by Devon Monk
“Striking.” Jason moved past me with solid, quiet steps.
Fox, coyote, and turtle stood with snake and raccoon. A deer that had grazed my herb garden one too many times stood frozen in mid-step. In the center was my favorite: a hawk perched on a slab of oak, wings stretched for flight, eyes searching a forbidden sky.
Jason walked among them, stroking fur and scales with appreciative fingers, his breath coming more quickly.
“Warm,” he said. “The textures are so lifelike — I almost expect a heartbeat.” He reached the end of the line of statues and shook his head. “You make it difficult to choose, Ms. Gorgriou.”
I opened half-lidded eyes. Sunlight makes me sleepy. “Oh?”
“There isn’t anything here I don’t like.” And he smiled.
I am a champion body language reader. But neither his body nor his voice told me what he meant by that. Did he want to buy all of the statues, or was he just trying to charm me? One glance at his eyes would settle my curiosity, but human statues only draw a good price if they are nude.
That thought brought blood to my cheeks and stirred up feelings I thought long gone. I shrugged and took a deep breath.
“You may take a statue for free — for the help you’ve given Jenny.” And then you can leave and take that damned smile with you before I start thinking of deals we’ll both regret, I added silently.
“Thank you, but these are worth paying for.”
“And also worth giving. Please, take one — any one, except the hawk.” The snakes shifted again although there was no breeze. I didn’t care if he noticed.
He bent, scooped up a statue, his fingers restless over its surface. “I’d love to see any new statues you may have in the next couple weeks.”
“Fine.” I held the door open with my arm and stared straight ahead at the forest that borders my backyard. “Thank you for coming by.” I looked over his head as he moved past me.
He took a breath, but I continued, “And thank you again for helping Jenny. I’m sure you can find your way out.”
The monster is tired now.
Silence, then the fall of footsteps through my house and finally, the thump as the front door closed.
I stood in the sun, cold and oddly vulnerable. The snakes rose, weaving in the pale sunlight, tongues tasting the air. I thought of ancient worlds and ancient deals. When I finally did come back to the present, it was nearly dusk. I sighed, and realized I hadn’t seen which statue Jason took.
I scanned the grass. The statues stared at me with glassy, unsettling eyes. Raccoon, turtle, fox, were all accounted for. Only one tiny statue I had tucked by the foot of the deer was missing — a thin, coiled snake.
I drew a shaky breath and walked back to my house. Gentle tongues flicked over my cheeks, as surprised as I at the tears that were there.
Two weeks slipped by beneath Seattle’s brittle rains. Jenny came with groceries and new books. We didn’t talk much, having nothing new to say. I gave her the last of my statues except the hawk, to take into the grocery store and sell for half their summer price.
She was loading the statues when I heard voices outside the door. I pulled back the blinds and peered out.
Jason stood in the bed of Jenny’s rusted white Ford, his back toward me. I watched, caught between fascination and envy as blond-haired, farm-fresh Jenny showed him the statues. He touched each one, tipped them to better catch the light, a slight frown on his lips, then, to my surprise, he handed Jenny a wad of folded bills.
She grinned and after a few words and gestures, they hopped out of the truck bed and got into the cab. The Ford growled and rumbled out of view.
Suddenly, I wondered about Jason’s motives. Was he really just a curious neighbor, or was he from some obscure environmentalist group? Were there tests that would reveal what my statues really were? I had once dropped a stone squirrel and found its tiny skeletal structure scattered in the dust. But if Jason dropped a statue and found the bones, would he believe I was so thorough an artist that I would create a complete skeletal structure? Perhaps, but what would I tell him about the stone lungs and stone hearts?
I paced the room, snakes writhing. The last thing I needed was a bunch of tree-huggers picketing my front lawn.
I could go to him and demand to know why he was so interested in my work. Intimidating people is something I do well. Of course, I’d probably attract the attention of my other neighbors and end up with an entire block of statues.
The idea had merit, but eventually the police would investigate.
The snakes rose, angry and hissing. If trouble came, I would handle it.
And if Jason came, I would handle him too.
I cranked up the heat in the house and curled up in my electric blanket, determined to lose myself to the peace of my memories, but all I could think of were the smiles of heroes I should have turned to stone.
I wasn’t surprised to hear a knock at the door a few hours later. I paced into the living room and peeked through the peephole, expecting to see Jenny there, with the wad of bills in her hand.
Instead I saw Jason standing in the rain, one hand shoved in the pocket of his denim jacket, the other holding a bottle of wine. Even wet, he looked good.
“Go away.”
“Ms. Gorgriou, it will just take a minute. I have a proposition that may interest you.”
Silence.
“I’m not leaving until you let me in.”
Fine, I thought. I can take care of you easily enough. You’d make a nice addition to the backyard.
“Please come in, Jason.” I slipped my dark glasses on and unlocked the door.
Better talk fast, hero.
Jason came in and held out the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. “I brought this to celebrate,” he said.
“Oh?”
“You see, Ms. Gorgriou — may I call you Dusi? Jenny mentioned that was your first name.”
Jenny has a big mouth. I smiled sweetly. “Certainly.”
“Dusi, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
Countdown to concrete, I thought.
Five. . .
“I am a field representative for a group based out of San Francisco.”
Four . . .
“Your statues caught my eye. They are so amazingly real, almost too good to be true.”
Three . . .
“So I had to investigate.” He smiled. “I’m glad you let me in the other day.”
Two . . . I fingered the edge of my sunglasses and lowered my gaze from his forehead to eyebrows.
“I am authorized to pay you four times your current asking price for your statues, provided you let us display them exclusively through our galleries.”
One never hit. I blinked, quickly looked back at his forehead. “Galleries?”
“In San Francisco. I’m vacationing. I already sent the snake statue down to the gallery director. He loved it!” He laughed, a rich, warm sound that sent shivers across my skin.
“He thinks you’re the discovery of the century and I couldn’t agree with him more.”
Discovery. I rolled the word in my mind and decided it was a much nicer way to say monster.
“How long would you represent my work?” I asked, thinking of the long touristless, and cashless, winter. “Is there a contract?”
He fished inside his jacket and handed me an envelope. “Five years, a substantial advance and renewal options.”
No more wondering if I could eat from month to month. I licked my lips and pulled out the papers. I took my time reading every word. It was a deal, after all, and deals and heroes don’t mix. But for once, this deal seemed wholly in my favor.
“Where do I sign?”
He gave me his pen, watched as I signed with large flowing letters. I used my full name, Medusa Gorgriou.
I smiled. “Now what?”
“Celebration.”
Late afternoon slid into night. We emptied the wine bottle and I learned about his job, which he loved, his life
in San Francisco, which he loved to hate, and the woman who divorced him seven years ago. “I miss her,” he sighed, “but I knew it was only a matter of time. She and I are too different.”
He looked at me, trying to catch my eyes through my glasses. “Do you always wear those?”
“No.” It was my turn to smile.
“You are beautiful, Dusi.”
I laughed. “Meet my sisters and you would change your mind.” I tilted my glass and caught the last drop of red wine on the tip of my tongue.
“I’ve never seen anyone even half as graceful and,” he paused, searched the ceiling. I studied his profile and liked what I saw. Strong chin and hooked nose, and wide forehead lined with thoughts I could not see.
“Mysterious. Mystical.”
I averted my eyes. Close, Hero. Mythical.
He leaned forward, his hand sliding across the back of the couch to cup my shoulder. Heat spread against my skin and I closed my eyes at the sudden pleasure of it. It had been hundreds of years since anyone had touched me.
Warm breath brushed my cheek. I parted my lips, wanting to fall into his warmth, wanting Jason around me, inside me, the sharp wine taste of him like a sun against the storm. But he was a hero and no matter how much I denied it, I was still a monster.
Somehow, I turned my head, away from his heat, away from his touch. “It’s late, Jason,” I said in a voice far too calm for the emotions rushing through me.
He sat back, his mouth turned down in a thin line. “So it is.” He stared at my profile for a moment, studying me. Then he ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath.
“Dusi, I’m going back to San Francisco tomorrow. I bought several of your pieces from Jenny and want to be there when they are picked up. The gallery will probably have an unveiling of our newest discovery. You should come with me.”
“No.”
Silence, except for the rain falling against the night.
It was the first time I had ever refused a hero. I liked it, and yet something inside me hurt.
“In case you change your mind, the phone number and everything else are on your copy of the contract.” There was something behind his words that didn’t belong in a hero’s voice. Could it be sorrow? For a monster?
“I won’t change my mind,” I said. Because I can’t. Too many people, too many chances to lose what I was finally gaining after thousands of years of wanting it — a chance to make my own choice, my own deals. A chance for respect.
He rose. “Well. Thank you, Dusi,” he walked to the door.
“For what?”
“Opening your door to a stranger.” He smiled and stepped out into the dark rain.
Ah, Perseus, why did you have to change me so? But it was not Perseus I saw in my mind. It was Jason.
Winter in Seattle isn’t beautiful, it’s just wet. I had enough money to buy new books, go out to a few movies and, with my sunglasses on, I even tried eating at a restaurant once.
Independence.
In my mind’s eye I still stood on the cliffs of my past, but I no longer ached for an extinct world, being happy — happier, in the one in which I now existed.
But at night, a small part of me waited for the ship to sail around the cove, bringing a man whose smile had touched my heart.
When spring came, I threw myself into my work. Jason sent letters. I was the rage in San Francisco and the demand for my works were high.
Respect.
Not bad for a monster.
I wrote him back. Just business at first, and then the letters became more personal. I didn’t tell him my secret, but I did mention my childhood in Greece and my brief love affair. He wrote poetry, which was not bad, and told me he had visited Greece and loved it and that he missed the moody skies of Seattle. I sent him a dozen roses on his birthday and ended up talking on the telephone with him for four hours. He was a nice man, I decided, even if he was a hero.
Spring brought days full of buzzing bees, little animals and plenty of statue material. I sat just inside my back door, tiny stone bees scattered on the carpet beside me. I held my hand out, coaxing a squirrel in from the backyard. My dark glasses lay at my side as I waited for the squirrel to stand the way I wanted it to before I gave it the eye.
The front door opened. I turned and looked across the hallway —
— into Jason’s eyes.
They were blue, with green, not gray, and rimmed with long, dark lashes.
I turned my head, unable to watch the change, unable to see him die. The squirrel jumped away and I stared at the carpet, hot with self-loathing. So the hero had gotten the bad end of the deal this time. Why cry? In a few thousand years there’d be another hero. But I knew that wasn’t true. Jason had been more than a self-serving hero. He had been a friend.
“Dusi?”
I looked up.
Jason smiled down at me, alive.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
He shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“I’m a monster.” My voice rose. “You should be dead. Stone!”
He nodded, taking the revelation too calmly.
“If I remember my myths correctly, you shouldn’t be alive either. Weren’t you supposed to be the mortal sister?”
“Don’t believe everything you read,” I snapped. “Why are you still breathing?”
Jason took my hands and helped me stand.
“You are not a monster in my eyes, Dusi.”
And as I watched, his eyes became the color of a dark sea. In them I saw endless reflections of ancient pain, sorrow and languid summer joys. Things no mortal eyes could ever hold.
“You’re immortal,” I said.
He nodded. “I did not want to die, still having the thirst for a world left unexplored. Hera heard my plea and granted me eternal life in return for my services to her. But her gift came with a price. I would remain alive, but could love no mortal woman.” He paused a moment, then, quietly, “Finding you has been the most wonderful gift, Dusi.”
“Why? Are you here to kill me, Jason? Am I your next golden fleece? Your next monster to conquer?”
He smiled that smile of his, and I found myself wondering if I could kill him.
“No, Dusi. After seeing the statues, I was honestly just curious. I had heard the tales of you, of Perseus, but thought you both long dead. When I spent time with you I realized it wasn’t curiosity that made me want to know you better.” He shrugged and then looked me straight in the eyes. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Dusi.”
That stopped all other questions short. I searched his face, amazed at the honesty there. I very gently touched his cheek.
“Love?”
“You have heard of it, haven’t you?” he dead-panned.
“Love,” I repeated, trying to regain my footing. “Isn’t that what comes right before betrayal?”
“Dusi, I would never . . .”
“Then I have two words for you: Prenuptial agreement.” How do you like that deal, Hero?
Jason seemed surprised, and actually, so was I. In the seconds he took to consider my offer, I relived centuries of self-doubt. Every other hero had run when I asked for anything more than casual promises.
Finally: “Are you asking me to marry you, Medusa? Because if that’s what it takes to be near you, to be a part of your life, then I’ll sign any paper you want.”
I blinked. For once, the hero had agreed to my deal.
“That’s part of what it takes,” I said, warming to this idea.
He raised one eyebrow, waiting.
“I won’t marry a man I’ve never kissed.”
He smiled and drew me against him. And for the first time, I saw laughter in his eyes.
There is a wonderful old log cabin in Rockaway Beach that my writers group, the Wordos, rented out for a weekend write-a-thon. The goal was to have something to read out loud at the end of the stay. I thought: why not write a story that could be read both forward and backward? After exactly two paragraphs of
that nonsense, I chucked the idea and wrote something fun, fast, and quirky.
BEER WITH A HAMSTER CHASER
Before the hamster hit maximum stride, before the flexing wires and filaments sputtered and sparked into full life, blowing open the parallel reality, Carla, a strong-minded girl who nonetheless had her doubts as to the viability of using hamsters in conjunction with quantum physics, stopped thinking about Gerald’s cute smile and said, “Oh, shit. It’s going to work.”
If, before that, Gerald hadn’t laced the hamster’s water with the equivalent of a pot of Italian coffee boiled down to a teaspoon of baby-fine dust, the hamster would never have made those kinds of speeds. But Gerald, whose chest still hurt, knew his experiment would work. He had his sister’s life and free beer riding on the outcome — and he wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of free beer.
All he needed was a hamster’s worth of physics, a split moment of reality blurred long enough for Gerald to send Anthony the Thumb packing a hundred miles away — far enough that he wouldn’t be able to date Rachel anymore, which would suit Gerald just fine because he had higher aspirations for his sister’s marital status — namely, the bartender, Dan, down on Court Street who’d had his eyes on Rachel since she snuck her first shot of tequila when she was eighteen. Dan gave Gerald a beer on the house so long as he talked about how Rachel was about to break it off with the Thumb.
Gerald probably would have coasted on the one beer a day for the rest of his life, but Dan the bartender sweetened the deal by offering Gerald the family plan — free beer for the rest of his life — as soon as he and Gerald were family.
It was a good thing Rachel wanted to dump the Thumb anyway — she’d said something near enough to that, in Gerald’s living room just an hour before he’d boiled down the coffee and fired up the hamster.
If Rachel hadn’t taken a fistful of Gerald’s t-shirt and enough chest hair to get his attention, he may have missed her gentle confession when she said: “I’m getting married to who I want when I want, asshole. Screw that up, and I will kill you.”
