Myths ReImagined: Modern Views of Classic Tales

By Dick Yaeger

The five myths we ReImagine are old—centuries, even millenniums old.

Judgement of Paris
Saint George and the Dragon
Dido and Aeneas
The Abduction of Persephone
Prometheus

They’ve been translated many times from ancient Greek or Roman texts, so variations are common, sometimes contradictory. Modern movies bend them still further. Herein are fresh versions presented in a modern environment so that you might imagine meeting your favorite mythical hero or adversary at a coffee shop or in line at the movies.

Character names remain the same as in the myths and the venues similar, if known. Every story stands alone, so the reading order is arbitrary. There is, however, a common link, a modern character in each—Chloe. She’s the protagonist in one, plays a major part in two, but has only a minor role in two others. If read in order, you might see Chloe grow a little with each new adventure, but that’s optional.

All characters are fictitious, of course, but the countries, cities, mountains, and restaurants are modern and real. They have their own history and charm that will add to your pleasure as you read. Look them up and enjoy.

As an added pleasure, an example of the myths’ inspired art by legendary artists currently displayed in prominent museums around world is included with each story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dick Yaeger
• Release date: May 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370984732

Dick Yaeger

Dick Yaeger lives in Sunnyvale, California, is a retired physicist, former Marine, and active rower, much of which percolates into his novels. If not writing, he might be found at his forge creating iron artwork. He’s a self-taught student of Latin, a 49er and Sharks fan, earlier bagpipe devotee, and the proud admirer of five exciting grandsons.

Book preview

Myths

ReImagined

Dick Yaeger

This book is a work of fiction

ISBN 9781370984732

Copyright © 2017 by Dick Yaeger

All rights reserved

June 2017

Acknowledgements

Above all, for Bette

Extra special thanks goes to the eclectic group who selflessly struggled alongside me for years: David LaRoche, Madeline McEwen, Anne Visnick Sanders, and Edward Moore

Other books by Dick Yaeger

Niki’s Touch

Niki’s Discovery

Walls of Wilusa

Table of Contents

Initial Comments

Judgement of Paris

Saint George and the Dragon

Dido and Aeneas

The Abduction of Persephone

Prometheus

Final Comments

Initial Comments

These myths are old—centuries, even millenniums old. They’ve been translated many times from ancient Greek or Roman texts, so variations are common, sometimes contradictory. Modern movies bend them still further. Herein are fresh versions presented as breaking news splashed on the front page of your newspaper, the supermarket tabloid, or in the content in your favorite social media site.

For centuries, each myth has inspired artists to create wonderful paintings or sculptures now displayed in prominent museums around world. An example is included with each story.

Character names remain the same as in the myths, and the venues similar, if known. Every story stands alone, so the reading order is arbitrary. There is, however, a common, modern character in each—Chloe. She’s the protagonist in one and plays a major part in two, but has only a minor role in two others. If read in order, you might see Chloe grow a little with each new adventure, but that’s optional.

All characters are fictitious, of course, but the countries, cities, mountains, and restaurants are real. They have their own history and character that will add to your pleasure as you read. Look them up and enjoy.

When finished, take the next step. Plug the title of each story into your computer search engine. Be swept away by alternative versions of the ancient tomes and the many pieces of art they have motivated.

The Final Comments section at the book’s end explain slight differences in our stories necessary to maintain modern realism. Be aware, however, that these are spoilers if you’re unfamiliar with the myths.

Judgement of Paris

In one of Peter Paul Rubens’ several characterizations of the Judgement of Paris, Paris ponders who is the fairest to receive the golden apple while Hermes lurks behind a tree. Painted in 1636, this piece currently resides in the National Gallery of London.

I stared at her picture, muted by her beauty. To say that my heart fluttered would be melodramatic, but I believe it did.

I think you’re in love, Paris, Ralph whispered, looking over my shoulder at my computer screen. He plopped into my lone visitor’s chair and set his napkin-wrapped, glazed doughnut and coffee-stained mug on my desk.

Yeah, I mumbled, she’s gorgeous. I clicked on a spreadsheet window to cover Helen’s newest high-res photo.

I know how it is, pal. I was in love with Barbara Eden for years.

Who?

"I Dream of Jeannie?"

Oh . . . right. Never saw it.

Well, don’t, or you’ll be doomed.

His sticky fingers grabbed my mouse and brought back Helen’s picture.

I don’t blame you. She’s a real knockout.

Why do supermodels use only one name?

He shrugged. Maybe they’re not smart enough to remember two.

Not Helen! I said it too loud, then looked around to see if I’d drawn glances from nearby cubicles. I saw her on The Tonight Show. She’s clever and charming and—

Ralph grinned. Yup, you’re in love.

I was working for a four-term California senator in his Palo Alto campaign office, analyzing voter surveys for the upcoming election. I’d known the congressman since before his first political term and believed in his goals. He was a good man. He was also the father of my oldest and best friend, Chloe.

Chloe and I grew up together in Palo Alto, both graduating from Paly High, and then Stanford at the same time. I earned a degree in art history that was financially laughable, so I added a second one in political science, almost as useless. She was more pragmatic, studying classics and journalism.

While I took a year off to ski around the world and forget a failed romance, Chloe went right to work as a freelance photojournalist. She was imaginative and fearless at finding newsworthy opportunities. I often kidded her about getting inside tips from her dad, but she always rebuffed the allegations, and ignored my levity.

It’s Wednesday, Paris, Chloe said from behind me, her hands massaging my shoulders.

And I’m hungry, señorita.

I closed the Helen window lurking under my spreadsheet and stood. When we were both in town, we scheduled lunch every Wednesday at the taqueria across the street. I looked forward to Wednesdays.

How’s the job search going? Chloe asked after our orders arrived, trying to keep her fish taco from spilling from its shell.

Not well. I have to make a decision as soon as the election is over.

About what?

Either go back to school for a PhD or move to a big city, probably New York.

Go for the PhD, and do it at Stanford.

Why?

Cause I’d miss you if you moved away. She scooped up a fork-full of coleslaw.

You would? It suddenly occurred to me that in all the years we’d spent together, we’d never spoke of our feelings toward each other.

Of course. We’ve been a pair forever.

I’d miss you too, Chlo, I said softly, but wasn’t sure she heard me.

She looked up and grinned, a spec of taco sauce on her chin.

So how’s your love life?

I grimaced. Have you been talking to Ralph?

No. Why?

Doesn’t matter.

Chlo and I had no secrets between us, but we didn’t pry. She was the only one who consoled me after the breakup that sent me off touring U.S., Canadian, and Chilean ski slopes.

Did you try the dating site I emailed you? she asked.

I looked at it.

And?

It seemed sterile and pretentious.

Come on, Paris. You’ve gotta get out of your funk over that woman.

She was right, but I didn’t want to talk about it, and needed to change the subject. For a microsecond, I thought about asking her if my mania over Helen was unusual. I didn’t. I knew it was unusual. Chlo’s friendship meant everything, and I couldn’t diminish her respect for me by asking a dumb question with an obvious answer.

What’s new with you? I asked. Any plans to search for ancient ruins in Uzbekistan or infiltrate ISIS?

Nah. I’m taking time off to help with Dad’s campaign. She paused, scooping salsa into a chip. I am, however, angling for an invitation to a wedding reception that’s forbidden to the press.

That doesn’t sound like your kind of thing.

"This one’s different. It’s hosted by Zeus. You know who he is, don’t you?

I switched seats, sitting beside her to prevent yelling over the restaurant noise. She wore a subtle perfume I liked. I made a mental note to ask her mother what it was before her next birthday.

Not his real name, I said, but I know he’s a Silicon Valley super-rich CEO.

He got the nickname because he’s so damn powerful. It’s rumored that he bankrolled at least three presidents—two Democrats and the latest Republican.

Any truth to it?

Who knows? Some of my investigative-journalist friends have tried—and failed—to link him to the mob, several assassinations of Third World tyrants, and the overthrow of two small countries with his private army.

A private army? That’s impressive.

He’s wooed countless environmentalists and funded so many climate-change programs that the media claims he controls the weather. The other night, I heard a local TV meteorologist sign off her forecast with ‘If Zeus approves.’

Cute.

When thunderstorms are expected, she jokes that ‘Zeus is upset.’

Maybe the guy pays her to say those things. Good PR.

She chuckled. I wouldn’t doubt it. Nothing and no one intimidates him—except his wife, Hera.

We laughed. Chlo was always fun.

Anyway, she continued, "this will be the event of the year, perhaps any year. Everyone will be there—congressional members, industrial tycoons from around the world, and every A-list Hollywood celebrity nominated for an Oscar. Hundreds, maybe a thousand."

Sounds like you oughta tap your dad for an invite.

She glared at me and didn’t reply.

Three days later, she rushed into my cubicle and plunked herself in the chair, nearly tipping it over. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide and sparkling.

I’m going, Paris, she bubbled, unable to sit still.

Where?

To Zeus’s event.

Dad got you on the guest list, huh? I couldn’t resist a smirk.

Her smile morphed to a pout. Yeah. I relented. The smile returned, broader than before. And guess what? You’re coming with me.

How’d that happen?

Women have to be chaperoned.

Why? The place will be crawling with bodyguards and Secret Service.

Rules, Paris. Besides, it was my idea. She looked radiant. I knew how excited you’d be.

I don’t know. I grinned at her enthusiasm, not the false suggestion that I wanted to attend.

It’s a party, Paris. It will do you good—get your mind off that traitorous witch who broke your heart.

Do I have to rent a tux?

Yup, and I get to buy an expensive ball gown.

A week later, I had an ominous feeling when my invitation arrived with two armed guards—a gold chalice inscribed with my name and the words, Zeus commands you to attend. The dude thought he was a king. An engraved card in the cup gave details. Among others, the happening would have a Greek theme. I could have guessed.

Don’t be so glum, Paris Chloe said after I picked her up in the limo the night of the event. You’ll enjoy this. She settled into the seat across from me and arranged her gown.

I’m sorry. Thanks for inviting me. I forced a smile.

You know, this is our first genuine date. She patted my thigh. So you’re obliged to be handsome and charming, and I’m obliged to be witty and pretty.

Date! She was right. I hadn’t had a date since my breakup, and had questioned if I ever would. I relaxed into the luxurious limo seat and smiled again—for real.

Every camera pointed at Chloe as she stepped from the limo. Her translucent white-chiffon chiton sported a short train with a slit on one side exposing her long tanned leg. The gown displayed just enough cleavage to test every guy’s will power to look her in the eye. A gold headband and half dozen gold bangles on each bare arm would have made any Mount Olympus goddess envious.

When she took my arm at the curb amid the crowd watching and the cameras flashing, I trembled a little. "You are beautiful."

Why thank you, Paris. You’ve fulfilled the handsome part yourself.

Our eyes met. This was exciting and I started to feel good . . . truly good.

Straight ahead, a guard dressed like Hercules said as we presented our golden-chalice invitations. He was muscular enough to have actually been Hercules except for the sunglasses and the bulge under his leopard-skin jacket.

Remind me again about the details, I whispered as we climbed marble steps to huge double doors resembling castle gates.

It’s a wedding reception for Peleus and Thetis, she replied, rolling her eyes.

Isn’t Peleus the Greek shipping magnate who made ol’ Zeus rich by running guns to would-be revolutionaries?

No proof of that.

But who’s Thetis?

Peleus calls her his ‘Sea Nymph’ because she built a fortune in bottled water alleged to come from a secret spring on an Aegean island.

Good marketing.

While we stood in the reception line, I marveled at the layout of our host’s massive ballroom. Lavish fountains and Grecian ice sculptures everywhere. A frozen school of leaping dolphins surrounded a twelve-foot-high figure of Neptune holding his trident aloft. From where we stood, heaps of seafood covered the tables: two lobster varieties, four kinds of crab, mounds of scallops and oysters, and colorful fish arranged like a rainbow. No red anywhere.

A barefoot waitress wearing a few square inches of supple suede handed Chloe a pigskin-bound, gilded program. Another