(This is a local story for local people!)
Zeus – root meaning: bright.
Apollo ascended to the heavens on his chariot. Drawn by six snow white horses, it was a most glorious sight indeed. On this particular morning though, the furrowed brow of the most picturesque God was anything but beautiful. He brought the stallions to an abrupt halt and flung the reigns down as he leapt from the stoop. ‘Father, Father where are you?’ Zeus, as was his custom, was reposing in the library; a book of questionable repute lay open across his chest, entangled within his great white beard. He was snoring lightly but upon Apollo’s heated entrance, murmured, ‘Tell me, my son’
‘Oh I will tell you Father! It is too much for me to bear. The news on the oceanfront this morning as I rose confirms yet more of the earth is to play God with the Sun and have what the mortals call daylight saving.’ Apollo threw his hands up in resignation as he exclaimed, ‘It’s playing havoc with my other duties Father. This place, Western Australia has so much light already that people are dying from it, yet still they insist on more’. Apollo, under the silent scrutiny of his Father, sat down head in hands. ‘I am god of poetry, music and archery and I heal. I ask you, are these no longer important to mortals?’
Zeus discreetly slipped the book under a cushion for later perusal and applied himself to Apollo’s grief. ‘It seems to me, mortals want the light only to engage more often in the pastimes you speak of’. He toyed thoughtfully with his beard. ‘It is simple logic, but what else can one expect from mortals? They are not gods and cannot know the great price they must pay for such a frivolity as light.’ He leaned forward. ‘Perhaps if you watch the mortals you will better understand, my son and know best how to deal with your dilemma.’ With a wave of his hand, Zeus dismissed his son. ‘Now leave me while I continue my study in the wisdoms of the universe.’ Apollo had caught sight of his Father’s latest pursuit when he entered but forbore to contradict the great Zeus. The cover looked quite thrilling and Apollo made a mental note to read it one day but for now, he had other matters on his mind.
After his snow-white horses rose from the ocean the next morning and made the perilous journey to heaven, Apollo was looking much worse for wear. ‘You ought to get some rest’, observed Zeus as he passed him in the corridor, book firmly nestled in the folds of his robe. Apollo wasn’t fooled and told his Father not unkindly to stick to his studies. With half the world on daylight saving, he didn’t know whether he was coming or going anymore. Oh, it was fine for mortals to claim sunlight as a science, but actually, things worked a mite differently in heaven. The haggard lines on Apollo’s face bore testimony to this fact. His horses were, to put it crudely, shagged and he had to engage another half dozen as stand by. His clock was out of sorts as well as his humour. However, what got him down more than anything else in the universe were the mortals themselves. Their illogical demand for light meant there was actually less music and poetry, fewer arrows shot, and finally less prophesizing or healing practices taking place. Apollo simply did not have the divine time for these anymore because he was so busy riding back and forth across the earth. Oh sure, it looked like the sun still rose and set in the usual fashion, but each time a nation introduced the daylight saving theory, it entailed extra work for Apollo. He was no beauty now and frankly, he was starting to get very cranky.
Zeus finished the last page of his book, his supreme heart racing. ‘Well, well’ he thought ‘I had no idea that sort of thing was possible but I’ll certainly keep it in mind for future reference’. No sooner did Zeus return the book to its obscure little niche in the library, than Apollo stormed in from his third ascent of the morning, vigorously towel drying his hair. The hand of Zeus shot back to his side and he masked his guilty action by suggesting aloe as a way of protecting his son’s beautiful locks. Apollo scowled at the wizened old man in the corner of the library. Damaged hair was the least of his troubles. He was fast becoming a right misery guts, even down to whipping the horses till he drew blood at sunrise just so he could get home sooner.
The biggest change had come in the music he was now generating amongst mortals. It was so abusive and derogatory; love and peace within the lyrics was hard to find let alone in the music. Most times, such sentiments were completely absent. The terrible tragedy was the world below him had bought into this only because Apollo couldn’t get a decent nights sleep on account of mortal man’s desire for lighter days. Apollo knew well as the God of music, he was slipping up badly in this area but mortals did not know or understand what was happening. They just thought music was progressive and evolutionary. Everything was science with them. He shook his tired self and stretched out on the couch. Zeus asked him if he had any further thoughts on his dilemma. ‘Nothing mortals do will save them Father’ replied the despondent Adonis. Zeus roared back. ‘They will destroy you then and what will you have done for them? Have you read your history lately?’ Zeus was so old-fashioned thought Apollo. The young God might be conceited but he got along with mortals well enough without destroying entire populations. His Father could be right though. At this rate, the sun’s protector would only circle the earth for so long before he said ‘bugger it’ and left them to sizzle like sausages in a fry pan. Still, Apollo was inclined to remain faithful to his tasks for a while yet. What he really needed was reassurance.
That evening as Apollo descended into the ocean, horses and all, he thought about his father’s earlier suggestion. After all, if mortals used science by way of explanation to understand their universe and Apollo knew they had definitely missed the mark there, maybe he had overlooked something about them. As a God though, it was unlikely, but it was possible. Western Australia was the latest place to herald the virtues of daylight saving and Apollo turned his sights on Coolbellup. As was the conceit of all Gods, Apollo assumed mortals craved more light. He secretly hoped for a miracle, but really, whom does a God pray to in time of need?
After the sun rose, Apollo retired to the great library where stood an orb of magnificent proportion. Apollo looked in and saw anything he so desired. The vision unfolding before the Gods divine sight was a little gathering at a local community hall in Coolbellup. It was a writers group in progress and Apollo watched in frank curiosity as mortals rose to the podium one after the other and recited poetry and stories to the delight of all.
‘All is not lost then in this handful of mortals who have a faith which bears my godly gifts. I wonder if they’re any good at archery’, he mused idly to himself. Feeling a little restored by the vision, the healing God bestowed his benevolent blessing upon them and soothed the various aches and pains that each mortal knew well unto themselves. Over the next few days, all of them would experience an uncanny sense of wellbeing.
The arrow from his own bow soon hit home though as Apollo watched the mortals discuss the very issue that was destroying him as a God and the earth in turn. As he was wont to assume that all mortals craved light as much as possible, it seemed some lovers of text and verse did not. They too complained about the new decree and their displeasure with the grand ruler of the land, yet almost abruptly but happily, they packed away their quill-like pens and went home. Apollo listened and learned a lesson. All mortals had the power to make change but few if any, ever realized it. Apollo was mistaken in his judgment and felt ashamed. It was not mortals who would change the world for the better then; but Gods such as Him. Sometime the young God would visit his wrath upon the earth. Only then could mortals truly know the error of their ways. For now, he must rise and set in haphazard fashion, as was their wont, at some point, his full glory destined to reveal itself to all living things.
Zeus tip-toed discreetly from the obscure little niche of the library and stood by as his son made this self-discovery. Apollo continued to gaze into the orb as he spoke. ‘Forgive me Father, now that I have seen the light on this day, I have been saved’. Zeus rested a timeless, reassuring hand upon the shoulder of his son. ‘Come; walk with me in the garden’. Apollo rose and went outside into the brilliant shining light accompanied by the great and wonderful Zeus. ‘Tell me Apollo, why Coolbellup?’ ‘It is the index number of the book you’ve been reading Father, 6163’. Silence followed as the two Gods walked along the path. Finally, Zeus, who had stopped to smell the roses said, ‘You know, you should read more often’. Apollo laughed and asked slyly, ‘You mean I too should study the wisdoms of the universe?’ Zeus shook his head, stroking his beard as he replied. ‘Do not be so hard on yourself my son. Unlike me, you cannot expect to be that bright’. On this note, the Great Zeus ambled down the path, yet another book nestled safely within the folds of his robe.
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