Jupiter Optimo Maximus

The citizen shuffled into the sleeping chamber, his shoulder laden with the work of the day. His labours. The sounds of the city crept into the quiet room, a plasterer next door in the insular, a wagon rattling loudly down the street. Voices. People. Rome.

The lump on his shoulder stirred. She was still awake. Still. Her tiny hand was wrapped around his neck like the talons of a miniature eagle searching for the carotid artery. She clung to him, he held her. She had to sleep.


Searching for intervention his mind jumped. Jupiter Optimo Maximus. I hail you by that name or by any other name you see fit. I hail you as either sex and in any form you wish. Grant me this boon. Ease this child into rest and I will offer at your statue in the forum three times before the next market interval. Jupiter Optimo Maximus, best and greatest, grant me this request. This baby must sleep.

He eased her down to the mattress, tiny hands continuing to grasp his clothes and neck. She lay still though and he allowed hope to come.

He waited in rigid silence and wondered. How many people back through the republic had held themselves like this, quiet and desperate hoping for sleep for their baby? For how many years to come will babies taunt fathers? Is this eternal?

Tiny fingers relaxed at his neck. Sleep came for the child. Peace for her father.

Jupiter best and greatest. Earth and oil, a fig and coin for their temple thought the father. He walked out of the bedroom and returned to reality. Snapping a quick photo to send to his wife at work, he went downstairs and made a note for the blog.