“Nectar and ambrosia were fine to begin with. But in the endwell, maybe it amused Athene and Apollo a while longer than the rest of us, to play one-upmanship about differences in vintage or seasoning that nobody else could detect; or maybe they were just putting up a front. Ares and Hephaestus had long since been sneaking off to Yahweh for a whiff of his burnt offerings.”
Hermes brightened a little. “Then I got an idea,” he said. “That was when Poseidon came home from Egypt raving about the beer Isis had opened for him.” / don’t think that was all she opened; gods get jaded in many different ways. “Me, I’d never cared for Egyptian cuisine. But it occurred to me, the world is wide and
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full of pantheons. Why not launch systematic explorations?”
“Oh, my,” Vanny whispered. “You did? Like, smorgasbord in Valhalla?”
“Actually,” Hermes said, “Odin was serving pork and mead at the time. His kitchen’s improved some since. Ah, in China, though the table set by the Jade Emperor!”
For a minute he was lost in reminiscence. Then he sagged. “That also got predictable,” he mumbled. “After the thousandth dish of won ton, no matter how you swap the sauces around, what good is the thousand and first?”
“I suppose,” she ventured, “I suppose the foreign gods visit you?”
“Yes, yes. Naturally … I mean supernaturally. Makes for occasional problems. The Old Woman of the Sea thinks manners require a thunderous belch at the end of the meal; and that boarding House reach of Krishna’s And the newer gods, especially, are hard to please, picky, you know. Not that we Olympians don’t draw the line here and there.”
While his unhappiness was genuine as he called it to mind. Hermes was not unaware of sympathy in those blue eyes, upon those soft lips. “The custom’s dying out,” he let gust wearily from him. “They’re as tired of the same over and over at our table as we are at theirs. I haven’t seen some of them Why, come to think of it, I haven’t seen good old Marduk for fifteen hundred years.”
“How about the Western Hemisphere?” Vanny
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suggested. “For instance, have you ever been to an old-fashioned American church supper?”
Hermes started half out of his seat. “What?” he cried.
She in her turn was astonished. “Why, the food can be delicious. When I was a little girl in Iowa”
Hermes rose. Sweat glowed red on his brow. “I didn’t realize you were that kind of person,” he clipped. “Good-fey.”
“What’s the matter?” She sprang to her own feet and plucked at his sleeve. “Please.”
“I’ve been to an old-fashioned American church supper,” he said grimly. “I didn’t stay.”
“Butbut”
Seeing her bewilderment, he checked himself. “Could there be a misunderstanding?” he inquired. “This was about five centuries ago. I can’t wrap my tongue around the god’s name. Whitsly-Putslysomething like that.”
“Oh,” she said. “Aztec.”
Discourse got straightened out. “No Olympian has visited hereabouts at all for a long time,” Hermes explained. “We knew it’d become Jesus and Yahweh country, except for a few enclaves, and saw no reason to bother, since we can find that closer to home. And as for those enclaves, well, yes, we used to drop in on persons like Coyote, so we know about maize and pumpkins and succotash and whatnot.”
In the course of this, he had taken her hands in his. They were warm. He aimed a brave smile down at her. “Believe me, we’ve tried everywhere,” he said. “We still carry on, however
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futilely. Like the past week for me. I’m the Wayfarer, you know; I get around more than my kinfolk. Call it gadding if you want, it helps pass the centuries and helps maintain friendly relations between the pantheons.
“I left Olympus for Mount Athos, where I ascended to the Christian Paradise. St. Francis gave me bread and wine. He’s a decent little chap, although I do wish he’d bathe oftener. Next evening I called on Yahweh and shared his kosher altar. (He has a few devotees left in the Near Eastern hills who sacrifice in the ancient way. Mostly, though, gods prefer ethereal food as they grow older and more sophisticated.) Next day I had business ‘way north, and ended up at Aegir’s board on the bottom of the Baltic lutefisk and akvavit. Frankly, that gave me a hangover; so I ducked south again, sunned myself in Arabia, and spent that night with Mohammed, who doesn’t drink.” He forebore to mention what hospitality was otherwise offered. “After that, yesterday, it was out across Oceanus for a night in Tir-nan-Og, where the Sidhe cooked me a rasher of bacon and honestly believed they were giving me a treat. That’s where I heard rumors of a new god in America. When your prayer blew by on the west wind, it tipped the scales and I decided to come investigate. But I’ve had no bite or sup today, and hungry and discouraged I am.” ‘