The Big Over Easy

“One moment,” said Madeleine to Prometheus before beckoning Jack off to where they couldn’t be heard at the foot of the stairs.

“This won’t be like having that tart Kitty Fisher living here, will it?”

“No, no.”

“I’m not having the spare room used as a bordello.”

“Keep your voice down. No, Prometheus is quite different—besides, Jerome is doing a project on ancient Greece and needs a bit of help. What do you and I know about history?”

Madeleine shrugged, and they returned to the front door, where Prometheus was still being rained upon.

“Why don’t you come in?” said Madeleine. “We can discuss it.”

“Thank you.”

They walked through to the kitchen. Stevie was given a biscuit, which he promptly dropped on the floor. The cat opened one eye and then closed it again. Stevie then stared at Prometheus with all the seriousness that one-year-olds can muster, which is quite a lot.

“Da-woo,” he said at length.

“A-boo,” replied Prometheus.

“Woo…?” asked Stevie doubtfully.

“Wa-boo. Oodle-boo,” responded Prometheus with a large smile.

“Da-woo!” said Stevie with a shriek of laughter.

“You speak baby gibberish?” asked Jack.

“Fluently. The adult-education center ran a course, and I have a lot of time on my hands.”

“So what did he say?”

“I don’t know.”

“I thought you said you spoke gibberish?”

“I do. But your baby doesn’t. I think he’s speaking either pretoddler nonsense, a form of infant burble or an obscure dialect of gobbledygook. In any event, I can’t understand a word he’s saying.”

“Oh.”

“Wow!” said Megan, who had just wandered in. She walked up to Madeleine and clasped her hand tightly.

“That’s Prometheus, isn’t it? Tell me it is. I know it is. He can be my show-and-tell tomorrow at school. Miss Dibble is a big fan of his. Can he come to school and tell us all about how he had his liver pecked out in the Caucasus? Can he, Mum? Please?”

“Darling, I—”

Ben walked in. Being sixteen, he was fashionably unimpressed by anybody and everything. Prometheus, however, proved to be an exception.

“The Fire-Giver!” he exclaimed. “Awesome! Like your style, man.”

“You are man,” corrected the Titan coolly. “I am Prometheus.”

Ben gaped. Street-cred overload. Prometheus smiled modestly. He enjoyed a devoted following among the young. He was, after all, the ultimate rebel—it takes a lot of cojones to stand up to Zeus.

“Ben’s the name,” he said at last. “You here for long?”

“He might be the new lodger,” said Jack.

Ben rolled his eyes. “That is so unbelievably cool! What do you know about the sort of girls who like to play the harp?”

“Boo!” said Megan petulantly, crossing her arms and pouting.

“He’s my show-and-tell, Ben. Your dopey girlfriends can wait their turn!”

“Can it, shrimp.”

Pandora walked in. She was wrapped in a dressing gown and was still damp after a shower. She hadn’t realized there was a visitor.

“Oh,” she said, blushed, then rushed back upstairs to get dressed, stopping halfway to sneak a second look at Prometheus through the balusters. Prometheus watched her go and had to be nudged by Jack to stop him staring.

Madeleine softened. She had been concerned for the children, but Prometheus seemed to fit in perfectly.

“Welcome, Mr. Prometheus.”

“Thank you.” The Titan smiled. “And it’s just ‘Prometheus.’”

Madeleine put the kettle on and continued, “It’s not often I have a political refugee in my house. I’ve followed your struggle with interest. Perhaps we can talk about ancient Greece a little later?”

Prometheus gave another short bow and smiled politely.

“Well,” he began, “‘ancient Greece’ is a little bit of a misnomer, really; when I was there, it was simply a collection of city-states—Athens, Sparta, Thebes, Delphi and so forth. Sparta was a tough place to grow up in, but Athens was a blast. Full of people wrapped in sheets having good ideas. We used to have this thing called ‘ostracism’ where you could vote anyone you didn’t like out of the city—I think I’m an Idiot, Get Me on Telly! uses the same format. Your idea of modern Greece really only began with Diocletian’s division in 286. I can tell you a bit about harpies, Ben, and Megan—I’d very much like to be your show-and-tell. Jack, I’m also pretty good with torque settings on Allegro wheel bearings.”

“Can you cook?” asked Madeleine.

“I love to cook. Do you all like Mediterranean?”

They stared at him, awestruck. He was over four thousand years old, and so he knew almost everything there was to know about everything. Truly, he was the tenant of the gods.

“Which way is the karzy?” he asked, puncturing his sagelike image somewhat. “I’m dying for a dump.”

16. Mrs. Sings Turns the Story