I know as much about anyone as can be conveyed in a breath. The condensed story of their present lives. Whatever is on someone's mind as they exhale comes to me, is carried by the wind, and passes through me. I live in the midst of chaos, constantly changing, moving, never looking back.
        Again, Zephyrus enters my lungs. He has blown through some lovely plain where Spring is just starting. The plain is strangely void of people so for a few moments, I am allowed to think only of myself. I can smell and taste the heavy, swollen drops of rain and the faint hint of trees coming into bloom. I hear the sound of my own breathing, and gentle passing of Zephyrus.
        Love is a crime when it is not returned to a God, worst yet to a Goddess. That is the crime of Zephyrus. I was punished also because he preferred me to her. This is HER time of year, when she used to come up from the Underworld and bring back Spring to a grateful Earth. During this time, The Maid was rid of her dour, dark husband, and threw off all the trappings of death. She was free to wander in light, bringing greenery and all colors of abundance back to the land.
        The poets didn't write about how she threw off her marriage, during the sunlit times, the way a snake sheds it skin. Even though she was consort to the Lord of Death, they make her seem ever the Virgin, ever the perfect daughter to her mother, Ceres. They recount her apotheosis, her power, and spoke her name in awe. Call her Core, Persephone -- these are not her real names, merely labels like "The Maid" because her real name was too frightening, too powerful to be spoken by mortals.
        Now it is gone. Zephyrus moves on and I can tell you no more. The cycle starts anew: Boreas, Notus and Euros follow. My memories are clouded by the present musings of others.

        Tom thinks about killing his abusive father. His breath is full of bile, swallowed secrets, and frustration. I can taste whiskey on his breath. He is drinking secretly in his room, and his thoughts wander to the silver, well-oiled pistol hidden beneath his mattress.
        Krishna is in love. He has had hot curry and his sighs burn. His parents arranged his marriage and he knows the girl. He has never seen her whole face, but her eyes—he dreams of them. Dark, liquid, and passionate thoughts course through his mind. He believes her lips will taste like cinnamon and honey on their wedding night.
        Monica's inhalation is foul. Her tongue is hard and the inside of her mouth full of scabs. I can feel them when she runs her tongue across them. She licks her lips and I can share the rime of salt. Her thoughts are disconnected, jumbled, saturated with poison—her own and the things others have done to her. Sex, rape, robbery— a litany of horrors revolves before me. Filled with longing, Monica's wishes for an ending, or the comfort of a needle's quick pinch.
        Leo pulls the bow across his cello. The instrument makes a reasonant, round sound. It vibrates through his body, down into his soul. He is only twelve, and already plays like a master. He wishes his mother would let him play baseball, but she is afraid he will hurt his hands. When he plays, Leo puts all the regret for missed opportunities into his music. People call him a genius, but he knows it is the only way he can survive the loneliness.

        There is stillness, yet again, before I am pushed and forced to go wherever the air goes. I will be pulled from msyelf again before I can finish telling you my own story. The Maid, Persephone, Core, Prosperpine— call her any of a thousand names, had just come back from the realm of Hades. It was Spring, she was in her full power, full of new life, vigor and desire. What is renewal, but desire? She stood there at the entrance to the dark places and she was full of need. Who wouldn't be after being in the black among the dead for months?
        Zephyrus blew by and The Maid was smitten. His warm breath filled her lungs and she wondered what it might be like if he filled all her senses. She fell in love instantly, but he would not return her love—for he already had me.
        The Maid beckoned Zephyrus to her side, and being of a courteous nature, he went, . She tried to kiss him, but he spurned her saying, "I have already taken Chloris as my wife"
        The Maid tried to persuade him that they belonged together. She recited how she was the Goddess of Spring, of all renewal. "I know you are the favorable wind," she flattered him. "The blessed one that bringst rain, flowers, and sweet air. Are we not a perfect match?" The Maid pressed herself against him, showed her breasts. and bade him taste, if he would.
        "I am spoken for and I am far below you. Your charms are many, but even one such as you cannot break a bond of true love," Zephyrus said. Then he recommended his three brothers, and bade her take one of them for her lover. "Why not take strong, forceful Boreas to your side? Think of the two of you standing together, feared and strong. His breath has the coolness of Spring. You would temper him."
        "Boreas has two faces, neither of them lovely. I want you," The Maid said, and stroked the breezy tendrils of his hair.
        "Or, what of stormy, passionate Euros? He burns with hot wind, the same way your passion blisters. With him, you would make a better match. He would better understand your power," Zephyrus eluded her slender hands.
        "He is unpredictable and I can stuff him a bag to do my bidding. And Euros likes to pretend he is a sea monster to frighten sailors. I do not want him," The Maid shuddered. She put out a hand to touch Zephyrus' billowy shoulder, and stopped his escape.
        "Or what about Notus? Warm, subtle Notus, full of mystery and deep steam. He alone would understand your mystery, part the veils of fog that surround you," Zephyrus shrunk at the touch of her hand, and found he could not move.
        "Notus?" The Maid snorted. "No one has ever seen him completely. Rumor is he hides among the fog because he uglier than Boreas. I will not have someone like that."
        No, no—now they return and I want to continue this and finish it. Zephyrus comes to me and it all starts anew. I must hold him for a brief moment before he goes, and the others return.

 

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Like Breath
© 2004 Pam Marin-Kingsley

Illustrations © 2004 Pam Marin-Kingsley