Polyphemus the Kind

It was raining, that one fateful evening when Odysseus and his crew of men happened upon my cave in the mountains. I had been tending to my sheep when the downpour hit us and so I herded them all inside. My sheep are the one aspect of my life that I am proud of. It’s not that I hate my life or anything, I quite enjoy my quaint little cave, however, my sheep are my beacon of pride. When I ducked through the small doorway, I could immediately tell that something was off. There was a certain stench in the air, one that was familiar. Man. No; men. There were multiple of these small creatures hiding in my home.

This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, naturally; after all, mankind can’t seem to help themselves when it comes to their curiosity. About once a fortnight, a scant human makes his way into my residence, just to catch a glimpse of one of the famous cyclops. Once they catch sight of me, they fall to their feet and pray to Zeus for mercy. They think I’m to eat them. They always do, these silly humans. It doesn’t matter that I let them go with no harm done. It doesn’t matter that I’ve never hurt a human in my life, much less eaten one. All that matters is that I’m big and scary and completely unknown.

The truth is, we cyclopes don’t get out very much. We could. But we don’t. We all have our hobbies that take up most of our time and I think that deep down, we’re all afraid. Afraid to leave our comfortable lives and journey somewhere far and undefined. I, for one, have my sheep. Sally, two doors down, likes to keep a garden, and Henry (he lives right below me), spends his time making beautiful jewelry that could rival Hephaestus.

So, it wasn’t uncommon for there to be men hiding in my dwellings. I just ignored them, per usual, figuring they would go away after they got their fill of gawking. I remember asking for forgiveness, apologizing for the fact that I wasn’t in much of a hosting mood, and suggesting that they should leave. It was dead silent for a moment before one of the men crawled out from behind one of my cheese rolls. I quite like collecting cheese. He introduced himself as Nobody, and I remember thinking that was a funny name. I didn’t question it; humans are always doing funny things.

This “Nobody” explained that he and his crew of merry men had washed up on my shore, tired and hungry. He very kindly asked if they could take refuge in my home for the night. Seeing no problem with this, I willingly agreed. In return, they only asked if they could give me some wine that they had stored on their ship. I was only going to have a drink or two. Honest. But Nobody was very convincing and before long I was passed out on the floor of my cave, with a full belly and a warm heart.

Looking back, I don’t know why I decided to trust this man. Something about him was so charismatic and his nature compelled me to give myself up. I guess I trusted Nobody enough to get drunk on his fancy wine and empty promises.

This is the part everyone knows. It’s the only part that remained consistent. Nobody and his men sharpened a large log to a point and pushed it directly into my eye. It hurts just as bad now as it did then. I spent the rest of that night trying to find the men who invaded my home and blinded me with their lies. But it was to no avail. They were long gone and with them, they took my eyesight, my sheep, and my pride.

And as I lay blinded, I finally realized that I was never supposed to be the hero. That I was never supposed to be the one people looked up to. I was doomed to fail in the end, destined to merely live a fake life in which I had no choice in the result. I was the one parents told their children about to scare them. I was the villain. My story was never meant to have a happy ending, after all, the heroes always triumph. After all I went through, no one will ever know my pain, my true story forgotten by history. As my blood mixed with the pouring rain, I took a deep breath, and accepted that mine was yet another lost story, flowing away like the rain that dripped off my unmoving face.

Polyphemus signed heavily as he recounted his tale. He had stumbled into a bar full of fellow cyclops and was asked about his eye, or lack thereof. He had spent the last hour telling his story and was now feeling quite sad at the memory. While it was over a decade ago when Nobody and his crew had paid Polyphemus a visit, it still stung his heart every time he told it. The pain of betrayal was now nothing more than a dull ache and Polyphemus was living his best life tending to his remaining sheep. No human had come to his cave since Nobody did. It seemed that no one wanted to approach the blind cyclops anymore. Suddenly, the air turned putrid, and a smell violated his nose. Polyphemus knew this smell. Hated it. He fortunately hadn’t smelt it since that one day when he lost his eyesight. But he could still recognize this scent anywhere. It was the scent of Nobody and his crew of men.

NEA Big Read is a program of the National Endowment for the Arts in partnership with Arts Midwest.