Medusa

Content notes: snakes, mansplaining, petrifi cation

There once was a bonnie lass named Medusa. Back in the day you would not have called her a bonnie lass, but then you would not have spoken English, so there is that.
Many a laddie tried to catch her amber eye, and maybe some lasses, too, but Medusa was not interested in romance. She loved her garden, her peace and her research. She loved to solve problems. When it rained, the paving stones that led to her cottage sometimes moved in the mud, making the way difficult. So she worked and read until she was able to make a paste of clay and chalk and ground stone and other things. A paste that would harden, to keep the stones in place. The things were not secret or magical, just things that worked. Medusa planned to share the recipe with the rest of the village once it was tried and tested.

One fine day Medusa was working in her front lawn, making a bed in which to pour the paste, which, so far, was just a dry powder in a bucket, waiting to be prepared. A lad who was passing by used her doings as an excuse to pause and watch, or, well, ogle her.

In an attempt to draw her attention, he started to offer advice on how best to proceed with a plan he knew nothing about, and how to improve the paste he had never seen, trying to show how smart he was. At first Medusa tried to ignore the calls and comments, but soon every time the lad said something to “help”, she started to hiss under her breath.

Strangely enough, each hiss attracted a snake. The snakes curled around Medusa, trying to comfort her, nestling on her head so they could try to block the sounds that made her upset. Soon Medusa’s head was covered in snakes and not a single one of her dark curls could be seen anymore.
The lad now added advice on how to get rid of the snakes as well.

So intent was he on impressing Medusa, that he failed to notice that it had started to rain, until he was more than just a little wet. Medusa had noticed and kept the bucket close, out of the rain. Assuming her a damsel in distress, in danger of catching a cold, he hastened unbidden to her side. He thought she would want to go inside as quickly as she could and grabbed the bucket of powder to carry it, as it surely was too heavy for her.

When the lad made a grab for the bucket, the snakes struck, to keep him away. He jerked back, but had already gotten a hold of the handle, so he yanked the bucket out of Medusa’s hand. In his fear he recoiled from the snakes, throwing his arm up to protect his face, and accidentally spilled the powder all over himself.

Medusa watched in shock as the powder soaked up the wetness from olive skin and home spun clothes and quickly hardened. With his arm still raised, the paste set and held him, like a statue, in place.

A widower, who had watched the scene from his window, told the story later, shaking his head. “If she had just let him help her, all would have been well.”

And all agreed.

And thus it remains to this day, that women are blamed for the mistakes of men.