The Mysteries of Eleusis

THE

MYSTERIES

OF ELEUSIS

LEONORA LEWIS

Only a few months ago, a normal day meant I ruled my dark quiet realm alone—the university museum’s basement. I’m in charge of all pieces that aren’t in an exhibit—everything that’s packed away—which is the vast majority of the museum’s collection. Most of my communication with college kids and academics was through the email. Then one day, Ms. Summer Martin came bursting into my domain, bringing with her the spicy scent of honeysuckle. Rowdy jumped to his feet, wagging his tail, doing his happy dance around her. Everything about her reminded me that outside, spring had sprung, with blue skies and birds chirping away.

“Dr. Adams. I’m here to work on translations.”

I realized she was one of many students and volunteers doing the thankless grunt work of translating ancient clay and lead tablets along with some scroll fragments that had languished for years in the basement.

I throw down my pencil and lean back in my chair. “Excellent. You’ve probably heard that I scan the artifacts and upload the images along with a key for the applicable language; Akkadian, Hittite, Linear A or B, or Classical Greek.”

Her eyes sparkled and she kept shifting from one foot to another like a ballerina getting ready to dance. “I want to see the artifacts.”

I knew I liked this kid.

“Dr. Adams,” Summer’s voice danced down the basement steps a moment before she appeared. “I found something in the translations. You remember the lead tablets you showed me? One of them mentions a court case.”

I nod. “That makes sense. The Greeks usually recorded court cases on lead.”

“An elderly woman named Agafya maligned the Eleusinian Mysteries, the sacred rituals of life and death. She interfered with the public rituals, like the torch lit procession searching for lost Persephone. According to fragmentary witness accounts, Agafya claimed Hades’ abduction of Persephone occurred on the island of Thera, not Eleusis. She said Hades opened a hole in Thera’s sacred mount and pulled Persephone down into it.”

I considered this. “The mysteries were an important source of revenue for a town like Eleusis. Yes, I see how Agafya’s accusation could cause a problem.” I opened my file of completed translations. “Considering the sacredness of Demeter and Persephone to devotees of the cult, I hate to think what happened to the old woman. We’ll probably never know.”

I’d made one of my rare trips to a local hamburger joint as a treat for Rowdy. When I made it back to my quiet office hole in the ground, I found Summer waiting for me. She immediately picked up where our last discussion had left off.

“Agafya’s grandson, Eusebios, agreed to keep her locked up in his house in exchange for leniency,” she told me. “After some cross referencing, I found scans of ostracons catalogued from a farm between Athens and Eleusis. I think I can prove it’s where Eusebios kept her.“Show me.”

She had me bring up the image on my laptop. There was something poignant about the pot shard with the fragment scribbled onto it. It said: “The arms of Dread Persephone will soon embrace Agafya.”

“Just because this was found at the site doesn’t prove the farm was Eusebios’.”

Summer reached over to take the mouse, her butterfly hand resting on mine guiding me to bring up the picture of a drinking cup. “You see the name on the cup?”

“Eusebios,” I read aloud and gave a low whistle. “Well, all right. This is strong circumstantial evidence. Good job, Ms. Martin. All your diligence paid off. This is certainly more interesting than an inventory to translate. In fact, I daresay this should be good for a publication credit.”

“This translation is a lot more than a publication credit, it’s a lot more than that.” Summer practically lit up my dim office with its malfunctioning fluorescent lights. Physical Plant still hadn’t found their way down to change them. “I’ve been thinking. Everyone has always taken the story of Hades’ abduction of Persephone to be about the changing seasons.

“What else could it be?” I thought about the similarity to the Egyptian myth of Isis reassembling the pieces of her husband. Like Persephone’s mother, Demeter, Isis also wandered the earth, cloaked and disguised.

“What if everyone is wrong? What if, instead of an origin story for the seasons, it’s actually about a real natural disaster?”

I considered this. “The old lady, Agafaya, said Persephone was abducted from Thera...” I realized where Summer was going with this. “Are you thinking the eruption on Thera, the biggest bang in the ancient world, became the myth of Hades carrying off Persephone?”

“Yes! The fallout from the volcano caused years of bad crops, cooler temperatures, and famine. It fits the story of Demeter searching for her lost child, refusing to let crops grow.”

“It makes sense,” I agreed. “But you’re a folklorist.”

I regretted the words the minute they left my mouth. The betrayed look on her face felt like a punch to my gut. Enough pain to make me think about seeing my internist. Rowdy looked at me and whined. Maybe I was too abrupt. I’ve always had a problem being around people. Three tours of duty does that to a fellow.

“I’m not questioning your translation,” I tried to explain. “I worry about your hypothesis’ reception. After all, you’ll need more proof, which can’t be gained without grants and backing.”

At that point, I should have shut my mouth, but I could already see the Archaeology department’s big shots having a field day ripping her apart. “You know folklore gets no respect. It gets kicked around between the English, Anthropology, and History departments because nobody can decide what to do with it.”

“I know I’m a folklorist,” she told me. “I know how to track stories as close to their original source as possible. I know I can’t prove the Minoan Springtime Fresco from Thera has any connection to Persephone. I know any temple to Persephone, if it existed, is rubble at the bottom of the sea.”

I have to tell her like it is. “Kind of convenient. Find a temple to Persephone at the bottom of that caldera, you’ve got it sewn up. Volcano blows, temple falls into the hole, you got Hades dragging Persephone into the underworld. Too bad life doesn’t work out like that.”

Summer’s leaving me. That’s how it has to be. I’m at least fifteen years older than her—a vet with a service dog who mostly just wants to be alone. She’s got her whole life

ahead of her. She’s found her rainbow to chase that will become a life mission. Some people never find it. Their life is an endless search. I looked for it in the army, serving my country, and found it at last in a museum basement. Summer will never know how much I enjoy her interruptions for long talks about antiquity and mythology. I’m not selfish enough to keep arguing. “Let me know if you need help. I’ll do what I can.”

Rowdy followed her to the door for one last head pat before coming back to sit at my feet.

They dismissed her findings, the distinguished controllers of grants, publications, and leaves for fellowship research. Summer kept making inquiries of important names in Bronze Age Archeology in case unpublished field results might back her conclusions. I knew it because I began getting calls and emails asking me if she was on the level. I always said, “Yes.”

Now, ten years later, there have been many discoveries of Bronze Age sites sacred to Demeter showing her as a cloaked old woman, the guise she used when hunting for her lost daughter. Only this form of the goddess is not about winter. There’s the evidence of child sacrifice and ritual cannibalism, proof of famine and starvation. The diver’s discovery of rubble from a temple to Persephone in the Thera caldera clinches it.

I watch Dr. Summer Martin’s presentation on the university live feed. I haven’t heard her voice since the time she called to thank me for my behind-the-scenes references. I’d come up with some excuse to cut the call short.

Now she’s finishing her presentation and turns to wave goodbye to the press and faculty. I return to my work. A few minutes later, I’m surprised to hear her steps—the rhythm still familiar after all this time—descending the stairs toward my underground realm.

Fiction The Mysteries of Eleusis About The Author

Sarah M. Lewis has a BA in Art History and a MA in History from the University of Mississippi. Her work has appeared in 2017 Write to Meow, Bubble-Off Plumb, and 2019 WWG Anthology Forest of Angels. She won first and third prize for poetry in the August 2011 Writers’ Journal Poetry Contest. She lives in Texas, is an active member of the Woodlands Writing Guild, and keeps her ears open for a good story.

Fiction Seasons

Words by Isa Prospero

About the story

I wanted to write a version of this well-known and much adapted story from a different point of view, and it occurred to me that, as the myth explains the existence of seasons, it implies there once was a time before seasons. How did common people react when the weather abruptly changed? Imagine the confusion of living through the first winter of all time. So I chose a couple of humans to play out this tale while Hades and Persephone played out theirs off-screen.