Flood Legends (17 page)

Without warning, a flood such as has never been seen before came upon the people of earth. Water came at them from every direction, and though men climbed trees, the water continued to rise, eventually washing them all away until everyone had drowned. The Wise Man, however, floated safely with his wife, who was also his sister, in their strong and sturdy raft. As he floated, it occurred to him that all of the animals would drown, too. So as he floated, he gathered pairs of all of the tame animals, the birds, and even the beasts of prey.

The earth was eventually gone. It disappeared under the water, and for many weeks, no one even considered going to look for it. The first to dive in was the muskrat, but swim as he might, he never reached the bottom. By the time he returned to the surface, he was nearly drowned to death! When he had caught his breath, he told the Wise Man that the earth was not to be found. After a few days, he tried again. This time, when he returned, he reported that he could smell the earth but could not touch it.

On the third attempt, the beaver tried. He kicked fast and hard and was gone for a very long time. At last, to everyone's relief, he appeared. Though he was much out of breath and nearly unconscious, he was holding in his paw a bit of mud. The Wise Man thanked the beaver, took the mud, and placed it in the water. He leaned over the edge of the raft and breathed on the mud, whispering, "I wish for there to be land once more!" At that moment, the mud began to grow. The Wise Man placed a small bird on the patch of mud, and the mud did not sink. In fact, it continued to grow. So he breathed on it again and put a fox on it. Still the mud grew, and the fox ran around it in a single day.

Around and around the fox went, and the island continued to grow bigger and bigger. The fox ran around the island six times, but by the seventh time around, the land was complete, as if the flood had never even happened. Then the Wise Man unloaded all of the animals, and they walked, for the first time in a long time, on dry ground. Last of all came the man, his wife, and their son, and soon afterwards, the earth was re-peopled.

I like the very practical aspect of building the raft. The fact that we are told how he made the rope is, at least to me, fascinating. Many of the flood myths tend to leave out some of the more practical details, and it's interesting to see these in what would otherwise be a very impractical version.

The Flood According to the Rotti, Timor

Once, the sea-god became angry with mankind and decided to flood the whole earth. In fact, the entire earth was destroyed, except for the peak of one mountain. A man and his sister, along with several animals, escaped to the high mountain, and there survived. However, there was nowhere to go. So they asked the sea-god to bring the waters back down. The sea-god answered them: "I will bring the waters back down, but only if you can throw me a creature whose hairs I cannot number."

So the man and his wife threw a pig into the waves, but the sea-god could number the hairs of the pig. So they then threw in a goat, but the sea-god could count those, too. They then threw in a dog, and then a hen, but the sea-god counted both of them. Finally, they threw in a cat, and this was more than the sea-god could take. So he agreed that the waters would be returned to their place. After that, an osprey flew over the mountain, sprinkling dirt on the water. The dirt became dry land, and the man and his sister were able to descend the mountain.

I almost did not include this version at all, simply because the man and his sister/wife escape to a high mountain, indicating that the flood could not have been global. However, since the text does say, in no uncertain terms, that the entire earth was flooded, we can chalk this inconsistency up to the watering down of the original flood myth.

The Flood According to the Aborigines of Lake Tyers, Victoria

Once upon a time, a huge frog swallowed all the water of the world, and everyone was thirsty. The plants were parched, and the fish were most put out by the inconvenience; they flopped about on the dry land, gasping for air. Because of this, all the animals took a poll and decided that the best way to make the frog give back the water was to make him laugh. So they all stood in front of him, playing pranks and cutting up. They were so hilarious that anyone else would have died laughing, but the frog did not even smile. Stoic as ever, he sat curled up in a dreadfully drab silence, with his big eyes and swollen, water-filled cheeks. Finally, as a last resort, the eel wriggled about, dancing and swaying as it stood up on its tail. Not even the glum frog could watch this without laughing. He laughed and he laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. The water poured from his mouth and soon became a flood. The waters rose, killing many people. In fact, all of mankind would have drowned, if the pelican had not paddled about in a canoe, rescuing survivors as he went.

This version is just plain fun. The thought of an eel dancing on its tail, wriggling about in front of a giant frog, just makes me laugh. I can see why the ornery amphibian finally released the water. Of course, this idea of the pelican rescuing people — instead of the other way around — is an interesting reversal, in that it
does
tend to steal some credibility from this version. Obviously, a pelican did not paddle about rescuing mankind. This is, perhaps, one of the strongest arguments that the Australian version is not the accurate version. The most likely scenario is that the actual Flood involved people rescuing animals, and those details reversed as the story began to spread and change into folklore.

Endnotes

Appendix C

The Myth of Apollo's Chariot

At this point in the narrative, Phaëthon, product of the union between the goddess Clymene and the sun-god Phoebus Apollo, has approached his father's house to determine if he truly is the son of Apollo. The visit is prompted by a harsh teasing from several of Phaëthon's playmates, and the encouragement of his mother to find out the truth for himself. This version of the myth is my own retelling, taken from several different English translations.

The palace of the Sun is wide, open, and lofty, with sweeping columns, bright luminous gold, and burnished bronze that glows like fire. Ivory adorns the staircase, and the doorways are silver that has been shined and polished to look like glass. Everywhere one may turn one's head, the artwork is more splendid than any precious metal and rarer than any gemstone. On the doors, Vulcan — most noble of all artisans — has carved an elaborate and detailed picture. The island of the earth sits within the ocean that surrounds it. Above, on its column of clouds, sits heaven. The details of the carving are exquisite, with no intricacy overlooked: in the sea is Triton, lord of the waves and tides, singing his sea chanteys. Proteus is there, as is the wrestler, Aegaeon, and Doris with her 50 Nereid daughters. Her lovely girls, distinct in face and form, do a variety of activities: some sit on rocks, basking in the sun and combing their long green hair, while others ride through the waves on the backs of dolphins and porpoises. Though they are still clearly sisters, no two are alike in appearance and beauty.

On the land, Vulcan had carved great cities, sweeping fields, plants, animals, men, monsters, and even the demigods who rule over the rivers. Above the earth, in the sky, were carved all the planets, stars, and the 12 signs of the zodiac. The zodiac signs were depicted 6 on each of the doors.

The road to the palace was steep, but Phaëthon climbed boldly, approaching his father's house with both fear and confidence. As he entered the hall, he had to shield his eyes, for even at this distance, his father's face was too bright to behold. His father, Phoebus — if what his mother told him was true — sat enthroned in a chair of emerald, dressed in a fine robe of purple. He was surrounded by his attendants: Day, Month, Year, and Century. The Hours scurried to and fro on their endless, menial tasks, while the more noble Seasons chatted and conversed among themselves. Phaëthon spotted Spring in her blossom diadem, Summer dressed in sprigs of grain, Fall wearing the joyful splotches of trodden grapes, and chilly Winter with his flowing white hair and cascading beard. At the very center of this sat the Sun, his dazzling eyes piercing his offspring's soul, beholding the terrified youth who stood awestruck at the majesty now surrounding him.

"My son," Apollo said warmly, "you are welcome in this house. But tell me, what brings you here? Whatever could be on your mind? Speak, lad, and tell your father."

The boy took a moment, but at last found his voice. "Light of the world," he began, approaching the throne, "if I may be permitted to address you in such a fashion, I have come here to hear you declare me your son, and provide me with a token of that declaration. My mind is troubled, and I seek reassurance."

His father removed his radiant crown, invited his son to come nearer to him, and embraced him. At long last, releasing Phaëthon, the god said, "You are, indeed, my son. Clymene has not lied to you, and I shall prove it. As proof, I shall grant you one favor — any favor at all. Whatever you desire or ask for, I shall provide. I swear by the river Styx (or whatever it is the gods swear on, for I myself have never seen that imposing waterway)," here he winked at this remark, "that whatever you ask shall be given to you."

Phaëthon the son requested his father's chariot for the day, and the opportunity to lead that magnificent pair of winged horses. Phoebus grieved that he had ever sworn an oath and shook his resplendent head. "I am sorry I ever made this promise!" he said. "Your request tells me that it was a foolish and vain thing to do. While I cannot retract my promise, I can ask you — beg you — to choose another token. Please, Son! I ask you to choose another favor . . .
any
favor at all!" But Phaëthon shook his head. "Son, please! What you ask for is madness! You are not strong enough to handle the reins, nor are you skilled enough to steer the chariot. You are a mere mortal, and even the gods themselves know that only I can drive this vehicle! I do this for your own good, because I love you! Not even Jove, the god of gods, would dare to take those reins into his hands! Do you understand?"

But Phaëthon shook his head again.

Apollo sighed deeply. "Let me tell you the way of it. The road is at first very steep, much steeper than the gentle incline that brought you here. The horses, as strong as they may be, can barely make the climb — even at the very start of day, when they are at their most rested. As they mount to the sky, they strain and pull on the reins, their very muscles bulging with the effort.

"Once it levels off, however, a new challenge arises. The track is so high that merely looking down on the mountains and glittering seas is enough to make the strong of heart faint. I do this every day, but my heart
still
melts, and my knees are like water. On this track are many perils. Throughout the entire journey, the heavens revolve, spinning and whirling in constant motion, and I fight to press on against it. How could you endure this dizzying and nauseating spin? If I can barely keep pace, would you not be swept away?

"In addition, the track is a rough jungle of peril. There are no temples or attractive groves of trees, and no beautiful maidens offering pleasant gifts. There are, instead, fierce beasts waiting to devour you. There is the violent bull, the crab with his razor-sharp claws, the famished lion, and Scorpio, with his deadly poisoned tail. But the last part is the most difficult — compared to it, the rest of the journey is a leisurely stroll through the gardens of Jove.

"The final, sudden and steep descent is barely navigable. You would be taking your own life into your hands with those heavy reins. Each day, Tethys greets me, opening the gates to her waters and inviting me in, and each day, she worries that I may overturn and fall headlong into the sea — as I nearly do every evening.

"And the horses, Phaëthon! They are far from tame, my son! Smoke and brimstone pours from their nostrils, and flames spurt from their mouths. Their necks, muscular and bulging, fight against the harness. Why would you endure this? I cannot change my mind, nor withdraw my promise, but you ask for a fatal gift."

The young man would not sway. Though he heard every word his father spoke, he would not listen. He wanted the chariot. And so, slowly, Phoebus led his son to Vulcan's masterpiece — Apollo's great chariot of fire. Its axles were pure gold, shined and brilliant to behold. The golden handiwork, which was laid upon both the tongue of the cart, as well as the rims of the great wheels, had no equal. Its spokes were purest silver, and the horses' yoke was inlaid with crystals and gems, which reflected the light of the Sun. Phaëthon was speechless as he ascended into the vehicle. He climbed slowly, trembling, as in the east, Aurora opened her purple gates and the stars began to fade in the heavens.

Apollo watched with dread as the last horns of the moon descended from view, and he ordered the Hours to harness the steeds. As the morning star — last to leave its watch — dwindled, the goddess led the fiery horses from their stalls. Well-rested, they snorted and stamped the ground, sending sparks and flames into the air. Their bridles were buckled, and the yoke was laid upon their backs. Phoebus Apollo rubbed a balm on his son to protect him from the heat and fire. Then, in spite of his godly stature, sighed heavily as he placed the brilliant Diadem of the Sun on the boy's head.

"Phaëthon," he said, "if you will not change your mind, then take my advice.
Never
use the whip! The whip would only drive them mad. Instead, keep the pace as slow and steady as you can, and keep tight control on these feisty animals. Even with them restrained, the ride will be exciting enough. The course is an arc, running through the realms of the heavens. The wheels have worn ruts in the path over the years. Follow those. Don't go too high, which would set the heavens ablaze. Neither swing too low, for you would burn the earth. Keep to the middle! Swerve neither to the right nor to the left. On the right is the Serpent, waiting to devour. On the left is heaven's altar. Do not crash into it! I hope Fortune will guide you during this journey. Keep your wits! Do not panic, or things will go poorly. Now, night is at its close, and day is upon us!" He tried one last time to dissuade his son, but Phaëthon would not budge.