This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.
2019 Ben DAlessio All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. eBook ISBN 978-1-54397-495-9
Also by Ben DAlessio
NOVELS
Binge Until Tragedy
Lunchmeat
SHORT STORIES
Pigmalion
FREEDOMWORLD
Hallucinogenic Jimmy
All BENNYs Must Die
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Id like to thank my editors, Samantha Gordon and Leah Wohl-Pollack of Invisible Ink Editing, for the labor they put into the manuscript and for answering questions like which pronoun do I use when a male spirit possesses a female body? and should I use more photos of Bushes on the walls or just more Bushes on the walls than a vintage pornography store? Truly, I appreciate your service.
A huge thank you to Jenny Zemanek of Seedlings Design Studio for creating my electric cover.
Again, thank you to my parents who support my writing and beg me to write something they can actually readnot this one either.
And lastly, Id like to thank the late Edith Hamilton. I found her book, Mythology, in a little free library on Dominican Street, and it made me ask myself, What if Dionysus came to New Orleans?
There are a lot of places I like, but I like New Orleans better.
Bob Dylan
Everything in New Orleans is a good idea.
Also Bob Dylan
Oh, sweet upon the mountain
The dancing and the singing,
The maddening rushing flight.
Oh, sweet to sink to earth outworn
When the wild goat has been hunted and caught.
Oh, the joy of the blood and the raw red flesh!
For New Orleans, my soul city.
Contents
AUGUST
Dio
In the corner of New Orleans where South Carrollton connects with St. Charles Avenue, the Greek God of Revelry and Wine, Dionysus, appeared in front of a classic daiquiri shop. Trudging through New Orleans this deep in August was like trying to swim through a cream-based soup. But Dionysus had not left his home on Mt. Olympus for quite some time and was so excited to embark on a new adventure that he pushed onward through the thick air and forgot to thank Hermes for delivering him safely to Louisiana.
His siblings, aunts and uncles, cousins, and any other godly offspring Zeus had hauled up to Mt. Olympus had pestered him and bickered amongst each other over where he should go, and whether the God of Thunder would even permit his son to travel to such a backwater cesspool as New Orleans.
When Zeus gets back from Stockholm and finds out that Dionysus is in New Orleans, hell throw a fit! shouted Athena. It will make that storm in Indonesia look like a drizzle!
When Zeus gets back, mocked Ares. Zeus has been in Scandinavia for years. We should start calling him Odin!
Shouldnt you be in Syria? Or Yemen?
Oh, Im bored with it now. They dont need me anymore to cause destruction and chaos, said the God of War, resting his arm on a column and letting out a sigh.
Hermes, please, you cant take him, Athena insisted. Just bring him back to Amsterdam. He loves it there.
He refused Amsterdam. He has frequented that aquatic city too many times.
What about Copenhagen? Christiana is supposed to be a nice anarchy, not like what theyre doing down there in Athens, ruining my own cityAnd that way he can be close to Zeus.
He brought up Dubai, said Hermes.
Oh, he cant go to Dubai! cried Narcissus as he pushed along a lily pad that had drifted over his face in the reflecting pool. It will dry out his beautiful skin.
I can bring him to Nigeria with me. I have some work to do there, said Ares.
Yes, how about Nigeria? Can you ask him, Hermes? Please. Anywhere, anywhere but New Orleans.
Oh, just let him go, said Apollo, revealing himself from the darkness, glowing gold from hair to sandal. It will be good for him.
Oh, yes, sure you would say that, Apollo. This is all your doing after all, Athena snapped.
Listen, if Dionysus desires to go to that blighted, infested excuse for a city, started Hermes, and Zeus is not here to tell me otherwise, I have to take him.
Dionysus dodged the waves of lime green and tan anoles, some as tiny as olives, that seemed to wait until the last possible moment to dart across the sidewalk along South Carrollton Avenue. Giant oak trees, like guardians of the city, provided pools of shade on an otherwise merciless afternoon. Dionysus, unaccustomed to tropical humidity atop Mt. Olympus, sought refuge before making it a single block.
Up ahead, the familiar ivory of Doric columns supported the faade of a building that appeared out of place nestled on the American sidewalk. A sign for the Camellia Grill, lit up in neon-pink cursive, greeted the flocking entrants that moved as if summoned by a magnetic pull spooling out from the restaurant. So as not to get trampled, Dionysus followed through the pair of doors and was greeted by a skinny Nubian behind the counter who proffered a most thought-provoking inquiry: Do you know what it means to miss New Orleeeeeanz?
Pardon? the god responded.
How bout chu have a seat right chyea? asked a broad, similarly dressed Nubian in a matching white shirt covered in stains of browns and yellows as if it were a pattern.
Dionysus sat down on a stool at the counter and stared back at the slender man on the other side, whose arm and fist had remained extended and taut since his initial inquiry, as if waiting for reciprocation. In fact, the entire establishment appeared to be operated by Nubians. Perhaps attracted to the banks of the Mississippi River, similar to their ancestors attraction to the Nile, Dionysus thought.
He reminisced about a spontaneous trip he took to that once-flourishing civilization, where he and the Queen of Sheba spent their days listening to the greatest musicians in Africa and drinking carafes of succulent honeywinea delicious potable, sure, but after three weeks of merriment and mirth, Dionysus longed for his ruby agiorgitiko. Actually, it was not far from the sable queens palace that Dionysus had learned the mysteries of the vine as a child.
It was the first time Zeus had Hermes whisk Dionysus away from Olympus to hide him from Hera, Zeuss third wifechronologically, not polygamously. Hermes brought the young god to Mt. Nysa, where he would be raised by the Nymphs until it was safe to return home to Olympus. It was there that Dionysus fermented his first batch of grape juice. He had yet to go a day without a couple stiff liters of the elixir sinceexcept for that stint with the Queen of Sheba, of course.
Dionysus looked at the extended fist and then back up at the toothy grin, which had yet to lose its luster, and made his own fist, lining up his knuckles to fit like cogs of a gear, but the Nubian jumped the gun and gave the gods fist a stern tap.
O-kay, all right, chyeah. Oh, I think I felt a something sorta special witchu. Whatd you like to drink?
