I forget who I told Navah and Dominik I was going to write about, but when I sat down, all I could see was that famous old painting or carving or whatever it is of Lycaon turning into a wolf because he tried to feed Zeus peoplemeat. I couldn’t stop wondering why Lycaon would do that, and what the fallout of it had been. The story we always hear, it stops with Lycaon scampering off, all properly punished, now doomed for the rest of his days. But I didn’t want to let Zeus off that easy, just because he knew what was in his stew. Not saying Lycaon’s the victim here—that is his son cubed up into that bowl—but I am saying that Zeus isn’t exactly the hero, either. So I went with Lycaon into those dark woods of his future, and then started to see that his future and this world we live in, they’re kind of the same place. Thanks to Zeus, I suppose. Who still isn’t a hero. Who, like Lycaon, is the author of his own end. As we all tend to be, whether we’re gods or werewolves or that person in line for a burger, giving the person at the register unnecessary grief—grief we’ll bite into momentarily, and then have to live with forever.
STEPHEN GRAHAM JONES