Gideon wasted no time. He gathered up some of the smaller rocks and artfully dumped them on the fire, scattering a few around, adding some sand. They then rolled the big rock on top, effectively putting out the fire. They brushed away marks in the sand around the fire, hiding the evidence of what they had done and arranging it to look like a small, natural cave-in. Smoke came trickling up from around the rocks for a few minutes, and then stopped.
“Damn cave-in,” Gideon said with a smirk. “It put out the fire. Wonder what our friend’s going to do about it?”
A few hours later they heard the Cyclops return, rolling the rock away with much grunting and then entering, two enormous, gutted iguanas over his shoulder. He walked in and stopped, staring at the fire. Then he looked up at the ceiling, looked back down, and hastily began pulling the rocks and sweeping the sand from the fire. Fetching some small twigs, he placed them in the dead coals and knelt, blowing steadily. Nothing happened. The fire was dead.
He stood up with a roar of anger, staring at them and gesturing toward the fire. Amiko shrugged. Another roar, the spittle flying from his lips. He gestured again at the fire, staring fiercely at Gideon, as if it was his fault.
Gideon shrugged.
Another roar of frustration.
Gideon took the lighter from his pocket and offered it to the Cyclops. The creature came over, stared at it, took it, smelled it, and then tossed it aside with an irritated growl.
With a smile, Gideon retrieved the lighter. The Cyclops watched him with deep suspicion. With an elaborate flourish, and making sure the Cyclops was paying attention, Gideon flicked it on. The little yellow flame jumped into life.
The Cyclops’s single eye flew wide, his hairy brow arching up. He issued a sharp grunt, hesitated, took a step forward and poked his finger at the flame, pulling it out when he appeared satisfied it was really fire.
Now Gideon, slowly and with exaggerated motion, picked up the bundle of twigs on the dead fire and applied the lighter; they crackled to life. He laid them back down, added larger sticks from the nearby pile, and in a few minutes the fire was burning merrily.
The creature stared, amazed.
Gideon offered the lighter to him again. Cautiously, the Cyclops reached out and took it, tried to flick it on, but his hands were clumsy and it slipped from his grasp and fell. Gideon picked it up, flicked it on a few times while the Cyclops watched, and then placed it in his hands and, modeling his fingers, showed him how to scratch the wheel to make fire. After half a dozen fumbling tries he got it going, his saucer-like eye growing large with wonder.
Gideon turned to Amiko. “Tell him it’s a gift.”
Amiko spoke a few words in Greek. The Cyclops flicked it on a few times, and then reverently placed it inside his leather bag. He sat down at the fire, grunting softly to himself and glancing from time to time at Gideon.
Amiko turned to Gideon. “Okay, I’m curious. How did you figure out he didn’t know how to make fire?”
“I watched him. He tended that fire like a baby. It never went out. He carefully banked the coals at night and lit a new fire from them in the morning. I never saw him use any fire-making tools — and there aren’t any in his supplies.”
“You think his kind has been tending the same fire for thousands of years?”
“Perhaps.”
“Nice work, Prometheus.”
“The gift of fire. Greatest gift to mankind. And Cyclops-kind.”
Amiko hesitated. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think he’s lonely. We haven’t seen any other Cyclops. Maybe he’s the last of his kind. And that could be another reason he’s keeping us here — for companionship.”
“And we haven’t introduced ourselves. You know: me Tarzan, you Jane.”
“You’re absolutely right,” said Amiko. “Do you think he even has a name?”
“Only one way to find out.” Gideon stood up and, swallowing his apprehension, stepped toward the creature. It raised its shaggy head and stared at him with that frightening eye.
Gideon put his hands on his chest. “Gideon,” he said loudly.
The creature stared.
“Gideon.” Then he turned and placed a hand on Amiko. “Amiko.” Back to himself. “Gideon.”
Then, with a certain trepidation, he opened his hands and pointed toward the Cyclops.
The creature merely stared.
Gideon went through the whole elaborate charade again, but the Cyclops greeted this fresh round with a puzzled growl and either didn’t appear to understand or found the whole thing annoying.
“Wait. Let me try.” Amiko stood up and, walking over to the Cyclops, reached out and touched it. She said something to it in ancient Greek.
The reaction of the creature was striking. It seemed to cease all motion, cease breathing. Its eye widened slowly, slowly, as if a memory was returning to it after a long absence.
Amiko repeated the word.
The eye opened wider. The Cyclops looked almost comical in his expression of astonishment. A great stillness fell. And then the creature reached out a trembling hand and touched her shoulder. It repeated the word in a deep, rumbling, awkward, and tentative voice.
Good God, it can speak, Gideon thought in astonishment.
She said the word a third time, and the creature repeated it again. And then an extraordinary thing happened. The great, horrible, saucer-like eye glistened and welled up, and a large tear coursed down its ragged face.
And then it spoke another word. Another tear came, and another, and then the creature placed its hairy, broken hands over its face, and wept.
“What did you say?” Gideon whispered.
“I spoke the name Polyphemus.”
“And what did it say in reply?”
“An archaic Greek word that means ‘begetter,’ ‘ancestor.’ Or more like ‘father of all.’”
53
The jungle was alive with life: a green, steaming, roaring hothouse full of insects, lizards, and invisible animals all contributing their chirps, croaks, tweets, rasps, and drumming to the general din. Gideon had been following the Cyclops through the jungle for several hours now. The morning after they’d exchanged names, the Cyclops had left the cave — after a halting “conversation” with Amiko — with an ambiguous gesture to Gideon that seemed to be an invitation to follow. The creature was apparently involved in a search of some kind, and Gideon hoped beyond all hope it was a hunt for the elusive lotus. But so far the Cyclops, despite a most diligent search, had found nothing.
Once again, Gideon was powerfully impressed with just how beautiful and unique the island was. The sheer variety of life on the island-top was staggering — the massive clusters of blooming flowers, orchids cascading down like brilliant waterfalls, the giant ferns, the ancient tree trunks covered with moss, the hanging vines and mysterious, shadowy understory. And everywhere he looked came the sounds of life and the rustle and flash of hidden creatures, along with an incredible variety of butterflies and brightly colored lizards.
It was also hazardous. The top of the island, which appeared flat from afar, was in reality a collapsed volcanic cone, the ground riddled with pits, sinkholes, and extinct fumaroles carpeted over with vegetation so thick it obscured the openings and fissures, turning every step into a potential trap. While Gideon was no botanist, he was amazed by the bizarre and exotic plants he saw: giant pitcher plants full of water; an orchid with enormous purple blossoms that smelled like rotting meat; vines that formed impassable nets; gigantic tree roots that looked like melting cheese.