Polyphemus's Cave

A cave on the side of a hill, its mouth wide enough for four men abreast. The far wall and the ceiling are lost in shadow. Large enough to shelter fifty men. Inside it smells of animals and cold ash. As the light from the fire grows you start to see the order of it: great racks of cheeses the size of millstones rowed along the walls, pens of lambs sorted carefully by age with wooden rails shoulder high on a tall man, flasks lining another wall, a fire pit in the centre, skins for bedding piled high. This is a home. The men want to take what they can and run. Odysseus chooses to stay and meet the host. Then the boulder rolls across the entrance, stone grinding against stone until it seats into the rock face, and the cave becomes a tomb. Two men a meal. Bones on the floor. The greatest single mistake of Odysseus’s life happens inside these walls. The escape, ride out beneath the bellies of rams in the dawn, happens through the same stone door.