A Preview of JUDGING ATHENA

 

I knew the answer, of course, but a man sometimes likes a second opinion. And, in a world first, I think I got a completely succinct, unbiased, and accurate answer from an AI bot. I asked Brave’s browser if it is considered crass to write a review of one’s own book. The machine quickly told me, “Yes.” I knew it was right because the yes didn’t have any extra fingers. And because it is crass, as everyone already knows. So instead of being an oaf, I’ll just tell you a few quick things about my new romance novel and provide a short preview section. Judging Athena is available from Green Altar Books and Amazon (there are substantial previews linked at both sites, by the way). Why not buy ten or twenty copies?!

In addition to being a wonderful, innocent love story of the kind the literary world has seemingly forgotten, the book provides a healthy dose of Christian apologetics aimed at fostering romantic connections between men and women and the joint salvation found in the small church of the family home. There’s also copious treatment of general salvation along with a variant of extreme rarity. Here’s my “what makes this book stand out” statement from an (unsuccessful) literary agent query: 

The tide is turning. Outside the West, the majority of humanity is already hard at work dispensing with the overt lies, destruction, and satanism of the Enlightenment. Even within the West, the pendulum is beginning to swing back towards tradition and sanity. The day of all things, including literature, that are anti-God, anti-human, and anti-family is ending now. Judging Athena, with its innocent, Godly narrative, provides a pleasant, positive alternative to the rank filth heaped upon mankind for much of the past century. While a novel and fantastical example, it is also a stern example of several combined Biblical and Patriarchal themes designed by God to bless men, women, children, societies, and nations, all with a constant and reverent eye toward achieving the glory of salvation in Heaven. The book is also fun and refreshing. Good and decent people want good, decent fiction.

Furthermore, the explicated or championed return to tradition and family life is exactly what is desperately needed to keep places like America, Russia, and France French, Russian, and American. After all, ideology and culture are downstream from identity, and identity comes from people. People come from families. You know, moms, dads, and children? We’ve got work to do, friends, but like the book, it will be fun and rewarding. For what it’s worth, also know ye that the little book features such treasures as a philology riddle, a few very light instances of action, a modicum of space travel (way faster than Warp Drive), roses by the bushel, a funeral for a spider, and more. There’s also a creative (and licensed) inclusion of part of this lovely tune by the lovely Sima Itayim!

By the way, if you happen to be a member of AALA, I’m honestly looking for marketing, foreign translation, and potential film rights assistance. Pause for the cause???

Next time, I think I shall return to the geopolitical with an eye on America’s new place in the global pecking order. My working title for that is “Breaking Ranks”. You’ll know it when… Blabbity, blabbity, blah. Here’s the first short, sweet chapter of Judging Athena. Enjoy, and as always, Deo vindice. 

 

One – Made of Finest Nickel

 

The temperature slowly descended as the oppressive gray of twilight gave way to another early New England night. The young man sheltered beneath the lofty portico, between sturdy stone columns afore the entrance of the impressive structure. He looked some distance down the long, dark sidewalk and across the street, back towards the parking lot and his car. The distant lamp was well-placed and provided nearly ample lighting, though, of course, the time and the weather failed to fully cooperate. At just a tad after six o’clock, the afternoon, or the evening, held a darkness better suited to a damp midnight. It was, after all, if he had reasoned, the middle of November. And the chill threatened to give way to hard cold, a stern preview of the approaching winter. Not the first snowflake had he yet glimpsed that fall, but that afternoon, or since he’d left work some thirty or so minutes earlier, a healthy if depressing sleet had presented itself in force. Even where he stood, the rise, fall, and whip of the wind brought more tinkles of slush to his face and coat. The resulting sensation, along with a semi-long squint of a look at his older Honda Civic, brought recent words back to his mind.

‘Yeah, you’re gonna need it sooner or later. Maybe sooner than later,’ the mechanic had told him. ‘For you, I can get a new radiator in there for, lemme just say, give or take, about seven-fifty. Could do it in one day. If they got the parts, of course.’

‘Seven-fifty,’ he’d quoted back somewhat hazily to the kindly man.

‘Give or take.’

‘With the— If I needed any related tuning or if something else needed replacing, would I be safer budgeting a flat thousand?’

‘You know your car, young feller,’ the mechanic said. ‘Heater core, worn tires, et cetera. Eventually, it’ll be more like a couple grand. But, yeah, a thousand would make it easy for now. And just so you know, I think she’s got a few more miles and maybe months left in her. I do know money is tight. Just keep an eye on the gauge and the reservoir level until you’re ready. I’ll be here, so lemme know.’

‘Thank you very much.’

‘And back to the flakes,’ the mechanic said, ‘nobody claims they like ‘em, but in a case like this, I say just sprinkle as needed and trust the good Lord to get you through.’

They both laughed at the time. Back under the awning, the young man suddenly wondered if he had any flakes left in that little jar. He simply couldn’t remember. He needed to budget—even more than he usually did—but the poor man’s antifreeze fix was pretty cheap. He looked and squinted again now that the wind had died just a bit. From his vantage point, he didn’t see any steam coming from under the hood. That was well. He didn’t have a thousand dollars or even the suggested seven-fifty. The situation made the Lord’s trust mandatory and, accordingly, something else to be grateful for. Turning to go through the large, heavy doors, he thought a little more about his finances.

Once inside both sets of doors, he stopped just inside the little entry alcove before the main landing and rotunda. After shaking slush from his hair and water-resistant medium-weight jacket, he momentarily took out his phone. In a jiffy, he’d punched up his meager checking account. Based on what he needed to set aside for rent and the basics until the next payday, he simply didn’t have the money for major repairs. Not just yet. He said a quick trustful prayer about it all and then turned off his analytical mind; he had a different kind of necessity to purchase, one that wasn’t about him, and, thus, to his mind, far more important. With a sigh of determination, he pocketed the phone and walked deeper into the main hall.

Fully surrounded by its environment, he was reminded how much he enjoyed the Gallery. In addition to so much visual detail and subdued excitement, it had the pleasant smell of a good museum or library, and the temperature and humidity were always perfect. But on that evening, and at that hour, he felt like he was all alone there. He saw no one else and he couldn’t make out the first voice or footfall. Regardless, he walked on toward fulfilling his little mission. Just before taking his next step, he thought, perhaps prophetically, certainly fortuitously, to pop a breath mint into his mouth. A turn to his right and he saw the main reception desk. No one was there. Walking just past it and turning again to his right, he found the gift shop. Still observing no one about, he slowly walked inside.

It was as he remembered it: well-lit, modern, comfortable, and full of interesting merchandise, though he understood more than a few of the wares were a little pricey. He was just beginning to earnestly look around, wondering exactly what he wanted and how much it would set him back, when he thought he heard sweet, soft music playing. As if in a dream, he tried to listen to the melody. Suddenly, he realized the song had lyrics. Or were they plain spoken words? Something suggested they were. In fact, he almost thought some enchanting voice was speaking to him, saying, ‘Just a moment, and I’ll be there.’

And just like that, someone was there. He saw her coming from the corner of his eye. ‘Hello,’ she said, approaching him with a smile. ‘My sincerest apologies if I’ve kept you waiting.’

He just looked in the direction of the voice and froze, staring in disbelief. The sound of her speech was enough to bend time; it was clear, concise English, but it bore the supple hint of an accent he simply could not place. Given enough time, he might have reluctantly, unimaginatively decided it could have been a French accent. But the temporal temporarily evaded him. If her voice slowed perception, then the sight and beholding of her brought time and space to a complete standstill. Before him was, as best he could describe her, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Or even dreamed of seeing. In fact, he instantly decided he was looking at the most beautiful woman in all the world, maybe of all time. 

He discerned a nearly supernatural being, one of impossible, definitional, and divine beauty made or forced to be painfully visible, almost palpable, visceral. She was tall for a woman, about his height. He wasn’t sure if she was wearing heels. If so, then she might have overtopped him by half an inch. Her proportions were simply perfect as displayed by way of proffer through the elegant gray dress or skirt suit she wore. She had the longest, silkiest, blackest hair imaginable. Piercing eyes shined forth from an angelic face without flaw. Her irises flickered like lightning, though he was unsure of their exact color, at one imperceptible millisecond appearing blue, then gray, then hazel, and then some alluring, undefinable combination. If she wore any makeup, it was minimalistic. Her face and body defied any sign of age; if he had to guess, if his life depended on it, he would have said she was a little older than him, perhaps in her late twenties. She was a young woman in her utter prime, the ideal specimen. And somehow he felt as much as saw a glow about her. She was smiling, friendly, honestly, and kindly with rich red lips as she slowly advanced towards him. Before her wafted a smell sweeter than any flower, a scent that, even as it demanded attention or even adoration, almost physically pushed him away like the strong breeze at the edge of a hurricane. Helpless and deprived of his clear senses, he took a step backward. He felt his pulse begin to race. The rapid beat felt so good, if the feeling did cause him additional slight confusion, possibly alarm, something between fear and glee. Yet, truth be told, it was probably much closer to pure glee.

‘How may I help you, sir?’ she asked.

‘I, I—’ he stammered even as he felt his back touch something. Quickly turning, virtually in a panic, and with no time to spare, he was just able to grab the little green porcelain vase before it fell off the short white marble stand. As he handled it, he caught a glimpse of the price tag – $999.95. ‘Oh, wow,’ he stuttered as he gingerly replaced the vessel. ‘I, I, I—’

‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ she apologized, still through a bewitching smile that now intimated kind laughter.

‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said as he turned once more to face her. Maybe it was the lighting or a trick of his mind, but it appeared that she had melted into a more ordinary form of extreme beauty, still seemingly too perfect, but, at least, earthly. ‘I, I— I’m just looking for a little g-g-gift.’

‘I’m Athena,’ she said, extending her right hand to him.

He nervously took it and then openly if thinly gasped. Upon their touching, upon the grace of a short, formal handshake the kind proper ladies receive and dispense, he was taken by a sudden calm that swept his whole body, mind, and soul. And just like that, he was back to being himself, back to being able to see, think, and speak again, and back on his minor gift quest. He was keenly aware, however, that he felt greatly gladdened, or joyous even.

‘Athena,’ he said with a warm smile and a subtle blush. ‘Athena? Like the winged Nike Athena? Wow. I’m Josh.’

‘It’s very nice to meet you, Josh. And, yes. Shhhh—I’ve never heard anyone guess my secret identity before,’ she said with an open laugh, soft, sincere, and perhaps flirty. ‘Now, you’re looking for a gift? You’re in the right place!’

‘Well, yes,’ he said more affirmatively, finally feeling like he’d come back to having his feet on the ground. ‘I’m looking for something small and simple for a lady friend.’

Athena strolled a few feet into the assorted shelves and stands, one finger to her lips as she thought. ‘Your friend, is she a special lady? I take it she is.’

‘Yes, very much so, very dear to me. My sweet Isabella,’ Josh said. ‘I suppose I want something she can wear, something to remind her of the exhibit and our seeing it. It’s also for her birthday in a few weeks.’

‘Are you coming to see it together, the Gallery, or have you recently browsed?’ she asked.

‘Oh, I’ve been here before. But this will be her first visit. We’re coming tomorrow, about this time, as part of a little group. We’re taking a guided tour of the Patterson prints.’

‘I see,’ she said with another delicious smile. ‘Please give me a second while I think. With the flu season hitting early, we’re a little short-staffed tonight. The shop, while I know most of what’s here, isn’t my usual station. Patterson— I fear we don’t have anything directly related to his works, certainly nothing like apparel.’ She paused as she looked around thoughtfully.

‘Oh, I didn’t mean to keep you from anything,’ Josh said. ‘Do you work at the desk, or back in the gallery?’

‘Yes, the latter. I’m the curator,’ she said, still looking and thinking.

‘Of the whole museum? Wow, that’s impressive!’

‘Yes, and thank you,’ she said, turning again with that smile. ‘Something she can wear. But I take it not a hat or t-shirt, correct?’

‘Well, no, maybe something a little more special or formal than that, more meaningful.’

‘I’ve just the thing!’ she said, snappily striding towards the back wall. ‘Or, just the set of items. How about jewelry?’

Josh joined her in front of the wall and a case full of adornments and treasures. His money woes uneasily hinted at the back of his mind. ‘Maybe something, uh, something affordable? Small?’ He looked at her hopefully.

‘Just the thing!’ she almost sang. She reached down to the end of a shelf and picked up a short necklace with a small oval locket, the assembly of which appeared to be made of slender loops of some shiny if slightly tender metal. ‘This is our Doris Harper limited collection. Mrs. Harper makes every piece by hand in her Maine cottage. No two pieces are ever the same—each is a unique triumph. And she only makes them of the very finest nickel. A gift to thrill Miss Isabella for a lifetime.’

Josh understood exactly zero about jewelry, or metals, for that matter. But he instantly loved what he saw and happily envisioned it hanging around someone special’s neck. ‘Nickel?’ he asked somewhat timidly.

‘Not so brash or commonplace as gold or silver. Or platinum. And there is great art in these designs. The craftsmanship, the presentation is what sets them apart. We regularly ship them coast to coast and to Europe,’ she explained. ‘I don’t know what it is, some secret, but they’re treated with a patented clear protective layer or electroplating that preserves their so-slightly muted luster and prevents any unwanted allergic activity if that would be a problem. I just happen to be wearing one of her bracelets.’ She raised her other hand in demonstration. Josh looked at the bracelet, not knowing exactly what he was supposed to look for. He also took the chance to observe her left hand, seeing smooth lineless skin, polished hard nails, and, he noted with a quiet thrill, no rings. He gave a quick glance back to her neck and head. He couldn’t see a necklace though he saw she wore simple earrings that complimented the bracelet, her outfit, and her flawless face.

‘I do like that locket,’ Josh said, his thoughts still resting on her appearance and bearing. ‘Dare I ask how much it costs?’

‘Far less than one would think,’ she said knowingly and kindly. ‘This is only one-fifty!’

Josh quickly calculated he could afford it, that it would only delay his repairs but a short month if that, and that the purchase would be well worth it. ‘Isabella will love it forever,’ he happily thought to himself, her sweet, cute face temporarily replacing Athena’s in his whirling mind. He smiled at the notion of presenting it to her the very next evening around the corner in the traveling exhibition room. ‘I’ll take it!’

As he reinserted his debit card into his wallet, he watched Athena wrap the little white box holding the locket. They were both smiling throughout the transaction. But through the whole process, Josh thought to himself: ‘I wonder what Isabella would think of Athena? I wonder what I think? What do I think?! Is this love at first sight?! Oh, my Lord! What, if anything, do I say? What do I do?’ He felt his heart rate accelerate again.

Still with that smile to thaw any heart, Athena handed him the little wrapped package. ‘I’m sure she’ll love it. I will be in, this time tomorrow. If you get the chance, I’d like to see you again, Josh. I’d like to meet you and your special little lady!’

‘And that will be something!’ he thought. ‘It’s a deal,’ he said. ‘We’ll, hopefully, see you tomorrow.’ He turned to go but then paused. Turning back to her, he reached out for her hand. Shaking it lightly, again feeling that delightful calm and warmth, he said, ‘Thank you so very much, Athena. Well met, and I look forward to seeing you again.’

She smiled once more, though this time the look went much deeper and higher than before, a touch of giddiness added to her existing pleasant transcendence. He left and she watched him until he exited through the main doors. As a matter of common courtesy, she immediately decided against further observing his movements outside.

‘Wow,’ she said openly. She then reflected on their brief meeting. He was an inch or so above average height for a man in those times. His hair was dark brown and well matched his keen sparkling eyes. She could tell that beneath his blue coat he was slim though not thin. Below his coat, she’d seen clean, neat casual slacks over well-loved walkers. He was, to her eyes, very cute, adorable even. She had, even when she first approached him, sensed he was sweet, kind, gentle, and pure. That boy. That man of what? He’s probably only in his early twenties. Yet he seemed so timeless. And sincere. Wonderful. And … she then thought very deeply: ‘Could he have actually seen me? Even for a second, could he have seen me as I really am? As best his eyes might contrive? If so, he is a great rarity. Regardless, his lady friend is most fortunate. He didn’t say what kind of special friend she was. He wore no ring, nor did he mention her romantically. I dared not read his thoughts, settling for a woman’s guess instead. And what do I now guess? Isabella. I know not about her, but is this? For me, is this? Could this be love at first sight?!’ A feeling she had not known or even thought of in an age took her for the barest moment. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Then, as she gave thought to the night’s closing, she decided to check the computer registry for the following evening and any scheduled guest groups.

Outside, seated in his small, older economy car, pelted by more sleet that, by the sound, hardened as the temperature continued to drop, Josh thought for a quiet moment. Then he spoke to the night, ‘I know Isabella will love this gift. And our visit. All of them will.’ He smiled, crossed himself, and then spoke to his Father, ‘Thank you, O Lord, for this gift, for Isabella, and for my meeting Athena. I don’t even know what I want to ask. Or even what to think. You know my heart and all things. Thank you, thank you, thank you! For all this and Your continuing mercy. Amen.’ He smiled just before adding, ‘And please, God, please keep the wagon wheels turning!’ With that, he turned the key and watched with relief as all the gauges rolled into place. He backed out and drove on and all was well in the deepening night.

A few hours later, at his bedside in his little apartment, he said another prayer. It was one of thanksgiving for his life, his blessings, and for tomorrow evening. He almost sang it out, so glad was his heart.