Quicksilver by Stephanie Spinner Page B

managed to say, while my heart flopped like a fish on a line.
    She rewarded me with a fleeting smile. Then she walked outside to join Odysseus.
    Why did I stay? Part of it was diligence. Hard worker that I am, I wanted to make sure that Calypso obeyed Zeus’ command. The rest was curiosity. How would Calypso tell Odysseus he was free to go, if indeed she told him? Would she mention me? What would she say? I had to know.
    So, after taking to the air as if I were leaving, I donned my cap, wheeled around, and landed on the beach like an oversized gull, a stone’s throw from Odysseus.
    He was exactly where I’d left him, on his haunches facing the ocean. Now that the sky was brighter, his weeping eyes were shut against the light, so he didn’t see Calypso when she approached. Or perhaps he didn’t want to.
    She had to touch his shoulder before he looked up at her. “I have something to tell you,” she said. “I’ve kept you here long enough. I’ve decided to let you go.”
    He froze, head cocked. “Don’t mock me, Calypso,” he said gruffly.
    “I’m not.”
    “How can I believe you?” he demanded. “I’ve begged and pleaded and wept like a child for years, yet you kept me here. And now, just like that”—he snapped his fingers—“you’ve changed your mind?” He shook his head. “You’re lying.”
    “I’ll take an oath.”
    He stood. He was a big man, solid and sun-darkened, his broad chest streaked with rosy battle scars. “Take it, then,” he said, folding his arms.
    Calypso swore a ringing oath—by the earth, the sky, and the swirling waters of the River Styx—that she would help Odysseus leave. Standing tall, every lustrous inch of her a reproach to his ingratitude, she added, “May the gods strike me dead if I harbor even a single thought of bringing you back.”
    We waited. Wave after wave rushed in and sped away. A crab tiptoed over my invisible foot. Calypso stayed alive.
    “Oof, I’m sorry,” said Odysseus. His head dipped apologetically. “Forgive my harsh words?”
    “I’ll try,” said Calypso. “Meanwhile, let’s build you a raft.”

THIRTY-TWO
    After much hard work, Odysseus was ready for his journey. He had a wide, seaworthy raft, its sails woven by Calypso herself. He had a generous supply of food, water, and wine. He had a silver knife and a bronze ax. And now that he was bathed and dressed in clean robes, he had the look of a king again, too.
    “I’m grateful to you, Calypso,” he called from the shallows. “I’ll never forget you.”
    “Nor I you,” she replied. Then she lifted her arms above her head and whirled, invoking the wind with her long braids flying. It came at once. Before she had spun around three times, a mighty gust had filled Odysseus’ sails and borne him out to sea.
    Calypso stood there until the raft was only a bobbing speck. Then she dropped to the sand and fell onto her back, arms and legs outspread, hands open wide. She lay there, looking up at the sky. “I’m alone,” she whispered.
    No, you’re not,
I thought. I hovered above her, glad for the chance to admire her fully, yet sorry for her grief, which came off her in waves, like heat.
    Before I left, I brushed her hand with my staff, as lightly as a sand flea, banishing her memories of Odysseus.
    Just in case I decided to come back.
    Of course I went back. I couldn’t keep away. And I am happy to say that my second visit to Calypso was much better than the first. I had no unpleasant directives this time, and Odysseus was gone and forgotten, which helped. When she welcomed me warmly, I responded in kind.
    “You’re looking lovelier than ever,” I blurted, thinking how much easier it was to speak on Zeus’ behalf than on my own. Yet for some reason my awkwardness didn’t put her off. She invited me to stay, and I did.
    Calypso and I spent our time together in wondrous ways. She took me far beneath the sea to meet her Oceanid sisters and Nereid cousins. We traveled to the hidden