Conversations with Medusa

I walk in the fields by the coast
A lively wind in the grass and the sparse trees
The sky slowly darkens a deep, pearly grey
Then the rain

Slowly I walk through the grass, coming to a low wall
I stop
Rather than climb over, I walk along the wall until I reach an opening
A simple and sturdy arch
The garden has shapely trees and statues
I walk among them, between them
They pass by my vision like pillars

Down towards the coast there is another arch
Leading from it there is a path to a rocky outcrop
The outcrop reaches into the sea a ways
Then an island somewhat large
Through the rain I walk towards the arch
Down the gentle slope, between the trees and statues
Through the arch and down to the rocks
Statues stand on the outcrop, many paces between them
In the dimness they are like shadows against the darkened sky
The rain makes high, percussive rasps against the rock
The sky grows darker
I continue to walk
As I approach the island at the end of the causeway, I see a cave
I make my way over the rock towards the opening
A pair of statues stand at its sides
I stop
The dim light only reaches a shallow way into the cave
It seems deep
I look at the statues, then bow slowly to each one
Close my eyes and stand still
Listen to the rain on the rock and water
Then I open my eyes and approach
I step into the cave and continue as far as I can see
The sound of the rain behind me
Then I reach out my hand and find the sloping wall of the cave
When my fingers touch rock, I kneel down and sit
Lay myself against the rock wall
And watch the rain

When I wake it is dark
I cannot see out of the cave
My clothes are damp
The sound of the rain continues
I sit up
And hear an exhale
I wait
Then slowly a pale light grows from the depths of the cave
It approaches until I can see the rock and lime
I follow the edge of the light until my head is facing forwards
There, sitting on the opposite side of the cave, is a woman
She wears a bronze silk dress with patterns woven into it with thread
Her ankles are clasped in gold and her feet bare
Broad, golden bracelets at her wrists
Rings on her fingers
Small breasts and bare shoulders
An elaborate necklace
Face young, skin light but not pale
And her hair is moving
Each strand is a small serpent, each serpent regards me
The woman and the serpents stare
I stare
The sound of rain
– You’re beautiful.
She inhales
— Thank you.
Pause
— You didn’t sleep for very long.
Her voice is mellow, smooth
I turn and look out at the rain
– No.
I turn back
She has also turned her head to look at the rain
I regard the line of her shoulder, neck and jaw
Then return to the cave mouth
We sit for a while
Then she inhales deeply
I look at her
She exhales with a long, quiet and low, even-toned hum
Stands up and looks at me again
Then she turns and begins to walk back into the cave
I watch her
Some way down she stops and turns back to me
— You may come with me if you wish.
She waits
Pause
I stand up
Walk towards her
She waits until I approach her, then turns and continues
I follow

As we walk into the cave, we pass many statues
Each one is quite life-like, save only for the stone
On their stone faces there is fear
Anger, fury, resignation, and even peace
The walls slowly become more uniform
Tooled and worked into a corridor or hall
Then in the rock walls, carvings of beasts and monsters
Deities and common-folk
Temples, weapons, victory and defeat
– Did you make these?
— Hmm.
She turns to look at the walls
— A difficult question to answer.
I look at her
Some serpents look also at the walls
Some at me
— They are here because I am here.
The remaining serpents turn to the walls

Eventually the cave opens up into a large cavern
Flames dance in torches held by sconces along the walls
The woman turns around and gestures with her arm
I walk into the cavern
Here too there are stone carvings in the walls
Along side them, areas of stone have been sealed and painted on
Elaborately detailed images of beast, human, god and demi-god
They are different though
I approach one and look closer
It is beautiful
– You painted these.
— Yes.
– They are different from the carvings, more…
I move along the wall, along the paintings
– Just.
— Hmm.
She gives what I understand to be a single, soft laugh
— What a strange thing to say.
As I move about the room, I ask her about some of the paintings
Some I am curious about
Some do not require words
— That is the family that built my garden.
– The one out on the hill?
— You saw it?
I nod
– I came that way.
She follows me at a close distance as I walk around the cavern
Answering my questions, telling me stories
— One day a plague came to these parts, and all of them were taken.
I stare at the images of the garden-keepers
— So I turned their bodies to stone and set them in the garden.
— There they can watch over it forever.
I turn to her
– Oh?
She smiles
— Not really, but it’s a romantic thought.
– It is.
She looks at me
– I like it.
I make my way around the room and reach the cave-mouth again
The woman then leads me up a small flight of stairs cut into the rock
A terrace circles the cavern and there are more paintings on the walls
This time she slowly leads me by them
Telling me about some
Some with great detail, others with less
And some we merely stop at to regard
I then turn to look at where we’ve been
There on the floor are footprints of water
Trails where my clothes have dripped
– I’m sorry, I’ve trailed through your home.
— That’s all-right.
She lifts one arm slightly and bends her wrist
Fingers curling into an elegant shape
There seems to be a tiny stirring in the air
The serpents all turn back to the cavern
Silently, the water disappears
— Do you wish to be dry?
– I would, but I don’t want to intrude. If I’m to go, I’ll only get wet again.
— It’s still raining. You could stay.
Pause
— You rest fitfully.
I stare
— Stone is not especially comfortable. I offer you good rest if you stay.
Then she waits
Pause
I nod

There is a recess in the cavern wall on the lower level
In it there is a stone bed
The woman steps to it and lays her palm on the surface
Slowly it changes to soft cloth
She turns to me, makes the same gesture as before
I am dry
The woman steps back
I set myself on the bed sitting up
The woman stares at me again
— Do you know why you’re here?
I think, but think of nothing
– No.
— Do you know how you came here?
– No.
Pause
– Do you?
I feel her eyes searching me
— You’re very ill.
– I am?
— You’ll remember it, soon enough.
– Do you know why I came here?
She looks away
— Another difficult question to answer.
Now none of the serpents look at me as she speaks
— All of this, this place, the history, the representation…
— All of it was made so that you could come here.
– Because I’m ill?
— Yes.
Pause
– Are you going to heal me?
She turns to face me
— I can’t do that.
She stares
– Thank you.
Her eyebrows raise
– For showing me your paintings.
Her mouth gives a small smile, but her eyes are somewhere else
— Yes.
Inhale
Exhale
— That is what I can do. Whatever it is. Whatever it means.
Pause
After a moment I lie down on the bed
The cavern seems warm enough without covers
I lie on my back and exhale
— I have this to offer you.
She kneels down beside me
Lowers her face to my arm
Then one of the serpents slowly extends toward my skin
Opens it jaws and gently pushes its fangs into my arm
Two tiny pin-pricks of pain that quickly die
A beat or two later, it pulls free, and the woman straightens
She walks into the recess, picks something up
A stool
Come back to the side of the bed
Sets the stool down by my side and sits
I begin to feel drowsy
Just before I fall asleep I have a vision
I stand by the side of the bed, looking at my body and the woman sitting on the stool
She extends her arm and takes my hand

–

It’s morning when we reach the mouth of the cave
The sky is clear
On the shore I can see the garden on the hill
The trees and the statues
The statues on the causeway
She comes with me all the way to the garden
Until we reach the arch in the wall where I entered the night before
– Do you sleep?
— No.
– You held my hand as I slept?
— Yes.
– Until I woke?
— I was still there wasn’t I?
The serpents of her hair seem to enjoy the breeze
They duck and weave and drift in it
– Thank you.
— Thank you for coming to see me.
– I’m not sure that I fully intended to.
— I know. But you came nevertheless.
She turns to look at the garden, the causeway and the cave
— Maybe next time I’ll come and see you.
– Oh?
— It’s a long way to travel.
But I don’t understand her
— Is there a ritual for goodbye?
– I don’t think I’ve introduced myself.
She extends a hand.
— I’m Medusa.
I take her hand, slender and smooth
– Hello Medusa. I’m Vroenis.
— Yes I know.