Without coming too far into the open, I replied that we were the survivors of a shipwreck and that we’d entered to ask for help and hospitality in the name of the gods. Athena . . . why wouldn’t you speak to me? He burst out laughing, a thunderous laugh that ended in the hoarse snarl of a vicious beast. When I understood it was too late. He grabbed two of my comrades, one in each hand. He crushed the first in his fist. The crunch of bones breaking rent my heart. He flung the other one against the stone wall so hard that the man’s brain spattered our faces. He devoured them both. The sound of their raw flesh being chewed up in his open maw makes my blood boil even now that I’m so cold . . . We watched in horror as his beard became soaked with blood.
I alone, I believe, had realized which of us were gone – who the monster had seized to grind between his teeth. It was two of the men who had tasted the red blossoms. They had gone stone still at the sight of the giant and it had been easy for him to snatch them. They hadn’t even tried to bolt away or to slip into one of the cracks in the cavern walls. And this thought brought tears to my eyes. They had experienced a different way of existing, free of anguish and troubles, and my tearing them from this sweet oblivion had killed them.
I’d wanted them with me, thinking they would help me explore a new land, meet peoples and animals unknown to them, face danger if necessary . . . and that this would suffice to pull them out of their stupor and indifference. I was wrong. And yet, even as the cavern echoed with the belching of the monster who had stretched out to sleep, I wasn’t sorry I’d done it. I was certain that a man worthy of his name would not give up his memories, forget the faces of his wife and children, reject the land where he was born. Only a coward could leave all that behind in exchange for a life without purpose or meaning. But I was tormented by the ignominious end they’d come to, by the thought that their remains would be digested and expelled by that fetid creature. Deprived of funeral honours, the flames of a pyre and the final rites. Horror gnawed at my heart.
That was the worst night, so atrocious that sometimes I think it was a nightmare, one of those that can kill you because it’s more real than reality is. In those unfamiliar lands, different beyond any imagining, I’d become accustomed to the thought that what I had once considered reality no longer existed; it had been replaced by a turmoil of feelings and passions without beginning or end, without place or time. Possible and impossible became one and the same thing, and time became like the route of a ship that, having lost its bearings, sails in a wide circle while the helmsman believes he’s following a straight course because there is no land in sight and the stars aren’t shining and everything is shrouded in fog.
We spent the night there. My comrades clung to one another in fright and dread and I was certain they were cursing me, in their hearts.
I, alone, gripped my sword. I wanted to slip up on the monster and stick it into his neck all the way to the hilt and then twist it to cut off his airways and make his blood flow and fill his gullet, but I knew that if we killed him we would perish as well. That’s why the cyclops could fall asleep without worrying about us. Once we ran out of food, our last day would soon follow, because there was no way out of the cave. The entrance was sealed off with an enormous boulder that not even the strength of one hundred men would be able to budge. The only other opening was a hole at the top of the cavern that the smoke rose out of, but it was too high up. Unreachable. It was then that my mind came to my aid, or perhaps it was the goddess Athena who inspired me, without letting herself be seen or heard. The one thing I could be sure of was that my thinking was much more wide-ranging and complex than the monster’s and that I could find a way to render him incapable of harming us but not deprive him of his strength: without it, we would never again see the light of day or breathe in the open air.
I crept near my comrades then and said: ‘Don’t lose hope. I’ll save you all.’
‘How’s that?’ said one of those who had eaten the red flower. ‘There’s no way to escape.’
‘Yes, there is. He can only look in a single direction. We have to split up so that while he is looking one way, the others can flee. All we have to do is survive until tomorrow night.’
I managed to convince them to get a little rest. I watched over them as a father watches over his own children. In my heart I was plotting the ruin of the cruel monster who had scoffed at the laws of hospitality and scorned Zeus himself, the protector of all guests. I prayed in the deep silence of the night: ‘Great Zeus, you who keeps wayfarers and guests from harm, allow me to avenge the horrible deaths of my comrades! They escaped the perils of war in the bloody fields of Troy only to die an abominable death in this savage land.’
My prayers said, I slumped against the stone wall of the cavern, in the shelter of a crag, and tried to get some rest, without abandoning myself to sleep.
I was jolted wide awake by the voice of the cyclops, muttering as he tumbled from his bed, and the pounding of his footsteps as he neared the back of the cave. The ground shook under his feet. I saw my comrades’ eyes fill with terror again, but they acted as I had urged them to, separating into two groups. At first, things went as I had predicted. The cyclops was forced to turn his head from one side to the other constantly and he could not seize any one of the men, but then he became enraged by the situation and turned his entire attention to one group alone, driving them into a corner.
Their eyes wildly sought me out, but at that moment I was as helpless as they were. The giant snatched up two of them and ripped off their limbs one by one as they screamed in horror, and then he devoured their mangled trunks. These two had eaten of the flowers as well, and the effects somehow still lingered in them. They had remained isolated from the others, frozen with fear. I could not hold back my tears. They ran down my cheeks as the heart in my chest howled like a rabid dog.
Once he’d finished his meal, the wild man, his round eye staring, separated the lambs from the sheep and then removed the enormous boulder and stood at the opening so none of us could get out. Only the sheep were allowed through, led by a large ram. When they had all scampered out, on their way to grassy pastures, he followed, wedging the big boulder behind him. We were plunged into darkness again, save for the ray of light streaming in through the opening in the ceiling.
I gathered my companions and said: ‘Listen to me. We’re all sickened by what we’ve seen, but I promised that I would save you and I will keep my word. You must promise to obey me, to do what I order you to do. We’re still an army of Achaians and we can win against a miserable beast that feeds on human flesh.’ That is what I said, but my mind was empty. I could not devise any strategy for escape from the horrible fate that seemed to await us all.
I cast my eyes about, desperate for a solution, and made out, leaning on the wall of the cavern, part of the trunk of a young olive tree, a side shoot that had grown as straight as a spike and had been chopped off so that a tool could be made out of it, or a walking stick. I hadn’t noticed it before, although it must have been there. An olive tree . . . sacred to you, goddess of the green eyes, daughter of Zeus, Tritonia. There, in the darkness before me, I felt I could see the helmet covering your head, the cuirass and aegis on your chest. It was you who gave me the suggestion, who inspired me. The olive tree is yours, your gift to all of humanity and to me. I who love and venerate you.
‘Take that tree trunk!’ I ordered. ‘I want it stripped of its bark and scraped smooth as the handle of an oar. I’ll take care of the tip.’ Thus work began: the men cut off the smaller branches and removed the bark, working swiftly. Waiting idly for death to take them had made them feel like sheep, not men, while a task that needed doing gave them hope. I unsheathed my sword and set about sharpening one end, with great care. I shaved off small chips first, like a carpenter with his plane, then used my knife and a pumice after that to make the surface perfectly smooth, capable of piercing deeply without the least friction. The longer and sharper I saw the tip becoming, the more intensely my heart savoure
d the thought of revenge.
When we’d finished, we put the sharp-tipped stake back in its place and covered it with the dung of the sheep and goats.
‘Now all we have to do is wait,’ I said.
‘Wait for what?’ exclaimed one of my comrades, another one of the flower-eaters. ‘For him to devour another one of us?’
I drew close. I knew his parents, who lived on Same but had land on Ithaca as well. His name was Trasimachus.
‘I know what you’re thinking, my friend. You’re thinking that I’m exposing those of you who ate the red flowers to danger in order to get rid of you, but you’re wrong. I saved you from the void. I brought you back to the ships so you could return to your parents who are still waiting for you. You, just like everyone else. I’ve lost too many of you already. It’s you who desires death, even if you don’t know that. The cyclops can sense it. Do you know why he has a single eye? Because his mind isn’t big enough to command two. But he can smell weakness like an animal. And he strikes, without mercy. Now listen well to what I’m saying. Do you see this stake? We’re going to drive it into the monster’s eye and make him blind. Then we’ll take advantage of his strength to open our way to freedom.’
‘That’s not possible! He can even hear us breathing. How can we get close without him jumping to his feet and slaughtering us all?’
‘I’ll worry about that, but I’ll need your help. You are the man who will decide all of our fates. I’ll take aim but you’ll be right behind me. You’ll be the only one able to see the direction of the stake and you’ll direct the men standing behind you, helping me to thrust the sharpened trunk.’
He took a step back. I could see the bewilderment in his eyes.
‘Why me? I’m not capable of it,’ he protested. ‘I’ll make a mistake and ruin everything.’
‘Because you’re the one who has the strongest reason to do it. You have to avenge the companions who sought oblivion with you, and prove to yourself that you can gain command of your life again.’
‘No,’ he replied. ‘I can’t. Take someone else.’
‘As you like,’ I said.
The other comrades were gathered around me and listening attentively. I could see hope and rage in their eyes, and I thought that we would succeed. All that day we practised every move, every step, every gesture. I explained when they would have to hold their breath, when they would have to let it out all at once.
‘Think of when you draw your bow,’ I told them, ‘and then of when the enemy you’ve pierced with your spear crashes to the ground in front of you and you yell out in victory.’
It was dusk when we heard bleating and a heavy step approaching the cave door. It filled us with dread. The boulder rolled inwards and the cyclops let his flocks in. The big ram came first, then the sheep and the lambs behind him. Their hulking shepherd opened the pen where the suckling lambs were kept and each one ran to seek out its own mother. When all the animals were back in their folds, the cyclops turned to us. I had no hopes that he’d be feeding on cheese or mutton. He would finish off all of us first.
He grabbed another two of my comrades, the first he could get his hands on. He killed them by dashing them against the walls of the cave, smearing the stone surface with their blood. Then he dismembered them both and ate them greedily. The time had come for me to act. I took the big wooden tub the cyclops used to curdle milk and filled it with the wine we’d brought from the ship inside a sack made of oxhide. It was the wine we’d carried off from Ismarus, sweet and strong. I held it out to him.
‘Now that you’ve eaten human flesh, drink!’ I said. ‘You’ll like this. It’s called wine!’ I exclaimed.
The monster approached and I saw his eye, as big as my own head, observing me. I did not tremble. I knew the life of my companions depended on me. Really, it felt no worse than when we were hidden in the belly of the horse and I heard the voice of Laocoon, the priest of Apollo, calling for the Trojans to set fire to it. The giant stretched out his enormous, hairy hand and seized the bowl, bringing it to his mouth. I watched as he gulped down the foaming red wine and my heart laughed inside my chest, because he was acting like a fool and he would fall into my trap. The monster let his voice be heard: ‘Give me more, it’s good!’ He banged the empty bowl down on the ground.
I gestured for my comrades to fill it again. Then we withdrew to the back of the cave, divided into two groups. The cyclops bent down, picked up the bowl and drained all the wine out of it without spilling a drop.
He belched loudly and then turned to me. ‘I’ve never tasted anything so good in my whole life. I’ve had my fill of sheep’s milk and goat’s milk but this drink is worthy of the gods. You haven’t told me your name yet. Tell me what you are called so I can repay you for your gift!’
I looked at the back of the cave, at its centre, at the empty space between the separate groups of my comrades, and I saw a shadow, on the wall, of an erect figure with spear in hand: Athena! You were back with me again, wanaxa, and all my fears dissolved. How had you found the way to slip into that godless and lawless land?
‘Beware!’ echoed a voice inside my heart. ‘Where there is the sea, there is Poseidon, who embraces all there is.’
I had to answer, and the goddess inspired me, I’m certain of it. ‘You wish to know my name? I’ll tell you my name. My name is No One. Everyone calls me No One.’
‘All right, No One, then I will eat you last. Let that be my guest-gift to you.’ He burst into thunderous laughter.
‘And you?’ I asked then. ‘What is your name?’
‘Polyphemus,’ he replied. ‘Because my fame is, and always will be, great. My father is Poseidon who surrounds all lands. He conceived me with a mountain nymph, Thoosa.’
Those were his last words for the night. He lay down on his bed of sheepskins and for some time he seemed to be staring at one of the two groups of my men, the one on the left. I signalled them to move about so they would attract his attention while I beckoned the other group to join me.
‘Do we have any more wine?’ I asked them.
‘Another tub full,’ they answered, ‘if he should wake up.’
‘He won’t wake up,’ said Trasimachus, the man who had refused to help me drive the stake into the monster’s eye.
I turned to look at the cyclops. He would belch now and then, and a reddish stream dribbled from the side of his mouth, a mixture of wine and blood that made me sick. When his breath had deepened and his body relaxed into unconsciousness, I gathered all my men around the fire, adding branches to stir up the flames.
‘This is the most auspicious moment to act,’ I said. ‘Bring the stake here – we’ll harden the tip in the fire.’
‘Maybe it’s better to wait,’ said Trasimachus, the flower-eater.
‘He’s deep asleep now. Things could change later.’
‘Nothing will change,’ he replied. ‘I added the essence of the red flowers to the wine. We have all the time we want.’
‘So you never stopped.’
He bowed his head and did not answer.
‘Do you mean to help me now?’
‘I have helped you, and now I will grind that stake into his eye. I will avenge my companions.’
‘Let’s go then. After we’ve struck, we’ll all have to run for shelter. The pain will drive him mad.’
The tip of the spike was red and the rod hard and compact as the best olive wood. We seized it and approached the monster, climbing up on an outcropping that rose over his bed. I had taken a brand from the fire to light our way. When we were directly above the cyclops I signalled to my men and we lowered the burning stake until it was hovering directly above his eye. I glanced at Trasimachus and he nodded back. He was ready.
The cyclops turned in his sleep, then lay on his back again. The red tip was coated with a thin layer of ash. I gave a signal and the stake was lowered. Now the point was just a hand’s span from his eye. I laid the firebrand on the ground. I raised one hand and kept the other so
lidly on the stake.
‘Now!’ I shouted. All my comrades moved as one and the tip descended at the same moment in which the eye opened. There was no expression in it; it was blank and staring, as yellow as the eye of a cetacean from the ocean depths. The red-hot tip sank into his eyeball and, with the help of Trasimachus and the others, I ground it in. His lashes caught fire and blood gushed forth in streams, sizzling in the flames.
‘Go!’ I yelled again, and we scattered in every direction, seeking shelter in the hiding places each one of us had already chosen. I’ll never forget that blank, astonished expression: the eye of a fish. I realized then that what he told me must have been true. That he was the son of the blue god, the lord of the depths.
Polyphemus lurched to his feet with a piercing scream. He pulled the spike out of his eye socket, which looked like a black hole, and flung it away, yelling so loudly that the walls of the cavern shook. He was calling for help. Then he started making grabs for us, fumbling all around, knocking everything over, destroying the pens of the animals who scattered everywhere, terrified. But the tremendous pain overwhelmed him in the end and sapped away his energy. He fell to his knees and moved his hands from his head to his brow, moaning.
Time passed. Voices could be heard outside.
‘What’s happening, Polyphemus?’
‘Has someone attacked you? Thieves? Have you been robbed?’
‘Who has hurt you?’
Other cyclopes, similar to him in size and savagery.
‘No One has hurt me!’ he shouted. ‘No One has attacked me! Help me!’ he roared like a wounded beast.
Long moments of silence. We kept completely still and held our breath.
‘If no one has hurt you, then there’s nothing we can do for you! It’s a plague that only the gods can cure. Pray to your divine father for help. Try to rest. Tomorrow you’ll feel better.’