An Invitation to the Wheat Fields
The invitation arrived only two days after I sent my reply.
"Uncle! This time it's a letter from Lady Demeter!"
Hermes knocked, stepped inside, and held out the sealed message. These days the boy knocking on my door had become the most natural thing in the world.
I broke the seal. Inside was gratitude for the servants I had sent to guard the fields every night, and an invitation to come share a meal.
"Tell her I'll come in three days."
"Yes, sir! Lady Kore will be so happy."
"She's cooped up out there—of course she will. Go deliver it."
He vanished like the wind. Through the still-open door a single grain of wheat chaff drifted in. He must have stopped by the wheat fields on his way.
There was no reason to refuse my sister's thanks. The servants watching the fields still reported nothing amiss, and whatever had killed the flowers that day had left no further trace. Going to look with my own eyes wouldn't hurt.
I still hadn't finished half the book, so I hadn't sent her the title yet.
Three days later I went up to the wheat fields.
The moment the carriage stopped at the edge of the field, the scent of ripe grain reached me first. The nymphs at work paused, stepped back to either side of the path, and bowed their heads. No one hid their sickles the way they had last time. After more than ten nights of my servants keeping watch, the faces had become familiar enough.
At the entrance to the fields, two of the night-watch servants came forward and gave a brief report. Nothing had happened overnight.
Demeter was already waiting to greet me. Her face looked far more at ease than before.
"Thank you for coming, Brother."
"When my sister offers a meal, how could I stay away?"
The table had been set beneath the great tree in the courtyard, a place that looked out over the entire wheat field. Barley bread, cheese, roasted fish, and olives were arranged neatly.
I picked up a loaf. The feel of it was familiar in my hand. The crust was baked hard, and the honey sat separately in a small dish rather than mixed into the food—exactly the way I always chose it at every feast.
"Did Kore set this table?"
Demeter's eyes went round.
"How did you know? She insisted on doing it herself."
"We've set her first-birthday table together for hundreds of years. That child knows my tastes better than I do."
"Ahjussi!"
The voice arrived first, and Kore followed right behind it, carrying a tray with cups. Even though she walked quickly, not a single drop of water spilled.
"You're here. Your seat is this one."
The place she indicated was the seat of honor, and she sat down beside it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Demeter took the seat across from us.
The meal began.
Whenever my plate emptied, Kore filled it again—the firmer bread, the saltier cheese. She never asked; she simply knew, and her hands moved too quickly for me to refuse.
"I hear the Underworld has been busy lately. You opened a new waterway in the river?"
Demeter asked. Word had clearly reached even the wheat fields.
"The Cocytus was about to overflow, so we split the channel. The overseer did such good work there was hardly anything left for me to do."
"A new waterway—how impressive."
Kore smiled as she spoke, then refilled my cup.
"Enough about the river. Please eat before it gets cold."
Demeter burst out laughing.
"She's been hovering over this table since early this morning. Of course she hates the thought of anything going cold."
"Mother."
Kore shot her a look, but the tips of her ears had turned red.
Midway through the meal Demeter lowered her voice.
"Truly, nothing has happened since that day. The flowers are blooming well again. Still… I never learned what it was, so sometimes I can't sleep."
"My servants keep watch every night. Whatever it was, if it returns they'll know first. You just sleep soundly, Sister."
"Hearing you say that does help. Oh—and about those servants of yours. When they hear the girls singing at night, they stop and listen with them. I only ever thought of them as frightening."
"They've never heard singing before. There's none of it in the Underworld."
Beside me, Kore kept her eyes on her plate the whole time that day was mentioned. Only when the talk turned to wheat farming did she lift her head again. Demeter's stories about the grain went on for a while, and in the gaps Kore refilled my plate twice more. I took another piece of bread.
As the meal was winding down, a nymph came running to find Demeter, something about the water channels in the western field.
"I'll be right back. Kore, keep Ahjussi from getting bored."
"Yes."
The answer came half a beat too fast.
Once Demeter and the nymphs had gone some distance, Kore rose from her seat.
"Ahjussi. Let's go look at the flower bed. You should see how the ones that got your soil have grown."
The flower bed was just as I remembered. Flowers that bloomed early and flowers that bloomed late all mixed together in one place, with a narrow path running through the middle.
As we walked, Kore's explanations followed. This one she had brought from the foothills, that one she had raised from seed right here, the white ones only opened at night. The child who used to sit in front of the table asking "What's this? What's that?" had become the one who explained each flower one by one.
Sunlight settled on my shoulders, yet it no longer felt as foreign as it had the last time I came.
"The soil took well. The smell was different—like the courtyard of that house."
"You can tell by the smell?"
"Of course. My flowers knew too. They started sending out roots right from the places where we mixed it in."
Kore pointed to a clump of flowers farther in along the path. Their stems were clearly thicker than those elsewhere.
"See? The preparations are going well."
At the end of the path, beside the water barrel, Kore held out a watering can.
"You water them once too. As payment for the soil."
"Is it all right if I do it? What if they wilt?"
"They grew on your soil. They won't wilt."
Half-convinced, I watered them. The flowers were fine—more than fine. It almost seemed as if their leaves lifted to follow the stream of water.
Since the subject had come up, I asked about the spot where the flowers had died that day. The place Kore led me to was already covered in new blooms. I laid my palm on the earth and waited a moment. The cool residue that had lingered last time was gone without a trace. Whatever it had been, it seemed to have no further attachment to this land.
"I'm not scared anymore. Your servants are watching over us, after all."
Kore said from beside me. I brushed the dirt from my hands and stood.
That was her way of saying she still meant to come plant them herself.
Instead of answering, I simply started walking. The letter refusing her had already been sent; I had no desire to say the same thing to her face a second time. She had read that reply, so she would understand what this silence meant.
Kore watched my profile for a moment, then did not push further. She changed the subject instead.
"What about the book? Still not finished?"
"Halfway there."
"Just one letter. Just one letter of the title."
"I told you I'm not telling you."
"Then is it thick or thin?"
"Thick."
"Good."
"What's good about that?"
"We can read it for a long time. Together."
To read it together I would first have to finish it myself, so tonight's reading quota had just grown.
As we walked, Kore picked a single flower and, as she always did, laid it lightly in my hand.
I slipped it into my robes—next to the inner pocket that held the gold coin. The flower settled there as if that place had always been its proper home.
When it was time to leave, Demeter returned from the fields. Kore told me to wait a moment and ran into the house. When she came back out she was carrying a bundle wrapped in cloth.
"Take this. Things from the fields."
"The wheat cakes were baked this morning. The honey is from the eastern hives. The figs I dried myself."
Pride clung to the fingertips that pointed out each item. When I took the bundle, its weight was considerable.
"I'll enjoy them."
"I'll set the next table too. So come again."
Demeter added from the side,
"Yes, Brother. She's been so much brighter lately. It's all thanks to you."
"I haven't done anything worth thanks."
"Replying to her letters is more than enough. These days she lives for the joy of waiting for the next one."
"Mother!"
Kore tugged at Demeter's side. Her ears were redder than before. Watching the mother and daughter tussle, I climbed into the carriage.
"Take care, Brother."
With Demeter's farewell at my back, the carriage began to move.
From the receding edge of the field two figures waved. One waved broadly; the other kept waving until the carriage was nothing but a speck.
The carriage on the way back was filled with the scent of honey from the bundle. Who would have thought the day would come when the King of the Dead's carriage smelled of honey.
Looking out the window, I recalled Demeter's words. Living for the joy of waiting for a reply. For a child confined to those fields, I was glad she at least had that much. I would write more often—and finish the book quickly while I was at it.
Back at the palace I carried the bundle into the study.
When I unwrapped it, a jar of honey, wheat cakes, and dried figs were packed neatly inside, and on the very top lay a single flower. I moved the flower to the growing cluster in the corner of the study, and that little flower bed widened by a handspan.
I searched for a place to set the bundle and finally put it on the desk beside the black bottle.
One bottle, one letter, and now one bundle—the desk had grown distinctly crowded.
There looked to be at least twenty wheat cakes. It hardly seemed an amount meant for one person alone, so I set a few aside for the servants. I was also curious what faces those taciturn ones would make in front of sweets.
I took out one wheat cake, bit into it, and opened the book I had been reading. The remaining half turned faster than usual today. A crumb of cake fell between the pages; I left it there.
In the next letter I could start by saying I had eaten well today and that the cakes were delicious—and what to fill the third line with, I thought while chewing.