“He failed?”
“Hades gave Eurydice to Orpheus and told him they would be allowed to escape under one condition—that Orpheus was not allowed to look back at his wife until they had exited the underworld. He led her out, using his voice to guide her, but just when they made it to the exit, Orpheus looked back and Eurydice was lost to him forever.”
“But why did he look back? They were so close.”
“I don’t know, really. Some say it’s because he thought they’d already reached safety. Others say it’s because she cried out because something was wrong. Or perhaps he’d lost faith that she was still there. Most storytellers agree that it was Hades’s punishment—that he knew Orpheus would fail.”
“Punishment? But he’s the one who said they could go.”
“To the ancient Greeks, questioning the will of the gods—let alone acting out against it—was the ultimate sin. Orpheus’s sheer audacity in thinking he could reverse his fate—get his wife back from the clutches of the god of death—was considered wrong. It’s a morality tale. You fight destiny, and it’ll come back to bite you in the arse every time.” Beyond the noise of the restaurant and the chattering patrons at the tables that surround us, I catch the most melancholy tone wafting up from Joe. “You can’t fight your destiny. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
I am about to ask him if he really believes in all this fate stuff or if he’s just being melodramatic for the sake of the story, but three servers appear with tray after tray of food. One of the servers asks for a picture of Joe. He poses with her and then digs into a plate of cheese fries like a man who hasn’t eaten in days. I bite into my bacon cheeseburger. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it is the best thing I’ve ever tasted—even better than the burgers we’d grill up behind the shop on Sunday afternoons. But I’d never tell my mom or Jonathan that.
“What happened to Orpheus after that?”
“Some say he died of a broken heart; others say he was torn apart by a group of crazed women because he was too sad to pay attention to them.…”
I smirk, thinking of some of Joe’s more rabid fans I’d seen on TV. It isn’t too hard to believe.
“Others say that his father, Apollo, carried him away in his sun chariot. Whatever the story was, the loss of his music was so lamented that Zeus himself threw Orpheus’s lyre into the heavens, and it became the Lyra constellation.”
I can see why it is Joe’s favorite constellation. I wouldn’t be surprised if he fancies himself a modern Orpheus. I am pretty sure he is the one who first coined his “God of Rock” nickname.
“Is that why you chose Orpheus and Eurydice for the subject of the play?”
“Among other reasons.” Joe holds up one of the burgers he ordered. “You have to try this. It’s bloody brilliant. It has a fried egg and a slice of beet in it.”
I wash down a bite of my cheeseburger with a gulp of milk shake and pull a gagging face at Joe.
“No, really. Try it.”
He waves the burger in my face, and I know he’s not going to stop until I take a bite. To my surprise, it’s even better than my burger.
“That is bloody brilliant,” I say, mimicking his accent.
“Eh, watch your mouth, girly,” he says with a cheeky smile. He takes a bite of the burger. “Bobby and I first had these in New Zealand. Told him if he ever opened his restaurant, he had to put it on the menu,” he says with his mouth full. “Eh, you should come with us sometime. On tour.”
I choke on an onion ring.
“You okay there? Put your hands in the air. Maybe try some water?” He smacks me on the back until I stop coughing. “Yes, you should come on tour with us to Australia and New Zealand. You would love it. The stars are so much brighter there, and you can see constellations that you could never see here. We could go tramping up a volcano or something with a telescope. Now, there would be a good trip.” He pounds his fist on the table, excited. “Next summer, you’re coming with us!” he practically shouts.
“Joe, I don’t think—” My desire to see the world and my uncertainty about going on tour with the father I barely know come clashing together. Mostly, it irks me that one evening at the planetarium and a shared burger make him think that we’re the best of friends now. That I’d want to go with him. That anything has been forgiven …
“Joe, my boy!” says an extremely enthusiastic voice.
Joe and I both look up. A man in a trim, expensive-looking, light gray suit stands in front of our table. He holds what looks like a spinach smoothie in his hand. I can’t quite place his face, but I feel like I’ve seen him before.