Stone Blind(69)
Gorgoneion
He escaped, of course. With the aid of all his gods, Perseus escaped. And, though no one ever thinks of things this way, so did I. I left behind the mortal body that had made me weak and vulnerable and I escaped into what, exactly? A new life? Please, this isn’t life. It’s death. You can’t have forgotten how Medusa was sliced in two by this man, this hero. Now she is dead and mourned and loved by her sisters and I am, well, I am this: the stolen head. The hidden trophy.
The snakes are wrapped tightly around me: they protect me still. But we are all hidden in this golden kibisis, carried by Perseus to keep him from danger. He complains all the time, about how much the bag weighs. There isn’t even anyone else here to listen to him. He just moans into the breezes about how heavy and awkward it is. What I would like to say to him is that if it is so inconvenient carrying someone’s head around in a bag, perhaps you should think about that before you decapitate them. So I do say it. He doesn’t respond and I assume he hasn’t heard. Perhaps the gold muffles sound or perhaps he can’t hear any more after Euryale shouted in his pathetic mortal ears. But he stops complaining, so perhaps he heard me after all.
He is walking from wherever Athene abandoned him and he probably wants to complain about that too, but he is still wearing the sandals of Hermes so these steps must take no effort at all. He wants to return to somewhere, because he keeps muttering about getting back to Seriphos before it’s too late. I don’t know where or what this place is, so I ask, and again he doesn’t reply. But now he is worrying about finding a boat, so it is across the sea. An island? A port? I wish I knew.
No, that isn’t true, is it? That’s a last little trace of Medusa, who really did care about what mortals wanted and where they might want to go. Me? I don’t care if Perseus lives or dies, let alone where he’s trying to get to. What difference would it make? If he opened the bag now, and I turned him to stone, what would happen to me? I’d stay here in exactly the same condition. If I don’t turn him to stone and he reaches his destination, it’s the same, isn’t it? I am still the Gorgoneion, Medusa is still dead.
So I have only a slight interest when he sees a shepherd and shouts at the man to please tell him where he now finds himself. The shepherd explains that he has reached the kingdom of Atlas, where the land bridges the sky. Perseus asks if he may have shelter with the shepherd, but the man refuses him. There is a nervousness in his voice and I believe it is caused by me. The shepherd has not seen me, of course, but he can tell there is something dangerous in front of him. He has honed his instincts, perhaps, protecting his sheep from unseen predators.
I hear the sheep bleating as Perseus walks into their midst. They remind me of Euryale’s flock. He asks the man again for a bed and food and the shepherd replies that he is in the service of the king, so strangers must petition him if they need shelter. Perseus asks which way he should go to speak to this king and the shepherd tells him the way. The directions are complex and involve many landmarks. I can feel Perseus growing irritated by the details the man is giving him, and I am just wondering why he asks for help when he is so ungrateful about receiving it when he shrugs his shoulder so the strap of the bag slips down and he reaches inside. I see his fingers grasping at my snakes and I know what he is about to do and I think he is being extraordinarily petty.
He lifts me out into the open air and I blink once, twice at the sudden brightness of the sun which I have missed more than I can describe. When did my eyes last look into the light? I have no way to measure time any more, and nor did Medusa once she was cursed. I feel warm and alive, though I know I am neither. I see everything at once: the vast sky, the rock-strewn ground, the fluttering trees. I feel the warmth of the sun and the cooling breezes and the fingers of Perseus gripping my snakes and brandishing me like a torch.
I see the shepherd man.
He sees me too. For just a moment our gazes meet, and his face forms a silent mask of fear and then he is stone, frozen at the point in time when he encountered Perseus. I hear him – Perseus, now a double-murderer – gasp as he sees how swift and lethal I am. He stuffs me back into his kibisis and I feel a huge surge of energy. The shepherd is dead, all thanks to my power. How can I not revel in this strength now I have it?
Perhaps you are wondering what the shepherd did to deserve such an abrupt end? What do any of us do? What did I do? He was in the wrong place and met with the wrong man. Could I have averted my gaze? you’re thinking. Could I? Yes, probably I could. But obviously I didn’t. But couldn’t I have saved him from Perseus and his nasty little temper?
I don’t feel like saving mortals any more. I don’t feel like saving anyone any more. I feel like opening my eyes and taking in everything I can see whenever I get the chance. I feel like using the power the goddess gave me. I feel like spreading fear wherever I go, wherever Perseus goes. I feel like becoming the monster he made. I feel like that.
*
Perseus is terrified of me. I can tell by the way he holds the bag now, much more careful. I’m sure he didn’t doubt whatever Athene had told him about my power but who believes what he has not seen? Even I didn’t know how fast it would be, how entire. I had glanced at a bird, a scorpion, and made them stone. But a man? It was dizzying how quick it was to petrify him. And in that moment between his death and my return to darkness, I saw his face held in the expression he wore when he caught sight of me. It thrills me now, thinking of the way the energy fizzed between us, tiny motes in the air that somehow travelled from my eyes to his and took his life.