Stone Blind(71)

So, perhaps you are wondering if Themis had made a mistake when she told Atlas of the prophecy? Or was she making mischief, as gods sometimes like to? Of course not: Themis is never wrong and less likely to make trouble than most. She told the truth, but Atlas was too early in his suspicions: it would be another son of Zeus who stole the apples from Atlas’s orchard and that day is far in the future.

Eventually, Atlas rises from his throne and strides along the colonnades of his palace. His brow is creased, and he pauses. Should he visit his orchard and see his protected trees one more time? He shrugs off the thought, embarrassed that he has even considered losing a fight to some puny demi-god. I hear him coming long before Perseus does. He does not feel the shaking of the earth as the Titan advances upon him, he notices very little. But when the steward comes pelting through the gate ahead of his king, even Perseus realizes something is happening.

‘All this fuss?’ he asks the panting steward. ‘Your king is not very welcoming to strangers.’

The steward doesn’t have breath enough to respond, but it doesn’t matter because Atlas has appeared behind him.

Perseus takes an unwitting step back. The Titan king towers over his unwanted visitor.

‘What do you want?’ asks Atlas.

‘Shelter, food,’ says Perseus. These are reasonable and humble requests and yet something about the way he says the words would make anyone want to shove him into a river.

Atlas shares my view, it seems, because he sighs loudly and does not reply. Perseus has grown so impatient waiting that he is whinier than usual. ‘I am a son of Zeus,’ he says.

‘And what makes you think I owe anything to a son of Zeus?’ replies the Titan. ‘Even if you are who you say you are.’

‘You fail to respect the king of the gods?’ asks Perseus. His voice is high-pitched, querulous.

‘I have to respect the king of the gods,’ Atlas says. ‘But I don’t have to respect a man who claims to be his bastard son.’

‘I have slain a mighty Gorgon,’ says Perseus. ‘And what about your obligations? You should offer a traveller food and a place to rest, whether you respect them or not.’

Atlas snorts his contempt. ‘What obligations? I don’t owe you anything. You appear at my gates with no warning. Why should I play host to you when I know why you’ve come here? I know what you’re planning and I won’t allow it.’

‘I’m not planning anything!’ Perseus is incapable of planning anything, so it’s no wonder he sounds so aggrieved. ‘I have come from attacking the Gorgons in their lair. I will return to Seriphos as soon as I can. I need shelter before I continue on my way. Who are you to refuse me?’

‘I am the king of everything you can see and a thousand times a thousand more that you cannot,’ bellows Atlas. ‘I do not answer to you or to anyone. You are a thief and you’re not welcome in my palace. Now leave before I kill you.’

Perseus is already reaching into the kibisis. He grabs at my head and I feel his fingers groping blindly to feel my nose or mouth so he doesn’t accidentally cover my eyes.

‘We could have been guest-friends,’ he says. ‘But you refused. So let me give you the gift you deserve.’

He draws me out of the bag and holds me up to face the Titan. His own eyes are closed in fear and horror.

Even I am surprised by what happens next. Because Titans are not mortal creatures, so they do not turn to stone the way the birds and the scorpion did, the way the shepherd did. As I stare at Atlas, I don’t know what to expect. I feared for my sisters’ lives when I had sisters, even though they were immortal. But I don’t fear for Atlas: he seems like a petty king and why should he have life when I have death? So I open my eyes wide and meet his gaze.

His expression is quite different from the shepherd’s: he has seen worse than a Gorgon head in his long life, I suppose. His steward is the first to change, and he is stone before I have even noticed him. But Atlas does something else. There is a deafening crash, like a great rock fall. Atlas raises his arm to knock Perseus to the ground or perhaps he hopes to grab me from his opponent’s outstretched hand. But Atlas cannot move his feet, he is pinned to the spot. And then there is another smash of rock against rock and he is turning to stone from the feet upwards. But as he lithifies, he grows. The Titan king is now a huge mountain: his limbs becoming shelves of rock, his hair sprouting into vast pine trees. He is immense; his head is lost in the clouds that surround the newly formed peak. We stand halfway up a mountain the gods must have decided to create. Because surely I cannot have so much power on my own?

Perseus is astonished by what Atlas has become. He has no regrets that I can sense: he returns me to the kibisis and congratulates himself on the effective way he has bested another enemy. I am almost dazed by the enormity of what I have just created. The heavens themselves now rest on Atlas’s shoulders: the world has changed because of me. I wonder if Perseus feels anything for the men and women who lived and worked in Atlas’s palace, and who are now surely all dead. But I don’t wonder for very long, because I know Perseus cares for no one but himself, and his precious mother.

*

The apple orchard survived, incidentally. It continued to grow on the lower reaches of the Atlas mountains and this brought the Titan some pleasure every day. He nurtured a dragon to protect the trees because all his men were dead. But then another son of Zeus came along and purloined the beloved apples, just as Themis had predicted, and Atlas lost his last remaining delight. So all that was left to him was to hold up the weight of the sky.