Arcadian Nights

by John Spurling

  ‘But if it was a god who wanted to catch us,’ said the nymph with his lunch bag, ‘we wouldn’t run away. Gods are better looking than satyrs or centaurs and their children would be lovely. Are you sure you’re not a god disguised as a mortal?’

  ‘No, I’m not a god. But I believe I’m the child of one, Zeus himself.’

  The nymphs were impressed.

  ‘That’s why you’re so good-looking,’ said the one in the tunic.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Perseus. ‘Do gods come here often?’

  ‘No, they seldom come here,’ she said sadly. ‘Just occasionally when they have to swear an unbreakable oath on the water of the River Styx, one of them flies in to collect a jar-full, but it’s usually a goddess – Hebe or Iris – and she’s always in a hurry and doesn’t stay to talk.’

  ‘What about mortals?’

  ‘Not very often and when they do they’re quite ugly and often old and have sheep or goats with them. We keep out of their way and they don’t see us.’

  Perseus and the nymphs stayed talking on the beach for the rest of the day. He was curious to know more about their life, which seemed to consist of very little beyond bathing and sunbathing and keeping watch for satyrs. But such a life evidently did not bore them or make them want something different. They were perfectly content. In that, they were more like animals than the humans they resembled, though they suffered from none of the physical disadvantages endemic to both animals and humans, were never hungry or sick, and did not grow old. When, after aeons rather than years, they died, they simply faded out of existence like clouds. They were astonished to hear about the life of humans, not really understanding that they had to work to live and that being mortal they were constantly faced with all the hazards of disease, accident, envy, quarrels, loss of their loved ones, famine, poverty, warfare and the miseries of old age and death, none of which had any meaning for nymphs.

  As evening came on, Perseus began to feel cold and hungry – weaknesses quite alien to the nymphs, who were never cold or hot and could dive into the river to swallow fish or water plants whenever they wished. He showed them his gooseflesh and they looked at it and touched it with interest, while he explained that mortals could easily die if they were left naked without any covering or shelter or food after the sun went down. At that, they quickly returned all his things to him, caught him two or three fish, and watched fascinated as he rubbed sticks together to make a fire and cooked the fish. Then they sat in a circle round the fire and observed him eating, even trying some of the cooked flesh themselves, but not much liking it. And when he said that he was tired and must sleep now and wrapped his cloak around him and lay down, they all lay down around him with their arms and legs and heads touching him or resting on him, so that anyone looking down from above would have seen a strange sort of twelve-legged, twelve-armed, six-headed monster sprawled on the little beach beside the dying fire.

  Perseus did not sleep well that night. The nymphs, who had no sense of time and little sense of night and day, were not used to regular sleep – they tended to snatch naps just as they snatched fish to eat, when they felt like it. They were continually shifting position as one got up for a while and another lay down for a while, and whenever they thought Perseus was fast asleep they would pull up the edges of his cloak to examine his chest or biceps or belly or buttocks or, when he was not protecting them with his thighs or by lying on his face, his genitals. His genitals enjoyed this, of course, and hoped for more, but Perseus forced himself to remain passive and, in spite of the constant coming and going all over his body of soft hands and fingers, thighs and breasts and bottoms, fought off his pressing desire. He told himself that when he had finished with the Gorgon, he would be returning here with the items he had come to borrow and would then be free of Athene’s harsh restriction.

  But as it grew light he decided that he could not go on resisting the nymphs’ temptations indefinitely and must tell them what he had come for and be on his way. He would have liked to plunge into the pool to clear his head, but was afraid they would take his things again. Instead, when he had stood up and stretched and clasped his belt round his tunic, put his knife in the belt and his lunch bag over his shoulder, and was holding his cloak over one arm, he said quite straightforwardly:

  ‘I was sent to you by the great goddess Athene. She said you could lend me three things that I need. I will return them to you, of course.’

  ‘You’ll come back, then?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’d be very sorry not to come back. The three things I need belong to the god Hades: an adamantine sickle, a bat-skin satchel and a dragon-skin helmet.’

  He was expecting a blank refusal and that he would have to argue his case, but they made no difficulty at all. Two of them disappeared into the cavern and returned in a few minutes with the three items. All they were interested in was his promise to return.

  ‘You are such a lovely boy,’ said the one who had played with his knife, ‘and you never even tried to rape any of us. That’s so different from the satyrs. Perhaps when you come back you’ll stay with us for ever.’

  ‘Nothing I’d like better,’ said Perseus, ‘if the goddess and my fate will let me.’

  Then he embraced all five nymphs several times and climbed out of the ravine, not even needing to put on the helmet to make himself invisible, but waving from time to time to the nymphs below until he reached the top of the cleft and lost sight of them.

  ‘Phew!’ he said aloud, as he peed into a bush, ‘Those nymphs nearly finished me.’

  ‘Bravo!’ said a soft voice behind and he turned to see a person, dressed like a shepherd and wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat, smiling at him. ‘Impressive self-control, Perseus! I could hardly have managed it myself. The Stygians are not the loveliest nymphs on earth – they live too much underground – but they are very inviting.’

  ‘What am I to do now?’ asked Perseus.

  ‘You are to fly across the sea south-westwards, to the Atlas Mountains.’

  ‘Fly? How do I do that?’

  ‘With these sandals I’ve brought you. An old pair of my own, but still perfectly serviceable. In a cave on the slopes of those mountains you will find the Graiai and I think you already know how to make them tell you where to find the Gorgons.’

  Perseus sat down and strapped on the sandals, then got to his feet and picked up his cloak and the helmet of Hades. The sickle was tucked into his belt, on the other side from his knife, the bat-skin satchel and his lunch-bag hung from their straps over his shoulders.

  ‘Put on the helmet now!’ said Hermes.

  Perseus did so and was astonished to see that he could no longer see himself, though he could still see everything around him except Hermes, who had also disappeared. Then he felt the invisible god’s hand grasp his own invisible hand.

  ‘Come!’ said Hermes, ‘I will launch you on your way.’

  They rose together into the air.

  3. THE GRAIAI

  Perseus found it a very strange and exhilarating experience to be flying over the mountains and valleys of the Peloponnese hand-in-hand with a god. He could feel his eyes streaming with tears in the wind of their flight and that the winged sandals on his feet were driving him forward, just as if he were swimming and had thrust them against a rock to give himself momentum, but he did not have to move his feet nor could he see them. They passed over the high peak of Mount Taÿgetos and were soon over the sea, turning westwards.

  ‘I shall leave you now,’ said Hermes. ‘Keep the same course over the sea, with Zephyr always in your face, and when you come to land again keep on the same course until you reach the Atlas Mountains. Any questions?’

  Perseus had any number of questions and began with the most urgent:

  ‘How do I come down?’

  ‘Just drop your legs and the sandals will let you fall. But if you find yourself falling too fast, just raise your legs again, then drop them again, and so on. All right?’

  Hermes was impatient
to be off. He had some souls to escort to the underworld before he could return to Olympos.

  ‘And how do I get into the air again without you to help me?’

  ‘Just jump and raise your legs as you do so! Like diving into water, but in the opposite direction. Quite simple, but may take a bit of practice if you haven’t done it before.’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Easiest off a cliff, if you can find a handy cliff.’

  And with that, Perseus felt the god let go of his hand. Below him now was the open sea, empty except for the occasional tiny ship, and he suddenly found himself shaking with fear. What if one of his sandals fell off – or both? Wanting to check that the straps were still tight, he lowered his left leg so as to bring it near his hand and immediately began to plunge sideways. Terrified, he dropped his right leg, corrected his sideways movement, but was now falling like a stone towards the sea.

  ‘Perseus!’ he said to himself aloud, ‘Are you destined to be a hero or a poor drowned corpse? Get a grip!’

  Raising both legs, he flew upwards again and when he had fully recovered from his fright began to experiment with raising or lowering one leg, then the other, then both, until he felt as confident in this new element of air as if he were swimming in the sea.

  The sun, which had been rising behind them over the Arcadian mountains when he and Hermes set out, had now overtaken him and seemed to be leading him to his destination as he came over land again. At last, with the sun still ahead of him, he sighted the Atlas Mountains and dropped down on the lower slopes to look for food and shelter. Forgetting, however, to remove his helmet, knocking and speaking and being quite invisible to the owner of the first hut he came to, he scared him so much that the man slammed and barred the door. After that, with the helmet in his hand, Perseus’ youth and good looks and soft tone of voice soon found him a warm welcome in a farmer’s house. Since he did not immediately remember to take off his winged sandals, they surely believed they were entertaining Hermes himself, and he could not lie down to sleep in the farmer’s best bed until all the family’s neighbouring relations had come round to have a look at him.

  Next morning he set off up the mountain to look for the cave of the Graiai, which his hosts knew of but had never dared go near. Once he had waved goodbye and turned a corner of the path he put on his helmet and sandals and, after several false attempts, rose into the air, narrowly missing the top of a tree. Towards the top of the mountain, under a sheer rock face, he found a series of caves and dropping to the ground explored them carefully one by one, until at last he saw the Graiai, the three grey sisters, seated side by side on a stone bench in the shadows towards the back of one of them. Being quite blind, except for the one eye they were passing between them, their hearing was acute and they heard his footsteps immediately.

  ‘Who’s there?’ said the sister in the middle and, grabbing the eye from her neighbour, pushed it into her socket and peered about, without, of course, being any the wiser, since he was still wearing the helmet of Hades.

  The other sisters demanded the eye and it began to pass rapidly to and fro as the three of them became increasingly agitated. Perseus wondered how he was to enter the cave and get behind them without distressing them so much that they would be unwilling or unable to answer his question. He decided, as he had with the nymphs, on the direct approach.

  ‘My name is Perseus,’ he said, ‘and I believe you can tell me where to find the Gorgons.’

  ‘I can’t see you,’ said the old woman on the left, whose name was Pephredo, and who possessed the eye at that moment.

  Perseus removed his helmet.

  ‘You’re very young,’ she said disparagingly.

  ‘Let me see!’ said Enyo in the middle, snatching the eye and putting it into her empty socket. ‘Very young!’ she said with equal disapproval.

  ‘Too young!’ said the sister on the right, Deino, having snatched the eye in her turn. ‘Why should we tell you where our sisters live?’

  But while Enyo in the middle was taking the eye again, Perseus clapped his helmet on and moved quickly round behind the sisters.

  ‘Where are you now?’ said Enyo.

  ‘Let me see!’ said Pephredo.

  And as Enyo passed the eye to her, Perseus took it, flinching a little as he felt the jelly-like thing in his palm.

  ‘Give it to me, Enyo, you selfish creature!’ said Pephredo in a shrill, angry voice.

  ‘I gave it to you, Pephredo.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘You’re lying. I felt you take it.’

  ‘You’re lying, Enyo. I never took it.’

  ‘Then Deino must have it.’

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ said Deino. ‘I’ve got the tooth, but not the eye. Do you want the tooth?’

  She held out the tooth and Perseus quickly took it.

  ‘No, I want the eye, I don’t want the tooth,’ said Enyo.

  ‘Well, why did you take the tooth if you didn’t want it?’ said Deino.

  ‘I didn’t take it.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘Never mind the tooth!’ said Pephredo. ‘It’s the eye I want. Where is the eye?’

  ‘It’s in my hand,’ said Perseus, ‘also your tooth. If you want them back you must tell me where the Gorgons live.’

  ‘How dare you take what doesn’t belong to you?’ said Enyo.

  ‘I’m sorry, ‘said Perseus, ‘but needs must. Please answer my question!’

  ‘No, we won’t,’ said Pephredo. ‘We are too old to be bothered with very young people and their stupid questions. We shall just sit here until you give us back what doesn’t belong to you.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Perseus, ‘you will never get them back. I shall throw them down the mountain and you will never see or bite anything ever again.’ After a pause, he added ‘Sorry!’

  He was genuinely sorry. He had never treated anyone like this before, let alone three old women who might be his grandmothers or even great-grandmothers.

  ‘Sorry!’ said Enyo, ‘He’s sorry!’

  ‘He says he’s sorry!’ said Deino.

  ‘If he’s so sorry, why doesn’t he give us our eye and our tooth?’ said Pephredo.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me where the Gorgons live?’ said Perseus.

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘I want to visit them.’

  ‘They don’t like visitors,’ said Deino.

  ‘They’ll turn you to stone,’ said Enyo.

  ‘That will teach him his manners,’ said Pephredo.

  ‘I am walking out of your cave now,’ said Perseus, beginning to do so, ‘and taking your eye and your tooth with me. For the last time, will you tell me where the Gorgons live or do I have to leave you blind and toothless?’

  Which they finally did, and when Perseus had made each of them repeat the directions so as to discover any subterfuges or discrepancies in their accounts, he put the eye into Pephredo’s hand and the tooth into Enyo’s, politely apologised for disturbing them and took off gracefully into the air from the side of the mountain.

  4. THE GORGONS

  The Gorgons lived on a barren island of rock near the coast of Okeanos, the great band of water that in those days, say the storytellers, surrounded the flat disc of earth and into and out of which all rivers and seas flowed. If we now suspect this was the Atlantic Ocean and believe, most of us, that the earth is not flat but spherical, that makes no difference to the story.

  As Perseus reached the rim of the earth, the sun was disappearing into Okeanos and the moon and night were taking his place in the sky. Perseus thought he should eat and rest before seeking out the Gorgons, so he dropped down on a flat expanse of land overlooking Okeanos. He was enjoying the supper of bread, cheese, wine and dates given him by his kind hosts of the previous night, but also worrying about a difficulty which had not previously occurred to him, when he heard a familiar voice.

  ‘Perseus!’

  He turned, but did not reco
gnise the dark-skinned person in a white robe and hood who was standing over him. Only the voice told him that it must be Hermes. He stood up and bowed.’

  ‘Here I am,’ he said.

  ‘Here you are. You have done well and come far and Athene is very pleased with you. But the hardest part is ahead.’

  ‘I know, and I have been wondering how I can possibly cut off Medusa’s head when I can’t look at her for fear of being turned to stone. Or will the helmet of Hades by making me invisible also make me impervious to her terrible glance?’

  ‘It will not. It is you looking at her that turns you to stone, not her looking at you. For that reason, even when she is dead, her face will have that effect on anyone seeing it.’

  ‘Yes, I understand. But I have first to pick her out from her immortal sisters, whose heads cannot be cut off, and then make the fatal stroke to her neck with my sickle – all with my head turned aside or my eyes shut. I should have thought of this before. It’s making me quite nervous about the outcome.’

  Hermes laughed.

  ‘Is there something I’m missing?’ said Perseus. ‘Some strategy that hasn’t occurred to me? I’m sorry. You are a god and we mortals must seem very stupid, but I really am worried about what to do.’

  ‘What you are missing, Perseus, is this.’

  Hermes brought out from behind his back and held up, so that it reflected the last red rays of the sun in the west, a polished bronze shield. It was circular, just large enough to protect a man’s head or chest.

  ‘Do you see?’

  ‘I see a beautiful shield, but if I protect my eyes with it, I shall still not be able to see to do what I have to do.’

  ‘When you approach the Gorgons,’ said Hermes, ‘make sure that the sun is shining on their faces not on the shield! You must on no account, not for a moment, look at their faces, but, holding up this shield towards them, look only at their reflections in its polished surface. You will not be in any danger from their reflections, only from the direct sight of them.’