Chapter 28 - The Groom’s Infuriating Disappearance

Chapter 28 – The Groom’s Infuriating Disappearance

Aphrodite woke up to the song of a small bird as it fluttered around her room, aware of the bright morning sun even before she opened her eyes as it warmed her skin. Her body felt a bit tired because of last night’s exertions, but she actually felt very much rested and at peace due to the heavy slumber that followed.

I imagine doing it again with the warm sun on my face would be great, she thought as she pondered whether to wake up her husband now or to give him a little more time to rest. Not that he should need it, considering his strength which was prodigious, even for someone in Mount Olympus. Speaking of which, what should I call him, she wondered. Hephaestus was not comfortable to the tongue while being speared through by her husband’s rod repeatedly.

Unable to come up with a shorter version of his name, the goddess resolved to use a term of endearment used by humans instead. She hesitated, wondering if he would dislike it, before calling out, “Honey? Are you awake?”

Nothing.

Thinking that her voice was too soft to pierce through the veil of sleep, Aphrodite repeated herself, only louder.

Still, nothing.

The goddess turned to face Hephaestus, whom she last remembered was sleeping with his back toward her, to give him a playful shake. Her hand froze in mid-air, along with whatever she was going to say to him, due to the sight in front of her.

He was gone. There was nothing to suggest the god’s presence from the night before: no discarded robes, no rumpled pillow or bedsheet. Nothing at all. Explanations flashed through her mind one after the other as she discarded them swiftly: Maybe he woke up too early? Maybe he’s at the garden and did not want to wake me up? Maybe he’s already hungry? With each thought dismissed as unlikely, her surprise and confusion gave way to anger. Aphrodite angrily seized the part of the bedsheet where Hephaestus should have been, as if she was blaming the hapless object for his disappearance.

She burst into hysterical laughter as she realized she was fooling no one but herself. There was one, and only one possibility: Hephaestus, the god she had married yesterday, was gone. And she had no idea where he went. She did know one thing, and it made her furious: he was of Olympus, and it was not as if he could have been taken anywhere against his will. In other words, he left me to be all alone.

The thought shook her, as if almost-freezing water was splashed on her. It put her in a cold rage and she reached out for whatever was within her grasp: in this case, her favorite blue vase. Aphrodite threw into the floor where it shattered loudly into dozens of pieces. As she was making to stomp the shards, as if imagining it was the face of her husband, her nymphs entered the room to check what the racket was about.

“Oh, my goodness! Goddess Aphrodite!”

“Are you okay? We will clean it up, so please step back.”

Instead of being grateful for their concern, she turned on her companions sharply with a menacing stare. Aphrodite looked nothing like the goddess of love and beauty that she was supposed to be. Indeed, with a shrill, harpy-like voice, she shouted at the nymphs, “Fools! You think these shards would hurt me?”

If a mere mortal could have been present, he would have thought that this was unbecoming of Aphrodite. But in fact, it was quite the opposite. The humans of ancient Greece bestowed countless prayers and offered tributes to the residents of Mount Olympus. Oftentimes, these were to ask for something in return for their expensive gifts: a prophecy or vision of the future, fulfillment of some dream or desire. But just as often, it was to ask for protection from them.

The gods and goddesses of ancient Greece were known to make arbitrary decisions based on their fickle personalities. While immortality would have granted its bearer wisdom beyond the reach of man, it did not mean that they actually exercised that knowledge. They were ruled by emotion as much as the mortals that worshipped them, if not more. They could summon a thunderstorm with a mere change in their mood, and then let the sun shine brightly in a second.