Free Hercules by Bernard Evslin Page B
Authors: Bernard Evslin
gods, who, after a while, began to help themselves. So she dug up her tree, took it as far as she could—to the western edge of the world—and replanted it in the orchard there. And to make sure that the fruit would not be stolen, she set a giant serpent to guard the tree. It wound itself around the trunk and devoured anyone who came near.
To fetch one of these golden apples from the dangerous orchard on the western rim of the world, where the Titan, Atlas, held the sky on his shoulders, became the next task facing Hercules.
Hercules was given this message as he stood before the iron gates of Mycenae, and again it was Copreus who brought him the king’s commands.
“I’ll need some directions, my friend,” said Hercules. “Everyone has heard of this tree and these apples, but no one seems to know how to get there.”
“Only one creature in the world can tell you that,” said Copreus. “The Old Man of the Sea alone knows the secret of the orchard.”
“And where do I find him?”
“He dwells on the island of Ner, which is his kingdom. His own name is Nereus, but he is known as the Old Man of the Sea. And I must warn you: he’s a pretty unpleasant sort of fellow. Not at all easy to deal with.”
“I’m getting used to that,” said Hercules. “Everything about these missions gets unpleasant sooner or later. Farewell.”
Hercules, as usual, felt very much alone in the world as he set out on his mission. But this time he was less alone. For someone else was also thinking very hard about the Old Man of the Sea. It happened this way.
After leaving Thebes, Iole and the Blind Man had wandered here and there for many months and had at last reached a wild and lonely beach, where they decided to stay. They built a little driftwood shack and lived there. The Blind Man spent hours telling her stories, and the more he told, the more she wanted to hear. She loved his stories. He also taught her to play the lyre, which he played beautifully. Often, in the evening, they would sit on a rock at the very edge of the sea, and he would touch the strings and sing a story-song. The fish would come to the surface and bob in the swell, listening.
Iole made friends with these music-loving fish, especially a dolphin, because the Blind Man had known him a long time and had taught the dolphin to speak. But the man was not easy to live with. Sometimes a mood would come on him, and he would sit on his rock all day from dawn to dusk, gazing out at the sea, refusing to eat, not speaking a word. And would sit there all night, too, without sleeping, his milky eyes looking out into the darkness of the waters. Then, Iole knew, the next dawn he would be choking with visions and gasp out strange words. These words would dance upon the air and form a picture of what was to be.
She stayed close to him on such dawns, although he didn’t seem to know whether she was there or not. But she always listened thirstily to his prophecies, for she knew that they were very important to her without knowing why. Upon this dawn, he arose suddenly from his rock, stretched his arms to the rising sun, and cried, “The apples, the golden apples! The eight-armed fish, the lobster-faced liar, beware, beware … He’s a liar, Hercules, beware, beware …”
Iole saw him sway on his feet. His arms dropped. She leaped to him and flung her arm around his waist, easing him to the sand, where he lay insensible. This had happened before, and she knew what to do. She dragged him up on the beach beyond the high-tide mark, fetched a blanket from the shack to cover him with, and set some lentil soup to boil. For he would awake very hungry, she knew, and could not be questioned about his words until he had eaten. And she had to question him very closely, for this prophecy concerned Hercules.
He woke up after a few hours and ate his soup greedily. Then Iole asked him about the words he had spoken out of his trance.
“What do they mean, Grandfather?”
He sat there
To fetch one of these golden apples from the dangerous orchard on the western rim of the world, where the Titan, Atlas, held the sky on his shoulders, became the next task facing Hercules.
Hercules was given this message as he stood before the iron gates of Mycenae, and again it was Copreus who brought him the king’s commands.
“I’ll need some directions, my friend,” said Hercules. “Everyone has heard of this tree and these apples, but no one seems to know how to get there.”
“Only one creature in the world can tell you that,” said Copreus. “The Old Man of the Sea alone knows the secret of the orchard.”
“And where do I find him?”
“He dwells on the island of Ner, which is his kingdom. His own name is Nereus, but he is known as the Old Man of the Sea. And I must warn you: he’s a pretty unpleasant sort of fellow. Not at all easy to deal with.”
“I’m getting used to that,” said Hercules. “Everything about these missions gets unpleasant sooner or later. Farewell.”
Hercules, as usual, felt very much alone in the world as he set out on his mission. But this time he was less alone. For someone else was also thinking very hard about the Old Man of the Sea. It happened this way.
After leaving Thebes, Iole and the Blind Man had wandered here and there for many months and had at last reached a wild and lonely beach, where they decided to stay. They built a little driftwood shack and lived there. The Blind Man spent hours telling her stories, and the more he told, the more she wanted to hear. She loved his stories. He also taught her to play the lyre, which he played beautifully. Often, in the evening, they would sit on a rock at the very edge of the sea, and he would touch the strings and sing a story-song. The fish would come to the surface and bob in the swell, listening.
Iole made friends with these music-loving fish, especially a dolphin, because the Blind Man had known him a long time and had taught the dolphin to speak. But the man was not easy to live with. Sometimes a mood would come on him, and he would sit on his rock all day from dawn to dusk, gazing out at the sea, refusing to eat, not speaking a word. And would sit there all night, too, without sleeping, his milky eyes looking out into the darkness of the waters. Then, Iole knew, the next dawn he would be choking with visions and gasp out strange words. These words would dance upon the air and form a picture of what was to be.
She stayed close to him on such dawns, although he didn’t seem to know whether she was there or not. But she always listened thirstily to his prophecies, for she knew that they were very important to her without knowing why. Upon this dawn, he arose suddenly from his rock, stretched his arms to the rising sun, and cried, “The apples, the golden apples! The eight-armed fish, the lobster-faced liar, beware, beware … He’s a liar, Hercules, beware, beware …”
Iole saw him sway on his feet. His arms dropped. She leaped to him and flung her arm around his waist, easing him to the sand, where he lay insensible. This had happened before, and she knew what to do. She dragged him up on the beach beyond the high-tide mark, fetched a blanket from the shack to cover him with, and set some lentil soup to boil. For he would awake very hungry, she knew, and could not be questioned about his words until he had eaten. And she had to question him very closely, for this prophecy concerned Hercules.
He woke up after a few hours and ate his soup greedily. Then Iole asked him about the words he had spoken out of his trance.
“What do they mean, Grandfather?”
He sat there