Chapter 29 A Hit and a Myth
RHEA’S HAND SHOOTS UP SO fast that even I can’t keep up.
Then again, that might also be because I’m thinking about the box I saw before.
Was I right after all? I thought the Pandora’s box myth was too obvious for a school that wants us to figure so much out on our own, but maybe not.
Maybe Dr. Themis and the rest of the faculty decided to give us a break.
I raise my hand along with half the class—including Paris and Fifi. But Dr. Minthe calls on Rhea, who gives the rest of us a smug look before replying, “Pandora opened a box and let all kinds of evils escape into the world.”
Dr. Minthe looks a little disappointed at her answer, but he doesn’t correct her—probably because that’s the basic premise of the myth. He does, however, put her on the spot by asking, “How many evils?”
Rhea looks uncertain, and several long, awkward seconds go by before she finally guesses “Ten.”
“Seven.” The word is out of my mouth before I know I’m going to say it. I brace myself for a reprimand for speaking without being called on—the way I shout things out when I’m excited used to drive my old teachers crazy. But Dr. Minthe doesn’t say a word about my behavior.
Instead, he nods. “You’re right, Penelope. It was seven. Can you name them for me?”
As he—and the rest of the class—stares straight at me, I have trouble remembering my own name, let alone what kinds of things Pandora let out of the box.
But I take a deep breath, tell myself to calm down.
And then I say, “That actually depends on which version of the myth you’re talking about.
Most retellings differ, at least a little bit, on what those seven things are. ”
“Interesting that you point that out.” Dr. Minthe looks intrigued. “Why do you think that is?”
“I’ve never really thought about it before.”
“No?” He quirks a brow. “Well, think about it now.”
“Is it because things change based on who’s telling the story?” Fifi suggests in a voice so quiet I barely recognize it. In every other situation we’ve been in, she’s always the loud one. But something about answering in class—or at least this class—seems to have turned her almost timid.
I wonder what that’s about. Besides being attacked by a giant eagle, of course.
“Perhaps. But are you suggesting that it’s all just one giant game of telephone, where people change the story because they forget? Or is it something more sinister?”
The inflection he puts on “sinister” has chills skating up and down my spine. But before I can figure out what Dr. Minthe is trying to get at, Rhea jumps in again.
“I don’t think it’s sinister at all,” she tells him. “It’s just the way things evolve through time. The myth first came about like four thousand years ago—”
“Twenty-eight hundred, actually,” he corrects her.
Rhea’s face flames, and I tell myself I shouldn’t take pleasure in her embarrassment. But then I remember the way she looked at me before she knew I was Paris’s sister, and how she turned the fake act on as soon as she did know, and I don’t feel so bad.
“Still, twenty-eight hundred years is a long time ago,” her sister, Selene, jumps in.
“Yeah,” Paris agrees. “How many times was the story told or written and rewritten in that time?”
“I’m not saying otherwise,” Dr. Minthe tells him. “I’m just asking why the base of the story remains pretty much the same, but those seven things change.”
“Because they reflect the values of the people telling the story.” The answer suddenly comes to me.
“If these are supposed to be the seven biggest evils let into the world, while hope remains trapped in the box because Pandora closed the lid, those evils are going to be determined by the society in which the storyteller lives.”
“Exactly.” Dr. Minthe grins at me. “Which is why, over time, the evils have been represented as different things. Sometimes it’s things like disease, violence, death, madness, and sorrow that come out of the box—things that plague society.
Other times, it’s more a list of the dark side of human nature—jealousy, anger, greed, sloth, things like that.
And still other versions say dark and terrible creatures came out to torment humanity and make our lives as miserable as possible.
” He pauses for a moment, looks every single one of us in the eyes before continuing.
“So my question to you remains the same. Why do the things change depending on who’s telling the story? What influences what those things are?”
“What people are most afraid of at the time. Whatever it is—monsters, themselves, outside forces that hurt them. That’s what comes out of the box,” I tell him.
“Exactly, Penelope.” He points a finger at me. “That is exactly right.”
“So how do we know what’s true about a myth?” Paris asks. “How do we know what to believe?”
“Another really good question,” Dr. Minthe tells him. “Does anyone want to work through it?”
“I think you have to look at what doesn’t change.” Arjun speaks up for the first time. “What stays constant in the myth.”
“I don’t know.” Dr. Minthe raises a brow. “You tell me what stays constant in the myth.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“I know, but let’s do that anyway. If we’re going to study the myth this year, we need to have a baseline about what we’re studying. So what part of the myth doesn’t change?”
“I don’t know much about the myth except that Pandora opens a box filled with bad stuff,” Arjun admits.
“Me neither,” Sullivan agrees. “Isn’t that the important part?”
“How do you know what’s important until you look at everything?” Dr. Minthe counters.
“Two Titans were charged with making all the creatures of the earth,” I tell him. “Epimetheus and Prometheus. They were brothers.”
“Epimetheus made all the animals and fish and bugs,” Rhea adds. “While Prometheus spent a long time creating man.”
“So long that Epimetheus gave away all the gifts Zeus had given them to bestow on the creatures of the earth.” I’ve read the myth a hundred times, and this part always amazes me—and makes me sad.
“But Prometheus wanted something to give man. Since his brother had used all the gifts, he stole fire from the gods and gave it to us. And that’s why he was punished by being chained to a rock so that an eagle could eat his liver every day. ”
Agatha, who has been perched on the top of the arts building since class began, lets out a long, high-pitched chirp that sounds surprisingly like a wail.
It sends a shard of ice right through me.
Apparently, she wasn’t any happier with Prometheus’s punishment than he was—or hers, now that I think about it.
Imagine being forced to eat a man’s liver day after day after day for what feels like eternity, just because Zeus demands it of you.
The thought creeps me out, but it also makes me feel something I can’t quite identify. It’s like it’s floating around at the edges of my mind, but it’s still just out of reach.
“Wait a minute. He was tortured for eternity—” Sullivan starts.
“Maybe not,” Dr. Minthe corrects. “Eternity hasn’t happened yet, after all.”
“Okay, fine. He was punished for a really long time for doing something kind?” Sullivan sounds disgusted. “That really stinks.”
“You might want to hold on to all that righteous outrage,” Dr. Minthe tells him. “That’s just the backstory for Pandora’s myth.”
“You mean it gets worse?” Rhea’s brother, Atlas, speaks up.
“When we’re dealing with Zeus and the Titans, it always gets worse.” Dr. Minthe inclines his head as he looks between Atlas and his sisters. “I would think three people named after the Titans would know that better than most.”
“So what did Zeus do to him?” Arjun asks.
“Zeus had Pandora created out of clay because he was angry at Prometheus—” I start.
“He had her created?” Now it’s Paris’s turn to look surprised. “Who created her?”
“I don’t know.” I turn to Dr. Minthe, a little shocked that I’ve never thought to ask that before. “Who did create Pandora?”
He looks uncomfortable for a moment, but then his face smooths out. “The who isn’t part of the story because it’s not important. What is important is what happens after she’s created.”
I kind of want to argue with him. Not that I want to get the teacher of my very first class at Anaximander’s angry with me, but it seems like who created Pandora is an important question. Of course, before I can work up my nerve to say that, Rhea jumps back in.
“Zeus had Pandora created out of clay to punish Prometheus and his creation—mankind. To help with the punishment, all the gods gave her gifts,” she tells the class.
“Aphrodite gave her charm and grace. Athena gave her the ability to weave beautiful clothes. Poseidon gave her a pearl necklace that kept her from drowning, and Zeus gave her the gift of endless curiosity and a box that he warned her never to open. And then he offered her to Prometheus as a wife, and that’s what got us here. ”
“Not exactly,” I remind her. “After being chained to a rock for a gazillion years, Prometheus wasn’t exactly keen on a gift from any god, let alone Zeus.
So he refused Pandora and told his brother to do the same.
But Epimetheus was blinded by her beauty, so he agreed to marry her.
And they lived together happily until, one day, her curiosity got the better of her and she opened the box.
She let out seven evils into the world, but she closed the box in time to trap hope inside so that humans would always have hope. ”
Even as I say the words, they leave a bad taste in my mouth, though I don’t know why. I’ve read this story dozens of times and never felt bad for Pandora. Until now.
“That’s not fair,” I whisper as I try to sort things out in my head.
Dr. Minthe’s eyebrows shoot up. “What’s not fair, Penelope?”
I start to shake my head, to tell him never mind. But I can’t do that. Not when something is this not right. How have I never thought of it like this before?
“Why do we blame Pandora for all the bad stuff in the world?”
“Because she opened the box,” one of the other students who I don’t know yet says.
“That’s not a good enough reason. Her whole purpose for existing was to open that box,” I tell her. “She never had a choice.”
“Sure she did,” Atlas interjects. “Zeus told her not to and she did anyway. It may not be completely her fault, but she isn’t blameless.”
“I kind of think she is.” Again, Fifi sounds much quieter than I’m used to. But her eyes are spitting fire at Atlas as she argues, “They made her curious and then told her not to open something. How is that her fault?”
“So what you’re saying is no one is responsible for their own actions?” Dr. Minthe prods.
Fifi looks embarrassed as she shrugs. “I didn’t say that.”
“None of us did,” I jump in to help her. “But it sure seems like the deck was stacked against Pandora all along.”
As soon as I say that, an image flashes into my head of the mosaic on the rooftop last night. Tiles move around, sliding in and out of place so fast I barely notice it’s happening. Just as quickly, a picture begins to form, of—
“Those are very good insights, girls.” Dr. Minthe smiles at us before turning to the rest of the class. “Actually, this whole discussion has been excellent. Which brings me to the activity portion of the class.”
And just like that, the mosaic—and the picture it was trying to form for me—disappears.