Number four. Odysseus and the Cyclops.
If you stand on the high rocky cliffs of Greece and look out over the Mediterranean Sea, you will see a world of deep liquid blue. A color so rich and dark that the ancient poets called it the wine dark sea.
3,000 years ago, long before there were engines or maps or satnavs, Greek sailors traveled this water in long wooden ships, powered only by square sails and the strength of human arms pulling on heavy oars.
They sailed without knowing what lay beyond the next horizon. Every island was a mystery. Every harbor could hold a kingdom of friendly merchants, or it could hold monsters.
This story comes to us from that ancient Greek world. It was sung by a poet named Homer, who lived so long ago that we aren't even sure if he was one person or many voices joined together over generations.
The Greeks believed that stories were not just entertainment. They were a way of keeping track of who they were and how they should treat one another.
To the Greeks, the most important law in the universe was a concept called Xenia.
We might translate it today as guest friendship or sacred hospitality. In the ancient world, there were no hotels or restaurants. If you were a traveler, your life depended on the kindness of strangers.
The Greeks believed that Zeus, the king of the gods, personally watched over travelers. If a stranger knocked on your door, you were commanded by holy law to welcome them inside, wash the dust from their feet, offer them the best food and drink you had.
And only then, after they were full and rested, could you ask them their name and where they were going.
When they left, you were supposed to give them a guest gift to help them on their journey.
To break this law was to invite the wrath of the gods.
Our hero today is a man who knew this law by heart, but he was also a man who loved to test the limits of what he could get away with.
His name was Odysseus.
Odysseus was the king of Ithaca, a small, rugged island of olive trees and goats. He was not the strongest warrior in Greece, nor was he the tallest, but he was indisputably the cleverest.
He was a man of twists and turns, a master of disguises, a weaver of plots. It was Odysseus who had thought of the famous wooden horse that ended the 10-year war at Troy.
Now, with the war finally over, he and his men were sailing home. They wanted nothing more than to see the smoke rising from their own hearth fires, to hug their wives, and to watch their children grow.
But the sea is a fickle master, and the winds of the Mediterranean blew Odysseus's fleet far off course into wild, uncharted waters.
One afternoon, through a thick shroud of sea mist, they spotted a low, fertile island. It was a strange place. There were no plowed fields, no signs of roads, and no docks. Yet, the hills were thick with wild grapes and fat roaming goats.
It looked like a paradise that had never known the foot of a human being.
Odysseus anchored his 12 ships in a sheltered cove. He decided to take his own ship and his 12 best men to explore the island, while the rest of the fleet waited safely behind.
As they walked inland, climbing a steep, rocky path, they saw a massive opening in the side of a cliff. It was a giant cave, half hidden by wild laurel trees.
Outside the cave was a courtyard enclosed by a high wall made of rough, unhewn stones and towering pine trees.
"Let's see who lives here," Odysseus whispered, gesturing for his men to follow him into the shadows of the cavern.
When their eyes adjusted to the dim light, they gasped. The cave was not a wild beast's den. It was a home, but a home built on a scale that defied imagination.
Everything inside was colossal. Along the stone walls stood massive wicker baskets, each one overflowing with mountain heaps of white cheese.
There were great bronze bowls, as wide as bathtubs, filled to the brim with sweet whey.
In the back of the cave, neat pens had been built out of thick timber. Inside them were hundreds of lambs and young goats, carefully separated by age. The oldest in one pen, the middle-aged in another, and the05:28] newborn dew drops in a third.
It was a place of incredible abundance, clean and perfectly organized.
"Captain," whispered Eurylochus, one of Odysseus's most trusted officers. His voice was shaking as he looked at the sheer size of the cheese baskets. "Whoever lives here is not like us. Look at the size of these milk pails. A giant must dwell here. Please, let us take as many cheeses as we can carry, drive the lambs down to our ship and sail away before the owner returns. It isn't safe."
The men murmured in agreement. They were seasoned soldiers, but they had a bad feeling about this quiet, oversized cave.
Odysseus, however, shook his head. His eyes shown with a dangerous curiosity. He was a king, and he was accustomed to being treated with respect.
More than that, he wanted a story to tell when he got home. He wanted to see what kind of creature lived here, and he wanted to see what kind of magnificent guest gift such a giant might offer him.
"No," Odysseus commanded. "We will stay. We will light a fire, we will eat some of this cheese to satisfy our hunger, and we will wait for the master of the cave to return.
We are Greeks, and we do not run like thieves in the night. We will meet our host."
It was a decision that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
As the afternoon faded into twilight, the men sat by a small fire they had built in the center of the cave. They ate the giant's cheese, but it tasted like dust in their mouths. Every sound from the forest outside made them jump.
Then, the earth began to tremble. Thump, thump, thump. It was a heavy, rhythmic vibration that rattled the bronze bowls and sent ripples through the pails of milk. The sheep in the pens began to bleat in terror.
Odysseus and his men scrambled back into the darkest, deepest recesses of the cave, hiding behind the great wicker baskets, their breath catching in their throats.
Into the mouth of the cave stepped a figure that blocked out the evening sky. It was a Cyclops.
The Cyclops were a race of giant shepherds who lived on this island, lonely and lawless. They had no government, no councils, and no laws. They did not plow the earth and they did not sail ships. Each one lived in his own mountain cave, ruling over his own family with absolute power, caring nothing for his neighbors.
But the most terrifying thing about him was his face. In the middle of his forehead, where two eyes should have been, there was only one. It was a single, massive, burning eye, as round as a shield, staring out into the world with a cold, dull hunger.
His name was Polyphemus.
Polyphemus was carrying a colossal bundle of dry pine logs on his shoulder, wood he had gathered for his evening fire. With a roar of effort, he cast the bundle down onto the stone floor.
The crash was like a clap of thunder, echoing off the high stone ceiling.
Odysseus and his men squeezed themselves tighter into the shadows, wishing they could melt into the rock.
The giant did not notice them at first. He began to drive his flock into the cave, only the ewes and the she-goats that needed milking, leaving the rams outside in the walled courtyard.
Once the animals were inside, Polyphemus did something that made the hearts of the Greeks freeze. He reached out with both hands, grabbed a monstrous boulder that lay near the entrance, and rolled it across the mouth of the cave.
Odysseus watched in horror as the boulder slid into place with a sickening final thud, clack. It was a stone so vast, so unimaginably heavy that 20 strong wagons, four-wheeled and made of solid oak, could not have budged it an inch from the threshold.
They were sealed in. The cave had become a tomb.
Polyphemus, completely unaware of his uninvited guests, went about his evening chores with practiced ease. He sat down on a three-legged stool that was the size of a wagon, placed the ewes under him one by one, and milked them.
He curdled half of the milk to make cheese, packing it into the wicker baskets, and left the other half in bowls to drink for his supper.
Finally, he struck a spark and lit his great pile of pinewood. The dry logs caught quickly, and a bright, crackling fire roared to life, casting long, dancing shadows across the cavern walls.
The giant turned his head, his single eye scanning the cave. The firelight flickered over the dark corner where the Greeks were hiding.
The eye stopped.
"Ah," Polyphemus rumbled. His voice was like a landslide of gravel and boulders, vibrating through the bones of the men's chests. "Who are you? From where do you sail the wet paths of the sea? Are you merchants on some business? Or are you pirates who roam the waves at random, risking your own lives to bring ruin to strangers?"
The men were struck dumb with terror. The voice alone was enough to break their spirits.
But Odysseus, swallowing his fear, stepped forward into the firelight. He held his head high, though his hands trembled.
"We are Achaeans," Odysseus said, using the ancient name for the Greeks. "We are soldiers returning from the great war at Troy. We have been blown off our course by every wind that blows across the great gulf of the sea. We are lost, and we are hungry."
Odysseus paused, taking a deep breath, and decided to appeal to the giant's sense of duty.
"We come to your knees, noble Lord, to beg for hospitality. We ask for the guest gift that is due to strangers. Remember the gods, great one. We are your suppliants, and Zeus himself is the avenger of guests and strangers. He walks with them, and he punishes those who treat them with cruelty."
The Cyclops did not look angry. Instead, a slow, hideous grin spread across his massive, bearded face. He let out a booming laugh that shook the dust from the ceiling.
"You are a fool, stranger," Polyphemus sneered. "Or you have come from very far away indeed, if you think I care about your gods. We Cyclops do not fear Zeus or his thunderbolts. We do not care for the blessed gods at all, because we are far stronger than they are. I would not spare you or your men to escape the anger of Zeus, unless my own heart told me to."
The giant leaned down, his single eye narrowing as he stared at Odysseus.
"But tell me," the Cyclops whispered. "Where did you moor your fine ship when you landed? Was it at the far end of the island, or close by? Tell me, so I may know."
Odysseus's clever mind immediately saw the trap. The giant wanted to find the ship so he could destroy it and kill the rest of the crew.
"Our ship," Odysseus lied smoothly, without blinking. "The god Poseidon, the shaker of the earth, wrecked our ship. He drove it against the rocks at the edge of your island, and the wind blew it to pieces. Only I and these few men here managed to escape with our lives."
The Cyclops did not answer. He did not mock them, and he did not argue.
Instead, with the terrifying speed of a striking snake, his massive hands shot out. He snatched up two of Odysseus's men as if they were puppies.
The horror of that moment was too great for words. The cave fell into a terrible, heavy silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the rustle of the sheep.
Odysseus and his remaining men could only watch in absolute, helpless grief. They wept, raising their hands to the heavens, crying out to the gods, because they could do nothing.
The rules of the civilized world, the sacred law of Xenia, had been shattered in the most brutal way imaginable.
When the giant had finished his terrible meal, he washed it down with a great draught of raw milk, straight from his bronze bowls. Then, he stretched his massive body out along the floor of the cave, right in front of the pens, and fell asleep.
Within minutes, his snores were shaking the walls of the cave like thunder.
In the deep darkness of the cave, while the giant slept and the sheep bleated softly, Odysseus lay awake. His heart was a storm of grief and rage.
His first instinct was to draw his sharp bronze sword from his hip. He crept forward through the shadows, his bare feet making no sound on the stone floor. He reached the giant's side, feeling with his hand for the place where the giant's liver lay under his ribs, ready to plunge the sword in and end the monstrous life.
But just as he raised his hand, his clever mind stopped him.
"If I kill him now," Odysseus thought, "we are all dead."
He looked back at the entrance of the cave. The monstrous boulder still sat there, blocking the starlight. It was too heavy for 12 men, or even 50 men to move.
If Polyphemus died, the Greeks would be trapped in a stone tomb forever, doomed to starve to death in the dark beside the giant's carcass.
The giant was the only one strong enough to open the door. Therefore, the giant had to live.
This was the trap inside the trap. To survive, Odysseus could not use brute force. He had to use his mind. He had to find a way to defeat the giant that left the giant capable of moving the stone.
Odysseus crept back to his men. They sat in the dark, shivering and weeping, but their captain whispered to them, calming their fears.
"Do not lose heart," he told them. "We are the men who took Troy. We will find a way."
When the rosy fingers of dawn appeared in the morning sky, the giant woke. He stretched, yawning like a cavern, and immediately went about his chores. He lit his fire, milked his sheep, and then, with the same casual cruelty as the night before, he snatched up two more of Odysseus's men for his breakfast.
With his hunger satisfied, Polyphemus rolled the giant boulder away from the cave's mouth. But he did not leave it open. He drove his fat flock out into the sunshine, and then, as easily as a man putting the lid back on a quiver of arrows, he lifted the massive stone and slid it back into place.
The Greeks were locked in the dark once more. Outside, they could hear the cheerful whistling of the giant as he led his sheep up into the green hills.
Odysseus did not waste a second. He began to pace the cave, his eyes darting over every object, searching for a weapon, a tool, a spark of hope.
Finally, he saw it. Lying next to one of the sheep pens was a massive trunk of green olive wood. The Cyclops had cut it to use as a walking stick once it had dried out. To the Greeks, it looked like the mast of a 20-oared merchant ship, so thick and long that no single man could lift it.
"Bring me your swords," Odysseus whispered to his men.
Together, they cut a section of the olive trunk, about six feet long. Odysseus's men worked with desperate energy, scraping the bark off the green wood until it was smooth. Then, Odysseus himself took his blade and carved the end of the wood to a fine, sharp point.
They carried the heavy stake to the fire, which was now just a bed of glowing, red-hot embers. Odysseus held the pointed tip in the ashes, turning it slowly until the wood was hardened by the heat, but not so hot that it caught fire.
When it was ready, they hid the sharpened stake carefully under the deep piles of sheep dung that littered the floor of the cave.
"Now," Odysseus said, looking at his remaining men. "We must choose by lot who will help me lift this stake and thrust it into the giant's eye when he falls asleep tonight."
They cast lots, and the four strongest men were chosen, the very men Odysseus would have picked himself.
As the sun began to set, the earth trembled once more. Thump, thump, thump.
Polyphemus returned. He rolled the boulder aside, but this time, perhaps because he sensed something was different, or perhaps by the will of the gods, he did not leave the rams outside in the courtyard. He drove his entire flock, every single sheep and goat, inside the high walls of the cave.
Once again, the boulder was sealed. Once again, two more of Odysseus's men were snatched up.
Now only six of the original 12 remained. The air in the cave was thick with fear and the smell of smoke.
But Odysseus did not cry out. He stepped forward into the firelight, holding an ivy wood bowl filled with a dark, fragrant liquid.
In his travels, Odysseus had been given a gift by a priest of Apollo, a jar of sweet black wine. It was a wine so potent, so divine, that the Greeks usually diluted it with 20 cups of water to one cup of wine. Its scent was so beautiful that it filled the room with the smell of summer flowers.
Odysseus had brought a skin of this wine with him, and now he poured it into the bowl.
"Cyclops," Odysseus called out, his voice steady. "Drink this wine after your meal of human flesh. See what kind of drink our ship carried. I brought it as an offering for you, hoping you would have pity on me and send me home."
Polyphemus looked down at the dark liquid. He snatched the bowl from Odysseus's hands and took a great gulp. His single eye went wide. He smacked his massive lips.
"This is wonderful," the giant roared. "Give me more, stranger. Our land produces good grapes, yes, but this is a stream of nectar and ambrosia. Give me another bowl, and tell me your name right now, so I may give you a guest gift that will make your heart glad."
Odysseus smiled a cold, secret smile. He filled the bowl again. The giant drank it down in one gulp. He filled it a third time, and the giant drained that too.
The strong, unmixed wine began to work its magic. The giant's eye grew heavy, and his head began to sway from side to side. His speech became slurred and thick.
"Now, stranger," Polyphemus muttered, leaning his heavy shoulder against the cave wall. "Tell me, tell me your famous name, and I will give you your gift."
Odysseus stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"You ask me my famous name, Cyclops? I will tell you. But you must keep your promise and give me my guest gift."
The giant nodded heavily, his eyelid drooping.
"My name," Odysseus said, "is Nobody. My mother and my father call me Nobody, and so do all my friends."
The giant let out a wet, sleepy chuckle.
"Nobody? A strange name. Well, here is your guest gift, Nobody. I will eat all of your companions first, and I will save you for the very last. That shall be your guest gift."
With those words, the giant collapsed. He fell flat on his back, his massive neck twisting to one side, and fell into a deep, drunken sleep. His snores rumbled through the cavern like an earthquake.
The moment had come. Odysseus turned to his men.
"Now," he whispered. "No courage must fail us now. If we hesitate, we are dead."
They ran to the back of the cave and dragged the heavy olive wood stake out from under the pile of dung. They carried it to the fire, thrusting the sharpened point directly into the red-hot embers.
Odysseus watched the wood closely. The green timber hissed and bubbled as the moisture evaporated. Just as the point was about to burst into flame, glowing with a bright, terrifying red heat, Odysseus pulled it from the fire.
His heart was pounding in his chest, but his mind was as cold as ice.
The four chosen men stood around the heavy beam, two on each side, their hands gripping the rough wood. Odysseus stood at the very end, guiding the tip. They crept toward the sleeping giant.
Polyphemus lay snoring, his face turned toward the ceiling. His single, massive eyelid was closed, but beneath it lay the target.
With a silent nod, Odysseus gave the signal. The men leaned all their weight into the beam. Together, they drove the glowing, red-hot point of the olive wood stake directly into the giant's single eye.
It was a moment of sheer, desperate violence. But the story tells it with a strange, quiet focus.
Imagine a shipbuilder using a large drill to bore a hole in a ship's timber, turning it with a strap while his assistants hold it steady. That is how Odysseus and his men spun the burning stake, pressing down with all their strength.
The heat of the glowing wood hissed against the giant's eye. A thick cloud of steam rose into the air, and the giant's eyebrow was singed by the heat.
Polyphemus let out a shriek so terrible, so loud, that the very stone of the mountain seemed to crack. The sound was like nothing the Greeks had ever heard. It was the roar of a wounded beast, mixed with the screaming of a gale force wind.
Odysseus and his men leaped back in terror, scattering into the darkness as the giant sprang to his feet.
Polyphemus tore the burning stake from his eye and flung it away. He was completely blind. He thrashed about the cave, his arms flailing, screaming in agony. He crashed into the stone walls, his hands scraping against the rock as he tried to find the men who had blinded him.
But Odysseus and his crew pressed themselves flat against the deepest corners of the cave, holding their breath, moving only when the giant's heavy footsteps came too close.
The giant's screams were so loud that they carried out of the cave, through the courtyard, and up into the high, rocky crags of the island.
Deep in the night, the other Cyclops, who lived in nearby caves, heard the terrible howling. They rolled the stones from their own doors, climbed down the steep mountain paths, and gathered in the darkness outside Polyphemus's locked courtyard.
"What is wrong with you, Polyphemus?" they shouted through the massive boulder. "Why are you screaming in the middle of the night, waking us from our sleep? Is someone stealing your sheep? Is someone trying to kill you by force or by trickery?"
From inside the dark cave, Polyphemus held his ruined face, weeping in pain. He screamed back at them with all his might.
"My friends, Nobody is killing me by trickery! Nobody is hurting me!"
The other Cyclops stood outside in the dark, scratching their bearded chins. They looked at one another and shrugged.
"Well," they called out, their voices echoing through the stone. "If Nobody is hurting you, and you are alone in your cave, then your sickness must come from the great god Zeus, and there is nothing we can do about that. You should pray to your father, Poseidon, the Lord of the sea."
And with that, they turned around and walked back up the mountain to their own beds.
Inside the dark cave, Odysseus felt a sudden, wild thrill of joy. His heart laughed within him, because his trick had worked so perfectly. His false name, his clever, silly name, had saved them all.
But the escape was only half won. They were still locked inside.
The hours of the night dragged on like years. Polyphemus groaned and wept, pacing the cave, his heavy hand searching the dark. But he could not find the Greeks, who slipped through the shadows like ghosts.
Finally, the dark sky began to turn to the pale gray of dawn. The birds began to sing in the laurel trees outside. The sheep in the pens began to bleat, their udders full and heavy, wanting to go out to the pasture.
Polyphemus, still groaning in pain, felt his way to the entrance of the cave. He put his massive hands on the giant boulder, and with a great heave, he rolled it aside. But he did not leave the doorway unguarded.
The giant sat down right in the threshold of the cave, stretching his massive, hairy arms across the opening. He spread his fingers wide, ready to catch any Greek who tried to slip past him in the crowd of sheep.
"I will catch them," the giant muttered to himself, his voice thick with hatred. "They think I am stupid. They think they can slip out among my flock."
Odysseus stood in the shadows, watching the giant's hands. He saw the fingers twitching, ready to grab. His mind raced. He had to find a way to get his men out. But how could they pass a blind giant who was feeling every single thing that walked through the door?
He looked at the sheep. The giant's rams were magnificent animals. They were huge, fat, and strong, with fleeces of wool so thick and dark, they looked like the night sky.
Odysseus's eyes lit up. He had an idea.
He gathered his men and whispered his plan. Using the thin, flexible willow branches that the giant used for his bed, Odysseus began to tie the sheep together. He tied them in groups of three, side by side.
"Underneath the middle sheep of each trio," Odysseus instructed, "one of you will cling. The sheep on either side will hide you from the giant's hands. When the flock goes out, you will go with them."
The men nodded, their eyes wide with hope. One by one, Odysseus bound his five remaining men to the bellies of the middle sheep. They wrapped their arms and legs tight around the animal's thick wool, hanging on for dear life.
For himself, Odysseus chose the finest, strongest animal in the entire flock, the great lead ram, a beast with magnificent, curling horns and a fleece of golden brown wool that was thicker than a winter coat.
There was no one left to tie Odysseus, so he had to do it alone. He slipped underneath the great ram, lay flat on his back against its belly, and dug his fingers and toes deep into the thick, greasy wool. He held on with all his strength, his muscles tensing, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
The sun rose higher, and the flock began to move. The ewes and the rams began to crowd toward the exit, their hooves clattering on the stone.
As they reached the doorway, Polyphemus leaned forward. His massive, sensitive hands began to run over the backs of every sheep that passed. He felt the thick, curly wool on their spines, checking for any human rider. But he did not think to feel underneath their bellies.
One by one, the trios of sheep passed through. One by one, the Greeks slipped past the giant's searching hands, suspended beneath the wool.
Finally, only the great lead ram remained. It walked slowly, heavy with its thick wool and the weight of the clever king clinging to its belly.
As the ram reached the threshold, Polyphemus's hand descended. He stopped the beast, his fingers sinking into its thick fleece.
Odysseus froze. He was hanging inches below the giant's hand. He could smell the giant's breath, feel the heat radiating from his massive body. His fingers ached from gripping the wool. If his grip slipped, he would fall to the stone floor and be crushed.
But Polyphemus did not feel under the belly. Instead, he stroked the ram's head and spoke to it.
And here, in the middle of this terrifying story, we see a different side of the monster. Polyphemus was a creature of brutal cruelty, but he was also a lonely shepherd who loved his flock. His voice, when he spoke to the ram, was filled with a genuine, heartbreaking sadness.
"My dear old ram," the giant whispered, his hand gently patting the animal's back. "Why are you the last of my flock to leave the cave today? You have never been a laggard before. Usually you are the first to run to the sweet grass of the pasture, the first to reach the bubbling stream, and the first to head back to the fold in the evening. But today, you are the very last."
The giant let out a heavy, shuddering sigh.
"Are you grieving for your master's eye? A wicked man named Nobody destroyed it, after he had dulled my mind with wine. Oh, if only you had a voice, my friend. If only you could tell me where that coward is hiding. I would smash his brains against the rock and scatter them across the cave. Then my heart would have peace from the pain this Nobody has brought me."
With a sad pat, the giant let the ram go.
"Go on, my beauty. Go to the pasture."
The great ram stepped out into the bright, warm sunshine.
Odysseus held on until they were a safe distance from the courtyard, hidden behind a grove of wild olive trees. Then, he let go, dropping to the soft grass. He scrambled to his feet, his body shaking with relief, and immediately began to untie his men.
They hugged each other in silence, weeping for the friends they had lost, but filled with a wild, unbelieving joy that they were alive.
"Run!" Odysseus whispered. "Do not look back!"
They drove the giant's fat sheep down the rocky path, running as fast as their legs could carry them. They reached the shore where their ship was waiting, and their companions let out a cheer when they saw them.
But the cheer died in their throats when they saw only six men returning.
"There was no time for grief!" Odysseus shouted, his voice urgent. "Get to the oars! Row for your lives!"
The men scrambled into the ship, took their places on the benches, and began to strike the gray sea with their oars. The ship leaped forward, cutting through the waves, away from the island of the giants.
"There was no time for grief!" Odysseus shouted, his voice urgent. "Get to the oars! Row for your lives!"
The men scrambled into the ship, took their places on the benches, and began to strike the gray sea with their oars. The ship leaped forward, cutting through the waves, away from the island of the giants.
They were a hundred yards out from the shore. The island was fading into the sea mist. They were safe. The danger had passed.
But Odysseus was not just a survivor. He was a king. He was the man who had conquered Troy. His heart was full of a dangerous, burning pride.
He looked back at the towering cliffs, and he could not bear the thought that the giant did not know who had beaten him. He wanted his glory. He wanted his name to be known.
He stood up on the high deck at the stern of the ship, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted across the water.
"Cyclops!" Odysseus roared. "If anyone asks you who blinded your eye, do not tell them it was Nobody! Tell them it was Odysseus, the raider of cities, the son of Laertes, who lives in Ithaca!"
Behind him, his men gasped. Eurylochus grabbed his arm, his eyes wide with terror.
"Captain, stop!" Eurylochus begged. "What are you doing? The giant is still on the cliff! He can hear you! Do not provoke him!"
But Odysseus shook him off. He was drunk on his own cleverness. He had beaten a giant, and he wanted the world to know it.
High up on the mountain, Polyphemus heard the voice. He heard the name.
A terrible, cold realization washed over him. An ancient prophet had once warned him that he would lose his eye to a man named Odysseus. But Polyphemus had always expected a giant like himself, someone tall and strong. He had never expected a puny, insignificant human to defeat him with wine and a trick.
In his rage, Polyphemus climbed to the very peak of the mountain. He reached out and tore the entire top of the mountain off the earth. With a roar of fury, he hurled the massive rock toward the sound of the voice.
The mountain top flew through the air, a colossal shadow blocking out the sun, and crashed into the sea just ahead of Odysseus's ship. The splash was like a volcanic eruption. A giant wave rose up, a wall of green water that washed over the deck and pushed the ship backward, dragging it right back toward the shore of the giants.
"Row! Row!" the men screamed, pulling on the oars with the strength of men who could see death waiting for them. They managed to push the ship back out to sea, escaping the wave.
But Polyphemus was not finished. He stood on the edge of the water, the surf crashing against his massive knees. He raised his hands to the dark, stormy sky and cried out to his father.
"Hear me, Poseidon, dark-haired shaker of the earth! If I am truly your son, and you claim to be my father, grant that Odysseus, the raider of cities, may never reach his home in Ithaca! But if it is his fate to see his loved ones again, let him arrive late, in a stranger's ship, having lost all his companions, and let him find nothing but trouble waiting in his house!"
The god Poseidon, sitting in his deep sea palace of gold, heard his son's prayer, and the sea began to churn.
The trick of the name Nobody had taken only one night to plan and execute. It was a masterpiece of cleverness.
But the boast, the single moment of pride on the deck of the ship, cost Odysseus 10 years of storms, shipwreck, and the loss of every single man who sailed with him. He would indeed return to Ithaca alone, in a stranger's ship, to find his home filled with enemies.
It is a story that has lived for 3,000 years, carrying a question that still whispers in the wind off the coast of Greece. Is being clever enough to get you through the world? Or do you also have to be humble?
The trick saved Odysseus's life in the dark of the cave, but his pride cursed him on the open water. Which did the sea remember?
Sleep well, and think on that.