It Could Happen Here - CZM Book Club: Handala. The Olive, the Storm, and the Sea by Sonia Suliaman

Episode Date: November 19, 2023

In this episode of the Cool Zone Media Book Club, Margaret reads James the story of what happens when a Palestinian orphan runs into conflict with three Greek gods.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

You should probably keep your lights on for Nocturnal Tales from the Shadowbride. Join me, Danny Trejo, and step into the flames of fright. An anthology podcast of modern-day horror stories inspired by the most terrifying legends and lore of Latin America. Listen to Nocturnal on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Hi, I'm Ed Zitron, host of the Better Offline podcast, and we're kicking off our second season digging into tech's elite and how they've turned Silicon Valley into a playground for billionaires. From the chaotic world of generative AI to the destruction of Google search, Better Offline is your unvarnished and at times unhinged look at the underbelly of tech

brought to you by an industry veteran with nothing to lose. Listen to Better Offline on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, wherever else you get your podcasts from. On Thanksgiving Day 1999, five-year-old Cuban boy Elian Gonzalez was found off the coast of Florida. And the question was, should the boy go back to his father in Cuba? Mr. Gonzalez wanted to go home and he wanted to take his son with him. Or stay with his relatives in Miami? Imagine that your mother died trying to get you to freedom. Listen to Chess Peace, the Elian Gonzalez story, on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Call Zone Media. Book club, book club, book club. That's the... You got to do it too it too it doesn't work i'll have to do my apologies no i thought you were to say anything okay let's try it let's give it one more time book club book club book club book club book club it's the cool zone media book club the only book club run by cool zone media also known as the only book club the only book club that all your book clubs belong to us yeah that's right and only people our age will get that reference oh god yeah that one's crushing because it's old yeah no because you think of the internet

as like basically a new thing and then you're becoming a boomer yeah yeah i remember when i used a 14.4 kps modem yeah soon the the whole dial tone noise will be lost on a generation i know well that's no noise new no new noise musicians will be able to exist yeah tragedy yeah humanity has been stripped of that yeah well it's it specifically excludes trans women from public discourse if we get rid of noise bands yeah it's it's uh it's transphobic i've told this story probably before on air but one time i went to go play one of my own shows and i play like synth pop but it's just me and i've told this story probably before on air but one time i went to go play one of my own shows and i play like synth pop but it's just me and i'm alone and i'm a trans woman

so i show up with this like synthesizer and all this gear to this bar and someone looks over and goes oh i didn't know there was a noise show tonight no i'm just trans stereotyped yeah yeah yeah you fit the, yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Well, good on you for confounding that stereotype, Margaret. Yeah. I'm your book club host, Margaret Kiljoy, and I have a rotating It Could Happen Here guest host. And today I have James, James Stout.

Yeah, I am happening here today on this podcast. That's right. My first time on the book club podcast. Well, I'm excited to have you on for this one. This week, we are going to be reading a story that I'm really excited about. I don't want to spoil it too much, but I don't normally like stuff with Greek gods in it, but I really like this story. Okay.

That's my hook. Yeah. Okay. I'm ready to have that stereotype confounded as well. Yeah, that's right. There's a type of guy that likes Greek gods. It tends not to be a type of guy that I enjoy, but hopefully the author is not that type of guy. No, that author is a type of guy that I enjoy. But hopefully the author is not that type of guy. No, that author is no type of guy.

Sonia Suleiman writes short speculative fiction inspired by Palestinian folklore. Her work has appeared... Oh, bitch. Yeah. Her work has appeared in Arab Lid Quarterly, Baladi, Fantasy, Faya Magazine, Zeno Cultivars, Stories of Queer Growth,

Seize the Press, and Lackington's Magazine. Her stories have been nominated for a Pushcart, Lammy, and Best New Weird awards. In her spare time, she curates the Read Palestinian Specfic Reading List. Her first collection of short stories, Munira and the Moon, Stories Inspired by Palestinian Folklore, is available wherever books are sold. You can find her on social media at Sonia Suleiman, which is S-O-N-I-A-S-U-L-A-I-M-A-N. And her website is hername.com. Now I'm excited.

Yeah, yeah, no, yeah. I feel like there's kind of a bait and switch here. Yeah, like, don't yeah like yeah yeah he told me yeah yeah this is exciting good uh what a timely uh choice as well yeah yeah totally this story is called hondala the olive the storm and the sea the little boy raised an umbrella over his head and looked out over the sea his clothes were tattered loose stitches of what had been a carefully sewn tunic and pants The little boy raised an umbrella over his head and looked out over the sea. His clothes were tattered, loose stitches of what had been a carefully sewn tunic and pants. His hair was like a bird's nest.

His feet were torn and blistered. The rain swept down in sheets that shimmered and waved across land and sea alike. The boy walked on, down a long winding road of stones and sticks. It climbed limestone bones and terraces with trees aflame and broken. He stopped to look at these, his face to the fires, his back to the sea. Water and fire warred together, and the sky was brightened by the flashes of lightning coursing through the clouds that hung low like a shroud on the land. It was half-light, either dawn or dusk. The weather was wrong and unnatural. The boy looked on with ageless eyes and a face that had the freshness of only ten

years under the sun. He went where his tired feet directed him. If there were three gods following his step, that was not his concern. They could offer him no blessing he did not already possess. was not his concern. They could offer him no blessing he did not already possess. If they chose to throw obstacles in his path, he would climb over them step by painful step. He had faith not in gods, but in himself. These gods were not the fates, but it wouldn't matter if they were, he would defy them too. It wasn't that he was proud, that he thought himself special from the rest of humanity. He defied because he had to survive. One of these gods ruled the sea, while the other claimed all the skies, and the third said to hold the honor of embodying the virtue of wisdom. He had been ten for a very long time now. He was ten years old when he was born,

and at the same moment he lost everything. He fled his home, he had no choice, and became a refugee. He would remain ten years old until he returns home again. Some fine day the rain would end and he would grow up. He grimly carried on, allowing joy to steal in despite the harrowing path of his tender feet. to steal in despite the harrowing path of his tender feet. Now, let me tell you something before we go any further. It's an old story that you should keep in mind when you hear about this boy's adventure with the gods. In the old days, a city rose to look down at a rich land and a deep and dark sea.

They used to believe it was the first of all cities, but that wasn't true. The residents only wanted to believe they were the first to solve the problems and create more that we call civilization. And although that city was thriving and their king, a man who was also a snake, had created many firsts that were the bedrock of their way of living, they had no patron god. Don't ask why they needed one. The story doesn't say. It comes from a time when everyone had a patron god, and so it was only natural that

in the first of all cities, they yearned for a god to complete them. It was all very neat, first city, first customs, first marriages, and first patron. Simple. Elegant. And way back when, the gods that came to that city were eager to compete with each other. Two came forward, an uncle and a niece. Poseidon would have been an excellent choice for the young city that would one day rule much of the known world through the might of its navy. But unfortunately for him, he was the butt of this story. The national narrative pranked the god. They said he gifted the city with a saltwater spring. Useless. Someone must have clapped weakly at the spectacle.

He wasn't very happy with the reception of his miracle and flooded part of the surrounding countryside just to show them. Athenae was not an agricultural goddess, but a patron of heroes and technology. Nevertheless, it was fitting that she should win. The national narrative drove on by what had already happened. She was already the city's patron when the so-called contest began. But it would be inconvenient to acknowledge that she was already the city's patron, and it would make the story complex, inelegant.

So, Athena gifted the city with something that was not really hers to give, a new kind of tree. The tree was a wonder, the olive. It provided fuel and food. It would be the companion to the engineers blessed by the goddess, lighting their endeavors and greasing their mechanisms. Wondrous indeed. So, what does this have to do with the raggedy orphan and his umbrella? He was in danger of becoming a symbol. A symbol around which a national narrative would be built. If you like, you could say that it was this peril that drew the gods to him in the first place. Among these gods, there were two brothers and a daughter.

Poseidon and Athenae, but also Zeus. The three drew up short when they saw the boy. And do you know what else is everywhere and nowhere all at once and present? Is it capitalism? It is capitalism. And here's some ads for some stuff you probably don't need. Welcome. I'm Danny Thrill. Won't you join me at the fire and dare enter? Nocturnal Tales from the Shadows, presented by iHeart and Sonora. An anthology of modern-day horror stories inspired by the legends of Latin America.

From ghastly encounters with shapeshifters to bone-chilling brushes with supernatural creatures. I know you. Take a trip and experience the horrors that have haunted Latin America since the beginning of time. Listen to Nocturnal Tales from the Shadows as part of my Cultura podcast network, available on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Hi, I'm Ed Zitron, host of the Better Offline podcast, and we're kicking off our second season digging into how tech's elite has turned Silicon Valley into a playground for billionaires. From the chaotic world of generative AI to the destruction of Google search,

Better Offline is your unvarnished and at times unhinged look at the underbelly of tech from an industry veteran with nothing to lose. This season, I'm going to be joined by everyone from Nobel-winning economists to leading journalists in the field, and I'll be digging into why the products you love keep getting worse and naming and shaming those responsible. Don't get me wrong, though. I love technology.

I just hate the people in charge and want them to get back to building things that actually do things to help real people. I swear to God, things can change if we're loud enough. So join me every week to understand what's happening in the tech industry and what could be done to make things better. Listen to Better Offline on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, wherever else you get your podcasts. Check out betteroffline.com. Hola mi gente, it's Honey German and I'm bringing you Gracias, Come Again. The podcast where we dive deep into the world of Latin culture,

musica, peliculas, and entertainment with some of the biggest names in the game. If you love hearing real conversations with your favorite Latin celebrities, artists, and culture shifters, this is the podcast for you. We're talking real conversations with our Latin stars, from actors and artists to musicians and creators sharing their stories, struggles, and successes. You know it's going to be filled with chisme laughs and all the

vibes that you love. Each week we'll explore everything from music and pop culture to deeper topics like identity, community, and breaking down barriers in all sorts of industries. Don't miss out on the fun, El Te Caliente and life stories. Join me for Gracias Come Again,

a podcast by Honey German, where we get into todo lo actual y viral. Listen to Gracias Come Again on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. And we're back. A child, said Zeus.

Of course, if we endow this mortal with blessings and observe how their fate is changed by them, we will at last know which of us grants the best of blessings. Let this adventure be how we settle our dispute. I would prefer bloodshed. I could make your grizzled beards run red if I must, said Athenae, who, piqued, was not feeling especially filial towards her father and uncle in that moment. My darling, said Zeus, always so quick to anger. It's what I love about you, my sweet. Poseidon only nodded his head, and these gods took the form of three travelers, which was very like them.

They often disguised themselves as mortal travelers whenever they wanted to test humanity. Poseidon and Zeus wore gray suits with their hattas on their head, their kephias flapping in the wind as it swept in off the sea. Athenae walked beside them, her long thobe trailing in the dirt of the road. It was richly embroidered, a regal testament of her own mastery of technology and art, united in silk and velvet. Boy, said Zeus, it looks like hard times have fallen upon you. Where are your parents, your family, your friends? I'm alone, said the boy. We would like to do something for you, said Poseidon. Would you accept some gifts from strangers? The boy thought for a moment. Well, I don't have anyone else to give me gifts

anymore, he said. But what's in it for you? Athena smiled, charmed. We can't decide who among us can give the most, the best gift. So we decided to give them all to you and see what happens. See what happens, asked the boy. You don't need to be wary of these gifts, said Zeus. They are true blessings. You could say that there are none more direct and pure than the gifts we have to share with you. What do you say? It's strange, said the boy. Why are you choosing me? Are you taking pity on me because I'm an orphan and alone? You say you're not taking advantage of me, but you wouldn't just admit it if you were. That doesn't make any sense. But on the other hand, there can't be any harm in listening to what you have to say to me.

Are you sure you're a child of but ten years? asked Poseidon. Maybe these gifts of yours would do more harm than good. How would I know that they would be of any use to me? The boy did not let up. Zeus held up a hand. You are alone and poor, and you have the nerve to argue with your benefactors and at your age, too? Athena tilted her head. It is as you say. You could just listen to what we have to say on this matter before you accept our gifts. Taking the initiative, Athena stepped forward and began her case. The goddess walked over to the side of the outcropping. She made a divot in the soil and a sapling grew out of it.

The tree that matured before their eyes was gnarled and squat, clutching the rocky soil with tenacious roots. It rapidly expanded, becoming a sunshade where none had been. It was an olive tree. I'll tell you what the real gift is. It's the one that is projected of your own accord in the centuries of your wandering, a symbol of resistance and persistence. Its oil provides you with an inner light to hope in the darkness of the many days and nights to come. This light will be lit from generation to generation on those special

days when you celebrate and the joy of this light will shine from many lamps of dazzling colors. Its wood will be made into rosaries that you can use to count your days, the days of exile until they end. Their marbled beauty will be the joy of your craftsmanship and artistry. The tenacity of this tree inspires and nourishes your inborn stubbornness, refusing to be uprooted and refusing to die. It is a bastion of strength and resilience. The boy replied to the goddess, You're offering me a symbol of what I already have? How will this symbol help me return home? That is all that matters to me. Memories of festivals and joy in my homeland may bring me some comfort in this lonely road. It's true. Yours is an enduring and sensible gift, I suppose. But is that enough for you? I have a feeling that isn't what you

really want out of this contest. Or does winning matter so much to you that you don't care if I'm not exactly enthusiastic about your offer? Let me be clear. It's a symbol of what I already am. And I'm in danger of becoming a symbol myself. So, a symbol of a symbol. Isn't that ridiculous on some level? But you aren't a symbol, said Athenae. You're a real child, orphaned and dispossessed. This is the material reality and I recognize it. I sympathize with your plight. Can't you see that? You care, said the boy. But why? What's in it for you? You care, said the boy. But why?

What's in it for you? How young to be so cynical, exclaimed Athenae. Has the world taken such a toll on you that you're no longer a child in mind? Truly, this is a pitiful situation. And that's the problem, said the boy. I don't need your pity. I need an ally. And that means you will have to give up something, some of your power and position to repair what is broken, to bring the world back into tune. Only then, when I can go home again,

will I be able to grow up. I want to be an old man one day and have a new generation to protect and guide as best I can, with what little wisdom I have by then. You're trying to barter with a goddess? The goddess shook her head. It's unbelievable. The goddess's gift had multiplied over and over until a grove of olive trees, stately and fruitful, stood a short distance away. In her fury, the goddess rushed at the trees. She screamed a war cry and hacked off their limbs with her spear. They sheared off, thrown in all directions, helplessly falling to the ground. Still screaming, she glared at the twisted trunks and they erupted into flame. The wood was devoured from the inside out. The branches crackled as the inferno spread,

setting the grass alight. She hadn't broken a sweat and the whole grove was destroyed. A smoking heap of ruin, greasy black clouds of smoke spread up into the sky. I didn't want to do this, but I had to. You're so obstinate. See what you've made me do? The boy looked on at the glare from the fires. He took a step toward the blaze, his hands unlocked and seeking. Then he tucked them back behind him and turned away, his face thrown into shadow. Yes, you can cry about the destruction you've caused, said the goddess. Nothing will bring the trees back.

I made you do nothing. You chose to destroy. All I did was question you, said the boy. You are the one who couldn't stand a child asking you to account for your behavior, so you've made everything worse. The boy pointed at the rapidly blackening trees. Those were living beings, blessings like you said. They deserve better than this and so do I. I think we're done here, said Athena. You've refused my blessing so I leave you with a curse instead. It's easy for us, blessing and cursing as we please. That should

be a lesson to you, not to push your weight around. She laughed lightly, cruelly. She walked back to stand with her father and uncle. Her face was reddened and she trembled with fury as she tried in vain to calm herself. It was so unseemly to be made so angry by a pathetic orphan. As you may have guessed by now, the gods are petty and volatile for all their supposed agelessness, perfection, and wisdom. The weaker their opponent, the more galling it is to find their power shrugged off and ignored. They can't stand to be made a mockery of, most of all.

And the power difference between Athena and the boy was so stark, all of her pride was surfacing in the ugliest and most transparent ways. Poseidon stepped up and leaned in close to the boy. Throwing out his arm, he took in the vast, deep, dark Mediterranean beyond and said, Wherever my waves break upon the shore, there you will be. The world will be open to you, a network of sea roads from sea to ocean to arterial rivers. Just think of all the places you will stand because of this gift of waters. Sea Roads greatest of all adventures, lies at your feet. The far horizon is my gift to you. The space between you and that threshold will elide. You, who seem like the risen sun, will be destined to see further and further shores, islands, continents, worlds, a dizzying array of experiences and ventures. These worlds will break open and be generous to you with their bounty of sensation.

If you do not find safe harbor here, there's always somewhere else. Other minds to know, other scenes to see. The sea roads are your inheritance. The boy rubbed his chin. That may be, that may not be. I have traveled many sea roads and met many minds and places on this dark earth. I have traveled many sea roads and met many minds and places on this dark earth. The boy lifted a foot with its bruises and blisters. It seems to me that I already have your gift, but it is a strange sort of blessing. It is as I thought. There is good and bad that comes mixed into it. I will not always be welcome, and I will often be tired, beaten, and hungry, alone.

Poseidon did not know what to say, so he turned his back on the boy and stood leaning on his trident, staring pensively out over the waves. The waves roiled and surged, and slowly the sea was rising. Before he knew it, the boy was staring down a great wall of water. The god turned toward him. His empty hand reached out and struck the boy across the face. To the god's astonishment, the boy was out and struck the boy across the face. To the god's astonishment, the boy was not thrown to the ground by the blow, the strike of a god. He took it, and as he took it, the boy also turned and threw all of that force right back at Poseidon. This time, the god was so shocked, so unprepared, that he faltered. You, he stammered. His divine face was red and dark with the beginning of a bruise. Behind him, the wall of water, a tsunami that would easily have

snuffed the life out of the little boy, gently dissipated. It was an unnatural sight, but then it was an unnatural tsunami. He, the god continued to splutter, this time turning to Zeus, his brother. He struck me. This mortal dared strike out at a god. I demand justice. I returned the strike you made, said the boy. He was still scruffy, his face marred by streaks of mud. The cheeks were sunken, but showed absolutely no sign of the god's strike. Everyone witnessed it. You were going to kill me, thinking I was easily broken. The god stared down at the boy.

Somehow Poseidon was growing even more enraged by the minute. Then the god broke into sobs. He fell to his knees and reached out to Zeus, imploring him. And James, you know who else is always there when you fall to your knees and reach out to impl imploring him. And James, you know, who else is always there when you fall to your knees and reach out to implore them? Sorry, this is very bleak. Is it the goods and services that support this podcast? That's right.

All of them respond to a penitent listeners. Yeah, that's right. If you're really down, you're going to reach out to and they'll be there for you. I think they're the one we can't name anymore because they got mad that Robert slanted them. So we can bleep, just bleep that out. Yeah.

Listener, it is up to you to imagine what we have bleeped out. Welcome, I'm Danny Thrill Won't you join me at the fire and dare enter Nocturnal Tales from the Shadows Presented by iHeart and Sonora An anthology of modern day horror stories inspired by the legends of Latin America. From ghastly encounters with shapeshifters to bone-chilling brushes with supernatural creatures.

I know you. with supernatural creatures. I know you. Take a trip and experience the horrors that have haunted Latin America since the beginning of time. Listen to Nocturnal Tales from the Shadows as part of my Cultura podcast network, available on the iHeartRadio app,

Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Hola, mi gente. It's Honey German, and I'm bringing you Gracias, Come Again, the podcast where we dive deep into the world of Latin culture, musica, peliculas, and entertainment with some of the biggest names in the game. If you love hearing real conversations with your favorite Latin celebrities, artists, and culture shifters, this is the podcast for you. We're talking real conversations

with our Latin stars, from actors and artists to musicians and creators sharing their stories, struggles, and successes. You know it's going to be filled with chisme laughs and all the vibes that you love.

Each week, we'll explore everything from music and pop culture to deeper topics like identity, community, and breaking down barriers in all sorts of industries. Don't miss out on the fun, el té caliente, and life stories. Join me for Gracias Come Again, a podcast by Honey German, where we get into todo lo actual y viral. Listen to Gracias Come Again on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Hi, I'm Ed Zitron, host of the Better Offline podcast, and we're kicking off our second season digging into how tech's elite has turned Silicon Valley into a playground for billionaires. From the chaotic world of generative AI to the destruction of Google search, Better Offline is your unvarnished and at times unhinged look at the underbelly of tech from an industry veteran with nothing to lose. This season I'm going to be joined by everyone from Nobel winning economists to leading journalists in the field and I'll be digging into why the products you love keep getting worse and naming and shaming those responsible.

Don't get me wrong though, I love technology. I just hate the people in charge and want them to get back to building things that actually do things to help real people. I swear to God things can change if we're loud enough. So join me every week to understand what's happening in the tech industry and what could be done to make things better. Listen to Better Offline on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, wherever else you get your podcasts. Check out betteroffline.com. And we're back. He struck me, repeated Poseidon. He struck me on the face. He bruised me.

Zeus stood still, allowing his brother to twine his arm around his leg, his other arm outstretched, the hand reaching out to touch Zeus's beard. It was a formal petition, a supplication. Zeus could not deny the request, even if he had wanted to. Justice, said Poseidon pathetically. I demand justice. He struck a god, said Athena, playing the impartial role of wisdom. It is your place to judge gods and men, of course. She had completely forgotten her offer to settle her dispute with her father and uncle by cracking their skulls open. Now she was the very ideal of a filial daughter and niece. I witnessed it, and you can see the bruise as well as I. I'm a child, and you're a god. You struck me,

old, and you're a god. You struck me, and so I struck you back. You're a little snake, hissed Athena, the holy olive tree still smoldering on the hillside, and you don't talk like you are ten years old. You don't act like you are ten years old. If you were allowed to roam free, there isn't a god who wouldn't live in terror of your venomous behavior. You would contaminate other mortals with your impiety and endanger all Olympus. This is incredible, said the little boy. Yet somehow I am not surprised. Don't ask me how that can be. Zeus frowned and stepped out of his brother's hold. We have another matter to settle first, said Zeus,

raising his hand to quiet his brother and daughter. We have yet to determine which of us can provide this child with the best of blessings. Zeus left Athena's side and stood in front of the little boy with the threadbare clothes. He gave a wan smile and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder affectionately. The child looked impassively on the paternal gesture. My gift to you is the storms and their rains. When the opening rains come, the year will roll and the land will come back to life for you. Take a look at the wetness that comes down from heaven. Even in their graves, even the dead will be refreshed by the gathering rainwater that will come from my storms. Unlike the lands of other peoples and places where canals and irrigation

make the land prosperous and fruitful, your land will rely on the heavens to bring a drink of fresh The boy fixed Zeus with a glare. I know it's rude to interrupt, he said. What you speak of is not a gift you're giving me. It's a reminder of what I've lost. And believe me, I don't need a reminder. The land is always with me. I am part of it. Do you understand? It does not belong to me, but I belong to it. As for your storms, where I've been and where I'll go, they can be really bad, cold and harsh and painful. I can't see what's so much like my home being gently watered by the rains and the

hurricane and the tornado. In that case, said Zeus, all I can offer is a love for the land. I have that too. How can I not love the land that gave me my life and sustains me, even in exile? It's really frustrating how those who have the most power are so deficient in common sense. Then, a love for the scent of water on the earth, fle bleeding and always to be remembered wherever you roam. And how is that going to help me get home, said the boy. You've watched the other gods offer me symbols and fine things as far as mixed blessings are concerned, and still you offer something even more useless to me, all the while saying you were my benefactor. Zeus raised his hand.

It shook. His face worked and he lowered his hand with effort. Fine. Since you have spurned the help and friendship of all of us, let us see to the matter of your distasteful and divisive nature. Poseidon and Athena nodded together as they stood side by side on the shore. A great storm bled into the skies above, overshadowing the thick smoke from the olive grove. Livid lightning ran through the clouds and struck down at the land and sea.

It is time for justice to rain down, said Athena. Divine, perfect justice which belongs only to the gods. What are you going to turn him into? A snake, of course, said Athena. What else? I'm not going to turn him into anything, Zeus paused. What did you say you were, he asked. I'm just a boy. How can you be a boy if you have defied time itself and remain 10 years old for decades, as it seems from the way you argue with us? I'm included out and excluded in, was the response from the boy. A lot of people want me to disappear, but I won't. You're impossible, said Zeus in wonder. There were no hints of malice in his voice.

A mortal who is beyond my... He looked askance at Poseidon and Athena. He shook his head and muttered again. He can't exist. He doesn't exist, said Athena. Poseidon looked at the other two and then nodded slowly. There never was such a boy. There never will be. Storm clouds spread and curled darkly through the skies. Black plumes of smoke and tongues of flame made the sky look like the end of days had finally come. The grove of olive trees threw abundant light, a horrid light, a sickening glow.

It was all wrong. But it was what the gods had done to nature, all because a small boy defied them. It was piteous, is what it was, that nature should have to suffer along with this little exiled orphan, as if the burning of the trees, the rising of the waves, the churning of the skies could wipe away his little life. But this little boy was tenacious, like the rising of the waves, the churning of the skies could wipe away his little life. But this little boy was tenacious, like the roots of those olive trees. He could ride the current and the wave. He could endure the bluster and the rains of the storm. The boy had evaded a great peril without even trying. He had avoided becoming a symbol and becoming fossilized in a national narrative.

There would be no songs sung about the boy and the three gods who strengthened him and, of course, the people that he represents. A lot of gifts to give this orphan, a kind of cosmic charity, or a joke perhaps. Let's see what happens if we drop an inheritance on the impoverished. See if their personal responsibility could lift them up, or if the fates decide whether the boy goes home, whether the boy grows to be a man someday. The boy got up from where he sat on the limestone outcropping and looked at the three gods. I need, I want to grow up, he said after a moment. I've been ten years old for decades now. When can I go home? Do you even know? It's not up for you to decide when I get my homecoming. Even if the fates themselves came down to me and told me I couldn't ever grow up, that I'd be as I am forever, I wouldn't believe them.

Only I can bring myself home and only I can fulfill my hopes and dreams. As for your gifts, there isn't one that I don't already have. They are my birthright, my inheritance as a human being. The right to persist, to live, to long, to return. The gods were not quite done with him, though. Immortal and age's little exile, said Athena, growing resplendent and warlike, throwing off her disguise to reveal herself, to be the protector of cities, the patron of heroes indeed. She shone in her bronze armor, the crest of her helmet waved as she tossed her head,

and the aegis writhed sensually on her breasts. I recognize in you a hero. Maybe the best gift to you could be my patronage. I have been a patron of many heroes in my time, Diomedes, Odysseus, and others. She held out an ivory hand to the boy and was sure to take his hand this time. But the boy simply looked at it, and then up to her divine face so beautiful and perfect. I'm just a boy. I want to grow up.

I want to be happy and to grow old and to be loved and to love. Just let me be to walk the path that I have to walk. And don't get in my way with promises and pity. I can do it. I have faith in myself. He looked then at each of the gods, looked them right in their immortal and ageless faces. He was bold, unimpressed, uncowed. I know where I've walked with these two feet of mine. And even if I can't see where I'm going because of all this haze of smoke and cloud and rain, it is my path to take. I have no need for your blessings or your curses.

They are of no use to me. The greatest of the three, Zeus, frowned and tore the sky with one of his thunderbolts. His eyes grew flinty when he saw how the boy seemed neither afraid nor surprised. His face darkened and he looked the boy up and down with contempt. There was surprise in the god's livid face. The only thing holding him back was the shame of losing his temper to such a lowly being, alone, poor, forgotten by everyone, almost unmade.

He couldn't allow himself to incinerate a mortal in front of his daughter, in front of his brother. There were so many words that pressed against the barrier of his own teeth clenched tight. Who do you think you are? It was Poseidon speaking the words that were blocked by Zeus's rage. Inwardly, he was somewhat cooled by the thought that he shared the dishonor, the disrespect with his niece and his great brother, who lords it over everyone. But he could put on a show for his own self-respect and for the sake of appearances.

Ignored, he only stewed in his resentment. He could keep heroes from their homecoming, but not hold the attention of this one little child. He was irrelevant to the boy, and that burned in his chest. The boy started to walk away from them, not looking back even for a moment. His dirty little hands were clutched together behind him, determined to continue on and meet what lay before him wherever he roamed. He did not want to fight with the gods, he just wanted to be on his way. For each step brought him closer to coming home, and once he returned home,

he could grow up. Athena had said he was a hero. He didn't feel much like a hero. He was just a child and a poor living being trying to survive on this changeable earth. Was that what a hero was these days? Strange times, hard times in the world of human beings when a child has to become a hero. Every hero needs a patron, cried the great goddess after him. The boy continued to walk away through a field of waving grasses, green and lush. On and on he walked as if he didn't hear her at all, neither sulky nor hesitant. His path would be struck by himself alone. He would bring his own world back into

tune in time. One way or another, he would find his way home. He kept his back turned to the gods. Are you not afraid to walk on alone? cried out Athena in her glory. Are you not overly proud to spurn our blessings? Have you not heard the tales of those who defy us, the gods? Have you not heard the tales of those who defy us, the gods? The boy stopped at a cluster of stones. They were arranged in a rough line, like pillars or the monuments of prehistoric builders. On these sentinels were laid smaller stones. They balanced simply. Some had lost their balance or had been disturbed.

They lay in small piles all around where they had fallen or been thrown. He recognized them. They were set there by the ancestors to witness their rites of visitation at some long-lost shrine somewhere along the horizon. The stones would serve to testify on the day of judgment, let the great God know that they had been dutiful and humble pilgrims. Among the stones were offerings of water and food, strips of cloth and other talismans. Among the bric-a-brac was a red umbrella. He walked over and unhesitatingly lifted it and tucked it up under one bony arm.

He may have smiled. He is the boy who will grow up. The end. That was really sweet. It was beautifully written as well. Beaut if i may say so but uh really like yeah that uh that delivered a lot more than i was expecting from a story about the greek gods right exactly yeah like but like i think it's really like when you read uh fiction from people who have lived different existences from you which is which is everyone yeah uh but it's specifically like you know in

the framing of this as a palestinian author i think like you can see those perspectives reflected like inherent in the work yeah and i thought it was that was a very cool illustration of that yeah no totally and i just i love the like i love a story that clearly reflects something that's happening in the world without losing that it's a story like this is like what folklore like comes from you know like this is what i love so much about it is that it's like no you're taking these like familiar characters doing something interesting with them talking about something that's happening now and doing it in a timeless way like i yeah no that was beautiful actually that was really really nice people can't see this being an audio medium i got my blanket here. I'm like, Margaret's reading me a story.

It's a, what a nice work afternoon. Oh yeah. This should be like, we should pitch like, get your cup of tea. Listen to Cool Zone Media. Yeah.

I was just reflecting on that. I got some fancy tea recently. Yeah. There you go. Advertise with us, fancy tea people and send me free tea and I will buzz market your shit.

Turn me into a proper Brit. Yeah. I've just, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Well, then it wouldn't have to be good tea. We just have to have a high volume of it. Right, and it would have to be prepared in very specific ways that don't make any sense to me.

Yeah, but you'd have to have a pseudo-religious commitment to preparing it only that way. It's a reflection of your status in society. Yeah, exactly. I guess a good... Yeah, yeah. Good essay by George Or one on tea that people can read oh all right all right and but yeah that's it's called i think it's called on a nice cup of tea yeah yeah i i really i just i like this story and i like uh well i'm gonna plug the stuff that, well, first I'm going to reiterate that Sonia Suleiman can be found on social media. S-O-N-I-A-S-U-L-A-I-M-A-N. And her website is thesamething.com. And if you just Google her, you'll find her a bunch of stuff. but also I asked her what she would like to plug.

And she said, I would like to plug. This is not a border reportage and reflection from the Palestinian festival of literature edited by Adaf Suif and Omar Robert Hamilton. It's an anthology of the first 10 years of the Palestinian festival of literature. Haymarket books and Verso books are also offering free books on Palestine at this time. I would urge you to join the Boycott,

Divestment, and Sanctions movement. Details are available in Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions by Omar Balghedi, one of the free books from Haymarket. And also, this is me now, Margaret speaking. If you all Google more about the BDS movement, be careful because much like searching for abortion, you know know like if you search for abortion you get all these like fake google results for people who are anti-abortion yeah um crisis pregnancies and yeah there's the same thing happens to the bds movement yes with bds yeah there's israeli propaganda that uh would like you to believe that boycotting a genocidal government is anti-semitic and it's not yeah no like i didn't think we yeah people fucking boycotted south africa during the apartheid you

know when when a state wants to use your money to to bomb little children don't find to choose to not give them your money if that's your thing. Yeah. If that's not your bag, then that's okay, actually. We're here to tell you that that's okay. Yeah. But what a beautiful story. It's a nice way, I don't know,

like recently I've just been on one about the way that the American media reports on foreign affairs. And people's identities pop up like a blip into into our media diet right into into our timelines and therefore into our existence and then they disappear and then something else happens and we're blindsided by a conflict right because our media hasn't been covering development's culture the existence of that country for a long time and like a way to honor and honor people's existence to keep them present to to to engage more meaningfully than arguing with someone who's already decided what they believe on this topic which seems to be most people at this point it's like to engage with literature to engage with folklore tradition culture not in an appropriative way but like in a respectful way

like yeah like you've done today margaret thanks yeah read it read books by people with different experiences from you i i think that reading a ton of fiction from around the world and not as much as i would have liked to but as a child child, I think it set me up on the right path. And then just here at the end, I want to say that if you are listening to this feed on It Could Happen Here, I, Margaret Kiljoy, am host of a different Cool Zone media show called Cool People Who Did Cool Stuff that comes out every Monday and Wednesday on its own feed. And you can hear me tell nonfiction stories about history. And james you are the host if you are listening to this on the cool people who did cool stuff feed you can hear james oh yeah go ahead you can

you can pitch your own show yeah it could happen here it's a podcast about how the world is falling apart and some people who are putting it back together sometimes. On the subject of putting it back together, can I plug a thing? A thing I like to do is engage in mutual aid, something we should all do. It makes the world better and our lives better as well. But specifically, a way I like to do that is to help people arriving at the southern border of the United States

who are detained in open-air concentration camps by the Department of Homeland Security. The Department of Homeland Security would like you to think they're not detained. That isn't true. It's going to be very cold the week we're recording this and very wet and therefore extremely dangerous for people who are not provided with shelter, food, water or any way to warm themselves by the government and and as in every situation where the government fails the community has stepped up to fill that gap thousands tens of thousands actually of people have passed through our southern border this year alone since may and

those of us who have been helping are tired and broke and very much committed to continuing to help but we would like your help and the way you can do that is with your wallet by going to linktr.ee. That's linktree, but they've broken it up with a dot before the ee. Yeah, clever, aren't they, little bastards? So linktr.ee slash border kindness so l-i-n-k-t-r dot e-e slash b-o-r-d-r-k-i-n-d-n-e-s-s and we will use your money to buy things like uh the pikachu onesie that we gave to a little kid yesterday who was cold yeah who was living the dream in in their pikachu onesie afterwards

and running around i played football with with them for a while yesterday. I think the Pikachu onesie was probably a donation. I don't think we bought that. TARPS, you know, people, you know, it's in every situation, like every humanitarian crisis is caused by governments and ameliorated by anarchists and Quakers, it seems. So lots of people have been cooking lots of vegan food for lots of hungry people and you can help us hell yeah all right well we will see you

all next week on the cool zone media book club book club book club book club book club book club it could happen here as a production of Cool Zone Media. For more podcasts from Cool Zone Media, visit our website, coolzonemedia.com, or check us out on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to podcasts. You can find sources for It Could Happen Here updated monthly at coolzonemedia.com. Thanks for listening. dot com slash sources. Thanks for listening.

You should probably keep your lights on for Nocturnal Tales from the Shadow. Join me, Danny Trails, and step into the flames of fright. An anthology podcast of modern day horror stories

inspired by the most terrifying legends and lore of Latin America. Listen to Nocturnal on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Hi, I'm Ed Zitron, host of the Better Offline podcast. And we're kicking off our second season digging into Tex Elite and how they've turned Silicon Valley into a playground for billionaires. From the chaotic world of generative AI to the destruction of Google search, Better Offline is your unvarnished and at times unhinged look at the underbelly of tech brought to you by an industry veteran with nothing to lose. Listen to Better Offline on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, wherever else you get your podcasts from. On Thanksgiving Day, 1999, five-year-old Cuban boy Elian Gonzalez was found off the coast of Florida.

And the question was, should the boy go back to his father in Cuba? Mr. Gonzalez wanted to go home and he wanted to take his son with him. Or stay with his father in Cuba. Mr. Gonzalez wanted to go home and he wanted to take his son with him. Or stay with his relatives in Miami. Imagine that your mother died trying to get you to freedom. Listen to Chess Peace,

the Elian Gonzalez story, on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.