“I will do so indeed. For among the many excellent and indeed divine
institutions which your Athens has brought forth and contributed to human
life, none, in my opinion, is better than those mysteries. For by their means
we have been brought out of our barbarous and savage mode of life and
educated and refined to a state of civilization; and as the rites are called
‘initiations,’ so in very truth we have learned from them the beginnings of
life, and have gained the power not only to live happily, but also to die with
a better hope.”
Marcus Tullius Cicero, “On the Laws”
On a recording from an old video camera, a child is playing with dolls. Amid the digital noise, the tiny figures are barely discernible, but beneath the heavy grain of the poorly framed shot, it is still visible how the March sun coppers the girl’s heavy black hair. Caught up in the story she’s invented. She mumbles, shouts, all the while vying for the attention of her father. By the second minute, she diverts, and the conversation of the rabbits flock family trails off. In the silence, a finger presses the zoom button, trying to capture a fleeting moment of admiration for the floral dress of the mother rabbit—just before the daughter’s gaze flickers toward a barely audible delight, and with a smile, she returns to her whimsical play.
She stands leaning against the counter, made to resemble green marble, and, crossing her palms, covers her face with her hands. In brief anticipation, her eyes glide over the unfamiliar reliefs of the café. The huffing coffee machine. A fallen ten-cent coin. The slowly fogging pastry display. Black woolen figures wrapped in scarves of cashmere and cotton shades—too varied for her not to glance at them each time she catches their reflection in the wide mirror hanging on the wall opposite the entrance.
— Come back.
Well, show me what a beautiful dress Mama has. That’s not Mama, that’s their nanny. Alright, then let her be the nanny. But where is Mama? Mama is throwing millet to the chickens, look. How come in your family everyone is a rabbit except Mama? If Mama were a rabbit, she’d eat all the grain. That’s why she’s a cat. The grain is for the chickens. Mutually exclusive. What does that mean?
— You know that you can.
— I can.
— And we’re always gonna be glad.
— But I do love.
— I know, I know, I don’t argue, as you can see, I don’t bicker. After all, no one will hold you against your will. Come-gone, I’ll even top up the gas, if you wish.
— No one’s saying you’re at fault. You just gotta show a little bit more willingness.
He flicked his gaze upward and noticed the lemon-colored light from the overhanging lamps, shining directly onto the communal water pitcher. The mint, blackened by moisture, was pressed to the bottom by ice; a transparent stack of nested glasses sat nearby, — need some water— to wake up. You know, coffee makes me drowsy. And to be honest, I don’t quite understand the nature of your behavior. See I come across as unbearably persistent right away…
— And to calm you down… more, it’s for free! You’re all about snagging things for dirt cheap.
— Huh, making things up again.
— It’s a hit or miss. — the front door sways, and she falls back toward it at the sound of the lock tapping against the jamb — just as she always returns to the unchanging thought of scarves, but only now, she also notices how different the men’s hats and caps are, the way they hide their faces, how high their collars stand, how dark the lenses of their glasses are.
So if Mama becomes a rabbit, the grain disappears. And if the grain, then the chickens too. And if the chickens, then the rabbits? Yup, and if the rabbits? Then Mama too! Alright, and what do you see on the dress? A bouquet. I won’t argue. Let’s remember—this one? Irises. And roses. Right. And this one, do you remember? We have them in the garden, they look like our Yorkie’s muzzle. The recording cuts off—a soft click—and now she can’t stop laughing again.
— Oh, this is lovely! Berry tartlets. Want one?
— Is the strawberry fresh?
He shrugged. — gotta check at the bar. Is the strawberry fresh, miss? — The little miss nodded, absurdly certain.
— Honestly, I have no idea. — the waitress replied, embracing her utter indifference, — Strawberries don’t ripen in November.
— She’s right. Then let’s have the raspberry pastry. Actually, make it two — but the second one, at long last, with strawberries. — he glances at her face — she looked rancid — so he reached for the cord by the wall, flicked the switch, himself frowning and shrunken. The lamp near her shoulder cast no shadow. The little miss clinked the saucers against the counter, made to resemble green marble—saucers cast to resemble Meissen porcelain with lace-cut edges—and handed them each a real silver teaspoon.
— Silver, by the way.
— Ah, but the spoons aren’t free.
— I really don’t understand why we even need them—this is meant to be bitten into.
She crunched through the half-thawed strawberry, her eyes narrowing slightly as the cold hit her teeth, while the little miss spun between the woolen figures and their scarves—bright, almost unnervingly vivid.
— Come on now, don’t take it so hard. The poor strawberries will ripen eventually. Here, how about I get you something even better? Miss, what kind of mousse is this?
— Pomegranate, sir — she slipped past a brown shearling coat and frizzy hair, so her apron clasp brushed against her patterned kerchief sticking out of the bag.
— Now, that’s something! I’ll take it. When else would I get the chance? Oh look, she’s brought another spoon. Miss, oh miss, that’s more spoons than anyone could ever need — and, bending down, resting the palm on her sleeve, in a half-whisper — Or is this some kind of sign?
— Excuse me, sir, you’re standing on my scarf.
— In the end, how often do mischiefs go unnoticed? No one would even notice — Surely there are more …
— Sir — She tugged at the hem of his coat, but the stranger didn’t turn around, — Sir, my apologies, — she continued, hunched between chaotic, restless legs—legs wrapped in utterly unremarkable trousers, slacks, jeans, skirts, and, God help us, even elongated Lederhosen—while one dusty heel kept twisting and smearing street grime across the paisley pattern of her scarf.
— …than enough to go around.
— I heard you. Sir, do you have cloth ears? Lift your bloody shoe!
— Fascinating, how in some places, an absurd amount of attention is given to tiny details. Like, say, teaspoons.
The man snorted, finally shifting his heel, then shrugged off his coat and slid back into his conversation, laughing broadly.
— And yet, so few notice all these little efforts—things meant to show us something, to tell us something. On the other hand, what could just silver teaspoons possibly have to say to us?
— Enough of this tea tirade.
— Spoon tirade, you mean.
He took her promising silence as a hint to change the subject. In a lighthearted confusion over his complete lack of ideas, he realized that among all these beautiful people, who seemed to be celebrating some grand occasion over an ordinary cup of coffee, she looked—if we’re not exaggerating—puzzled. Whether it was the untidy state of her scarf, the icy strawberry — some thing, or perhaps he is eating away at the young lady.
— It’ll wash out, don’t worry so much. It’s just a scarf.
— It’s just a shame, I’ve just bought it.
— Did you wash it after buying it?
— No, why?
— Well, now you will. Her lips twitched ever so slightly.
— What was that? Who taught you to smile like that?
— That’s enough, let me be. You, by the way, have a pink mustache.
— Nonsense, daughter, they’re gray. — And without hesitation, he grabbed a napkin to wipe the smudged raspberry from his hair, — Anyway, got it. And how are the neighbors?
— Oh, you know… As if they don’t exist. Either they’re so patient it’s downright unsettling, or…
— You’re the first person in the world to be irritated by people tolerating your own house parties. Be honest—do you make a lot of noise? — He raised his eyebrows almost comically high.
— Oh god…
— Alright, what is there that I don’t already know? I was young once too. Your mother and I, oh… we didn’t just…
Fewer and fewer figures remained. In the thinned space, the little miss grew from petite to broad; the door hushed, letting only a slight noise from the pavement drift beneath it, softly blowing inside the café; the reflection calmed down, shedding its load of colors, and her cup emptied.
His stupid conversation with himself, her stupid silence. His old eyes, hers tired. His spoon between his fingers, hers in the remains of the pomegranate mousse.
His: Look. A man with Easter flowers. Isn’t that a wonder?
Her: It is a wonder. — she poured the last of her cold milk into the cup and asked him to tell her something else.
Commentary
The story “No One to Hear How the Pomegranates Bloom” is based on the myth of Persephone’s abduction, as described in the “Homeric Hymn to Demeter.” In this myth, Persephone, the daughter of Demeter and Zeus, was abducted by Hades with Zeus’s consent: “I begin to sing of Demeter, the revered goddess, and her slender-ankled daughter, whom Aidoneus seized with the consent of far-thundering Zeus”. Upon learning of her daughter’s fate, Demeter withdrew her blessings from the earth, leading to widespread famine. Eventually, a compromise was reached, allowing Persephone to spend part of the year with her mother and part with Hades, as she had eaten pomegranate seeds in the underworld. This myth is traditionally associated with the cyclical change of seasons but also contains themes of coercion and captivity.
On the surface, the story presents a conversation between a father and his daughter, but it conceals a deeper subtext. The protagonist is in an abusive relationship, yet she does not disclose this explicitly. Her silence aligns with the behavior of abuse victims, who often conceal their circumstances due to fear, threats, or manipulation. The father senses that something is wrong but does not take decisive action, mirroring Zeus’s role in the myth—he neither prevented his daughter’s abduction nor intervened to stop it. However, unlike Zeus, the father in the story is unaware of the full extent of the situation. His reaction suggests that he rationalizes or dismisses his daughter’s concerns, assuming that she is exaggerating or fabricating aspects of her reality. This is reflected in his casual justification of the man, implying that he has chosen to interpret previous hints from his daughter as distortions rather than an indication of real danger. In this way, his inaction is not an intentional betrayal but a failure to acknowledge the gravity of the situation, reinforcing the parallel between mythological and contemporary contexts.
The epigraph plays a crucial role in the narrative by referencing the Eleusinian Mysteries. These rituals, dedicated to the cult of Demeter and Persephone, were strictly secret, and revealing their details was punishable by death. Scholars believe that the mysteries symbolize death and rebirth. In the story, this theme can be interpreted as a parallel to the experiences of abuse victims, who are often forced to conceal their suffering and perceive their situation as inescapable. Just as initiates of the mysteries believed they gained higher knowledge through the rites, the protagonist may justify her silence, convincing herself that it is necessary for her safety and that of her loved ones. One common method of control in abusive relationships is the manipulation of a victim through threats to harm their family members or those they care about. This creates a state of psychological entrapment in which the victim views silence and compliance as the only means of ensuring the safety of others.
The video recording fragments depict interactions between the father and daughter in the past before the protagonist became trapped in an abusive relationship. These scenes present her in the role of Persephone before her abduction when she was still in a safe environment. By contrast, the scenes set in the café depict her as a captive in a controlled space. This shift in roles underscores the myth’s structure: a child, who can be associated with Demeter’s daughter, grows into a woman under the dominion of an abuser. While Persephone never spent time with Zeus growing up and was raised by Demeter and the woodland spirits, Zeus’s detachment from her upbringing does not change the central theme of his complicity. His role in arranging Persephone’s fate—without her consent—aligns with the concept of patriarchal control over women’s autonomy, a theme that remains relevant in the story’s modern reinterpretation.
The characterization of Hades in mythological sources is complex. While he is not traditionally depicted as an explicitly abusive husband in the modern understanding of the term—there are myths that suggest he was not physically violent toward Persephone—his act of abduction remains an undeniable form of coercion. The fact that he allowed her to spend two-thirds of the year with Demeter does not negate the initial lack of agency in her fate. Some sources suggest that Persephone eventually embraced her role as Queen of the Underworld, but this does not diminish the fundamental issue of her initial captivity. In the story, the myth is used metaphorically to explore the protagonist’s gradual entrapment in an abusive relationship, not as a direct retelling of the original myth.
Floral symbolism and botanical imagery reinforce the mythological references. The video recording includes mentions of flowers, mirroring the scene in the myth where Persephone picks flowers before her abduction. In the final moments of the story, a man carrying Easter flowers appears, symbolizing Hades. According to the myth, Hades cultivated the narcissus to lure Persephone. In this context, the narcissus signifies the presence of the abuser and his influence over the protagonist’s life.
The protagonist’s consumption of pomegranate mousse serves as another key symbolic element. In the myth, Persephone’s ingestion of pomegranate seeds binds her to the underworld. In the story, her eating pomegranate mousse can be interpreted as an acknowledgment of her entrapment in an abusive relationship and the difficulty of breaking free from this cycle.
The temporal framework further reinforces the mythological structure. The childhood scenes take place in March, corresponding to early autumn in ancient Greece, the season when Persephone was abducted. The café scenes occur in November, a late autumn period reflecting Persephone’s time in the underworld. This progression underscores the irreversible transition from freedom to captivity.
The presence of signs indicating an abusive relationship is evident in various details. The protagonist chooses a distant café, hence why it is unknown to her, which may indicate an attempt to distance herself from the abuser and possibly signal to her father without directly speaking about her situation. She constantly observes the men around her, paying attention to their clothing that conceals their faces, which suggests fear of encountering her abuser. The reference to neighbors who “seem nonexistent” can be interpreted as a critique of societal indifference to domestic violence. Her reaction to the ruined scarf and other minor disturbances highlights her internal tension, a common experience among abuse survivors.
Thus, “No One to Hear How the Pomegranates Bloom” reinterprets the myth of Persephone through the lens of contemporary abuse. The father, like Zeus, senses the situation but does not intervene. The protagonist, like Persephone, is placed in a position of captivity, unable to speak openly about her circumstances. The symbolism of the pomegranate, flowers, and seasonal transitions reinforces the structural alignment between the myth and reality, while the reference to the Eleusinian Mysteries strengthens the central theme of silence surrounding abuse