Sweet Soul

“Anyway,” he continued, “at the moment, in class, we’re looking at the story of Hero and Leander.”

On my paper, I asked, “What happened to them? This painting looks sad.”

Levi read the page and nodded his head. “It is, sad that is. They are known as the doomed lovers. The story’s a real tragedy.”

My pen hovered over the paper while I debated what to ask. Taking a chance, I asked, “Could you tell me it?”

Levi’s lip hooked into a shy smile and he replied, “Sure.”

I smiled back, and my heart beat faster seeing the hint of red blossom on his olive-skinned cheeks. Nervous under my gaze, he began the tale. “Hero,” he pointed to the drowning woman, “she was a priestess of the goddess Aphrodite, and she lived on the island of Sestos.” He paused and asked, “Do you know who Aphrodite is?”

“Yes,” I wrote, “she’s the goddess of love, right?”

Levi read my response and nodded his head. “Yeah.” Taking a sip of the water on his desk, he put it down and continued. “Hero served Aphrodite, and as such, she had to remain a virgin.” As Levi finished that sentence, the hint of red already on his cheeks burst into a vibrant crimson color and he dipped his head. I hid my smile, more than affected by his obvious shyness than I ever would be if he were brazen. This muscled beautiful boy was as timid as a church mouse.

“When Hero was at a festival on Sestos, a visiting man,” he pointed to the drowning male, “Leander, took one look at her and he fell in love.” I stared at the picture, now wrapped up in their story. Levi had paused, so I looked at him, nodding at him to keep going. Levi dipped his eyes back to the page and continued. “It wasn’t long before Hero fell in love with Leander. But Hero was a priestess, and as such, was forbidden to fall in love or to be with a man.”

I shuffled to the edge of my seat, my heart beating fast with the excitement of the story, but also with trepidation for how it would end. Levi’s hand flicked the page and a map was on the bottom. He pointed at two islands on a sea. With his finger on one island, he explained, “Leander lived here, on Abydos.” He pointed at the other island. “And Hero lived here on Sestos where the festival had been.” The tip of his finger traced the stretch of water between the two islands. “They were separated by Hellespont, a stretch of water.”

Levi stopped, and asked, “Am I boring you? I can stop if all this is too dull. I kinda get carried away and forget most folks don’t care about these stories.”

My hand landed on my chest and I shook my head, no. “Please,” I scribbled down, “I want to know the rest.”

Levi’s eyes flashed with happiness, and he carried on. “Because they were in love, they knew they had to see each other, despite the dangerous trip one of them would have to take. Leander and Hero hatched a plan that Leander, as night fell, would swim across Hellespont to see Hero, so they could be together at night.” My eyes dropped to the picture again, at the rolling waves, and the couple fighting to live. My stomach sank.

“Hero lived in a tall tower, and each night, she would light a lamp and put it in her window, so Leander would know where the shore was—where his love was.” Levi huffed a quiet laugh and pointed at the firefly jar. “Kinda like an old version of that, I suppose.”

I tracked his finger to the jar and excitement burst within me. Finding myself smiling too, I nodded my head and pulled the jar closer imagining it sitting in Hero’s tower.

“That light in Hero’s tower was Leander’s guide to the woman he loved. For nights and nights he travelled that patch of sea and was happy with Hero, as she was with him. Then—”

Levi’s voice faded to silence, and he looked down between us both. When I looked down too, I realized that I had placed my hand on his arm, gripping him tightly, on tenterhooks for the inevitable end of the story.

Embarrassed at my reaction, I went to pull my hand away, when Levi reached out and kept it pressed on his arm. I stilled, eyes wide, heart thundering in rhythm. Levi froze too, but he still didn’t move his hand. I heard his breathing hitch, the simple act of our hands touching bringing us both to an unfamiliar, yet mutually welcoming place.

I waited. I waited, anxious for Levi to speak, only to feel my heart melt when he rasped, “You can leave your hand there,” he swallowed and, without looking into my eyes, he added, “if you want.”

As he expressed the last part, his accent had strengthened, deepened with nerves. I squeezed his arm and left my hand right where it was. Levi’s nostrils flared when I didn’t move my hand away. My heart skipped a beat when his hand didn’t move either.

Tapping a finger from my free hand on the page, I silently urged him to finish the story. Understanding what I wanted, Levi took a deep breath and recounted, “Then one night everything changed for the lovers.” Leaning in, I listened as hard as I could. “Leander set off for his swim, same as he did every night. As he swam, Hero’s lamp shone brightly in her window, guiding him to her shore, when a storm suddenly rolled in on Hellespont.” My hand tightened on Levi’s arm; he kept an equally tight hold of my hand.

“As Leander swam harder, striving to reach Hero, the violent wind suddenly blew out the lamp. The wind was too strong for the light to remain lit. Hero had to watch, as Leander with no light for a guide, fell under the waves, lost in the dark.”  Coldness ran down my spine at the sad tale. Levi flicked back to the page with the painting and pointed at the images of the drowning couple. “Hero, unable to stand losing the man she loved so deeply, threw herself in the stormy waters to join him.” Levi paused, turned to me, and said, “Hero and Leander both drowned in Hellespont. Her light guided him to her every night, but when it died out, so did their lives.” Levi blushed and finished by saying, “But their love never did die out. It was passed to posterity by becoming a legend.” He shrugged and then smiled shyly. “At least it did in mythology, inspiring artists to paint their story, and poets to immortalize them in words.”

At the mention of poets, my head jerked up and Levi noticed. His fair eyebrows pulled down and he asked, “You like poetry?” Without writing an explanation, I merely nodded my head.

Levi squeezed my hand, and with his free hand, he flicked over the pages of his book until he stopped at a poem. Pointing at the page, he explained, “This is the most famous, Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe.” I craned my head to read it.