Stone Blind(66)

β: If what you’re saying is true, why didn’t she open her eyes?

ε: You know why.

δ: You know why.

β: I don’t.

α: Because she wouldn’t kill him.





Stone


There is no statue here; there is only an empty plinth. But if the statue were here, it would look like this.

A young man stands with his weight on his right leg, toes flexed. The left foot is slightly raised, so you can see he is on the verge of moving forward. If he were real, he would be on the point of walking into you. He is well-muscled: his biceps are clearly defined and his shoulders are straight. He wears a knee-length tunic beneath which are slender calves. He is strong but not yet a warrior. He has no shield nor does he wear armour.

His cloak is fastened at the neck with a simple round clasp. The cloak has a thin dark border that forms a solid line all around the edge. It is a plain travelling cloak: it looks warm and serviceable. On his feet are sandals which must have been very difficult to carve. They have leather straps, and they come up high: to mid-calf. And they are decorated with wings, one on either side of each ankle. Each feather is distinct and you might reach out to touch them because they look so soft. But they are hard stone, like the rest of the piece. Your eyes have been tricked by the skill of the sculptor.

There are more feathers on his cap: a soft hat with a folded brim. There is a small bird’s wing on either side of that, too. They taper into gentle points above the young man’s nose, if you look at him in profile. His jaw juts out almost as far as the turned-up brim. He is determined to carry out whatever task he has been given. His curls spring out from the back of the cap. You can imagine if he were to take it off, his hair would lie matted against his skull.

You can see dozens, hundreds more statues of young men and you will never see another one wearing a hat or shoes like this one. It is a plain traveller’s cap, but the wings make it unique. The sandals would look more at home on the feet of a god, surely.

In his right hand, he carries a sword with a short curved blade. It is like a scythe. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was about to cut wheat. But – although only a small part of it is visible beneath his clenched hand – he is clearly holding a weapon by the hilt rather than an agricultural tool by the handle. The blade is curving away from him, as though he does not know from which way the attack will come.

This impression is further reinforced when you notice that he is looking behind him. How odd. Has he just heard a sound that has captured his attention? His sword hand is raised, but he is looking away from where he would strike, if he were to swing his arm. It seems a rather indiscriminate way to go about things. Perhaps he is consulting with another figure behind him, but we do not see her.

And nor, as I said, do we see him. Because this statue was never made so only the idea of it exists.





Part Five


Stone





Gorgoneion


How did they know so quickly that she had died? There must have been something in Sthenno’s belief that they were one because the first thing I remember hearing was the beating of wings, and the first thing I remember feeling was the rush of air as Euryale landed outside the cave entrance, where their fire had been. It was immediately extinguished by her clawed feet: she wasn’t looking at where she landed, and anyway, the heat was nothing to her. And then Sthenno, a moment behind her, another pair of feet standing on the sand.

Are you wondering why I was looking at their feet? I’m sure you’ve worked it out by now: I am the Gorgon head, the head of Medusa, born (or perhaps I should say created) in the moment she died. And I have a much lower opinion of mortal men than she did, for reasons which I would assume were obvious. In case it is in any way unclear, I am looking at their feet because I was determined not to look at their eyes. But I had to keep my eyes open, for the chance to lithify the one with the sword. I didn’t yet know his name was Perseus. But I did know he deserved to die.

They could see nothing of him, of course. He wore the cap of Hades and he was invisible even to those beautiful bulging Gorgon eyes. I could see him, because that is the trick with things that belong to Hades: they have no secrets from one another. And now I was dead, I was a servant of Hades too, in a way. Not the way that would ever see me obey him, you understand. Just in terms of categories, to keep things simple for you. Medusa is dead, I am dead. But I’m still the best narrator for this part of the story, because I was there for all of it, and because I am not a lying deceitful hateful vicious murderer.

It’s important to keep these things clear. If you’re wondering how come I am able to see and hear and tell you what happened after Medusa died, the answer is simple. I was a Gorgon, a child of Phorcys and Ceto. We cannot speak of Ceto yet, so let us focus on my father for now. I was, I am the daughter of a sea god, and even though I was fated to die, I was hardly an ordinary mortal, was I? I had wings, for a start. Do you have wings? No, I didn’t think so. Here’s something else I have: the ability to retain my memories, my faculties, even after death. I really wasn’t like other girls.

All this is a long way of telling you that I could see Perseus, no matter how much he believed that Hades kept him invisible. And I wanted to stare unblinking into his vacuous eyes and turn him to cold, pale stone. Are you feeling scared yet, of the monstrous head with no heart? Perhaps you should. Because what have I to lose, at this point?