Olympus Mounts

“Look! People! I love people,” she said. Couples and families moved in boisterous groups below us. “They used to chant my name and send me things.”

“Hmm. What kind of things?” I asked, already knowing. Athena had made me look several times this afternoon, delighted by her discovery.

“Oh, Eros. I don’t recall,” she demurred. “Goats I think. I love a good goat, don’t you?”

The other gargoyles lining our roofline were trying to drop their rainwater on those pedestrians. “He’s coming right toward you. Wait, wait… Now!” Zeus and Poseidon, flanking the entrance, laughed uproariously. “Messed up his pretty hair!” Their gravelly voices scraped my nerves. I didn’t participate, but heard each pedestrian’s outrage.

There was little else to entertain us as the Olympus Mounts, gargoyles hanging off the sides of the Athens Museum.

A tour guide trailed by a cadre of girls in green uniforms gathered under each god. “Those girls remind me of my temple acolytes,” Athena told me. She would have waved if she had arms. “Did I ever tell you about my lovely temple?” I had heard about her temple many times.

Pointing up and squinting, the tour guide said “There’s Athena on the corner. Her bodice is supposed to be owl feathers. You can still see her quiver of arrows, but her bow has eroded.”

“Oh, I did have a bow, didn’t I?”

I sighed and chose not to acknowledge. It was like losing it again each time she remembered.

When it rained, the other gargoyles gossiped. “Did you see the mess she made?” Water dribbled down her front and out a new crack in her side. Then maintenance hoisted themselves up and put their hands all over Athena, poking their fingers into her mouth and slathering goo on her nethers.

“What is the meaning of this!” she shrieked. Bits of her crumbled off. Her dust stuck to their hands. “I’ll send my armies after you for this indignity.” I told her they were helping her. She wouldn’t be consoled. The others looked anywhere but at Athena.

I heard the men say “water-based filler” instead of “waterproof filler” and ignored it. I missed her strength. In the next rainfall, Athena cracked, her crumbs gathered into a slurry, then sluiced down the wall between us. With a gritty scraping, her torso spun upside-down and for the first time I saw her arrows. She split in two, then five when she hit a balcony. The pebbles on the street were countless.

Zeus and Poseidon flinched. Apollo rumbled, “It could happen to the best of us.” I could see discoloration around his mounts, a new hairline fracture like a vein across his muscular thigh.

Eventually, the cranes hoisted men into position again, this time with a freshly moulded gargoyle to bolt into place. I looked over and said “Hi Athena.”

“Is that my name? Tell me everything.”

I hesitated. Could I start again? She had done it when I was new. I began with her bow.