Chapter 3: Persephone's
"Are you allowed to go out for coffee or tea or something?" Matt asked. "We need to talk.
"As long as my grades are good, yeah. Otherwise I'm grounded. That's why it's really important to do well in Math and not get on Miss Weinhart's bad side. But I have to be home for dinner at six, and that doesn't give us much time."
"Persephone's is right around the corner--ever been there?" Tammy shook her head. "I know most kids prefer lattes at Starbucks, but I think you'll like Persephone's."
Persephone's was down a dark, narrow twisting stairway under the Rite-Aid. They had to step over a homeless guy who was stretched out in the bushes next to the stairwell with his huge feet in black boots in the center of the path. He was clutching a brown paper bag with a bottle in it. The paper was tight around the bottle, so Tammy could see the shape of it. His eyes were closed and his eyelids were flickering furiously. There was a small sign on the concrete at the top, under the Rite-Aid sign, partially obscured by some yews with bright red berries, and a larger sign over the door downstairs that was not visible from the street level. No wonder Tammy had never noticed the place! Both signs showed a beautiful woman with long flowing wavy hair holding a pomegranate. Tammy recognized it right away, because they'd had pomegranates at Christmas every year since she was a small child. Her grandmother had taught her to eat them.
Inside, Persephone's was the antithesis of Starbucks. It was dimly lit with small, flickering orangish lights on the walls that looked like torches. The walls looked as if they were made with blocks of marble. There were fireplaces around the perimeter of the room and one in the center with small fires flickering merrily. Old, well-worn couches and chairs sprawled aimlessly around the room. Flimsy wooden folding chairs were drawn around tables where various games were set up. And there was art. Large oil portraits filled the walls, as well as other kinds of paintings and sculptures. Something seemed very familiar about the art. Tammy wanted to examine them all, but Matt guided her to a small table in a dark corner. It had what appeared to be a game board, but it was a game Tammy didn't recognize.
The had barely taken their seat when a woman emerged from behind a curtain. Tammy gasped. It was Ms. Window, her art teacher. No wonder the art looked familiar! Tammy had seen some similar but smaller pieces and some pencil sketches of the subjects of the large works in the classroom.
"Two pomegranate grenadines and six seeds each," said Matt.
"Ah," sighed Ms. Window, with a farawy look in her eyes, "Dreamers. Congratulations."
After she had wandered off and disappeared again behind the curtain, Tammy asked what she had meant and how she had known.
"The grenadine of course. Pomegranates are the fruit of the underworld, or the subsconscious, or the dreamworld. Sephee is another dream guide."
"Her name is Persephone. This is her place. Who runs it during school?"
"No one. It's only open after school, Saturdays, Sunday afternoons, and evenings. Whenever she has a class or doctor's appointment or something, she puts a sign up. People can still come in, she never locks the door, but they have to get their food and drinks out of the vending machines behind that curtain," Matt said, pointing to another curtain in a dark corner far across the room.
"And no one robs the place?"
"Why would they? Besides, one of the bicycle beat cops, Ares, is her brother. He keeps a close eye on it, as do all his other friends. And Mort, the homeless guy at the top of the stairs. He sleeps on that couch at night," Matt said, pointing again.
"Ares? Persephone? Those are mythological names. Are they their real names?"
"Dunno for sure, but Their mother's name is Demeter. She's from Greece."
"Wait a minute, Greece, Rome . . . " Ms. Window came back out with a small red tray. It had two tall red glasses and two tiny red plates. On each plate were six red seeds. She set the glasses and plates in front of Matt and Tammy, and then withdrew a little package from her pocket and set it between them. She bowed slightly and withdrew.
"The fortune cookie," Matt said. "You open it."
Tammy unwrapped the package. It was too flat to be a Chinese fortune cookie. But it was a cookie, and oatmeal raisin cookie. Tammy looked puzzled.
"Break it in half," Matt said.
Inside was a small piece of folded aluminum foil and inside that, a tiny note. Tammy held it close to her face and read, "'Listen to the Baba Yaga. The world needs your help.' Well, I didn't understand what the Baba Yaga said, so how can I listen? And how did Ms. Window know?"
"That's one of several things we need to talk about," Matt said. "As far as Ms. Window, she's a seer. A seer is a SEE-er. She sees things. She's also a dream spy. I think we need to be as well."
"A dream spy? That sounds interesting, scary and dangerous."
"All of the above and more. Danger is another thing we have to talk about. The danger is real. You need to know that."
"You'd better explain."
"Ok, I will." He took a sip of his grenadine and Tammy did the same. It tasted great, sweet and fruity. He gathered his six seeds and chewed them gently, closing his eyes and savoring them. Tammy followed suit. At least she knew how to eat pomegranates. Only normally, she ate a quarter of the pomegranate at a time, or even half.
"Why six seeds? Why not more?"
"It's a ritual and a message. Six, so we can go in and out, and return safely. Later we can eat more, if you'd like. If we ask for more, it will come on a yellow plate to counteract the red. Red for the underworld, yellow for the above world."
"So, danger, and the Baba Yaga?"
--
I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats
Mary
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