The Owl of Athena

A short story concerning the Greek Goddess in modern times.

The Owl of Athena

-          - A short story.

I was fourteen when I first saw her. It was by the fountain in the middle of the cafeteria of a local mall. The statue in the fountain was that of the Greek goddess of Wisdom, Athena. I used to work there at the mall, as a waitress in The Symposium.  At my ‘interview’ my supervisor shamelessly boasted of the mall being the home of my city’s very own Athena Parthenos. I remember nodding vigorously and saying that I had been struck by the striking similarities as well. He had glared at me then and moved on to talking about my working hours. I should probably have worked on keeping my tone free of sarcasm.

The truth is that hardly anyone knows that it is a statue of Athena. The bronze plate at the bottom with the inscription has rusted due to the work of the ghouls of air and water, and some of the words have eroded beyond recognition. The statue itself is of little significance and does little to inspire awe in passers-by. The artist was only successful in depicting the figure to be that of the female persuasion. People usually hurried by without a glance at the lone figurine. So when the workers whispered about a woman who supposedly stood by the statue for five minutes each day, I was intrigued.

It so happened, that on one of my breaks, I was able to catch sight of her. She looked exactly as my co-workers had described. A thirty-year old woman wearing jeans coupled with a turtleneck. The fact that it was a hot summer’s day didn’t seem to bother her and it made me even more curious.

Who was she? Why did she choose the middle of the day to visit a 

dreary statue in the middle of a dreary mall? Why would she even bother looking at this statue?

It took me several more days before I had the courage to approach her. Several theories floated around the staff and none put her in a favorable light. The widely accepted theory was that she was undoubtedly quite barmy. But I found myself rebelling against the idea. The way she stood, the tilt of her head as she examined the statue at precisely the same time everyday pointed towards some intelligence.

I walked up to her side and glanced at her out of the corner of my eyes. She did not spare a glance back at me and my courage faltered. I stared nervously at the statue for a few seconds before squeaking out a-

“Hi.” She looked at me then, and smiled. I knew at that moment that she was definitely not crazy. Her eyes sparkled with intelligence and she quite sanely nodded back at me. I hadn't been expecting a reply and I was surprised when she asked me,

“Have you heard of the Owl of Athena?” I mutely shook my head at her and thought that a ‘Hey’ back would have sufficed.  She pointed at the statue’s right hand- which had its palm facing upwards- and I peered at it, curiously. Unlike some of the other idols I have seen, her palm was empty. She did not hold a book or a lotus and definitely not an owl. I was about to inquire as to what exactly I should be looking for, she said, “The statue is incomplete. Most of Athena’s statuettes contain an owl alongside her. The owl itself is a symbol of Wisdom and Knowledge. The artist must have missed it.” The last part was murmured with a curious disbelief. She then shook herself out of her reverie, gave me a tight smile and walked away.

I glanced down at my watch. It was 12:05, she had stayed for exactly five minutes.

The next day I was more prepared, my first question to her was, “Why do you come here every day?”    

She gave me a bemused smile and asked me in return, “What do you do at the mall in the middle of the day?”  

I realized that she was not ready to give up the mystery and if I had any hope prying it out of her, I had to gain her trust. “I work here,” I replied gesturing towards my restaurant, “I’m on a break right now.”

“How old are you?” was her second question.   

“Fourteen.” I replied defensively. I wondered if she would report me to Child Services, but no one in my country bothered much about underage laborers so I wasn't all that worried.

“Did you drop out of school to support your family?” she asked without batting an eyelid. I assessed her quickly, wondering how she had gleaned 

that bit of information and how much I should tell her.

“Yes,” I replied, looking her straight in the eye. “I have a little brother and a sick mother.”

“But you want to learn more, don’t you?” She asked, leaning towards me. Her eyes were filled with sympathy and also a twinkle of, what could only be- scientific curiosity.  I looked at my watch to avoid her gaze. I hate it when strangers look at me with pity or like I’m a lab rat.

“Its 12:07,” I exclaimed in false alarm, “ Aren't you late?”

She smiled that quiet, knowing smile of hers and said, “You noticed.” She sounded surprised and I nodded to confirm her statement.

“I come here on my breaks too,” she answered the question I had first asked her, “Somehow I find this place to be peaceful- A break from the relentless rhythm of reality.”

We stood in silence for a few more minutes, lost in our separate thoughts. She turned towards me suddenly, clutched my hand and said, “Don’t ever stop asking questions.”

The intent with which she looked at me frightened me and I tried to slip my hand out of her grip. But she held on tight and continued, “And don’t give up on learning.”

She let go of me then and walked away. I mused over her words and that night on a whim I asked my father if I can go back to school. My father, who donned the role of a hardworking laborer during the day and after dusk that of an abusive alcoholic, had been the one to pull me out of school.

A shadow passed over his features and I was quite sure that I was going to be meeting his backhand pretty soon. But his eyes held none of the usual anger and contempt, and looked rather placid. My mother moaned next to me, fearing his wrath.

“Of course,” he replied and took a swig from his bottle. I had been expecting him to throw the bottle at the wall and start showering me with expletives, but he did nothing of the sort. My mother clasped her hands together and looked towards the sky.

The next day I went back to school.  In the evening, I went to the mall to explain my absence when I noticed that the statue was being taken down. Renovations, they said. Soon, the statue was removed and carted off. I never saw the woman again. I had searched for her that day, to thank her. But nobody seemed to remember her. I gave up after a few days of futile searching, for a thought had struck me. Maybe the lady herself was the Owl of Athena. Or maybe she was Athena.  

My mother was right, I had been blessed with a miracle and it could have been nothing but the work of a God.

 

 

 

Reviews

[J. K. Beach]

I really like your story. I've always wanted to learn anything and everything I could (a teacher once called me, "The quintessential student), so I identify with Athena a great deal. This piece is very well written, the setting and premise are plausible, and the conversational aspect flows so naturally I almost forgot I was reading it and not there at the other side of the fountain eavesdropping. You didn't reveal your age, but this is the writing of a mature and creative mind... Well done!

[Harshini Rajachander]

Thanks a lot! This was one of my first attempts at short stories and I was never quite satisfied with it. I'm glad you liked it. Your review meant a great deal to me!
Thank you.