Tag Archives: god

All God’s Children

All God’s Children
     Recently, I had a thought that may have world-shaking implications, and change the way we look at genetics, and genetic manipulation, forever.
     For no reason in particular, I began to think about Christian dogma, and the concept that God gave his only son to the world, a child conceived within a human womb, with a bit of human and some divine aspects in his DNA that would allow the child to grow up with an innate sense of right and wrong, plus abilities we would attribute only to a divine being, like being able to revive the dead, to change water to wine, and to walk on water.
     The Bible clearly identifies God as male, and says that the child was his son, not just someone he created, like Adam and Eve, so the implication is quite clear, that God, the one in who’s image mankind was created, had some pretty special DNA to contribute, even were that contribution not made in the usual way.
     Interestingly, the abilities of the human/divine hybrid didn’t manifest immediately, but required the attainment of full maturity for the more magical aspects to be observed—though from childhood he was said to be pious and admirable.
     My first thought was that God sacrificing his only child wasn’t the great thing it had been made out to be, because, after all, being God he could cause another, or a million children of equal capabilities to be born. The “only child” thing, therefore was personal choice, and obviously must serve some purpose other than sacrifice. What did hit me as unique was that it was all accomplished through genetics.
     God took one of Mary’s eggs, and either cloned it, while at the same time, changing the genetic coding so as to produce that magical child, or fertilized that egg with chromosomes of divine origin. Either way, in doing so he changed the history of the world. But of more importance: he left mankind a critical clue that is only now apparent, because now, we have not only the technology to clone, we can change DNA. And that means that with care, diligence, and research, it is entirely possible to recreate that miracle. It is within our grasp to have every single woman on the face of the planet give birth to offspring who can truly be called a child of God, and who will innately know right from wrong.
     Think about the result of that fact, alone. No more wars. No more strife. “Turn the other cheek” will be the rule, without it even having to be taught. And the ability to feed the multitude with only a bit of food will conquer hunger. And that doesn’t touch the effect of being able to raise the dead, and survive a shipwreck by simply walking to shore—or calming the storm with an act of will.
     Assuming that the mutation breeds true, the cloning and genetic manipulation will need be only a one time thing, bringing peace and plenty to the planet in one single generation.
     Any woman would be overjoyed to bear such a child. Right? And what man would not be honored to be raising God’s child?
     Once this amazing opportunity is pointed out to the faithful, I am utterly confident that Christianity, as a whole, will support the necessary research, and help usher in the era of endless perfection.
     Is that cool, or what? Though I do kind of suspect that there might be some who won’t be pleased to read this.

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The Church of the Really Nice Try

The Church of the Really Nice Try




     The beliefs of the Church Of The Really Nice Try are firmly based on scripture, and are ever mindful of both the staggering complexities of the act of creation, and of the limitations of the creator—as defined through the word of that creator, The Holy Bible.
     To understand the beliefs of the Triers, as those of the church prefer to be called, you must go back to the very roots of all belief, the first chapter of the bible, and you must stand in judgment as a parable is told:
     There was once a great engineer, who began a project that pleased him mightily. He desired to create a habitat for himself: a house of many rooms.
     For long, he labored, executing each detail of the plan exactly according to his will, until at last the habitat was finished. And he was pleased with the work he had done.
     But as time passed, the engineer became dissatisfied. He’d not made the habitat fully self-sustaining, and if it was to remain in the state he desired he must either maintain it himself or create a device to do the job for him.
     Being efficient, and enjoying the challenge of creating something never before seen, the engineer built a device containing self-willed intelligence, plus the ability to modify its own program, as needed. He activated the device and saw that it was exactly as he had envisioned. And he was happy.
     But the device proved not quite adequate to the task, and required excessive attention. The engineer determined that there were some tasks that his creation could’t handle by itself, and there was no way for it to perform a valid self-check on its programming modifications without the attention of its creator.
     So the engineer produced a second device, to complement the first, and to interface with it in such a way that continued production of these care-taking devices would be both automatic and self-sustaining.
     But the new device began to produce feedback of an unexpected type, and to access unauthorized data sources, until the original functionality was all but lost. The engineer was very angry, and he cast the pair of creations from his house, into an environment that would bring them constant distress, pronouncing them useless and disobedient

° ° °

     Now, as a judge of the situation described you must ask yourself: who is at fault? Was it the creator, or was it the creation? Was the engineer justified in not only discarding his creations, but forcing them into an existence that he, himself, thought brutal and harsh? Or should he have changed the programming and functionality of the device to fit it more smoothly into his plan?
     The answer is obvious, God screwed up! But that conclusion is inherent in the very statement that God created mankind in-his-own-image. Like us, he’s fallible, subject to temper tantrums, and all of the rest of the characteristics that make the human race what it is.

° ° °

     Of course you must be demanding further proof of the fallibility of the Lord. That is the human and reasonable thing to do. So, though this is a rather abbreviated version of the creed of the church, let’s explore the matter further:
     Almost immediately after the description of creation there is a short chapter detailing the liaisons of certain occupants of the lord’s heavenly domain with the women of the Earth—often against their will—liaisons which produced children as a result. This chapter clearly shows that God has difficulty controlling, and even knowing about the actions of his underlings—scarcely the actions of an omniscient and omnipotent being.
     Directly following the described difficulty with his underlings, God looks out upon a world populated with the sons and daughters of his creatures, and he sees naught but chaos and evil. He becomes justifiably angry at the depravity and licentiousness of his creations, and states that he regrets having created mankind. Obviously, the idea that he knows all that will happen is flawed. He vows to correct the situation by putting all life on Earth to death by drowning, save for a favored few. The implication is that this single family will procreate, following the flood, and fill the world with decent human beings.
     The creator then causes Noah, the chosen one, to build a vessel with which to survive the coming flood. It is vitally important to note, at this point, that God planned to change the basic nature of mankind, in one single generation, without intervention on his part other than an act of genocide, directed against the rest of the planet’s population—good and bad—which is a bit of a setback for the concept of a merciful deity. Moreover, he chose the new breeding stock, not by characteristics passed on via genetic means, but by those qualifications that are a result of social and educational background. In other words, the plan was doomed from the start. In demonstration of that, shortly after the descendants of Noah repopulate the Earth, God is forced to destroy a city for precisely the reasons he destroyed the entire population of the planet. And though you and I can see the fallacy of God’s plan, God obviously could not—leading to the primary tenet of the church:

He Did The Job Without A Formal Education

      But who was there available to teach him? Who was there to suggest that he make changes in the human gene structure, rather than endlessly punish them for flaws he, himself, had inadvertently included within their basic mentality. Still, given the conditions he had work under, and the staggering magnitude of the task, we derive the second tenet of our church:

It Was A Really Nice Try!

     A really nice try. But the job was never finished, because of the nearly infinite complexities of the task, coupled with the limitations of the creator. Look around you. Is this what God had in mind for the human race and the planet? Of course not. Over and over, in the text of the bible, he tells us what he wants, and over and over he fails to deliver the message in a form suited to move humanity toward his goal, leading to both the third and fourth tenets of the church.

He’s Not A Good Talker
He Doesn’t Really Understand Us

     Like any engineer, he’s far better with things than with communications and relationships. After all, who does he have to discuss the issues with in order to gain experience and skill? No one. So it falls on us, the members of his church, to continue the task of building—which leads to the fifth, and most important tenant of the church.

It’s Time To Take Over The Job

     It’s time for you and I to realize that the task is incomplete, and that it’s been left to us to finish the work. Creation is over. The tasks that only a divine being could manage have been finished. Now the human part of the job must begin. Perhaps the task is too small in detail for his abilities, perhaps he’s simply given up. Whatever the reason, God cannot tell us how to live together, so it falls on us to solve that problem. We must manage the resources of a world, and must find ways of living together without constant warfare. We must make him proud of his creations, and justify his creation of the universe. This then, is the ongoing task of the Church Of The Really Nice Try.
     There are those who claim a direct contact with the lord, and a channeling of his power. But good people die while bad ones are miraculously healed, and the Lord allows millions to be murdered in the name of an ideology. More telling than that, he allows millions to die, sacrificed to his name. Which leads to the sixth, and final, major tenet of our church

Don’t Expect Miracles

     Certainly, one should hope for divine help, and certainly one should praise the Lord for having created the magnificence of the universe, but The Church Of The Really Nice Try is for work, not worship. It is for thinking, not blindly following, and it is for the greatest work a human being can do: The work of God.
     Visit your neighborhood Temple Of Brotherhood In The Faith Of The Really Nice Try. Or visit our webpage at:

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Author’s note:
     I began this in the spirit of fun, highlighting some of the inconsistencies of the Bible. My goal was to infuriate those people who have word “holy” appear on their forehead, while their reasoning powers diminish to zero, when religion is mentioned.
     But as I wrote this, a strange thing began to happen: I began to wish there were such a church, one focused on finding ways to get along, rather than punishing all who disagree with whatever ideology the group embraces.
     And that’s how I became founder, patriarch, and bake sale chairman of The Church of the Really Nice Try.
     At the moment I’m also the only member, true, but I get to wear some really cool purple robes and carry a staff. I get some funny looks, of course, but women really go for a man in purple robes.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
     I hope you enjoyed my little fantasy. If you did, and got here from Facebook, pressing the “Share” button at the page bottom will let others know the piece is here, and give them the chance to read it, as well. And if you hate me for writing it, push share, so more and more people can hate me as you do. Win/win ;–)
And if, perchance, my efforts pleased you, I’m glad. There are other stories posted, as well. You and others like you are the reason I write. And if it did bring a moment of reading pleasure, take a moment to rate it. Feedback matters to me.
     If you’re in the mood for something a bit longer, make a stop to look at my novels, and read the excerpts to see if they please, as well.

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Posted by on January 1, 2013 in Random Thoughts and Grumblings


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Let There Be, uhh… Light

Let There Be, uhh… Light
Stray thoughts come. And as always, are going to get me into trouble.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – –
So all this talk about God liking or not liking gay marriage got me thinking on a simple question: why does anyone, today, buy into religion? Understand it, yes. Enjoy it as a social thing, of course. But believe without question? I certainly can’t explain it.
To start out with, we’re asked to accept as literal and unassailable truth a story that not only can’t be proven; it can be refuted on virtually every page by a reasonably knowledgeable ten year old.
Open to the first page of the Bible and what do we find? Right after zapping the universe into existence God creates light.
Light? God certainly doesn’t need any. According to dogma he’s been around forever, and only created the known universe on a whim a bit less than six thousand years ago. Obviously, he doesn’t need light. And the fact that he doesn’t while we do, kind of undermines the “created in his image,” idea.
Strangely, when light was created there was nowhere to watch from, and nothing to see. So why bother? Why not have light appear along with the sun and stars? That is where the light comes from, after all.
No one ever seems to ask about this point. Though the fact that the church used to burn people at the stake for asking inconvenient questions, and still discourages that kind of thought, might explain. Still, you’d think God would want at least the basic science right, like creating the sun, then setting the planets spinning around it. I sometimes wonder what he would say if he read the things they they report him doing.
On the surface, light appearing before the sun comes into being seems a crazy idea. But only today. In past times, it not only made perfect sense, it fit the evidence, perfectly:
Assume for a minute that you’re someone who’s intelligent, but at the same time, ignorant of such things as diffraction, reflection, diffusion, and optics. In other words an educated and thoughtful person, living several thousand years ago. And as someone living in biblical times, you know with certainty that the Earth is flat. After all, if the world is round people would fall off. Any idiot can look at a steep hillside and see that.
So, our scientist storyteller is getting ready to tell his audience how the world and everything in it came to be. He’s fact-checking his story.
With that in mind let’s look at the evidence this early writer has, and apply both his intelligence and his knowledge to the world at large so he can write his story.
We know light travels in a straight line. We prove that easily enough by holding out a stick on a cloud free day. It casts a shadow exactly the size of the stick, something easily measurable. Raise the stick as high as you care to and the shadow cast by the sun remains the same size. The shadow of a building is neither narrower nor wider from bottom to top Conclusion: light travels in a straight line. And that also holds true if tested with a candle or a campfire. In fact, when tested with a candle as the only source of light, anything in the shadow of whatever is blocking the light is in pitch darkness. That’s an important point, too, because it has direct application in the next point.
In daylight, though, the darkness of the shadow isn’t absolute. Obviously, light is coming from all over the sky, not then just the sun. Inescapable conclusion: the sun is not the only source of daylight. And were it removed we would still have day and night.
Doubt that? Let’s go further and select a building with a window on the side opposite the sun. If you place an object in the light from that window the shadow, which obviously cannot be coming from the sun’s light, will narrow with distance from the object. Again, obvious to that ancient scholar: there are many sources for that light through the window, none of them sunlight. And since it’s obviously impossible to have light without a source, the fact that the light exists, in and of itself, proves that God exists and wants it to happen. We know better today, of course, we with our science and our instruments.
But people living in biblical times? They had a graphic demonstration of God’s amazing power every-single-day.
So certainly God would create that light first. In fact, by the text, he created light, then day and night, both brought into being before he made the sun.
So biblical storytelling makes perfect sense if you apply intelligence, coupled with a lack of any scientific knowledge, to the problem. And once it’s written, accepted, and the words are declared holy, who dares question? Only fools like me.
Who wrote that particular story? It can’t be God because whoever it was began to get their facts wrong at the top of the very first page. God’s version would be factual, and have the sun, not the earth, at the center of the solar system. After all, God wouldn’t lie. Would he?
No one ever asks who was there, taking notes on the day light was being created, either. The tale is written From the point of view of someone relating a memory—but who, in reality, is speculating based on an incomplete understanding of available data.
No one ever asks why, if the creation story is true, the light of stars residing millions of light years away from our little planet has already reached us, without the necessity of traveling for millions of years to get here.
The Bible is littered with such things. Yet strangely, millions of intelligent people, who could, and should see the obvious, read the opening of the Bible and say, “Yup. That’s exactly how it happened. It says so right there in my Bible.”
As you read this, science is driving a vehicle on the sands of Mars, taking pictures and firing lasers at rocks. Science has sent exploring ships to the planets, and beyond even the boundaries of our small family of planets. Science kept my wife and son alive after they contracted cancer. It makes possible such things as you reading this at the touch of a key, and the magic box in your kitchen that provides eternal winter inside its door.
Religion? They’re busy arguing over who can have sex with whom, and why they get to dictate.

Posted by on September 12, 2012 in Random Thoughts and Grumblings


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Goddess – a bit of romantic fluff

Goddess – a bit of romantic fluff


     The earthquake was small as such things go, measuring less than two on the Richter scale. It did almost no damage to the Greek countryside, or to the settlements scattered there. Here and there the animals of the forest stopped their night’s activities for a moment and wondered, as the ground trembled beneath them.
      The tremor was small and lasted for a moment, only, but the hillside had been weakened by more than a thousand years of rainwater, slowly and patiently eroding the limestone that formed its bones.
     As the quake subsided a tiny stone crumbled, giving up the job it had held for centuries, allowing a boulder to settle by just a tiny bit. Small though it was, though, that event was enough to begin a chain-reaction of crumbling and snapping stone that slowly but surely accelerated. For nearly a month after the quake, there was a series of almost undetectable changes, but the final event in the chain took place at seven-thirty-four, on a cool but pleasant September evening.
      With the brittle sound of cracking stone, the hillside abruptly collapsed under the boulder, launching it on a mad leaping race down to the creek, below. There, with a mighty splash, it found a new place from which to contemplate eternity.
      On the hillside, where the boulder had once rested so comfortably, there was a shadowed opening, and new silence.
      An hour passed with no further developments, until a lady meadow mouse in search of a home timidly began to explore the opening. She froze as the sound of a small yawn emerged from the newly exposed cave. A soft light began to grow, and the mouse decided to search somewhere else for her home.


      She was lovely, if your tastes ran to that sort of thing. Her hair was auburn, and though mussed now, clung around her face in stubborn curls, of the kind hated by those women who have them and envied by those who do not. She was slim and athletic, young in appearance, but the breast of a woman pressed against the soft purple and white linen that draped from shoulder to knee. Her other breast was bare, in the formal style of her people, and was of the type to inspire poetry in the aesthetic, and lust in the bold. She stood with the carriage of royalty, and her feet rested on the fragile protection of delicately made leather sandals, which themselves rested firmly on the air, two inches above the broken ground in front of the cave. In the growing dusk, her nimbus was just visible, a pale blue aura surrounding her head.
      She drifted to the smooth grass of the hillside and her feet sank gently to the ground, while she looked up to study the stars, just showing in the east, searching for a sign. Then, getting no comfort from the skies, she began to study the ghostly countryside, barely visible in the gathering skirts of night.
      Finally, she frowned and began to drift toward the paved road just visible to the west.
      It was a single lane track, poorly paved and badly in need of repair—a service road, used only by park attendants. Puzzled, she squatted to study the black asphalt of the road, brightening her nimbus to its maximum.
      Finding nothing there to enlighten her, her face a study in puzzlement, she stood and searched the road in either direction, trying to make up her mind as to which direction to take. With a shrug, she chose south. Far too exhausted by her ordeal to properly lift, she set off lightly on foot in the brightening moonlight, hoping she was heading toward the nearest settlement rather than away.
      Nearly a half-hour and three crossroad choices later, she came to one of the entrances to the park, and stared, dumbfounded, at the trickle of traffic on the public road. Things had certainly changed. Finally, she decided that since the majority of the traffic was heading to her left, she would join the flow.
      Several hundred feet later she stopped to investigate a sign, mounted on its angular metal pole, studying the strange symbols, while repeatedly tapping her fingernail on the flat surface, her brow furrowed at the metallic pinging she invoked.
      Distracted, and lost in thought, she walked nearly a mile through the gently rolling hills, oblivious to the consternation she was causing in the passing cars.
     Almost invisible in the moonlight, an access road dipped away from the highway, no more than a dark slope leading toward the woods. But the sound of plucked strings in the near distance, and the joining of voices raised in song brought her to a stop. Smiling in anticipation, she turned to follow the road past the parking lot and toward the source of happy noises.
      The trail meandered a short distance through the trees on its way to a picnic grove, where a fire pushed back the cooling night. Still hidden by the trees she stopped to study the people gathered there, as they were as unusual a group as she had ever seen. They were most strangely dressed, and of both sexes, though at first she was unsure of which was which. Most were wearing lower body coverings made of a tight woven cloth, dyed a deep blue and constructed so as to individually wrap each leg. They wore tightly fitted clothing over the upper body, without a male or female breast in sight, though the weather was not cool enough to require heavy robes. Their feet were fitted into some sort of casings, mostly white, that appeared to be tightly secured in place. The coverings probably provided protection against the stones of the trail, but looked to be hard and uncomfortable. Their hair, too, was unusual. It ranged from very short to shoulder length long, with length not a function of gender, though the women had more ornate arrangements that brought a frown of interest to her face, and a narrowing of her eyes. How they were able to achieve such interesting effects with their hair was a puzzle she was very interested in solving. That they were clean and neatly dressed relieved her worries to some extent. These were not members of the common people, but possibly a party of nobility on a frolic.
      They appeared to be at their ease, certainly not a war party, some leaning against what she guessed were supply packs, talking. Some were sprawled companionably with their ladies, resting on blankets spread on the ground by the fire. A man with a large stringed instrument of some sort sat with them, lazily strumming chords she found pleasant to the ear. Her first thought was to exercise caution and observe them from hiding for a time, but a goddess does not hide in fear from her subjects. And if by chance they were her equals, there was no need for caution. She drew herself up and lifted, both to protect her aching feet from the stones of the trail and to help identify her to the people there. Wrapping her dignity about her like a cloak, she floated toward the group gathered around the campfire.
      “Artemis!” That was the shocked exclamation from a stocky young man, rising now from his place at the fire. A whistle of surprise and admiration came from another man, frozen with a cup almost to his lips. That one stared at her exposed breast, unconsciously licking his lips.
      They were all on their feet now, the men interested, the women seeming reserved, or even hostile, but that was expected when dealing with humans. The man who had spoken quickly recovered, a wide smile on his face. “Welcome, Artemis, goddess of the hunt. You are even more beautiful than your portraits depict.” He bowed, adding, “Your loyal subjects await your bidding,” all the while frankly admiring her body.
      His words, other than the fact of his having spoken her name, were in an unknown language, and she stared at him, a frown marring the perfection of her forehead. “What language do you speak, Human? I know not the dialect if it be Greek.”
      His smile widened as he answered, straightening from the bow. “Ah, of course, the goddess of the hunt speaks only the Classic Greek we all learned in grade school, not our modern profanity of the mother tongue. Isn’t that right, Your Greatness?” His words were polite, but his voice was bold and mocking. His accent, too, was barbaric, and difficult to follow.
      She ignored the tone. “You are mistaken, Man. I too, am called by the name Artemis, but I am not the one known as the huntress.” It was time to clear up an important point.
     “Are you gods or Humankind?”
      The young man’s face fell into lines of confusion, which made her fairly certain they were human, but the question as to who they actually were, remained.
     Several of the others made what sounded like questioning comments, in a harsh and meaningless language, but the man ignored them, waving a shushing hand in their direction. His lips pursed as he studied her more closely, obviously enjoying the view. He had opened his mouth to answer, when one of the women shouted something and pointed to Artemis’s feet. The excitement her discovery generated proved they were not gods. The man’s next question, though, was totally unexpected.
      “Do you… Did you come from another world?”
      Unexpected events were arriving at a rate too fast to follow this night. As she tried to formulate a reply, another man stepped forward to stand almost protectively by her. His Greek was poor, and spoken with an accent that made it almost unintelligible. “Another world?” he said, in a tone that dismissed that possibility as not worth consideration. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are honored tonight by the presence of the goddess Artemis, known to the Romans as Diana, and we should make her welcome.” He switched to another language for a moment and spoke again. This time she was able to identify it as a corrupt dialect of Greek, and picked up a reference that they should “Be cold.” She thought she had heard him identify her as the Huntress once again, but his accent was so strange she couldn’t be sure, so she let it go for the time being. Whoever they were, they seemed to know little about the gods.
      Stooping to collect a stick from the ground, the man turned again to Artemis, gesturing with it to her feet. “With your permission?” he asked. It was obvious that he wanted to verify that she was actually floating above the ground.
      “No need, Man,” she told him, taking control of the situation herself. Pushing aside her exhaustion for the moment, she lifted higher, until her feet were nearly level with his head, amid their gasps of disbelief and shocked comments. She held herself there for a moment, fighting to keep the strain from showing on her face, then settled to the ground, her head throbbing. There was silence for a time while they absorbed what they had seen, and tried unsuccessfully to explain it to themselves in terms of their previous experiences. Several made mystic signs in the air before them.
     The man nodded.
     “Truly, she is a goddess,” he mused, his voice sounding distracted. Pulling himself together with an effort, he too bowed, but with the proper respect, asking, “Would you care to join us, Goddess, for refreshment and conversation?”
      She was beginning to regret her actions in not observing the group from concealment until she could decide on a proper course of action. Unfortunately, it was too late for regret. She looked him over, trying to make a decision as to whether to accept their hospitality and the demands that would make on her, or to refuse the offer and leave.
     Aside from his strange manner of dress, the human was comely, almost in the style of the gods. He appeared to be somewhat older than the rest of the group, but it was impossible for her to estimate his age other than to say that he was still a young man. Taller than she by a hand, he appeared to be well built beneath the concealment of strange clothing. “You are?”
      He formally bowed a second time, saying, “I am called Nick Cristopo. Nicky to my friends and also to the gods and goddesses.” His smile was friendly and infectious, not mocking, and he had impossibly white, even teeth.
     Relaxing a bit, she acknowledged his smile with a nod.
     “Thank you, Man Nicky, this has been a passing strange night for me, and I would welcome a bit of wine and a moment’s rest.”
      He chattered rapidly in the other language for a moment, arguing with some of the other men, who seemed to be in fear of her. Apparently he won the argument, for they dragged a large wooden table, with attached benches, a bit closer to the fire. Nicky then presented her with wine, poured into a strangely flexible cup. It was impossibly thin, and made of a cloudy material she had never seen before, but the wine was as fine as she had ever tasted, and slid pleasantly down her parched throat. The women still regarded her with almost unconcealed hostility.
      Accepting her as a guest, they plied her with strange but pleasing tidbits of food, ending with an ambrosial something called a chocolate bar, delighting in her exclamations of enjoyment as she tasted each strange new offering. Even the women slowly warmed, accepting her as sister, and laughing as she curiously examined the paints with which they enhanced their beauty. She was enraptured by the tiny but perfect mirrors they carried to aid in their application.
      Sated with food, she sipped her wine, relaxing and unwinding from the shock of finding herself thrust some unknown distance into the future. She had few firm ties to her own world since the death of her parents. Because of that, the shock of displacement by what must surely be several decades did not dismay her as much as it might have a few years before, when she still lived in the bosom of her family. Rather, it intrigued.
      As her mood mellowed, she remembered the singing that had first attracted her to the picnic grove and turned to the man who had been playing.
      “Would you do me the honor of continuing your song?”
     He frowned, and she repeated her request, more slowly this time. After a moment, in which she could see that he was trying to translate her words into a language he understood, he smiled and nodded, then picked up the device and began to tune it.
      The request pleased the group, for not only he but several others contested to present the best music for her pleasure, singing and playing while the moon moved through a tenth of the sky. There was nothing in their singing that rang familiar, and most of the music was strange in style. Still, there was much she liked, None were in a language she spoke, though Nicky and some of the others told her of what they sang.
     When the singers tired, one of the young men produced a small box that sang of itself in the most amazing manner. At his touch, it provided the music of a company of musicians, and the voices of many singers. Much of that music was harsh with discord, but apparently well liked by the group, as they began to pair off and dance in an almost frenzied manner that both surprised and shocked. They asked her to join them, and she was sorely tempted, but in such an unusual situation, knowing nothing of the customs of these people, best to preserve the dignity of the gods, so she reluctantly declined.
      Finally, sated with both song and food, she sat on the edge of the picnic table, resting her feet on the bench, much restored. They gathered at her feet, as curious as children. Not yet fully believing, but suspending disbelief, they were willing to go along with her portion of the night’s entertainment.
      Nicky, his face flushed with the effort of dancing, raised the question.
     “We’ve entertained you, Goddess, will you now entertain us with the answers to some of our questions?”
      Her mind urged caution, but relaxed now, with several cups of wine smiling in her stomach, she decided to humor the human’s curiosity as payment for their hospitality. She nodded, saying, “Ask away, though there are some things about the gods that I may not answer.”
      “Do you really know the goddess of the hunt?” That was the stumblingly translated request from a woman who clearly wished to emulate the huntress.
      Artemis frowned. She didn’t like to speak against another god, especially to humans, but the woman had touched a sore point, and the wine argued in favor of speech. She would have to simplify her answers for their limited understanding of Greek, but simple answers were all she planned to give in any case.
     “I know the one the Humans call the Huntress,” she said, reluctantly, “But I’m afraid I don’t like her very much. She’s a bloodthirsty showoff who cares little for proper behavior. She is always and always trying to prove she’s the best at everything.” The look on the woman’s face, in response, argued for further explanation. Apparently her command of the language was better than was her ability to speak it.
     “It’s no great feat to out-shoot a human archer when you can guide the arrow from the bow all the way to its target. She happens to have a strong talent in that direction, and makes a big show of it. I think she’s really trying to prove to herself that a goddess, though only a female, is far better than a human male. She also happens to like killing things just for the sake of killing, something that I find…” She groped for words, finally settling on: “Hateful.”
      The woman was shocked, and seemed about to retort, when one of the men, the first to speak when she entered the clearing, broke in with, “How about Aphrodite, the goddess of love.” He was wearing a smirk. Based on his behavior with the other women this one appeared to have the mind and manners of a pig.
      She turned on him and pointed a finger, waving it at the man. “You for one, would not be pleased if you spent a night with her,” she said, unable to keep the disgust from her voice. “Goddess of lust is more like what she is. A hundred men in a night would not satisfy that one. Her body smolders with an unquenchable heat, one that brings no glory to the gods, and I think, little pleasure to her.”
      They were silent for a moment, then a women threw out a name: “Hermes.”
      She nodded. “A nice man, with a good sense of humor, but he has a penchant for practical jokes. He loves to trick an unsuspecting human into a foot race, and then win it by adding to his speed by floating as he runs.”
      “Dionysus,” another called out.
      “Ah, Dionysus, my favorite old uncle.” She smiled as his image rose in her mind. “A wonderful, wonderful man. Oh, he’s fat and sloppy, and he loves wine and pretty women far too much, but an adorable and loving person in spite of that. When I was a little girl, I would spend part of the summer with him, and how I loved him, and how he would make me laugh.” She smiled in remembrance, then came back to the present, the warmth in her voice still reflecting her feelings for him. “He throws great parties too,” she told them. “Some of which, I wager, will go down in history.”
      “Tell us about Zeus and Lydia.” This from another young woman. “Did he really appear to her as a swan? And did they really…well…” She trailed off
      Unable to help herself, she exploded with laughter, asking, “Is that old story still making the rounds? Even the woman’s husband didn’t believe that one, and he was known by all to be a fool. The gods can do many things, but becoming an animal isn’t one of them. Unless that animal be a pig in the form of a god, or in Zeus’s case, a randy old goat.” With laughter she was unable to suppress she turned her attention back to the woman who had asked the question. “Tell me, would you like to have sex with a swan? And what would be your reaction to a swan dragging the sword and sack of a man under its belly?” They all laughed.
      “But what can a goddess do that makes her so special?” asked one of the men. There were murmurs of agreement to that.
      That was something she had not thought about for a long time, and it gave her pause. “Well…we can float above the ground as fast as a man can run, and—”
      “For how long.” This interruption was from the man who had first welcomed her to the group.
      She frowned in annoyance at the interruption before continuing. She was becoming tired of his bad manners, and his all but drooling over her body.
     “For me, far longer than a good man can run, before pains in the head force me to stop. Even then I can use the lifting to greatly lighten my weight, and can run a great deal faster than any Human.”
      “Unless that human is riding a bike, or is on skates,” commented the man with a sneer.
      “Or in a car,” added another.
      She looked blankly at them, not recognizing the terms that they were using. “Car?”
      “A four wheeled, self-powered cart,” said Nicky, from where he sat studying her. “You might have seen them on the road on your way in here.”
     He pointed to the trail leading in from the parking lot, and she nodded, thoughtfully.
      “What else can you do that makes you so special?” This was in the same sneering tone, from the man who had so far been the most annoying of the group. She was starting to loose patience. Only good manners, curiosity, and the fact that she recognized that the man had been drinking too much wine had restrained her thus far. That charity would soon come to an end.
      She stood and raised her chin in defiance. “For one thing, discourteous human, we do not grow old and die as mere humans do. We do not sicken of the many diseases that scourge your people, and most of our babies do not die in the first year as yours do.” It was perhaps tactless of her to remind him of that fact, but she was growing angry.
     “It is common for the gods to live seventy years or more, and one hundred is not unknown, while most of your people are dead of disease before fifty.”
      Nicky shook his head, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth, as he told her, “I hate to be the one to give you the bad news, Goddess, but the humans have made great strides in the more than two thousand years you’ve slumbered.” He cocked his head and smiled. “You have been asleep, have you not?” She nodded, shocked by the vast quantity of time that had passed. It wasn’t sleep, but there was no reason to go into more detail.
     “In that time,” he continued, “the human life span has jumped to that of the gods, and our babies, too, live.”
      It was quite a blow to the self-esteem of a goddess to find that most of the things that made her special had been relegated to the trivial. She hadn’t yet allowed herself dwell on the time that had passed since she last walked the Earth. That would have to wait until she was alone. Thoughtfully, she pursed her lips. Surely there was something… “Ah,” she had it.
      Brightening her nimbus to its maximum, it was clearly visible even here close by the fire.
     With pride she said, “A goddess need not fear the dark, nor the hazards that are sheltered by that dark.”
      That seemed to impress them, but urged by the spirit of competition that she had aroused in them, one man reached into a pocket sewn into the pack on which he had been leaning. He removed a bright silver wand, from which sprang an eye-searing beam of light.
      “Very nice, Goddess, I sure would like to be able to do that myself, but can you match this flashlight?”
      She slumped. “No, not even Zeus has such a device.”
      The loud one got to his feet and lumbered unsteadily toward Artemis. “Gentlemen, I finally believe she really is a goddess, and I have never kissed a goddess before.”
      Nicky began to stand. It pleased her that the human would attempt to come to her aid, but this pig was her problem. Enough was enough. She absently held a warning palm out to Nicky, keeping him away.
      The expression on the man’s face when his feet left the ground was highly satisfying. She smiled tightly as he landed on his back, grunting in pain as the force slamming him to the earth drove a whoosh of air from his lungs. Her eyes fairly blazed as she advanced on him. The foolish human who made the mistake of angering a goddess would remember his punishment for a long, long time.
      He struggled uselessly to rise as she continued to advance, her unseen bounds holding him tightly to the ground. His face was pale, and his jaw slack with growing fear. Finally, unable to break free of her hold, he lay back, eyes flicking from side to side, obviously seeking help. But help would not be forthcoming.
      “Goddess!” The words were hard, and there was command in them that stopped her motion. Nicky placed himself between her and the man. His voice turned gentle. “Please, Goddess, he deserves what you plan to do to him, no doubt. But though that’s true, he didn’t know the danger he was courting. He has never before had the honor to meet a goddess.”
     She lifted an eyebrow in signal to go on, as she allowed her posture to soften. She would listen.
     “The gods have been gone from this world for a very long time… Will you spare him?”
      Her whispered “Gone?” was barely audible, but he heard and nodded. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet, pitched for her ears alone. “This is no place for you to be right now, Goddess. May I take you to a more comfortable location where we may talk?” He offered his arm.
      She stood frozen, the man on the ground forgotten now as Nicky’s words hammered again and again in her head. Gone! Her people gone for what must be ages. She swayed, but willed strength back into her body. A goddess must not show weakness before the humans. She turned and took his arm, leaning on his strength as he guided her down the now dark pathway, her nimbus providing them with light to avoid the snags and foot-catching roots.
      The walk to the parking lot, in the cool night air, served to steady her and gave her the time to regain full control of her emotions. Once there he guided her to a strange device. It had but two wheels, arranged one behind the other, and had a seat to straddle as though it was a riding beast. He took an amulet from his pocket and inserted it into the device, whereupon it began to shake like a thing alive. Snarling several times, it settled into a deep rumbling, breathing a momentary cloud of smoke from its lower parts. She took a quick step away from the thing, but returned when she realized it was only a device, without a mind of its own. A mechanical servant of the man. Nicky produced two helmets, each a work of art, impossibly glossy and strangely light for their size, with bulbous crystal coverings to be placed over the eyes. He placed one on his head, giving him a strange, almost menacing, almost heroic appearance, then showed her how to wear the other one, insisting that it was necessary for her protection when riding the device. He stood close to help her fasten the chin-strap, but jumped back as though stung when his arm brushed the warmth of her breast.
      “Forgive me, Goddess, I didn’t mean to take liberties,” he said, quickly. He was clearly upset, though she could not understand why.
      His voice was strange and muted in the confines of the helmet, but still understandable. She shook her head in confusion. “I fail to understand, Man Nicky… is a woman’s breast an object of fear in your world? Do you find me objectionable?”
      He smiled ruefully. “No, quite the contrary, Goddess, I find you truly lovely, but in our society it is traditional to cover the breasts. A man who touches a woman there without invitation is deemed rude and vulgar.” He stood back and studied her for a moment, nodding, and appearing pleased with what he saw. She was of a mind to reprimand him for undue boldness, but she had invited it with her comment, and was too pleased by his evident approval to complain. Reaching a decision, he delved into a storage basket on the side of the device and produced upper body clothing of the type he was wearing.
      “Here…this will keep you from getting cold as we ride.” He gazed again at her exposed breast and shook his head, adding, “And from getting arrested, too.”
      After some difficulty with the sleeves and the fastenings, he got her safely into the jacket. She found his reluctance to touch her amusing. With a smile, she reflected that there was nothing like flirting with an attractive man to take a woman’s mind from her problems.
      He showed her how to mount the device, behind him—her clothing requiring that she sit side-saddle—and how to place her feet so as to support herself. She was beginning to see the purpose of the strange blue leggings the people here wore. As she settled herself, and placed her arms around his waist, a bright white light lanced out in front of the thing, and with a roar, and a lurch that nearly unseated her, it began to carry them rapidly down the road.
      She had been expecting the device to begin moving, but still, the violence and speed of the start came as a shock. For a time, as they swept smoothly around the curves in the road, she clutched tightly to him, in fear for her life. Even a goddess couldn’t survive a fall at these impossible speeds, and she had no idea of what kept the thing erect. After a time however, she decided that if Nicky, a human, had no fear of death, she too could safely relax.
     Once she was able to forget the danger she began to enjoy herself immensely. The wind of their passage, blowing strongly in those parts of her face not protected by the helmet, and the smooth, powerful way that the device swept through the night, was exhilarating. The thing charged headlong through the darkness, making nothing of the steepest hill, and was more thrilling than a ride on the finest horse.
      The rush of the wind had one drawback however, that of making it difficult to talk. That, coupled with the, not trivial, problem of understanding Nicky’s strange accent, prevented conversation until they arrived at wherever he was taking her. It as just as well, though. There was a lot to think over.
      In a startlingly short time they arrived at a town, but not one that her experience could ever have prepared her for. The streets were crowded with all manner of wheeled devices, all rushing about at high speed. And the streets! They were smoothly paved, and lighted nearly as brightly as day, as were the interior of many of the buildings. She scarcely knew where to look, there were so many wonders vying for her attention. Buildings fronted with sheets of incredibly clear glass, higher than a man could reach, were everywhere, each with an array of goods, in colors and textures to delight the eye. She nearly fell off the motorcycle while attempting to look at the mannequins in a clothing shop. And seeing the people who thronged the streets she could better appreciate why Nicky was so insistent she cover her own clothing. Dressed as she was, she would stand out far too clearly in this town, and that was something best not to do at this point.
      For no reason that she could determine, Nicky stopped at the intersection of two streets. He balanced the thing they were riding with his toes, and calmly waited, as the vehicles on the crossing street began to move. She was studying the parade of vehicles when a noise from behind caused her to turn, just in time to see a huge monster of a device bearing lethally down on them. Bright headlights blinding her, it emitted a fearsome shrieking as it prepared to destroy them. Too frightened by the sudden attack to even think of lifting clear of the danger, she clutched Nicky painfully tight and screamed in fright, certain that her end was at hand.
      His head snapped around and their mount nearly fell over as he tried to see what had frightened her. His eyes finally settled on the truck, now stopping with a final squeal of brakes, and he smiled. He placed his mouth near her ear and pointed to a device hanging above the intersection.
      “When the red lamp burns we stop to let the others cross.” His next words were swallowed up in a blare of noise coming from the vehicle behind them, startling her and further unraveling her frayed nerves. The red lamp had extinguished, its glow replaced by another, this one green, and the impatient driver behind them was voicing his displeasure at their failure to move.
      Nicky pulled to the curb, as she fought a loosing battle to keep tears from her eyes. He leaned the bike on its side stand and knelt in front of her, removing both their helmets and taking her hands in his, while he wiped her tears with a square of white linen.
      “I know it’s hard, Goddess, but you have to just take the attitude that if I’m not screaming we’re both going to live through it.” He smiled, gently, drawing a small answering ghost of a smile from her.
      “I’ll try, Nicky,” she said, trying to be brave. “But it’s just so much at once.” She gestured, indicating the area around them. “So much that’s strange.”
      He looked around, slowly nodding, and seeming to be trying to see the city as it must appear through her eyes. Then, spotting something he apparently recognized, he pulled her to her feet, saying. “I have an idea that might help. In any case, it’ll get you out of traffic for a minute or two. Just follow me, and let me do the talking. We’re going to get something to eat that I think you may like.”
      They sat on a bench, in a tiny park, while he taught her the skills required to keep the ice cream in a chocolate ice cream cone from running down her arm.
      They rested there for a time, while she watched the people pass and asked questions about what she saw. Finally, after he refused her a third cone, she announced that she was ready to face the traffic again.
      As they passed through the city, she noticed something that pleased her more than any other single thing: The smell, or more precisely, the lack of it. All cities of her experience shared one thing in common, and that was the cloying stench of garbage and dung, both human and animal. The only odors she could detect as they traveled this night were those of growing things, and the occasional joy of a meal cooking. The background smell of burning hydrocarbons exiting from the exhaust of the city’s motoring public was an unfamiliar but not unpleasant odor that she quickly ignored, as did all of the other inhabitants of the city.


      They turned into what was for that city, a narrow street, though in her experience it was wide enough for two ox-carts to pass. It was cobbled with well worn stone, of a style that she found familiar. Nicky pulled in at the curb in front of a stone building that was old and as worn as the cobbles of the street. He dismounted, helping her off and pulling the bike onto its center stand. Removing his helmet, he indicated the building, saying, “My home.” There were hundreds of questions she was eager to ask, but she decided to wait until they reached the safety of the building. Unlike a human woman, she had little fear of what he might try to do to her, so had no hesitation about following him. He led her up a short flight of stone steps and through a door containing dozens of small panes of glass. He then bowed her forward into a narrow hall floored with tile and dimly lit by an overhead lamp.
      “Now we go up,” was his comment as he started up a creaking flight of narrow stairs. Twice more they climbed before he led her down a hallway matching the first, to open a door and step inside.
      She looked around the room in which she found herself. It was dark when they entered, but now was lighted by several brightly glowing lamps. Nicky caused them to light instantly, simply by touching a device on the wall near the door. The room was beautifully carpeted and spotlessly clean, though the rug was old and showing worn spots, as was most of the furniture. On the walls were bright new paintings of some kind, of incredible detail and color. Some were so real as to be almost confused with the view from an open window. She turned about, studying the room and its furnishings. It was one of the most well constructed and expensive homes she had ever seen, and it seemed strange that he did not re-cover the furniture with new fabric when it wore. Perhaps he had suffered a setback in his finances, or it had been left to him by his father.
      He looked around and apologized. “It’s not much, but it’s the most I can afford. My parents help, but I do the best I can to keep their expenses down.” He saw her puzzlement and explained. “I don’t own the place, I only rent it. I wasn’t born here in Greece, though my grandparents were. I was born in a land far across the sea.” He shrugged. “Why I came here is a long story, one I’ll save for later, but I’ve been studying for my doctorate and working at the University for the past three years.”
      Little of what he said thus far made sense to her, but she nodded at the appropriate places, assuming that at some time in the future it would become more understandable. His next comment did answer one question that had puzzled her.
      “One of the things I studied here was the Classic Greek language, which is the reason I can talk to you.” He shrugged, adding, “Though none too well, I fear. Here in Greece, the children learn your language in school, and speak it far better than I.”
      He had begun walking as he finished, so she followed him to the other side of the room, and to a well worn but serviceable sofa. He hurriedly removed a clutter of books, putting them aside on a small table, already covered with its own pile of paper and books. Several of the newly added books and papers promptly slid to the floor, causing him to blush and shake his head, as he attempted to neaten the pile.
      Giving it up as an impossible job he threw up his hands. “My mother always told me this would happen,” he said, with a laugh. “You never know when you’ll have company, she told me, but did I listen?” He shook his head and laughed again, saying, “I’m sorry, I guess I’m a bit sloppy about this stuff, but these are mid-terms I’ve yet to grade.” At her questioning look he waved a hand in annoyance. “Never mind,” he said. “It’s work I have to finish.” He pointed to the now clear sofa. “Sit, while I conduct a search for refreshment.” Highly amused, she sat and watched as he rooted in a nearby cabinet, muttering to himself. With a small cry of success he stood, returning to join her with a bottle of wine. He studied the markings on the bottle.
     “I was saving this for a special occasion, and I would guess that this is as special as I’ll ever get.” Then, disappearing into another room for a moment, he returned with a pair of glasses and a device with which to remove the bottle’s stopper.
      Filling the glasses and handing her one, he settled on the other end of the couch and turned to face her. He thought for a moment, then said, “I’d love to know more about you, but I guess I should start by bringing you up to date on the history of the world since you last saw it. Is that all right with you?” She savored the wine and nodded. It might be the quickest way to get many of her questions answered. He smiled and leaned back as he continued, saying, “You may find it interesting, I think.”
      He stared at the ceiling for a moment to gather his thoughts, then started, talking for the next hour almost without a break, refilling their glasses as he spoke. Occasionally she asked a question, but for the most part she just sipped the wine and listened as the story unfolded. As he spun the tale, he answered many of her questions, but raised far more than he had answered. Time alone, she decided, would cure that problem.
     As he talked, she watched him with interest. For a human, he was handsome, with an expressive face and ready smile. His accent was improving with practice, or perhaps her ear was adjusting, and he had a rich baritone voice that fell pleasantly on the ear. His hair was dark, and though he tried to comb it straight, it had a mind of its own, bending into crisp curls where the helmet had ruffled it.
      The thought of a liaison with a human was not one that normally would have thrilled her. Now, however, she was cast, alone and adrift, into a world in which she knew little, and where she had no place. Goddess or not, in this confusing world she was as a babe in arms, and badly needed both a teacher and protector. He was kind and thoughtful, she knew that much about him already. He had been ready to come to her aid against the piggish one, not knowing that she was capable of defending herself against a human with ease. She added well educated to his attributes as he continued to talk. The fact that he was also a very attractive man, and seemed to be taken with her, added weight to the idea. She thought of her own comfortable world, shivering uncontrollably as the emptiness and loneliness of her situation took hold of her mind.
      He apparently saw her shiver, because he stopped short, extending a hand to touch hers in comfort. His brow furrowed, seemingly in annoyance.
     “I’m sorry, Goddess,” he said, his voice apologetic. “I’ve been thoughtless. Here you are, lost and alone in a strange world, and I’ve been chattering away like a monkey. Perhaps it would be best if you get some rest, and we talk more in the morning. It’s not a work day, so perhaps a bit of exploration—touching and seeing instead of talking—might clarify things even better.”
     She nodded. His eyes were blue, like hers.
      He returned her gaze for a moment, then shook his head as though clearing cobwebs. He stood, abruptly, stopping for an instant to give her a look that she was at a loss to define. Breaking eye contact when it was obvious that he was staring, he turned away to lead her to a darkened doorway that opened off the main room. There he showed her how to operate the light switch for the bedroom, and pointed out the bed, a massive thing, raised well off the floor and larger than any she had ever seen. Covered in fine cloth, with a bright blanket turned back and inviting, it was far softer and more comfortable than her own bed. She sat on the edge and found that it moved in a way that made her smile. Surprisingly, as she sat enjoying the strange sensation of bouncing on the bed, Nicky said his good night and turned to leave, without even a token attempt to join her. She stopped him.
      “Nicky, there is one thing you haven’t shown me.” She laughed at his puzzled look, and said, “The location of the privy. Even goddesses need to use one now and then.”
      He snapped his fingers. “Right, and that may take a little explaining, too. Taking several cloths from a rack on the back of the bedroom door, and a small bag of objects that clinked gently together as he carried them, he led her out into the hall and down to a door at the end. “We share the bath among the three other apartments on this floor,” he told her as they walked, clarifying little.
      She followed him into what was to her, a truly amazing room. The floors and the lower part of the wall were of patterned blue and white tile, worn by the steps of countless feet, but still quite lovely. There was a tub, white and huge, standing on clawed feet. Amazingly, it could be filled with hot water that ran right out of the wall, as could a smaller basin mounted on the wall just for the washing of hands and face. The most amazing and pleasing device of all, though, was the toilet. That was apparently the reason for the lack of odor in the town. And the toilet paper! That was something she could learn to love in short order.
      He showed her how to operate the wonders of the room, his face flaming red as he explained the use of the toilet, and the function of the roll of paper mounted on the wall nearby. When she began removing her clothing, though, he swallowed hard, showed her how to lock the door, then made an embarrassed exit, apparently shy again at the sight of her body.
      Finished with the toilet, she watched bemused as the water swirled away, only to be replaced with fresh water. Laughing like a child with a new toy, she repeated the action several times. Turning to the tub, she smiled, and humming one of the strange songs she’d heard that night, began to fill it, neglecting to lock the door. After some initial difficulty in adjusting the water temperature, she sat on the edge of the tub, sucking on the finger she had nearly scalded, watching the water level slowly rise. Unable to wait until it filled completely, she slid into the steaming water, sighing in contentment as it slowly rose around her. Then, when she was floating limply in delightfully warm water, she turned off the tap and called him.
     As she suspected, he was standing guard outside in the hall. He stuck his head around the door. “Yes?”
      Petulantly she said, “Nicky, you left me alone. Now come here and show me which of these containers hold oils for my bath.” With a resigned shrug, he came in and closed the door, locking it behind him. Then he began to lay out the contents of the bag on a shelf next to the tub.
      He held up a small lump of a fragrant substance, turning to her, but obviously trying not to stare at her breasts. “This is soap, and…and you probably don’t have the faintest idea of what soap is,” he finished. He muttered something in his native language and shook his head. Then he selected a large bottle and held it up in front of her, his eyes still carefully avoiding her body. “Shampoo to clean the hair…” He stopped and sighed, adding, “Which has a top you don’t know how to open, and contents you don’t know how to use.” He looked in the little bag, and at the objects arrayed on the shelf, then sighed again.
     “I guess it’s show and tell time, Nicky,” he said, resignedly.
      Kneeling, he wet her hair and began to wash it. That was such a sensual delight that she made him repeat it a second time, just for the feel of his hands gently kneading her scalp.
      Soap for the body was another delight, leaving her skin joyfully clean and smooth, but to her amusement, he refused to do that job for her. He was wrong about her not knowing about soap, though the plant derived soap she was familiar with was as nothing next to this.
     The hand-held shower-head was another source of pleasure, almost like standing under a gentle warm waterfall, as he had her stand to rinse the soapy water from her body. He wanted her to do the rinsing herself, but she cleverly pointed the thing at the tile floor and at him, until he was forced to do it for her.
     She smiled at his discomfort. He really was a sweet man, and teasing him was fun, though he didn’t react as she’s expected him too. Perhaps he already had a woman?
      The bath towel was a huge fluffy sheet that wrapped warmly around her as he stood behind her and dried her hair with a second towel. He was shy and sweet, and blushed mightily as she leaned back and planted a kiss of thanks on his cheek.
      The blow-dryer was a startlement that left her speechless and converted her hair into a loose mass of lovely curls that brought a “Wow,” of astonishment as she studied the result in the mirror over the sink—another wonder in itself. She hugged him in gratitude, then kissed him again It seemed that his breathing was labored when she stepped away, so he wasn’t immune to her charms. Still, he would have left her alone in the bedroom a second time if she had not again stopped him. It was time to stop teasing.
      “Nicky, please,” she said, gently. “I’m very much alone in your world, and I’ve had more shocks in one day than I care to think about.”
     He stopped, still facing away from her, his fists balled, tension clearly showing in the way he held himself.
     She continued softly, saying, “I’ve been teasing you, and I’m sorry, but I badly need to be held tonight, Nicky.” He stood unmoving, so she added, “A goddess does not usually have to ask.”
      He took a deep breath, holding it for an impossibly long time before letting it out in a long sigh, turning to face her. His breathing turned harsh and he reacted with a shiver when he found her standing unadorned, the towel at her feet.
     His voice was soft and thick with emotion, and his words were tight and intense.
     “Artemis, I want…I have wanted very much to hold you…and you can’t—“ He stopped and took a breath. “You can’t imagine how much.” He shook his head, never taking his eyes from her. “But there is no possible way to do that without doing a whole lot more, and therein lies the problem. I have no means here in the apartment to prevent your having a child as a result of that…holding.” He spread his arms, and his voice was a whisper. “I can’t…I just…just can’t.”
      His concern was touching. In her experience, men cared not at all if their seed sprouted in the women they bedded.
     She held out her hand, her voice warm as she said, “I thank you, Nicky. You honor me with your concern, but there’s no need for worry. Human and gods cannot interbreed.” She stood and waited, her hand still extended in invitation and her eyes locked with his. She would not plead.
      He started to speak, anguish written tightly on his face, then halted and reached out for her hand. Pressing it between both of his, he carried it to his lips to be kissed, his eyes closing in acceptance. Then, with a sigh and a rush, he drew her into his arms. Some things, she discovered, change little over the years.


      She struggled up out of a deeply haunted sleep, one in which she was pursued by all manner of nameless dreads, clawing and snapping at her as she ran. She had been fleeing headlong through a menace filled forest, desperately trying, but strangely unable to lift or press them away.
     For a moment she lay breathless, arms tight held around her breasts, still frightened by the nightmare, but relieved to be safe and warm in her bed.
      With an unintelligible mutter that trailed off into a quiet snore, Nicky changed position, disturbed by her start of fright. His movement caused the bed to bounce, in that half-pleasant half-annoying way it had, while quiet shrieks came from the springs beneath her. With a start she was back in the bed of a stranger, in a world she did not know—cut off forever from all she had once held dear. This was real, and in its own way, far more frightening than the dream.
      Around her the dark bedroom crouched, its wonders transformed by darkness and fear into hostile black presences. The weird unnatural light that crept in through the window only served to make the room more alien and frightening.
      There was a quiet click near her head. Apparently, it had come from a small box, resting on the table next to the bed. On the side facing her it had a tiny window, and somewhere inside was a tiny lamp that illuminated its contents. Inside also, displayed in the glass, were several small plates, covered with symbols that were in no language she recognized. She watched the box, waiting for it to repeat whatever had made the clicking noise, while telling herself that there was nothing to fear. But fear seldom responds to reason, and hers remained.
      The box clicked a second time, and she relaxed. The noise had been the falling forward of one of the plates, which had exposed a second plate that had been behind the first. This new plate was painted with another set of symbols. She watched until this new plate, too, dropped, at the same measured rate, exposing yet another.
     The box was a time measuring device, and not a thing to be feared. Still a feeling that the darkness was closing in on her persisted, fueled by her dream, and aided by her feeling of loneliness.
      She lay back, watching the patterns of light on the ceiling and taking comfort from the warmth of the man sleeping beside her. But the strange noises of the city intruded on her island of safety, and the disconcerting sweep of headlamps across the ceiling made her feel even more alone. The distant barking of a dog—a sound she well knew—should have reassured her, but only helped to add to her feeling of isolation. Feeling hot tears well into her eyes, she turned to Nicky for comfort, clinging tightly to him, while her face pressed wetly to his warm back.
      He stirred, then turned over, bringing her close in his arms. He must have felt the dampness of her tears, because he pulled back, then touched her eyes with a fingertip before drying them with a corner of the blanket. When he spoke his voice was thick with sleep but warm with concern.
     “Bad dreams?”
      “Just lonely, and a little frightened,” she said. “It will pass.” She looked up into his face. “Thank you for being here, Nicky.”
      They cuddled for a time, her fears slowly receding. Finally, she drew back and sat, throwing off the covers and pulling herself into a tailor’s position, legs folded in front of her. Yawning, she said, “Nicky, tell me about your childhood. I want to know what it’s like to grow up in your world.”
      Stretching the kinks out of his back he sat up, stifling a yawn of his own. He mirrored her position and took her hands in his. When he smiled, his teeth were a flash of white in his shadowed face. “Fair enough,” he told her. “Then you can tell me about growing up in your world.” His teeth flashed again, his smile wider this time, as he laughingly added, “Then perhaps we can find some other thing to do that will please us.”
      She returned his laugh. Then, with an impish grin, she pushed him over backward, falling on top of him and pinning him with her weight. Grinning, she rested the weight of her upper body on one forearm across his chest, while she archly slid her index finger from his forehead to the tip of his nose. Her voice was throaty, and warm with suppressed laughter as she tapped the finger on his chin to emphasize her point. “You silly man. First, we will find that thing to do that will please us, and then we talk. After that, perhaps we will again find that thing to do that will please us.”


      She woke this time to find herself in the softest bed she had ever known. Bright daylight was streaming through the curtains, and the warmth of a sunbeam on her leg was what had wakened her. Rolling over for a good-morning kiss, she discovered, to her disappointment, that Nicky was missing. For a time, she rested her hand on the spot he had occupied, her eyes soft, as her thoughts returned to last night. He was not at all what she expected. He was gentle and thoughtful; anxious to please her. Then too, he was wild and abandoned, his passion and caring a combination that struck an answering abandon in her, such as none before had done. He was not what she had expected, but he was very much what she had always hoped for. They’d spent a good part of the night lost in quiet pillow talk: of childhood, and growing, and their views of life. They were hungrily devouring each other’s past in an effort to know each other. Surprisingly, she found in him a kindred spirit. He might live in a strange world, but in many ways she was meeting a long forgotten friend. Her long sleep was perhaps not as great a loss as she first thought. It seemed there were to be compensating factors.
      Fully awake now, she looked out of the window and found that it was nearly noon. Not a surprise given that they talked until the dawn was brightening the windows. It appeared to be a beautiful day.
      She padded through the apartment in search of Nicky and found him in the kitchen, singing softly as he prepared a breakfast for the two of them. A man cooking for his woman was another new experience, one she could easily get to like.
      He shook his head at the sight of her.
     “Artemis my love, you are truly beautiful, and you make my heart sing, but you are going to have to get into the habit of wearing clothing if you intend to stay around here.”
      She cocked her head to one side, then struck a provocative pose.
     “You don’t like my body, Nicky?” Her tone dripped feigned disappointment.
      In response he laughed, then leaned over to nip gently at her nipple, which responded with instant hardness, while she sucked in her breath in sudden pleasure.
     “Of course I love the sight of your body, but I—” He suddenly stopped, switching off the flame and turning to her. “The hell with breakfast,” he said. Laughing, she flowed into his arms.
      Later, after they had finally gotten around to eating, and were lazing in bed, playing a comfortable game of stroke and tickle, he brought up the subject of her long sleep.
      “I would guess that was the result of a practical joke by my dear Uncle Dionysus,” she said, thoughtfully. He’s tried to take care of me in my parents’ place, though I have been of age these last five years. He really is a dear man, and I love him for the way he always tries to protect me, but he takes the job much too seriously. He’s told me several times lately…” She hesitated. “I guess lately isn’t the proper term any more, is it? Anyway, he said he didn’t think much of the god I was being seen with. Said he was vain and useless. As near as I can guess, dear Uncle Dionysus got me in a stasis when I visited him for dinner last night.” She smiled. “At least it was last night for me.”
     Thoughtful now, she continued. “He probably expected to hide me until Narcissus took up with someone else, but something went wrong. The real joke is that Narcissus and I are good friends, but he doesn’t love anyone except himself, so it was a wasted effort on my uncle’s part…” She was silent for a moment, trying to think of what might have happened to result in her never having been wakened, then shrugged. “I have no idea of what happened to keep me there that long, unless my uncle died suddenly, or the beacon was finally answered.”
      She threw him a sideways glance. “You know so much of the gods, and you don’t know how they came to the Earth?”
      “There are legends,” he said with a shrug.
      “Well…” She settled herself against the headboard of the bed, leaving a leg near him for stroking. “A group of my people on holiday were traveling from one world to another, when there was a great failure in the chariot that carried them from world to world.” She stopped, as a thought occurred, and asked, “Do you know about the other worlds where my people live?”
     “We know of the possibility of life on other worlds,” he said, somewhat cautiously.
      “Mmm?” There were many questions raised by his comment, but those were for later, so she continued with, “Anyway, Zefron, the leader, was able to bring the party of gods to what they thought was safety here on the Earth, but the chariot was destroyed in the descent. Most of the party died in the falling, but some survived to have children, and to build a life for themselves here. That was perhaps two hundred years before I was born. The survivors of the landing set up the disaster beacon to call for help, on the mountain where the chariot had crashed.”
     “Yes. We made Olympus our headquarters, both because that was where the rescuers would arrive—if they ever did—and because that was where the source of power was located for those devices of the gods that still functioned. The few that remained were what kept us from wearing out with work at a young age, as your people did, but those who had survived the landing had little knowledge of the arts of building their own devices and tools. They had scant resources to work with, and so were forced to live much as did the people of the earth. In truth, but for the fact that many of this world’s diseases cannot seem to touch us, and a few handy abilities that your people don’t seem have, we are much the same.” She was lost in memories for a few moments, before saying, “Since there are no gods living here now, I would guess that some time after I was planted in that hillside the beacon was answered, and my dear uncle had probably forgotten where he left me. He drank a great deal, and could well have hidden me when he was too drunk to remember where.”
      Nicky nodded, thoughtfully, then surprised her with, “That’s about what I would think. We know they responded to the beacon in about four hundred BC.”
      She sat up. “You… know?” she said in surprise, anger rising. “You knew they came, last night, and you didn’t tell me?”
      He spread his hands. “I’m sorry, I wanted to hear about the old days from someone who had actually been there. That is my field of study after all.”
      Her eyes narrowed as a thought made its ugly way into her mind. “What else do you know, Nicky?”
      “Don’t hmm me, Nicky. I want to know.”
      In answer, he sighed and floated a few inches off the bed, his eyes avoiding hers.
      “But why?” she flared. “Why lie to me and pretend you’re human? Why not tell me last night, when we met, and save me the hurt of thinking I was alone and cut off from my people?” Her voice filled with pain and anger, as she demanded, “Why Nicky? Why let me suffer like that? And why take me to bed without telling me who you were? That was a terrible thing to do.”
      He tried to take her hand, but she shook him off. Dropping back on the bed to the complaining squeal of the bedsprings he sighed again. “I do owe you an apology, but part of it was that I simply couldn’t tell you when we first met. The rest of those people by the fire were human—students of mine—and they have no idea that the gods are still around. It’s also been a long time since anyone has thought of us in the sense that the humans of your time regarded you as gods… And, it’s forbidden to tell them.” He looked at the wall, lost in thought for a moment, then frowned as he said, “I suppose I’m going to have to face them soon, with some sort of explanation for what happened last night, but that’s a problem for later.”
     “And afterwards,” she demanded. “When we arrived here? You could have—”
     “I wanted to,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “There just seemed to be no good time to do so. I’m sorry.”
     Coming back to the present, he settled himself on an elbow, his eyes downcast and still thoughtful, as he continued.
     “When the beacon was answered, and it was time to go, there were some who didn’t want to leave. Not the pushy and vain ones who are remembered as gods today, but the ones who lived quietly, never taking unfair advantage of the humans just because they had the power to do so.” He looked up, his face mirroring the pain he had given her. “People like you, Artemis. Earth had become home to them, you see.”
      He started to say something more, then apparently thought better of it because he continued with the story. “Anyway, after much argument between those who wished to stay and those of the rescue team, it was agreed that they could stay, and that contact would be maintained, but there were conditions. They could stay only if they blended in with the rest of the population and agreed to keep their numbers low. That way their staying could be justified by calling them a study mission. And in time, that is exactly what it became. We’ve been here, living exactly as the humans do, and scattered among them, for over two-thousand years.” He leaned forward, his expression and his voice both intense. “I am a human, Artemis, in all but a few abilities that don’t make very much difference now.” Again he tried to take her hand, and this time she permitted it.
     “I wanted to tell you,” he said, a plea for understanding carried in his words. “But I didn’t want to dump too many shocks on you at once. I probably should have pulled you out of the picnic grove sooner, and told you, but for reasons that were important to me at the time, I wanted to see how you would treat the humans. The gods and goddess of ancient Greece don’t have the best reputations.”
     Based on their discussions of the previous night she could see why he might do such a thing, and even agreed that it might make sense for him to have done so, but before she could comment he was speaking again.
     “My deception wouldn’t even have mattered very much if last night with you hadn’t happened.” He squeezed her hand tightly, his voice gentle and warm with remembrance. “But I’m so very glad it did. More than I can begin to put into words.”
      She softened, and started to move into his arms in forgiveness, but stopped as realization flooded through her.
     “But… but you’re not a human!” she said, stunned. “Last night and today could well have gotten me with child.” She was rigid under his hands, and would have run from the room, had there been anywhere to run to.
      He nodded, his eyes downcast and his mouth a tight line. “I know. I should have walked away from this room last night. I knew then that I should have, I even tried to, but you took away my excuse when you said that the gods and humans couldn’t interbreed.”
     He sighed, and was silent for a time, before adding, “I should have told you, then, that I wasn’t really a human, but to my shame I simply couldn’t do that. I tried, but… but I wanted you far too much.” He looked up, and his eyes were endlessly deep, trapping her soul in their depths. “You deliberately contributed to that state of mind, I think,” he said, gently.
     She lifted a reluctant eyebrow, then nodded fractionally, in agreement. He did have a point.
     He shrugged. “No matter, I wasn’t very hard to entice. I needed no help from you to desire the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Then, after I had once held you, and loved you, and known the joy of just being with you, the die was forever cast.” He shrugged. “Besides, I no longer cared.”
     A statement like that could not go unremarked on, but before she voiced the retort that came to her lips he frowned and corrected himself, with, “No, that’s not true. I did care, and still do. I care very much.” He looked away then, and his voice was hesitant, as he said, “It may not be the right thing for me to say so quickly, and you know me but a little… perhaps too little.”
     He was silent for a moment, chewing on his lip, seeming worried that he was saying too much; that he would frighten her away by going too quickly. At last, he must have decided that he had no choice but to continue, and did so with words that went straight to her heart.
     “Artimus, I find I want, very much, for you to stay here with me, and I dearly want you to be…” He took a deep breath and gazed directly into her eyes as he said, “I want you to be the mother of my children. And if you are pregnant, well, you’ll simply have to marry me.” He stopped and thought for a moment more, then quietly added, “If you’ll have me.”
      She stared at him for a few moments, trying to decide if he was joking. But his eyes said he was speaking the truth, so she next wondered if she should forgive him immediately, or let him stew a bit. Her decision as to whether she would have him had been made long before this—had been made as she waited for sleep to claim her the previous night, after their loving, and after their talk. She relaxed, a soft smile playing around her lips as she asked, “Oh, and tell me why I should want to marry you?”
      He sat up, at that, and threw out his chin, assuming a heroic pose—a look of hurt dignity on his face. “Why? Because I, woman, am a Greek God.” He laughed at her questioning look and said, “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to use that line. It’s just a shame you can’t truly appreciate it.” Looking deeply into her eyes once again, he turned more serious. “I desperately want you to marry me Artemis, because I fell in love with you the moment you floated into that clearing. I thought, then, that you were beautiful. But now that I know you, beautiful is not nearly a strong enough word, and love doesn’t begin to describe how I feel.”
      She came fully into his arms, turning her head up to be kissed. Yesterday, she had lived in a comfortable, familiar world. Today it was all swept away. There was much to be learned in this strange world, and many wonders to be sampled. But best of all, she was not alone. Once again she would be in the bosom of her family. In all the world, and in all of time, that was what she wanted the most. The thought pleased her.
      “Besides,” he said, as he bent to meet her lips. “My father always advised me to marry an old fashioned girl.”
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Author’s note:
     This story began as a writing exercise. My goal was to write something descriptive that was a bit literary in approach. The result was the opening, up to the point where the boulder rolls into the creek. But being what I am I asked myself what the boulder had been covering. And since we were in Greece, what else could be in there but a goddess?
     I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, and got here from Facebook, pressing the “Share” button at the page bottom will let others know the story is here, and give them the chance to read it, as well.
     And if my little story pleased you, I’m glad. There are other stories posted, as well. You and others like you are the reason I write. If it did bring a moment of reading pleasure, take a moment to rate it. Feedback matters to me. And if you’re in the mood for something a bit longer. make a stop to look at my novels, and read the excerpts to see if they please, as well.

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Posted by on March 29, 2011 in Short Story


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