Scylla

She does not come from the water. She unfolds out of the cliff like something that was always there. Six heads the size of a man’s torso, each with rows of teeth that catch the sun like bronze. Necks thin and almost delicate above a body wedged in the rock. She lives high up in a hidden cave and reaches down. There is no monster-slaying here. She is above the sword. She is above the spear. Circe says this plainly to Odysseus: do not fight, you cannot win, arming yourself only makes it worse. He arms himself anyway, because he cannot stand the idea of losing more men without a fight. The spears are awkward in his hands like props for a play. [SPOILER: The men are celebrating their escape from Charybdis, joking and slapping backs, when she comes down. Six of them are lifted screaming his name. Their hands grasp at benches, at gunwales, at the men beside them. The oars fall. The ship bucks. Then she is gone back into her cave and the cliff face is silent. Odysseus knew. He had told no one. He could not tell them and still get them through the strait. He carries that for the rest of the journey and does not say it.]