Prologue to Arachne--Wool for the Weaver
Now I claim this for me, the desire to write, to move my hand across the page while the story waits to be unfolded, sits and waits like the Sphinx to be unriddled, unraveled, revealed, all the twists and turns of the journey like the cerebrum all enfolded and my mind travels to Romania. The babies lie abandoned in their cribs, lonely, angry, rebellious, desperately screaming until finally, seemingly tamed, they exhibit and extraordinary self-absorption.
"Come play!" the new adoptive parents enjoin the shell-shocked veteran of neglect, as if this were a normal child who had not traveled blind on dark seas since before its bloody birth. And coolly, all aloof or with the aggression of a male baboon, all teeth and rampant chest, the child rebuffs the gentle invitations of the new parents. Their kindness has come too late. The child's long stint of despair has hardened like scar tissue.
So it goes. My heart full, empties itself upon the page. The words come like waves on the beach, like the birth of stars in the cosmos, or are these effusions merely the bloody tears of an empty womb shed once a month?
Morning dawns in the cool spring day. Outside the dogwood shivers in the wind. Under the gray sky, the timid nestlings complain as cars roll by on the interstate, and I sit with my unruly hair and unruly mind like a school child in detention with my mind wandering and the prospect of punishment an affront to my sense of justice.
"Now write 100 times--All rebels must be brought to heel."
"No!" cries out my soul. Let me rather take up the thread and follow it and faith will lead me to the heart of the story and upon that loom, I will weave it...
Arachne
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named by her parents in a manner that would not enflame the jealous anger of the gods. They called her Arachne, which means in the language of the ancients, Revolting Pimple- face.
Revolting Pimple-face turned out to be a talented girl and whatever arts she tried, she excelled in. She could sing like a bird, paint like Picasso, which in the ancient language means--never mind. She could dance with the grace of an acrobat, spin and sew like a pro, but of all her talents, the one she preferred to any other was weaving.
At first, she just wove in solid colors and she could not get enough of weaving a solid, flawless panel of linen, until finally her Aunt Daisy, who was teaching her, said, "Heavens, child, I think it's time to introduce some different colors and textures. And so it was that Arachne learned to weave rainbows of finest wool, linen, and cotton.
She wove drapes for the windows, coverlets for the beds, decorative stolas for young girls all in off-white with intensely colored rainbow accents.
People of the town would say, " Young Arachne is quite a weaver. Quite a weaver, I tell you."
By this time, she had barely reached her teens and she had put in years of practice.
Somehow, somewhere along the line, her mind would wander as she wove. I think it was when the new neighbors moved in. They had a son about her age, a handsome youth named Hippolyte, which in the language of the ancients means, hippopotamus on a reduced-calorie diet. Yes, it was when young Hippo moved in that Arachne's mind began to wander as she wove and she'd pick up the wrong skein of yarn, slide it through on the shuttle, set it down and not even notice what she was doing. Young Hippo was so muscular, so masculine. She wasn't exactly concentrating.
He could do backflips and somersaults. In fact, she was making terrible mistakes.
He could do cartwheels and handsprings. He was so handsome, so graceful.
"What a dreamboat!" thought Arachne.
When Arachne's eyes finally turned back to the loom, she cried out, "Eek!" and her Aunt Daisy hurried into the room to find out what was the matter.
"Child, oh this is amazing!" exclaimed Aunt Daisy. "Look what you've done!"
"I know, I know, Aunt Daisy, I'm sorry. I was watching dieting Hippo do his exercises. I'll tear out my mistakes"
"No, child, no. Look at these red dots and that blue smudge. When I came in, I thought I was looking at a picture of a blue jay eating cherries, and over here, this brown fuzzy knot with the jumble of green threads. I thought it was a rabbit with a head of lettuce. Do you know what this means?"
"Yes! Yes!" cried Arachne. "I just invented the tapestry."
After that, instead of making "mistakes" by accident, she would plan little inclusions. In a panel of azure blue, she would weave in tree limbs and hummingbirds in ruby, emerald and topaz shades. And that was just for starters. She wove a panel she called "Silver black night of clouds and stars and moon." When people saw it, they cried because it was so beautiful.
She began to make tapestries of family scenes--mother in the garden nursing her baby brother while kittens played at the hem of her gown, father walking in the atrium with his hands folded behind his back and a little furry dog following with his tongue hanging down.
By the time she was sixteen, she and Hippolyte were good friends. He loved her weaving. He was visiting one day while she was at the loom.
"By the Gods, Arachne! I can almost feel the wind in the cypress! I doubt that Athena, herself, could do better, " he said.
"Oh, don't say that, Hippo,"said Arachne. "What if Athena should hear? She invented weaving, you know.
"Oh, the Gods, the Gods," said Hippo in a joking tone. "I've never seen one, have you? If Athena wants to come down from Olympus for a little weaving contest, you just beat the tar out of her and send her back home crying to Daddy Zeus on Mt. Olympus. You ask me, the place is strictly for wimps."
There was a knock at the door.
"Oh, oh," said Arachne and Hippo.
There was a young woman with an upswept hairdo at the door carrying a sleepy owl on a gloved hand and a fabric satchel in the other.
"Oh, Athena, do come in. We were just talking about you," said Arachne.
"I know," said Athena coolly. "I heard. Let's see some of your weaving, Pimple-face."
Athena looked at the earliest solid panels of brown linen and grunted in surprise. "Fine work. Fine work," she mumbled, almost to herself. "No obvious breaks or flaws," she commented. She inspected the rainbow panels and nodded. Her eyes widened when she saw the blue jay and the cherries.
"Aha!" she murmured. The hummingbird tapestry elicited a "Very nice." When Athena saw the panel of the starry night sky, her eyes watered and she had to blow her nose. "Allergy, I think," she said at first. "No, I can't lie. It makes me homesick,"she muttered in explanation.
Next, she glanced at the family scenes.
"The little dog, how comical, how delightful. And here is young Hippo doing a handspring. Very well done! Very clever!" she exclaimed, "but," she hesitated, "nobody, but NOBODY, challenges the Gods and gets away with it."
"But, Athena," said Arachne,"I didn't invent tapestries on purpose."
"It doesn't really matter, Pimple-face," said Athena. "You challenge the Gods, you lose. It's a rule. I like your tapestries a great deal, child. They've given me some wonderful ideas and I'm going to need them if I'm to have any hope of beating you in a weaving contest. The contest begins tomorrow. Sun-up to sun-down, and may the best weaver win, and that would be me,"said Athena. "I'm a goddess, after all."
Hippo said, "I think you'd better practice, Goddess. It's not as easy as it looks."
After dinner that night, Arachne went to bed and dreamed of the tapestry she would weave.
Athena stayed up practicing for a couple of hours. She wove a panel of a bunny clutched in owl talons and a picture of her father, Zeus, holding a thunderbolt and frowning. "Pretty good." she said and she decided to call it quits as it was quite late and she was tired. She decided to get some sleep to be fresh for the contest and she felt no pressing need to practice much. After all, she was a goddess.
Arachne arose an hour before dawn. She breakfasted on ripe figs, goat cheese, and wheat cakes. She was recalling her dream tapestry and was working out the colors she would use. She was pleasantly excited and eager to begin.
Athena was up as well having her hair dressed as she ate. She had stayed the night as Arachne's guest.
"Good morning, Athena, " said Arachne. "I hope you slept well."
"Just fine," said Athena.
"I couldn't help but wonder, Athena, but to put it bluntly, who is going to judge the contest?" asked Arachne.
I thought I'd have my dad, Zeus, be the judge."
"Well, that's not fair," objected Arachne. "If you're going to have someone from your family judging, there ought to be someone from mine. I say Aunt Daisy would be a good judge. At least, she knows something about weaving."
"Oh, all right," conceded Athena.
A crowd from the town had gathered to watch the contest. People were gossiping. Everyone wanted to know if and when Zeus was coming.
"He'll come at sundown," said Athena. After all, the Olympics are being held in Athens, and I could hardly expect him to spend the entire day watching women weave when the Decathlon is going on. He's such a sports nut."
"Good point," said the men and most of them left. The hard-core weavers stayed on. Watching two masters of the art was sure to teach them a great deal.
Two large looms were set up in a corner of the agora. Each loom was flanked by baskets of colorful dyed yarns. Athena and Arachne took their places and held their shuttles at the ready when the first rays of the sun shot over the crest of Mt. Olympus.
"Begin," said Aunt Daisy, and the contest began.
Arachne wove for three solid hours and then took a break. Athena did not stop for an instant. Then Arachne wove for another three hours and then took a lunch break, still Athena did not leave her loom. Arachne went back to her loom smiling and wove for another four hours with great concentration. Athena had not paused to rest for an instant.
Her shuttle flew through weft and warp. Sweat poured off her furrowed brow. She was offered refreshment but refused it. Sunset was three hours off, when Arachne took her dinner break. She was having a wonderful day. She was just a little tired, but never had she woven such freedom, and the images and ideas that flew through her shuttle were amazing, even to herself.
She drank a cup of cooled fruit juice, ate some salad, washed her face and hands and started to walk back to her loom, taking some time to stretch the kinks out of her back and shake the sillies out of her hands. She stood back with the crowd for a while and watched Athena weave. The goddess wove like a warrior, her face grim with determination. As Arachne stretched, she watched a detail take shape in Athena's tapestry--Zeus's angry eyes.
"How will Zeus punish Athena if she loses?" she thought idly. "How will I be punished if I win? It doesn't really matter," she thought. "The weaving gives me such joy. It's worth the price. I think I'll work the yellows next."
She was actually back at her loom changing colors before she even finished the thought and was weaving with abandon, her eyes rapt as the images unfolded. Athena's hair was frizzled and frazzled with wild wisps standing out like spikes. With her jaw clenched tight, still her shuttle flew, clicking and clacking as the scenes took shape.
Just as the sun was setting, Zeus showed up with an entourage. He was a very handsome man, Aunt Daisy could not help noticing. The last sunray slipped under the horizon and Aunt Daisy said quietly," Stop."
Arachne set down her shuttle and stepped back to look at her tapestry. It was the largest she had ever made. She marveled at the amount of work she had accomplished in a day.
While Athena had her hair dressed and had a bite to eat, the tapestries were cut from the looms and hung for the judging. Torches were brought to light the plaza.
Zeus was flirting with Aunt Daisy. "You're lovely by firelight m'dear," he murmured. She blushed furiously when he pinched her bottom, but she pinched his right back.
"Good citizens," he announced to the crowd, "It's time for the judging."
Zeus and Aunt Daisy inspected the two tapestries closely. Each panel was different in style and subject and the creators had each chosen to depict the things she knew best.
Athena had chosen scenes from Mt. Olympus, portraits of Hera and Zeus reclining at table, Apollo and Ares wrestling, Hephaestus bent over his forge. Although, the top of the tapestry was a little less accomplished than the rest, it was a magnificent achievement and Zeus said so, "It's a masterpiece, daughter."
He glanced at Arachnes's tapestry and sniffed. "Rather child-like," he said, his voice hoarse and rough. He sniffed again. "The smoke from the torches is bothering my eyes. Apollo, hand, me a hankie, please." Zeus blew his nose and cleared his throat.
"I declare Athena to be the winner," he announced.
"I second the motion," said Aunt Daisy. "I also judge Athena to be the winner."
The crowd applauded.
"Thank you," said Athena, and the crowd applauded more.
Arachne just stood there, hearing the judgment and simply looking over the pictures in her tapestry with great contentment.
Athena began again, Thanks," she said,"but no thanks. If you judge that I won, you're a bigger bunch of idiots than I took you for. And you, Dad? Child-like? The torch smoke is bothering my eyes? Come on, admit it. Her tapestry moved you to tears. Look at it, Dad. Look at it, all of you. See what she has woven.
Everyone looked at Arachne's tapestry.
She had started with darkest black, then added stars and the moon and a comet, the Milky Way. The blackness transmuted into deepest indigo, and the dark-winged birds in the forest of the night, jeweled eyes bright in the hidden thickets.
This blue gave way to sea waves and the creatures within, the great finned leviathan cavorting with the dolphins and the shrimp, the stars of the sea in their sandy beds. Blue melted into green.
Pale buds of spring, willow buds, seedlings, saplings, the darker green of cypress, of rivers, of the pines and plums and little apples and ferns. Amidst the greenery danced the farmer and his wife sowing their seeds beneath the sun while roosters crowed and the hens scratched for grain and children ran over the hills to the sea.
From green, her tapestry blended into yellow, the yellow of sunshine, corn, golden waves of wheat and a child's silken yellow hair, blown by the warm wind.
Orange was next, the color of fire and leaves in autumn with flights of wild swans pointing the way to red, the color of the sun setting into clouds, the color of lips, the color of wine, of blood, of passion, and birth.
Red gave way to purest, most radiant white, the color of the soul.
It was beautiful. It was the story of all their lives.
Zeus was bawling like a baby. Aunt Daisy had clasped him to her bosom and was doing her darnedest to comfort him.
"All right. All right, I lied,"he sobbed and blew his nose, "Arachne wins."
"That's better," said Athena, "and now, she must be punished."
Arachne smiled bravely. "I'm not afraid," she said.
"OK, Daddy," said Athena, "now turn her into the nasty little presumptuous bug she really is!"
Zeus acted, and with a flash of lightening and a clap of thunder, Arachne vanished. Aunt Daisy wept.
"What have you done with my niece?" she asked.
"Now, now, m'dear. Don't go all squishy on me. Those who presume must be punished and all that. She's still alive. Be grateful for that, Daisy, my sweet, and for our lovely time together."
Then Zeus left, but Athena stayed for the night, resting from her labors. When she awoke next morning, she went for a walk in the garden and as the sun rose, she caught a glimpse of a golden web studded with silver beads of dew. The weaving was exquisite. It could only be Arachne's. She lived still.
And what became of the marvelous tapestry? Zeus took it up to his palace and there it stayed on the living room wall until it fell apart from age.
It is waiting for an artist to create it again.
Now I claim this for me, the desire to write, to move my hand across the page while the story waits to be unfolded, sits and waits like the Sphinx to be unriddled, unraveled, revealed, all the twists and turns of the journey like the cerebrum all enfolded and my mind travels to Romania. The babies lie abandoned in their cribs, lonely, angry, rebellious, desperately screaming until finally, seemingly tamed, they exhibit and extraordinary self-absorption.
"Come play!" the new adoptive parents enjoin the shell-shocked veteran of neglect, as if this were a normal child who had not traveled blind on dark seas since before its bloody birth. And coolly, all aloof or with the aggression of a male baboon, all teeth and rampant chest, the child rebuffs the gentle invitations of the new parents. Their kindness has come too late. The child's long stint of despair has hardened like scar tissue.
So it goes. My heart full, empties itself upon the page. The words come like waves on the beach, like the birth of stars in the cosmos, or are these effusions merely the bloody tears of an empty womb shed once a month?
Morning dawns in the cool spring day. Outside the dogwood shivers in the wind. Under the gray sky, the timid nestlings complain as cars roll by on the interstate, and I sit with my unruly hair and unruly mind like a school child in detention with my mind wandering and the prospect of punishment an affront to my sense of justice.
"Now write 100 times--All rebels must be brought to heel."
"No!" cries out my soul. Let me rather take up the thread and follow it and faith will lead me to the heart of the story and upon that loom, I will weave it...
Arachne
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named by her parents in a manner that would not enflame the jealous anger of the gods. They called her Arachne, which means in the language of the ancients, Revolting Pimple- face.
Revolting Pimple-face turned out to be a talented girl and whatever arts she tried, she excelled in. She could sing like a bird, paint like Picasso, which in the ancient language means--never mind. She could dance with the grace of an acrobat, spin and sew like a pro, but of all her talents, the one she preferred to any other was weaving.
At first, she just wove in solid colors and she could not get enough of weaving a solid, flawless panel of linen, until finally her Aunt Daisy, who was teaching her, said, "Heavens, child, I think it's time to introduce some different colors and textures. And so it was that Arachne learned to weave rainbows of finest wool, linen, and cotton.
She wove drapes for the windows, coverlets for the beds, decorative stolas for young girls all in off-white with intensely colored rainbow accents.
People of the town would say, " Young Arachne is quite a weaver. Quite a weaver, I tell you."
By this time, she had barely reached her teens and she had put in years of practice.
Somehow, somewhere along the line, her mind would wander as she wove. I think it was when the new neighbors moved in. They had a son about her age, a handsome youth named Hippolyte, which in the language of the ancients means, hippopotamus on a reduced-calorie diet. Yes, it was when young Hippo moved in that Arachne's mind began to wander as she wove and she'd pick up the wrong skein of yarn, slide it through on the shuttle, set it down and not even notice what she was doing. Young Hippo was so muscular, so masculine. She wasn't exactly concentrating.
He could do backflips and somersaults. In fact, she was making terrible mistakes.
He could do cartwheels and handsprings. He was so handsome, so graceful.
"What a dreamboat!" thought Arachne.
When Arachne's eyes finally turned back to the loom, she cried out, "Eek!" and her Aunt Daisy hurried into the room to find out what was the matter.
"Child, oh this is amazing!" exclaimed Aunt Daisy. "Look what you've done!"
"I know, I know, Aunt Daisy, I'm sorry. I was watching dieting Hippo do his exercises. I'll tear out my mistakes"
"No, child, no. Look at these red dots and that blue smudge. When I came in, I thought I was looking at a picture of a blue jay eating cherries, and over here, this brown fuzzy knot with the jumble of green threads. I thought it was a rabbit with a head of lettuce. Do you know what this means?"
"Yes! Yes!" cried Arachne. "I just invented the tapestry."
After that, instead of making "mistakes" by accident, she would plan little inclusions. In a panel of azure blue, she would weave in tree limbs and hummingbirds in ruby, emerald and topaz shades. And that was just for starters. She wove a panel she called "Silver black night of clouds and stars and moon." When people saw it, they cried because it was so beautiful.
She began to make tapestries of family scenes--mother in the garden nursing her baby brother while kittens played at the hem of her gown, father walking in the atrium with his hands folded behind his back and a little furry dog following with his tongue hanging down.
By the time she was sixteen, she and Hippolyte were good friends. He loved her weaving. He was visiting one day while she was at the loom.
"By the Gods, Arachne! I can almost feel the wind in the cypress! I doubt that Athena, herself, could do better, " he said.
"Oh, don't say that, Hippo,"said Arachne. "What if Athena should hear? She invented weaving, you know.
"Oh, the Gods, the Gods," said Hippo in a joking tone. "I've never seen one, have you? If Athena wants to come down from Olympus for a little weaving contest, you just beat the tar out of her and send her back home crying to Daddy Zeus on Mt. Olympus. You ask me, the place is strictly for wimps."
There was a knock at the door.
"Oh, oh," said Arachne and Hippo.
There was a young woman with an upswept hairdo at the door carrying a sleepy owl on a gloved hand and a fabric satchel in the other.
"Oh, Athena, do come in. We were just talking about you," said Arachne.
"I know," said Athena coolly. "I heard. Let's see some of your weaving, Pimple-face."
Athena looked at the earliest solid panels of brown linen and grunted in surprise. "Fine work. Fine work," she mumbled, almost to herself. "No obvious breaks or flaws," she commented. She inspected the rainbow panels and nodded. Her eyes widened when she saw the blue jay and the cherries.
"Aha!" she murmured. The hummingbird tapestry elicited a "Very nice." When Athena saw the panel of the starry night sky, her eyes watered and she had to blow her nose. "Allergy, I think," she said at first. "No, I can't lie. It makes me homesick,"she muttered in explanation.
Next, she glanced at the family scenes.
"The little dog, how comical, how delightful. And here is young Hippo doing a handspring. Very well done! Very clever!" she exclaimed, "but," she hesitated, "nobody, but NOBODY, challenges the Gods and gets away with it."
"But, Athena," said Arachne,"I didn't invent tapestries on purpose."
"It doesn't really matter, Pimple-face," said Athena. "You challenge the Gods, you lose. It's a rule. I like your tapestries a great deal, child. They've given me some wonderful ideas and I'm going to need them if I'm to have any hope of beating you in a weaving contest. The contest begins tomorrow. Sun-up to sun-down, and may the best weaver win, and that would be me,"said Athena. "I'm a goddess, after all."
Hippo said, "I think you'd better practice, Goddess. It's not as easy as it looks."
After dinner that night, Arachne went to bed and dreamed of the tapestry she would weave.
Athena stayed up practicing for a couple of hours. She wove a panel of a bunny clutched in owl talons and a picture of her father, Zeus, holding a thunderbolt and frowning. "Pretty good." she said and she decided to call it quits as it was quite late and she was tired. She decided to get some sleep to be fresh for the contest and she felt no pressing need to practice much. After all, she was a goddess.
Arachne arose an hour before dawn. She breakfasted on ripe figs, goat cheese, and wheat cakes. She was recalling her dream tapestry and was working out the colors she would use. She was pleasantly excited and eager to begin.
Athena was up as well having her hair dressed as she ate. She had stayed the night as Arachne's guest.
"Good morning, Athena, " said Arachne. "I hope you slept well."
"Just fine," said Athena.
"I couldn't help but wonder, Athena, but to put it bluntly, who is going to judge the contest?" asked Arachne.
I thought I'd have my dad, Zeus, be the judge."
"Well, that's not fair," objected Arachne. "If you're going to have someone from your family judging, there ought to be someone from mine. I say Aunt Daisy would be a good judge. At least, she knows something about weaving."
"Oh, all right," conceded Athena.
A crowd from the town had gathered to watch the contest. People were gossiping. Everyone wanted to know if and when Zeus was coming.
"He'll come at sundown," said Athena. After all, the Olympics are being held in Athens, and I could hardly expect him to spend the entire day watching women weave when the Decathlon is going on. He's such a sports nut."
"Good point," said the men and most of them left. The hard-core weavers stayed on. Watching two masters of the art was sure to teach them a great deal.
Two large looms were set up in a corner of the agora. Each loom was flanked by baskets of colorful dyed yarns. Athena and Arachne took their places and held their shuttles at the ready when the first rays of the sun shot over the crest of Mt. Olympus.
"Begin," said Aunt Daisy, and the contest began.
Arachne wove for three solid hours and then took a break. Athena did not stop for an instant. Then Arachne wove for another three hours and then took a lunch break, still Athena did not leave her loom. Arachne went back to her loom smiling and wove for another four hours with great concentration. Athena had not paused to rest for an instant.
Her shuttle flew through weft and warp. Sweat poured off her furrowed brow. She was offered refreshment but refused it. Sunset was three hours off, when Arachne took her dinner break. She was having a wonderful day. She was just a little tired, but never had she woven such freedom, and the images and ideas that flew through her shuttle were amazing, even to herself.
She drank a cup of cooled fruit juice, ate some salad, washed her face and hands and started to walk back to her loom, taking some time to stretch the kinks out of her back and shake the sillies out of her hands. She stood back with the crowd for a while and watched Athena weave. The goddess wove like a warrior, her face grim with determination. As Arachne stretched, she watched a detail take shape in Athena's tapestry--Zeus's angry eyes.
"How will Zeus punish Athena if she loses?" she thought idly. "How will I be punished if I win? It doesn't really matter," she thought. "The weaving gives me such joy. It's worth the price. I think I'll work the yellows next."
She was actually back at her loom changing colors before she even finished the thought and was weaving with abandon, her eyes rapt as the images unfolded. Athena's hair was frizzled and frazzled with wild wisps standing out like spikes. With her jaw clenched tight, still her shuttle flew, clicking and clacking as the scenes took shape.
Just as the sun was setting, Zeus showed up with an entourage. He was a very handsome man, Aunt Daisy could not help noticing. The last sunray slipped under the horizon and Aunt Daisy said quietly," Stop."
Arachne set down her shuttle and stepped back to look at her tapestry. It was the largest she had ever made. She marveled at the amount of work she had accomplished in a day.
While Athena had her hair dressed and had a bite to eat, the tapestries were cut from the looms and hung for the judging. Torches were brought to light the plaza.
Zeus was flirting with Aunt Daisy. "You're lovely by firelight m'dear," he murmured. She blushed furiously when he pinched her bottom, but she pinched his right back.
"Good citizens," he announced to the crowd, "It's time for the judging."
Zeus and Aunt Daisy inspected the two tapestries closely. Each panel was different in style and subject and the creators had each chosen to depict the things she knew best.
Athena had chosen scenes from Mt. Olympus, portraits of Hera and Zeus reclining at table, Apollo and Ares wrestling, Hephaestus bent over his forge. Although, the top of the tapestry was a little less accomplished than the rest, it was a magnificent achievement and Zeus said so, "It's a masterpiece, daughter."
He glanced at Arachnes's tapestry and sniffed. "Rather child-like," he said, his voice hoarse and rough. He sniffed again. "The smoke from the torches is bothering my eyes. Apollo, hand, me a hankie, please." Zeus blew his nose and cleared his throat.
"I declare Athena to be the winner," he announced.
"I second the motion," said Aunt Daisy. "I also judge Athena to be the winner."
The crowd applauded.
"Thank you," said Athena, and the crowd applauded more.
Arachne just stood there, hearing the judgment and simply looking over the pictures in her tapestry with great contentment.
Athena began again, Thanks," she said,"but no thanks. If you judge that I won, you're a bigger bunch of idiots than I took you for. And you, Dad? Child-like? The torch smoke is bothering my eyes? Come on, admit it. Her tapestry moved you to tears. Look at it, Dad. Look at it, all of you. See what she has woven.
Everyone looked at Arachne's tapestry.
She had started with darkest black, then added stars and the moon and a comet, the Milky Way. The blackness transmuted into deepest indigo, and the dark-winged birds in the forest of the night, jeweled eyes bright in the hidden thickets.
This blue gave way to sea waves and the creatures within, the great finned leviathan cavorting with the dolphins and the shrimp, the stars of the sea in their sandy beds. Blue melted into green.
Pale buds of spring, willow buds, seedlings, saplings, the darker green of cypress, of rivers, of the pines and plums and little apples and ferns. Amidst the greenery danced the farmer and his wife sowing their seeds beneath the sun while roosters crowed and the hens scratched for grain and children ran over the hills to the sea.
From green, her tapestry blended into yellow, the yellow of sunshine, corn, golden waves of wheat and a child's silken yellow hair, blown by the warm wind.
Orange was next, the color of fire and leaves in autumn with flights of wild swans pointing the way to red, the color of the sun setting into clouds, the color of lips, the color of wine, of blood, of passion, and birth.
Red gave way to purest, most radiant white, the color of the soul.
It was beautiful. It was the story of all their lives.
Zeus was bawling like a baby. Aunt Daisy had clasped him to her bosom and was doing her darnedest to comfort him.
"All right. All right, I lied,"he sobbed and blew his nose, "Arachne wins."
"That's better," said Athena, "and now, she must be punished."
Arachne smiled bravely. "I'm not afraid," she said.
"OK, Daddy," said Athena, "now turn her into the nasty little presumptuous bug she really is!"
Zeus acted, and with a flash of lightening and a clap of thunder, Arachne vanished. Aunt Daisy wept.
"What have you done with my niece?" she asked.
"Now, now, m'dear. Don't go all squishy on me. Those who presume must be punished and all that. She's still alive. Be grateful for that, Daisy, my sweet, and for our lovely time together."
Then Zeus left, but Athena stayed for the night, resting from her labors. When she awoke next morning, she went for a walk in the garden and as the sun rose, she caught a glimpse of a golden web studded with silver beads of dew. The weaving was exquisite. It could only be Arachne's. She lived still.
And what became of the marvelous tapestry? Zeus took it up to his palace and there it stayed on the living room wall until it fell apart from age.
It is waiting for an artist to create it again.