Whoever it is, they don’t move silently around my garden. I am a light sleeper, so I wake up. I hear it, my dogs smell it, and my vipers see it with their thermal vision. Ultimately, it’s Salua whom the intruder has the misfortune to touch while sneaking past her. She brings him down with one swift move; a loud jangle ensues as he crashes on the floor.
I approach this sorry heap. Now he is quite visible, a young man. The snakes encircle him in a sort of a living wreath. He is cowering in terror, averting his eyes and, without much success, trying to hide behind a shield. The rest of the hardware is on the floor, still within his reach. I identify the object closest to me as the Helm of Hades that Salua must have knocked off the guy’s head. A bit further from me, a weird-looking sword and a leather bag.
“Welcome, stranger,” I say. “Before you do anything else, be so kind as to pick up your sword and slowly hand it over to my slave. Don’t make any sudden movements, my serpents don’t like them. Salua, towel.”
Salua fetches a towel from the bench next to the swimming pool to accept the sword.
The guy obviously understands my words for he does as told.
The same procedure is repeated with the helmet, the bag and the shield. Devoid of the latter, the boy crouches even more, looking down and sweating profusely. I am about to order him to stand up when I catch a glimpse of his footwear. Could these be the sandals of Hermes?
“Hey, take those off too.”
My guest obeys, albeit more reluctantly than before. Trust me, I empathise with him.
Now there is nothing between the snakes and his bare feet.
Of all weapons, fear is the most powerful. Even without the magic helmet, the boy had every opportunity to flee. A part of me still wishes he did. But no, he meekly allowed two women to disarm him. Now he stands no chance. All his magic gear is spread on the towel under the watch of Salua. Where did I see that shield?
“Hey, you”, I address him. “Get up. Slowly.”
He does, still staring at his feet.
“Good boy. Now, introduce yourself.”
“I am Perseus Eurymedon, son of Danaë of Argus”, squeaks the good boy in a curiously high-pitched voice that almost makes me giggle. I cover my mouth, feigning thoughtfulness.
Danaë, Danaë. This name rings a bell.
“Do you know the name of your father, son of Danaë?”
“No... Not really.”
The bastard son of Danaë is lying, but I decide not to dwell on his genealogy for a moment.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, ma’am. You are Medusa of Sarpedon”.
“Why don’t you look at me?”
He keeps inspecting his bare feet as if seeing something new.
“They say... that your gaze turns every living creature to stone.”
“They who?”
Looks like he doesn’t have the answer.
“Listen, whoever they are, they are fools and cowards. The truth is, I can turn anyone – who’s not blind, that is – to stone. But only if I want to. I’ll show you.”
I whistle for my dogs. They come running, I pet them, kiss their noses and look them in the eyes. I walk towards Salua and make prolonged eye contact with her. (While doing it, I also wink at her, taking care that the boy doesn’t see it. Salua keeps poker face.)
“See?” I turn back to my prisoner. “Nothing happens. Now look at me.”
I come closer to him. Now there are barely two paces between us. The boy is younger than I thought. I am petite and he’s the same height as me.
I could have had a son his age, I suddenly think. If I didn’t do everything possible to not have a child, that is.
Cautiously, he lifts his eyes. He meets my gaze.
And nothing happens.
His face that never knew a razor retains some puppy fat. I would call it pretty, if not for those close-set, shifty eyes. He doesn’t keep eye contact for long.
“Now I have to tell you something. I can take your life in many ways, turning you to stone is probably the most merciful one. So. Behave yourself and answer my questions. Agreed?”
He nods.
“Good. What is your business here?”
The boy hesitates.
“Well?..”
“It’s...”
“A long story, eh? Don’t you worry, I have plenty of time.”
No response.
“Look, why don’t you sit down again and tell me your long story. Don’t skimp on the details. That will give you some extra minutes of life. What have you got to lose? Salua, pillow.”
Salua proffers a pillow; my prisoner takes it. I fetch my tablet and stylus, ready to take notes.
“Just don’t bore me, or I’ll cut you short”, I add.
So the boy sits down and begins his epic. He stammers at first, then little by little gets smoother. Instantly, dread sets in. No, he’s not a mere mortal. He’s a son of a god, and of a major one. I feel nauseous.
Danaë. I think I heard about her from one of my sisters. Another divine rape victim.
And this pup is here on a quest to decapitate me, clearly with supernatural help, what with all this kit he has zero experience with. Dispatching him will unleash the wrath of gods upon me. Ditto holding him prisoner: the gods will be alarmed by his disappearance. Letting him go is worse still: he’ll come back, and not alone. And his voice, gods, it gets on my nerves. No. He deserves death.
“So,” I interrupt him, “you are here because the king wants my head as a wedding present for his fiancée? Or maybe, just maybe, because the king wants to be rid of you?”
The boy stares. Apparently, the second (pretty plausible, eh?) theory never entered his mind.
“I don’t want to give you any ideas – it’s too late for this anyway – but, instead of trekking here, wouldn’t it be easier to get rid of the king?”
No, he didn’t think of that either.
Something tells me that it was the boy’s original destiny: to kill the king.
“Now, look at me. Do you believe I am an evil monster?”
He shakes his head.
“Did I cause any harm to you or your family, perchance?”
Ditto.
“Who am I, any thoughts?”
“A woman”, he mumbles.
Look at him, he’s blushing.
“Excellent observation. Anything else?”
“A very... beautiful woman.”
In any other circumstances, I’d feel flattered. Unfortunately for the kid, his ridiculous voice is as irritating as ever.
“Why, thank you, I’m glad you appreciate beauty when you see it. Yet you sneak here like a thief in order to murder a sleeping woman. Not very gentlemanly, don’t you agree?”
Sure thing, he agrees.
“I trust you realise that for my own safety I can’t let you live. But I feel generous today.”
I can’t believe my ears – is it me talking? Are you crazy, Med?
Salua looks at me incredulously.
“So I propose you choose the way you die. Not many people have this opportunity, you know.”
Just finish him, silly girl, I tell myself, stop talking. Many a villain met their end on account of their logorrhoea. Perseus knows too much, he must die. And yet I can’t shut up.
“I promise I can help you to meet your end with dignity.”
Gods, whom I hate, I sound horribly pompous. No, I didn’t think that through. Even if he kills himself, say jumps from a cliff – oh, there is a perfect spot! – the gods will be after me. Or will they? Do they know my whereabouts? If yes, why send the kid sniffing me out to Graiai? Ah, I see, that could have been another test. But what if they don’t?
A sticky silence descends. I look again at the towel. I have no doubts now about that shield. I used to be closely acquainted with its owner. What for did she lend it to the boy, I wonder. She must be well aware that it won’t save him from being petrified. If it were your dull run-of-the-mill bronze mirror, like I’ve got in my bathroom, it could just about work. But this one reflects the light perfectly. In fact, I could use it as a weapon. It’s simple physics. Or... Could it be that she wanted my assassin to fail?
Incidentally, years ago, she gave me a gift too. A parting gift, as it were. A pair of gorgeous Asian vipers. Why did she do it, I’ve no clue. Was it irony? Pity? Curse? Care? (Woman, you tend to overthink.) I named them Stheno and Euryale, after my sisters. So cute. Stheno turned out to be a male but then it was too late to change his name. Thus far, the old couple are alive and well, and the rest of the reptiles in my garden are their descendants.
What happens next shows that deciding upon Perseus’ mode of death was neither up to me nor up to him: the Fates, as the saying goes, have their way. The boy, who was fidgeting for a while, all at once jumps to his feet and makes a dash – where? We’ll never learn but I guess it dawned at him, belatedly, that he could have escaped from us. Alas, he treads on a serpent.
Short story shorter: Perseus is no more.
After shooing away my snakes, I find myself kneeling beside his still warm body. His brown eyes are, at last, wide open and don’t avoid my stare. But what’s this water on his chiton?
My tears, that’s what.
I didn’t wish you death, boy, I mutter.
Salua helps me to my feet. Her face is expressionless when she gives me her mighty hug. We stay embracing each other for a few minutes.
“Come, miss,” Salua finally says. “Go house. Salua take care the man.”
“No, Salua. I will do it. But I need your help.”
We have to act before rigor mortis sets in. Salua helps me undress the body. Perseus naked looks even less muscular than I suspected. Flabby arms and tummy, gynaecomastia. Boy, his garments stink. I tell Salua to wash them well and hang them to dry. She disappears into the house.
It’s time to do what I, and I alone, have to do.
Perseus told me himself that the harpe was there to cut off my head and the bag was to store it. And bring it back to whoever asked him for my head. Of course, poor sod failed the mission miserably, which is exactly what the king whatshisname was counting on, and, come to think about it, the gods were also half-expecting. No, I’m not gonna give them that.
I weigh the sword in my hand. It’s surprisingly light. Suspiciously light, even. And what’s with its weird shape? Won’t my own trusty xiphos be better?
In the end, I decide to give the harpe a go.
You might guess what follows, so I’ll spare you the details.
I need to get rid of the body. I don’t want anyone to see me lugging it about, even Salua. So let’s take Perseus out the same way he came: flying and invisible. And what did he use? Why, Helm of Hades and sandals of Hermes.
I inspect these objects. For obvious reasons, Perseus can’t wear the helmet now. Will it work on me?
I stand in front of a mirror and put the thing on. It’s not the most comfy hat in the world, likely adapted from the Thracian model, that covers most of my face – hey, it works! Not that well though. I become see-through but still discernible. The helmet is one of these shoddy “Made in Underworld” affairs that only make you invisible in the darkness. Also, it has got quite a latency. I take a sword in my hands and observe in the mirror how it slowly dissolves into something as transparent as myself.
So that’s it. I’ll have to don the damn helmet and drag the cadaver away from here. Will the sandals be of any help?
Yes! They fit and they work like a charm.
I fly the boy towards that perfect spot for Perseus’ suicide I was fantasising about. I – or shall I say “we”? – settle on the clifftop. The sun is about to set, and I am not going to miss the show. I find myself talking to my unlucky guest whom I, take note, embrace around the waist.
“Hey, this is perhaps the most beautiful sunset that you’ll never see. I know, you can’t hear me either. I’m sorry that you are dead, but this is the way things are. You shouldn’t have come here. Don’t worry, I will take good care of your head.”
And so on, this kind of nonsense, till the last bit of sun sinks under the horizon.
I stand up and lift Perseus. A few careful steps toward the edge.
“Rest in peace, son of Danaë,” I whisper as I release my grip.
In the twilight, I see the headless body slowly growing visible again while it plunges into the sea. It’s getting dark. I have to return home as fast as I can, without looking back. Down there, dozens of sharks waste no time either.
So you thought you knew the story.
Now consider this. His clothes, now clean and dry, fit me as a glove. My breasts are small and firm, even smaller than the poor boy’s man-boobs. The gods’ gadgetry also stays with me. Most importantly, my head is still on my shoulders. I’ll make sure that Perseus lives too – at least, for the outside world.
I can’t tell you what’s gonna happen next. I need some sleep first. I have to re-read my notes, then I’ll decide.
Salua comes to check on me.
“You all right, miss?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you, Salua. I’m going to bed now.”
“Good night, miss.”
“Good night, Salua. You too have a rest.”
Off she goes.
Stheno and Euryale are nesting on my pillow. I am too tired to get up and fetch another one, and I hate to shake my life-savers off. I lay my head next to them and close my eyes.
Sweet dreams, my lovelies, I murmur.
My lovelies lay quiet, so I reply for them.
Sweet dreams, sister.
