There a monstrous man was wont to sleep, who shepherded his flocks alone and afar, and mingled not with others, but lived apart, with his heart set on lawlessness. For he was fashioned a wondrous monster, and was not like a man that lives by bread, but like a wooded peak of lofty mountains, which stands out to view alone, apart from the rest.

— Homer’s Odyssey Book 9, translated by A. T. Murray

“Polyphemos!” my neighbor shouts from across my field. “Good morning!”

I flinch at the sound, narrowing my eye. Steeling myself, I look up and find him in the distance. He’s grinning and waving like an empty-headed puppet. I’d rather have a hot stake driven through my eye than talk to this moron.

“Abraxos!” I call back. “You’re looking content! You must have finally popped that boil on your ass!”

Abraxos’s face falls. He runs a hand over his beard, his jaw working aimlessly.

“Are you trying to think up a response?” I call. “Or are you chewing a bit of gristle? If it’s the latter, do the whole island a favor and choke on it!”

“Why do you always have to be such a dick, Polyphemos?” Abraxos stomps away, his face flushed. I can always hope that this was the last straw and he’ll give up trying to be friendly with me for good. But I know I’ll never be that lucky. He’ll be back in a few hours, the same vacant grin on his big round face, trying to make conversation out of nothing.

But I’ve bought myself a morning of peace, and I intend to enjoy it. I sit back down in my usual spot, beneath the shadiest tree on my hill. My sheep are grazing all around me, the biggest ones on the island. There’s a ewe right next to me, and I reach out to run my fingers through her curly wool. Beautiful: thick and soft with no mats. It’ll be time to shear them all in another few days. For now, I let them graze. I milked the ewes this morning, so there’s nothing left for me to do but enjoy the fresh air, maybe catch a nap.

I keep petting my ewe, a red-haired beauty I call Aurora after the rosy-fingered dawn. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shy away from me. My sheep trust me like they trust their own mothers. They’re the only beings on this island I would never hurt. Some of the Cyclopes eat their sheep, but not me. My sheep give me milk, cheese, and wool; that’s enough. I prefer other sources of meat.

The grass sways with a gentle breeze. Not far from where I’m sitting, the sea laps gently at a rocky shore, filling the air with the sound of waves and the smell of sea salt. A nearby freshwater spring bubbles away in a thrumming refrain. I hear a melody and quickly locate the source: a rock thrush singing from a hollow in the mountainside right next to the entrance to my cave. Its blue-gray feathers shine in the sunlight. The colors are so rich I almost wish I could paint them, but what would be the point? To show someone else? I’d rather enjoy it now, by myself.

The other Cyclopes all like to clump up, work together, form organizations, and talk, talk, talk. They think I’m crazy because I want to be on my own. They’re the crazy ones. What could be better than this?

I glance out at the sea and stop short. There’s something out there. I shield my eye from the sun with my hand and squint over the waves. Little dots in the distance, near the horizon. It’s rare for ships to come within sight of this island.

They’re probably lost. Experienced seafaring men know better than to explore these parts. If they come ashore, may the gods help them — certainly no one else will.

***

“Have you seen the ships, Polyphemos?” calls Abraxos as the afternoon wears on to evening. “Mortal men, drawing near our island! It’s all anyone is talking about!”

Of course they are. Talking, talking, talking. Filling the air with their foul breath and fouler opinions. That’s all other Cyclopes are good for.

“Oh, sure,” I call back. “I suppose you’ll be going with them, then?”

“What do you mean?” Abraxos asks warily.

“Well, your father’s a mortal man, isn’t he? He must be coming to collect you!”

Abraxos eyes me from his hilltop in the distance. He comes no closer — he knows better than to cross into my field. “What are you talking about, Polyphemos? My father is Poseidon, same as you.”

“Oh, that can’t be,” I say, my face pretending great gravity. “Someone’s told you a lie. Short, dull, malformed… you’d have to be at least half mortal, maybe three-quarters.”

“Don’t be cruel,” Abraxos spits.

“If anything, I’m understating your case,” I laugh, starting to usher my sheep into my cave for the night. “But we’ll let that pass. Have you heard about the wolf that’s been marauding in these parts?”

Abraxos’s face switches to sincere concern as quickly as if he’d changed a drama mask. “I haven’t!”

“You’d better watch your flock, Abraxos, this one’s a killer.”

“I don’t worry. If any wolf comes near my sheep, I snap its neck before it can harm a one.” He mimes the motion, clearly trying to show me he’s not as puny as I say.

“Oh, not this one you won’t,” I say, my voice trembling. “It’s as high at the shoulder as I am, teeth like meat cleavers!”

I can see I’ve got Abraxos rattled. He is gloriously easy to fool, and no matter how many times I trick him, he’s always ready — I might even say eager — to fall for another.

“You’re lying,” he says with no conviction in his voice. “There’s no such wolf.”

“Take your chances if you want,” I shrug, my last sheep trotting obediently into my cave. It’s my biggest ram, Little Polyphemus — he’s always the first one out and the last one in. I’d say I love him like a son, but even if I did have a son, I could never love another Cyclops as much as I love my sheep. “I’m only trying to warn you. Good evening, Abraxos.”

I pick up the giant stone that sits next to my doorway and drop it into place. Abraxos couldn’t budge it even if he did dare to set foot on my land. Cyclopes are a large race, but I am big and strong even among my fellow giants. Few are the Cyclopes who could roll my boulder-door aside, let alone lift it as I do. Another useful way of guaranteeing my privacy.

The meat and cheese are delicious tonight — I caught two deer in the woods today and one goat off the face of the mountain, and they’re delectable. I tear all the meat off their tiny bones with my teeth, then suck out the marrow. I don’t cook my meat as some of the Cyclopes do. The fresher the better in my estimation.

As I settle in to sleep on my cot, I am troubled by those ships, which spent the day growing larger. I pretended not to care when I was talking to Abraxos, because fuck that guy. But I don’t like seeing those ships. There are mortal men approaching the island, and my cave is the closest to the shore. Whoever is aboard could decide to make themselves troublesome.

I do not like to be bothered.

***

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