To Irina

Mydon was little more than a boy when I first saw him. He went around in the streets of Lyrnessus carrying a staff as if to show his devotion for Asclepius; and to whoever listened he would declare that he had been called to heal wounds and cure sicknesses. But he claimed that the god had commanded him to be first received by Apollo; and that is why every season, or every now and then—for he could not think of anything else—he would appear before the temple and clasp the priest's knees begging to be initiated. The priest always looked at the sky before refusing him; and then he would give the young man a reprimand, ordering him to throw the staff away, and exhorting him not to offend the god with false pretences.

Although devotion never left him, Mydon did abandon the staff, at least for a while. For, when several seasons had passed, war came, summoning him with the loud voice of the commander who picked him up in the street, forcing him, who was not good at war, to join the small company of a dozen archers that soon posted themselves near the woods outside Lyrnessus, where a shrine of Apollo had once been built close to the houses of a few shepherds or farmers, who lived there. But on their arrival Mydon and his fellow archers discovered that the invaders had already visited the place, slaying every living being in the small village—animal or man—and tearing down every building.

The commander cursed his luck for being late, and boldly complained that the enemy was not likely to return, since it had razed the spot so thoroughly. Nevertheless he resolved that they would camp here; "an excellent place to harass the bastards from", he declared. So the archers began to build defences with the same stones and logs that the pillagers had recently scattered, clearing the surroundings from the heaps of debris. It was while they were occupied with this task that Mydon discovered, under the stone altar, the wounded serpent.

No one wished to move the stone nor touch the serpent; for soldiers more than others, see the signs and designs of fate in whatever trifle, believing that their life or death, may depend more on minute trivialities than on the enemy's murderous purposes. So fearing the powers above or those below, and deeming it safer not to intervene, they let the serpent lie crushed under the weight of the stone, and left both untouched. But Mydon stayed behind; and helping himself with clever devices he succeeded, at dusk, in freeing the serpent—a huge beast, the length of two men and as thick as an arm.

Mydon carried the serpent to the nearby grove where he healed its wounds, returning afterwards every day to the same spot under an oak in order to feed it and nurse it in every possible way. But later, when the animal had recovered its full vigour being able to move around in the grove, Mydon could not find it as easily; so he started calling it by sounds similar to those produced by snakes, and the serpent, responding to his call, would come to him as dogs and other animals usually do when they hear the voice of their master.

The archers operated from their unsuspected haunt for a whole season; and when they returned from their hunting or from their ambushes in the woods they all sat to eat and drink and rest in the camp, except Mydon, who brought food to the serpent in the grove and had dinner with it instead, confiding in the animal the hardships of the day: the animals they hunted or trapped, the soldiers they surprised and shot, the shepherds whose throats they cut, the wives and daughters they raped, the bodies and heads they hanged, the tents and houses they burned, and many other things that I will not mention since the activities of men at war are as innumerable as they are amazing. Such were, in any case, the summer deeds of Mydon and the archers.

One chilly night, before the early autumn rains began, Mydon dreamt that he was the serpent, and that the serpent, being Mydon, was calling him with the usual noises. And since noises, even in dreams, disturb sleep, Mydon woke up shuddering. Without delay he seized the mouse he had trapped for the serpent's sake, and slipped away to the grove with the bright Dog of Orion above his head. There he found the serpent under the oak and sat beside it offering the trembling mouse, but the serpent, as if ignoring the prey, climbed up into his lap; and while Mydon was patiently caressing his friend and talking to it as he used to, the beast coiled around him.

Mydon was first moved by the serpent's affection, but when some time had passed and the coiled animal showed no interest in the meal, he got tired and tried to stand up. It was then that he felt the strength of the grip and heard the serpent's menacing hiss for the first time; and since he soon realized that the locking embrace became tighter and the hiss louder for each attempt to move, Mydon resolved to add stillness to his bewilderment. While he, as quietly as he could, pondered his foolishness, reasoning that too late had he learned that no serpent can be a friend of a man, dawn came; and soon a radiant day exposed Mydon holding a mouse and a serpent holding Mydon. He had moved several times, and since on that account he could by midday hardly breath, he decided to make a final effort to free himself. It was while he gathered his waning forces that the serpent, as if obeying another call, suddenly uncoiled and went away, disappearing amid the grove's trees and bushes.

When Mydon felt released he took several deep breaths and stood up, letting go of the mouse, which he had hoped to turn into his ransom. And like those who have been sick at sea walk when they finally reach land, so walked exhausted Mydon back to the camp, which he found in the same ruinous state as when he first saw it at the beginning of the summer, except that besides the scattered stones and logs there lay also the dispersed bodies of the other twelve archers, still warm but more dead than he could bring himself to believe.

Now Mydon told me that he took a few provisions and returned in haste to the grove to look for the serpent that had kept him away from the camp while the enemy destroyed it, but he never found the animal again. And while Mydon related this story, I did not feel his surgeon's knife. Having finished, he whispered: "Open your eyes Amphiclus, you can see again." And I discerned Mydon, a most beautiful sight.

Carlos Parada
Lund, December 2000