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Grovels the Aphrodite

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The Greco-Roman myth of Pygmalion is centered around a sculptor who carved a woman as beautiful as Aphrodite herself, and fell in love with it. Pygmalion made offerings to Aphrodite in her temple on the day of her festival. Aphrodite, hearing the prayers of her worshiper, blesses his statue Galatea to come to life.

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Story

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I am here to tell you that there is no "happily ever after." I'm not trying to say that nobody can be happy -- it's just that happiness is no end destination. Anybody telling you that is lying, trying to get you to join their secretive cult, or selling you something. Unless you're talking about dying happy, which, in any case, is better than dying miserable.

And that's where I was at. I did not want to die lonely, miserable.

All the folks in town called me a queer bachelor. I was almost thirty springs old, a decent looking chap, and not attached to any female. Honestly, it wasn't that I didn't like women or anything like that, not that there's anything wrong with marveling men either. I had a higher calling. My work was everything. With my hands, I can capture anything and freeze it in time and stone.

Stone that will live beyond my little miserable life.

And my life was miserable because everybody told me so. I didn't partake in earthly carnal passion, partying it up with the trendy Bacchanalian festivals with drinking and whatever else they do in those loud things. The few women I met and would stand for my trade were either too loud and naggy or eerily silent and doting, so I rebuked them so I could master my work. And the whole town thought I was kooky and told me I was miserable -- even the scholars partied hard when their work was done. Even my mother, who had long kicked me out for pursuing "chipping at rocks", told me that I must be miserable.

For the longest time, I just hummed to myself and "chipped" my marbles. I worked my way up, starting from little things like snakes and rabbits... wolves and lions. I once carved a delicate butterfly that I sent to one promising girl I met, but she indelicately sneezed and blew its wings into dust. I fathered magnificent beasts - a gryphon, even a hydra - I unearthed them all from their casings in the rock. And I loved all my children dearly, but something felt missing. A few harvests ago, I made my very first cherubs, modeled after the very scum that enjoy throwing pebbles through my studio. Soon, they had a guardian, a man made of stone. I felt very proud of my creations.

Yet nobody marveled at my work.

To tell the truth, it's hard not to feel miserable and old when younglings you once knew as infants start to attend all the seedy festivals. And then by the time I felt too old and miserable, I really was too old and miserable for a mate. I realized how worn and sinewy my hands were -- well, they were no longer so young. The last thing I wanted was a fifteen springs' old bride who has barely bled. The more wretched I felt, the less I worked. My last piece stands there, in a corner of the studio. She is a masterpiece, yet to be found in the rock.

My last creation is a woman. Since I have stopped working, she haunts my dreams. She told me her name was Galatea.

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Anyway, you probably know the whole story by now. I released a most beautiful woman from her prison of stone and I adored her. It took me ten years to delicately trace her form from marble, but I did it. Having haunted my dreams for so long, she practically talked to me during those days. She was good to me, kept me in check and told me to feed myself. Silly things like that. It barely surprised me when Aphrodite popped a visit and gave her to my open arms.

Our love was passionate and sweet, and I felt young again lying in her soft arms.

But at the peak of our bliss, the trouble started.

I tried to keep her from leaving the house, but it made her unhappy. So I took her to the forum and the market, to absorb the sights and sounds and smells. We stuck out of the crowd. She smelled like a fresh bubbling wet brook while everybody else was covered in mud or dust. Birds would perch on her fearlessly. Women passing by noticed and envied her pure, unmarred skin. Before long, all the town knew of her presence. Everybody wanted to know where she came from.

Nobody believed that she was Aphrodite's blessing.

They came and destroyed all my children. Every last one of them, dust, and none grew to survive me. They feared that stone demons would leap out of the stone in the forms I had given them. I escaped with Galatea with my very smallest chisel, and I cried. Galatea shared a tear, but they stopped coming and eventually turned into glass. I am loathe to admit that a grain of fear - of her? for her? - started growing in my heart.

Surviving in the woods was very difficult. Sculptor by trade, I knew nothing about the wilderness or hunting. Galatea, while she ate and drank as I did in my village, ate and drank very little. In fact, I don't think hunger or thirst ever affected her. Anyway, I would not have survived the hunger and the cold if she were not there for me, finding edible roots and keeping me warm at night. It was strange, feeling miserable and happy at the same time.

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Wandering the wilderness, we once came across a small hunter's hut. We were welcomed, as the Greek way, as guests and the hunter's wife saved me from starvation. She barely noticed that Galatea was only saving food for me and not eating anything. Real trouble stirred up when the hunter came home, however. His dogs would not stop barking, and when one bit Galatea's fine legs, its teeth broke! I was as shocked as the dog and the hunter. We had no reasonable explanation, and left before anybody got hurt any more.

Galatea did not feel the bite of the dog, though its teethmarks dented her ankle slightly. She does not bleed, yet she loves me so. I am sad to say that I really started to fear her. Her skin was even growing whiter and colder. But I knew her - I mean, she is and was the same woman I have loved for years even before I freed her from stone. And I loved her -- but it is so frightening to see somebody you hold so dear change so rapidly in front of your eyes.

I don't remember too much of the later events. I peddled little wooden carvings until I could buy a few goats. We made way to an isolated island with our goats and managed to build a little hut. I should have been happy, but who can stop the growth of a shadow that looms ever closer? One night I dreamed that I woke up to find Galatea frozen solid and clutched around me, and I could not move or breathe, and I actually woke up flailing... and out of fear I hit her! Indeed her skin was as cold as I remember but never have I realized it had also become so hard! I broke three fingers and she wept tears of diamonds.

There... was a lot of fighting and we were practically estranged. After breaking those fingers, which never really healed, I grew ever more fearful and thought much of my mortality... and that of Galatea's too. We both knew we fought because we loved each other and we were both just as scared as the other. Eventually we tried to settle with enjoying each other's company while we can. Isn't that how these relationships work? Take all the good with the bad and you try to be as happy as possible for the longest time possible, right? But with "normal" couples, you can at least expect to meet in the fields of Elysium at some point. For us, there doesn't seem to be a together forever.

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For years, we prayed to Aphrodite for a child that never came. Galatea prayed so steadfastedly, but I started secretly praying instead that I could waive an eternal existence in Elysium and stay with Galatea forever. We didn't need any children for happiness that we already have, however temporary it is. I want to be happy forever.

Prayers come back in strange manners. There is a stone in my abdomen and a pain that doesn't fade. Sometimes I wonder if I am becoming stone, so I can join my dearest Galatea. But I know of other men who have died even younger than me from stony pits in their gut. Somewhere deep inside, I know my time is coming, and I have a feeling that my wife senses this also. She never ages. She looks just as she did the day I chiseled and polished her last fingernail, but she can barely take care of me any longer. She moves ever more slowly each day, but ever so gracefully. Lately she's gathered a little bit of moss and a bird nest in her hair. My body is full of pain but her beauty and her company give me so much joy. I can barely move now, as does Galatea. I think I can stride off to Hades with a little bit of peace that my work, the child of my hands, my wife, my soulmate and her beauty, will live beyond my years... but I am still secretly hoping that the next time I wake up, I will feel stone against stone.

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art, story, and profile by Chen