On her twenty-first day among the people, Julia found a dead man in a gully.
She was riding the shuttle downtown, trying to determine a course for her life and wondering if leaving Olympus was a mistake. It was hard not to doubt herself with commuters jammed against her like cereal in a box. They smelled of sweat at war with deodorant, of clashing perfumes and soap. She was always sensitive to odors, and it was hot enough outside to boil blood. The heat and smell together were making her dizzy.
Just put up with it, she told herself, remembering how when she left home, Mona told everyone she wouldn't be able to cope. She pressed against the window, staring down at the ravine where the railway tracks cut through the industrial district, and she noticed a flock of birds swarming around a dark shape in the brush. Julia craned her neck as the shuttle moved on and the birds receded. She shoved a boy aside to get a better look. Finally she stopped the shuttle rather than lose sight of the birds altogether.
Passengers jolted forward and back, cursing, scowling at their watches. Some peeked out the back, afraid another train was bearing down on them. Julia cupped a circle of window between her hands and curved it into a lens. She focused on the shape at the center of the flock and saw small beaks tearing at black fingers.
She squeaked, her powers failed, and she lost her grip on the shuttle. The commuters sighed in relief as their trip resumed, and Julia was smothered in a wash of nervous perspiration. "God, I need a cigarette," one of them said. Julia filled his lungs with hot, potent cigarette smoke. The man blushed and raised his eyes gratefully to the sky, exhaling nervously, fearful of angering the other passengers. Julia changed the fumes to clean air as they passed his lips and savored his gratitude.
Julia enjoyed performing little miracles, when they didn't commit her to anything.
The shuttle abandoned her in a strange midworld between the tidy suburbs and the self-important downtown core. Grubby people shuffled in front of old buildings. Storefronts sagged with defeat. The air was tainted with industrial fumes. Down in the railyard, dirty freight trains could be heard laboring to and fro on their tracks. The hot summer sun cooked garbage and bleached color from the awnings and vehicles. It cemented pigeon droppings to the concrete.
Julia walked among them, feeling overdressed and conspicuous as she searched for a route to the railyard. Signs and makeshift altars snagged at her attention like fishhooks. "Julia feed the hungry," one read. It had been decorated with little loaves of bread which were long since stolen and devoured, glue and all. There was graffiti, too. "Julia heal the sick," was spray-painted across one wall in letters the color of blood. There were thousands of appeals scattered all over the world. Improvised pleas like these competed with nicer ones set up in yards or in corners of offices.
She grunted. Heal the sick, clothe the naked, avenge the downtrodden. Give, give, give, she thought. I want worshippers who can give me more than gratitude. The people here weren't even on the market anymore. The needy were now served by her little brother Francis, in his newly chosen capacity as Charity. If she chose to aid part of his constituency, she would be subservient to the brat.
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