd?” Alcie said.

  “And thank you,” Iole mumbled.

  “We have to be close,” Pandy barked, looking at Homer as he walked a little farther uphill to a small ridge.

  “Close? I think you said close. We’re not close,” he said between breaths. “We’re there.”

  Pandy padded alongside Homer and gazed down onto a shallow valley and the most beautiful meadow she’d ever seen. It was ringed with trees and had a little stream cutting neatly through the middle. Pandy envisioned the Elysian Fields in Hades and imagined that the spirits of the undead— the good undead— walked and played on grass that was just this shade of green. Only here she saw dozens of tiny, fluffy white balls just standing about, dark heads down, mouths buried in clover.

  “Can I lie down in that for about ten years?” Alcie said, joining them.

  “Please?” Iole harmonized, dragging herself to the edge.

  “Guys,” Pandy replied, “Hermes said we would make it up here in just about the time it would take him to get Athena, Hera, and Aphrodite to Paris. We have no time to waste.”

  “Five minutes,” Iole pleaded.

  “Homer?”

  Homer heard the vowel sounds of his name and stared hard at Pandy.

  “Would you carry Iole?”

  “Uh . . . yes? Yes. Yes!”

  Homer picked up Iole and gently draped her around his neck. With Pandy leading and Alcie slowly bringing up the rear, they walked down the short slope and into the tall grass.

  Ever since the last of his dogs had turned tail and run, Paris had taken to sleeping long hours in the middle of the day at the very moments he should have been keeping watch over his flocks. Two of his sheep had been poached in the last week alone and the youth hadn’t even noticed. He was dozing, his back slumped against the tallest fir lining the path around the meadow, and dreaming of a dance. As usual, the closest he ever got to dancing in his dreams was the closest he got when he was awake: staring at whirling youths and maidens as he stood off to the side with the other shepherds, who also smelled of . . . sheep. And there were usually only one or two festival dances held by the time he came down off the mountain with whatever remained of his flock and the cold winter months set in, so his chances of ever holding a pretty girl in his arms were slim to none.

  When they found him, his arms and legs were twitching slightly as he spun in a circle in his mind. Pandy noted his dark curls and handsome face. Even dressed in humble, dirty shepherd’s rags, there was something indeed princely about the youth.

  “We’re sure that’s him, right?” Alcie whined softly to Pandy.

  “Look at the trees,” Pandy said. “Look at the sheep.” The tall fir, and two other trees close by, had expertly drawn, brilliantly colored faces painted onto the bark. The two sheep they could see, grazing away from the flock on the other side of the road, were dressed in short, tight-fitting tunics. One was wearing a small headband about the ears.

  “That’s wrong . . . on many levels,” Alcie growled low.

  “Many. But look at those faces!” Pandy said. “That takes some talent.”

  “Guys. Girls . . . dogs. Pandy!” Homer said. “Let’s go back.”

  Knowing that Paris might be disoriented and unsettled if he were to wake suddenly with a stranger towering over him, Homer took Pandy and Alcie a good distance back down the road. Homer set Iole on the ground and began whistling and calling to “his dogs” as he ambled again toward the sleeping prince.

  As Homer reached Paris, he saw the youth now had his eyes open and was stretching broadly. Suddenly, Homer realized the next moments were entirely in his hands.

  “Hello,” he said.

  Paris just stared at him.

  “Hello,” he said at last. “You have dogs.”

  “Uh, yes. Yes, I do. My name is Homer . . . of Crisa.”

  “Huh. Never heard of it. I’m Paris. This is my mountain and these are my sheep.”

  “Good-looking flock,” Homer said.

  “I guess. Where’s yours?”

  Homer panicked. He had no story. He had herding dogs but no flock . . . and no story. And just then, a tiny section of the Iliad, the epic poem of the Trojan War written by his many-times-great-grandfather, popped into his head: a story of the great warrior Achilles rustling a herd of cattle off of Mount Ida. Homer quickly twisted it as it flew out of his mouth.

  “I stole some sheep that belonged to Apollo, and my punishment is to wander these hills with my dogs, who were my sisters . . .”

  At this, Pandy, Alcie, and Iole turned to stare at Homer. “. . . never sleeping . . . or drinking . . . or eating . . . anything. Isn’t that right, Alcestis?”

  Alcie grudgingly barked once.

  “How come I’ve never seen you before?” asked Paris. “Just happened.”

  “Rough,” Paris said.

  “Very.”

  “So maybe your dogs can get my flock back together?” Paris said hopefully. “If you’re not doing anything.”

  Iole and Alcie both began to growl as Pandy sat quietly, thinking how unsafe it could be to leave Homer alone with Paris, even though she was almost certain Homer would give nothing away.

  Suddenly, there was a deafening crack of thunder and a wide white bolt of lightning struck the path several meters away, shaking the ground. Instead of dust and dirt, a fine blue, green, and gold mist sprang from the impact. The sheep close by scattered deeper into the meadow as birds and butterflies took to the air, raining down leaves and twigs.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Judgment Day

  “Is Apollo following you?” Paris asked, frightened.

  “I don’t think so,” Homer replied.

  The mist evaporated, revealing Hermes standing beside a peacock, with a dove perched on one arm and an owl on the other. Slowly, the Messenger God approached the two youths, one startled and one trying to look startled.

  “Greetings,” Hermes said, not looking at Homer. “I come in search of one called Paris.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Paris blubbered, then pointed to Homer. “He took your cattle!”

  Hermes paused for a second, his mouth open.

  “Yeeeess. First of all, I am not Apollo. I am Hermes. You might have guessed by the winged sandals, among other things. And this youth does not concern me. You do. You are Paris?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then settle yourself and prepare for the task which lies before you,” Hermes said. Instantly, a large chair with red cushions appeared, and Paris found himself seated.

  “I’ll just, like, be over here,” Homer said, moving off to the side.

  “Yes, you do that. Wait there, with your sisters,” Hermes said, glancing at Homer, his eyebrows arched slightly. Pandy, Alcie, and Iole all congregated at Homer’s feet.

  “You, Paris, have been chosen to judge,” Hermes said. “You will deem the fairest of the fairest. The three brightest lights of Olympus will present themselves to you, and you will choose who among them blazes most brilliantly. And to the victor you will present the spoil. Do you understand?”

  Paris stared at Hermes
.

  “Not really,” he said at last.

  “Right. Let’s go at it this way. Three pretty women would like to know which one you think is the most beautiful. You have to tell them. And that one gets a prize. All right?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Yeah.” Hermes sighed. “Yeah.”

  As they all watched, the owl and the dove took to the sky, swirling and swooping, each flying more beautifully than the other (except at one moment when the owl tried to peck out the dove’s eyes). At the same time, the peacock spread its tail feathers in a stunning fan, each plume large and perfect. In the next moment, the owl and dove plummeted like stones toward the earth and the peacock let out a shrill, raucous call. As the dove and owl were about to hit, the peacock snapped its tail together again. Suddenly, in a flash of silver light, Athena, Aphrodite, and Hera were standing before Paris in all of their radiance . . . and precious little clothing.

  Athena was wearing an incredibly short sky-colored tunic, almost transparent, that showed off her long, muscular legs and arms and her flawless, taut ivory skin. She was devoid of any jewelry except a pair of ivory and gold earrings, which dangled low, accentuating her magnificent jawline and aquiline nose. Her hair was piled on top of her head with a single ivory comb. There was no sign of armor or weaponry. Her lips and cheeks were naturally rosy, as if flushed from the heat of battle. She had only darkened her lashes slightly and was refraining from the stern, intellectual furrowing of her brow. In all, she had the appearance of a regal, impossibly tall woman of incomparable beauty.

  Hera, on the other hand, was wearing so much jewelry as to be almost blinding. Fingers, toes, ankles, wrists, arms, ears, and neck were covered in gold and gems. She had on a blue tunic, which hung just below the knees to reveal a well-turned calf and was skimpy enough above the waist to give a view of tremendous voluptuousness. Her glorious red hair was high in front, but then gathered at the back to fall long and loose to her waist. Her lips and cheeks were painted a lovely red, and her eyelids were done in muted peacock colors. She was a marvelous, superb vision.