censers, and the wine warmed my body and rose to my head. But the further the feast pro-› gressed, the greater my disappointment when I looked at the two motionless cones on the gods’ high couch.
The old Lucumo from his couch to my right saw my glances and consoled me with a laugh. “Do not be impatient, Turms, for the night is long. Perhaps the gods are preparing for us just as we prepared to meet them. Perhaps there is hustle and bustle in the eternal halls of the gods as festive garments are carried to and fro and hair is anointed and braided. Who knows?”
“Do not mock me,” I said angrily.
He extended his old hand and touched my shoulder. “This is the most exalted night of your life, Turms. But the people also must share in it. They can see the cones which you wreathed, they can watch us eating and drinking, they can see the holy dances and enjoy the music. Only then will we three be alone. Only then will the curtains be closed and the guests arrive.”
Outside the tent, under a canopy of stars, thousands of silent people had gathered to look at the lighted tent. The breathing of the dense crowd could be sensed but not a sound could be heard for the people were careful of every rustle and were afraid even to move their feet.
The cooking fires were extinguished, the servants departed one after the other, the dancers disappeared, the music ceased and all became still. The white cones with their wreaths seemed to ascend to the dimness of the tent ceiling. Now the last servant set before me a covered dish, and I saw both Lucumones raise themselves and stare at me tensely. The servant removed the lid, I smelled the strong odor of herbs, and seeing the pieces of meat in the sauce, extended my fork and brought a piece to my mouth. It had no evil taste from what I could determine, yet I could not bite or swallow it but had to spit it from my mouth.
At that moment the curtains were lowered with a thud. Silently the servant hastened from the tent, leaving the open dish to steam before me on the low table. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, rinsed my palate with wine and spat it out.
Both Lucumones watched me expectantly. “Why don’t you eat, Turms?” they asked.
I shook my head. “I cannot.”
They nodded and confessed, “True. Neither can we, for it is the food of the gods.”
With the golden fork I stirred the pieces of meat floating in the sauce. They did not look unpalatable, nor did the steam arising from the dish smell bad. “What is it?” I asked.
“It is hedgehog,” they explained. “The hedgehog is the oldest animal. With the coming of winter it curls into a sleep and forgets time, and in the spring it awakens again. That is why it is the food of the gods.”
With his fingertips the old Lucumo picked up a boiled and peeled egg which he held up for me to see. “The egg is the beginning of everything,” he said. “The egg is the symbol of birth and return, the symbol of immortality.”
He placed the egg in the hollow of the shallow sacrificial cup, and the younger Lucumo and I likewise peeled our eggs and placed them in our cups. Then the Volterran Lucumo rose, carefully took a sealed clay jar, opened the stopper, dug out the wax with a flint knife and poured the bitter herb wine into our sacrificial cups.
“The moment has arrived,” he said. “The gods are coming. Let us drink the drink of immortality to enable our eyes to withstand their radiance.”
I emptied my cup as did they and the drink burned my throat and my belly became numb. Following their example I then ate the egg that I had peeled.
The old Lucumo said in a low voice, “You have drunk the drink of immortality with us, Turms. You have eaten the egg of immortality with us. Now be silent. The gods are arriving.”
As the three of us tremblingly watched, the two white stone cones began to grow before our eyes. The bright flames of the torches seemed to dim and the cones glowed more brightly than the flames. Then they disappeared and I saw her, the goddess, taking shape and resting lightly on the couch, lovelier than all earthly women. She smiled lest we fear her and her oval eyes radiated glory. But her tresses wriggled alive and on her head was the fearful mural crown.
Then he appeared, the mutable. At first he trifled with us. We felt him as a cold blast and the yellowish dull flames of the torches flickered violently. Then we felt him as water and we struggled as though drowning to breathe through the invisible water running through our nostrils and mouth to our lungs. As fire he felt our skin and limbs until we thought we would be charred alive. But not a mark remained and he cooled us until our skin grew as cold as though we had been anointed with mint ointment. His form floated in the air above us as a gigantic sea horse. Finally the goddess Turan tired of his play and extended her divine hand. Voltumna grew calm and descended as dazzling light to behave like a human in our company.
I did not have to serve them, for the hedgehog dwindled until the bowl was empty. But how they partook of the meal I cannot explain. The level of the wine in the mixing vessel likewise fell lower and lower until the final drop disappeared and the vessel was dry. They were not hungry since gods do not feel hunger and thirst like humans, but having arrived as our guests in recognizable guises they ate the holy meal and drank the holy wine as an indication of friendliness.
The earthly food appeared to please them and earthly wine to rise to their heads as happens at a feast, for the goddess smiled capriciously and looked temptingly at me with her oval eyes as she absently wound her arms around Voltumna’s neck. He, the mutable, looked at me intently as though he were tempted to test my endurance.
“Alas, you Lucumones,” he said suddenly, “perhaps you are immortal, but eternal you are not.” His voice rang like metal and rumbled like a storm, yet it held incalculable envy.
The goddess Turan stroked his hair soothingly and forbade him to seek a quarrel. “Be not afraid of him,” she said in a voice that rang like silver bells and cooed like a dove. “He, Voltumna, is a restless god. But understand him. We others appear in many guises and rest in our holy images, but he has no permanent form. Ceaseless changing, expanding then contracting, warming then cooling, storm then calm, makes him restless.”
Voltumna’s outline began to waver and glitter, but Turan hastily placed her hands on his shoulders, kissed the corners of his mouth and eyes and said, “This guise is the most beautiful and complete in which I have ever met you. Remain so and do not make me nervous by suddenly changing into something entirely different.”
Apparently Voltumna’s self-esteem was flattered by the admiration of the brilliant goddess, although he well knew that in his mutability he was the supreme god since he created all that existed and lived on earth while the other gods merely affected in their own ways that which he created. Seeing that, I understood at last the vanity and rivalry of the gods and why they could be persuaded and bribed with promises and offerings.
As the thought formed in my mind I suddenly felt the warning pressure of slender fingers of fire on my shoulder. Turning, I saw to my amazement that my guardian spirit’s winged being of light was sitting behind me on the edge of the couch. For the second time in my life she appeared to me and without a word I knew that now I must take more care than ever before. Seeing her I knew in my heart that I had longed for her more than for anything on earth. I felt her living nearness as though molten metal were surging through my body.
When I looked around I saw that both the other Lucumones’ guardian spirits had also appeared to shield them with their radiant wings. The spirits looked at one another inquisitively as though comparing one another, and their wings quivered. But in my eyes my guardian spirit was the fairest.
Voltumna extended a beckoning hand and said accusingly, “Alas, you Lucumones, what cautious hosts you are in calling your spirits to protect you. What do you fear?”
The goddess Turan likewise said, “You insult me as a goddess and offend me by preferring to loll on the couches with your guardian spirits rather than with me. You yourselves invited me and not I you. You at least, Turms, must send away your guardian spirit immediately. Perhaps I shall descend for a moment and lay my hand on your neck.”
The wings of my guardian spirit quivered with rage for she was very hot-tempered. The goddess Turan looked at her critically as a woman looks at another woman and remarked, “Undoubtedly she is fair, your winged creature, but surely she cannot compete with me. After all, I am a goddess and as eternal as the earth. She is only an immortal like you.”
I was distressed, but as I looked at the radiant face of my guardian spirit I felt much closer to her than to the goddess. “I cannot send her away since she arrived uninvited,” I said quickly. A sudden perception made my voice tremble. “Perhaps someone even higher than you has sent her.”
I could not continue, for at that very moment a motionless being taller than mortals or gods took shape in the middle of the tent. A cold mantle of light covered him and bands of cloth circled his face so that it was invisible. He
