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<b>The Time of Greed 2: Deucalion</b>

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<v Paragraph>Zeus returned to Olympus.

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He pondered the bedlam below.

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Fire? No: too fickle.

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One wind-borne leaf could turn Olympus into a pyre.

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Flood? Yes: flood.

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He called his brother, the king of the tumbling wave, Poseidon.

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The sea-god donned a helmet of black cloud, wrapped himself in a billowing cloak,

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lifted his trident and struck the earth.

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<v Paragraph>The sky vomited, the world cracked and broke open.

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Every hidden spring burst forth, leapt to the light.

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Heaving walls of water crashed into city and town and village.

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Roads became rivers, fields became lakes.

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Any home that was not swept away was submerged in silence.

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The people tried to run – but where?

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They were ambushed from above and below.

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They scrambled up mountains, hills, trees,

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and watched the waters rise relentlessly about them.

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One by one they gave up their grip on life.

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<v Paragraph>Zeus chose to save only one man and one woman.

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His name was Deucalion, hers Pyrrha.

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Their raft was tossed by the deluge, climbed white-crested mountains, sank into deep valleys.

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Then Poseidon blew his conch.

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With one sudden gesture he tore apart the clouds, banished the winds.

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Clear calm came.

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<v Paragraph>With the light, Deucalion and Pyrrha saw wonders below them.

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They floated over cities;

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once-proud towers beneath them now, cloaked in weed;

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smiling dolphins in apple orchards;

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flickering fish passing through windows into bedrooms, kitchens.

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All about them were the corpses of men, women, children, beasts, birds, bobbing lifeless as leaves.

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<v Paragraph>‘Look!’ Pyrrha pointed:

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two peaks, the glistening summits of Mount Parnassus.

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Husband and wife scrambled ashore, gave thanks to mighty Zeus, kissed the rocky slope.

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The rivers, the streams shrank back to their beds.

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Mother Earth was healed, pure again.

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The corruption of humanity had been swept away.

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<v Paragraph>Deucalion and his wife washed off the brine in a stream of fresh water.

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Once they were clean, they prayed to Zeus:

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‘Great cloud-compeller, you saved us.

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You must have some task in mind for us.

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Tell us your purpose.’

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<v Paragraph>Zeus’ herald, bright Hermes, appeared before them.

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They shielded their eyes.

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‘Descend the mountain.

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As you walk, throw the bones of your mother behind you.’

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And he was gone.

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<v Paragraph>‘Our mother’s bones are scattered,’ said Deucalion.

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‘Everything, everything we had is lost.’

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<v Paragraph>Pyrrha knelt, pushed her hands into the ground.

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‘This is our mother.’

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She pulled out a muddy stone.

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‘These are her bones.’

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<v Paragraph>As she descended the hill she threw stones over her shoulder

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and Deucalion behind her saw the damp earth become flesh; the stone, bone.

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He followed suit.

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His stones became men, hers women.

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The seams, the streaks of colour in the rock, became veins.

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This is why we are so strong, why we can dig, carry, toil for so long.

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We are the children of stones.