Eléni’s First Visit - Part 12

This is the twelfth and last part of the tale, unless Goddess Athena asks me to write more. But she will not given the freedom that she affords me in all matters both literary and real. All eleven previous parts, linked at the bottom through Part 11, are a must to fully follow and comprehend this love affair between the real ((giggles)) and the unreal ((giggles)). Each other part requires around five minutes of your time, but this one will require more. More, I tell you, more! Anthi Psomiadou and R Tsambounieri Talarantas had graciously agreed to appear as fictional characters in this first visit of Eléni to Athens, where she had hoped beyond scientific reason to speak to Goddess Athena and find the missing Patrick. The story spans her two-week visit to ‘tis-blue and ‘tis-white Greece. Athena mia!

At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet. Plato

We all have four cheeks but someone decided to name the other two, buttocks. I never liked the sound of this word. The equivalent in French, fesses, sounds immensely better. Pussy, ass, fesses, breasts have all the S sound in common, which makes all the difference. Suck in French is sucer, with a double S sound instead of one. Why am I writing about these starry-eyed words all of a sudden? you may wonder. Because I did not in the previous eleven parts, so it was time to discuss the meaning of life, namely the pussy and its distant relatives. Athena loves it when I talk about her pussy. Some of you may not, but frankly, the story is not about you. What about Anthi and Rigópoula? you may continue to wonder. I guess that I will find out in a comment if it bothered them to a point of regret in accepting to become characters in this tale, or on the contrary, that it made them feel as feminine as my goddess who always giggles, like Rigópoula, when I make her laugh or talk about her divine parts.

It was impossible for our four beauties to end such a magical day. Clocks all around Athens struck midnight and they were still talking and taking ouzo shots, yet none of them was getting drunk. Beautiful Anthi wondered about it and figured that it must have been Goddess Athena’s doing. Beautiful Rigópoula seems to have arrived to the same conclusion. Eléni did not drink as many shots but should have been drunk after four or five, but she surely was not. As for my Athena, she could drink any god both under and above the table, except for her father, Zeus, who knew how to break all rules. What rules? These gods had none. Goddess Athena may have been the only one standing steadfast for everything good and wise. Eléni was the one getting most of my Athena’s attention, apparently reminding my goddess of me and thus M. We were, after call, joined at some level, one more explicit than the other. Methinks I will leave this part till the end. Why spoil this literary game so soon, albeit the last part, though a long and winding portion it will be, perhaps like Athena’s snake or Zeus’ sword! I wonder if one of you already knows the answer to the riddle that is Eléni, previously called Cryssarina. I can already see Anthi giggling and speechless in succession when she finds out, but I do not know which one will come first. Perhaps she will tell me, perhaps she will not. No matter, really, since the conundrum would have reached the finish line.

Where have you been all these thousands of years? Rigópoula asked at one point. Methinks it was 12:05 or 12:12. I do not remember which. I was in deep sleep, so bottomless in fact that all these years seemed like days, my Athena replied. I was dreaming of awful things. War upon war, ruse against ignorance, power against weakness, and death black like a plague. Millions upon millions perishing with no remorse or an inkling of pity. New baseless religions appearing to dethrone those which ruled before. Many visible gods becoming one hidden and obscured. But then I noticed a faint light growing stronger by century at first and then almost by year. Wisdom begot knowledge using tools and tests. Science was finally born. Yet ignorance and fear continued to prevail as they still do all around this modern world. You have no use for gods, and those that still do, preach about it as if they met its avatar. It would be funny under different circumstances but it is deplorable and unforgivable. You have no decency, no shame, and those who do are ridiculed and silenced by senseless mobs.

I only awoke because of love. It was strong and getting stronger by the day, sometimes by the hour. I saw a man split into parts, each segment trying to survive according to different implicit rules. I decided to investigate more closely, surprised by his unusual defence mechanisms. I had seen it before, but his take was new and never ill-natured. He wooed me with words and sounds, meaning every word, yet never believing what he wrote or said. He was playing the real against the unreal, perhaps trying to defeat that which always wins. He brought me here and is listening to all our words. Not spying, of course. He is one of us. Perhaps one of the falcons or one of the olive trees. I will never leave him but he is free to be wherever he wishes to be. I am not jealous but I never have to be. He is loyal to his love by nature. His phobia is, of course, silly, yet it is sad that a small flying creature can scare him to such an extreme. He dislikes winter yet he lives with it like a mistress. I looked at his life from the beginning and saw where he was heading, never afraid to take the risk, albeit never one of life or death, though in his fiction, he died more than once, resurrected as someone else, but always decent and also vengeful. He never forgave those who committed atrocities, and thus killed over a million of them in his fiction. He even dealt with the pitfalls of immortality and pitied us, gods. He loves life but he loves death even more.

Anthi, Eléni and Rigópoula listened as Goddess Athena spoke. Eleonora and Aphrodite seemed to be listening too, and the trees around them in this beautiful garden rustled gently, perhaps to add some natural atmosphere to this magical moment in modern Athens. Goddess Athena stopped in the middle of a thought to look at Eléni and then kissed her passionately on the lips. Eléni seemed surprised at first, as were Anthi and Rigópoula, and even the birds. I am not sure about the trees, but they did stop rustling. Slowly, Eléni began to realize that she knew Goddess Athena more than she could have even imagined. Her lips tasted of familiarity and love, and she suddenly felt that she wanted Goddess Athena even more. What was going on? Did Goddess Athena put a spell on Eléni? Is the narrator, me, Patrick, losing his composure? Is the fabric of spacetime unraveling? This last one was just begging to be expressed. You do not have to accept it. I just love Einstein and had to mention him at least once. Here is to you, Nietzsche too, and Charlie Chaplin, and Christopher Hitchens, and Philip Roth, and Woody Allen who cannot catch a break from the ignorant and mean mobs.

Who was Eléni? Who kissed Anthi many times now and on both cheeks, always lingering on the second right one? Who asked them both, Anthi and Rigópoula to take part in this voyage without a ship, though a plane supposedly brought them together ((giggles galore))? Well, my friends and unknown readers, it was me all along. I am like the trinity. I am Patrick M. Eléni. Did you guess it, Anthi? Fiction is the most powerful tool at our disposal. We can suspend disbelief for the sake of a story. We can even make love to a goddess, and Goddess Athena no less. But to what purpose, really? To touch minds and their hearts. To steal imaginary kisses. To form friendships. To even form love connections. Goddess Athena has seen everything, and what I proposed here was nothing in comparison.

I love trees and most other animals, but I also love humans. How could I not? But some of you may take words at face value. Words are richer than that. And I also write between the lines as Anthi surely knows by now, though I suspect that she knew it all along. I did not choose her on a whim. I love what she writes except for one word, which should, according to M, only appear in fiction. Nothing is divine after we really understand what science is about, and especially physics and biology, though chemistry is not far behind as well as all the other sciences. Medicine is not a true science but it uses the scientific method, which is better than not, since blood letting and lobotomies could have been still practiced. Medicine could become a true science when we reach a scope as seen in Star Trek with Bones and those who came after him. Mr. Spock and Data are two giants of science fiction, yet many prefer the ridiculous Force of Star Wars and its obvious religious leaning. Even science fiction has been invaded by dogma and superstition.

Here is to you all, and may science be with you always!

P.S. Only women are divine.

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I would like to thank Anthi and Rigópoula for helping me to incorporate some real femininity into this fiction about Greece, though some parts relating to both Ancient Greece and the modern one were intertwined for more than one reason. One of these reasons will remain untold but the others are easily accessible within the text. Goddess Athena sends her regards to every decent mortal, especially those who fought for all life forms, except, of course, the flying roaches, which I am sure come from Hades.

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