statues

I stop for a moment to inspect a statue. My son continues on, leading his sister by the hand up the pathway.

After a few minutes, I catch up with him only to discover that he is alone. My daughter is nowhere in sight.

I panic. He tells me she’s fine, that he can see her up ahead. He points to where people have gathered at an archway leading into the amphitheater.

I cannot see her.

I tell him that he has to be more careful and then I rush to find her, elbowing my way through the crowd.

She is there, on the edge of the gathering, and I pick her up in my arms . . . relieved, still furious with my son.

He joins us and I give him an earful.

He is sullen, silent.

A woman next to us overhears and says “You’re being too hard on him. There were plenty of people here to watch her.”

“I don’t think this is any of your business.” My reply is all teeth.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She moves out of range of my anger.

Beyond the archway, people are gathered in small groups along the floor of the amphitheater. I set my daughter down and take her hand, wandering among them.

Some socialize, chattering and gossiping together… Some play music together on handmade instruments — lyres, carved pipes, tambourines… Some squat around antique game boards, moving stone pieces back and forth and casting dice…

We make our way up a sloping ramp to one side. At the top, we find a bust of Persephone set into a little alcove. There are little offerings on the ground in front of her — candles, bowls of flowers. At the center is a large silver bowl holding a pomegranate split in two. The seeds like jewels in the evening sun.

We continue on through a smaller archway, finding more statues and offerings. I recognize Hermes and Athena.

I kneel down next to my daughter. “Mama would love it here,” I tell her. She nods and we have a little moment there with our gods.

Behind us I hear a woman snort. I turn to see a small group of people accompanied by a security guard.

“I’m not sure this is appropriate,” she says, interrupting our quiet moment and not caring one damn bit.

The guard shrugs. “There was some controversy when the idea was proposed. They thought some people might be offended.”

They move off.

I think of the pomegranate and suddenly I remember: “That’s right,” I tell myself. “You’ve been here before. You left that for her, the last time you dreamt of this place.”