Week 1 Story: Stone Cold

The chamber was warm and comfortable, and looked nothing like a sickroom. He worked hard to make it a cheerful place for her final days. Breeze from the ocean kept the room from smelling stale, and the large curtains allowed for plenty of light.

The illness had worsened over the last year, in spite of the healer's efforts. Her episodes were infrequent at first, and so mild at the beginning that he did not realize they were an issue. He simply assumed she was lost in thought, until the pauses grew longer, and longer. A seizure, they said, could be the reason. A total cessation of movement, as though the body was taking a time out. 

He sat by her bed, clasping her hand within his, and waited for her to come back. The evening hour sometimes brought her back, and he waited every night beside her. This night was lucky. Around sunset, color came back into her pale face, and she sat up in bed. She asked how long, and he told her a while. It was the same answer he always gave, and it was easier this way. 

He helped her up and out to the balcony, where they watched the waves glitter in darkness beneath a crescent moon. They ate together, talking about their son, and his new daughter. He told her of the latest comedy, and assured her she would come with him to the next. They drank a glass of wine, played backgammon, and laughed at each other for cheating. The evening lasted longer than he hoped for, and just before dawn they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Pygmalion woke the next morning, cold, and he knew it had happened in the night. His heart trembled as he looked at his wife, and he beheld a face paler than ivory resting motionless beside him, framed by her silver hair. No breath stirred in her chest, no life shined from her eyes, and no warmth remained in her body. It had returned to stone, and she moved no more. A perfect statue of his Galatea remained in her place, the white marble now streaked with grey. 

Old couple holding hands. Pinterest

Author's note

I've always loved the story of Pygmalion, and reading the Kline rendition this week made me wonder what kind of life they would have had together. I pictured them here as a sweet, devoted couple who lived for each other. Which led to me really wondering... what happens when she dies? What if her body gets reclaimed by the stone she was made from? I was strongly reminded of the descent into Alzheimer's, picturing a woman who slowly loses chunks of time from her life until there's almost no life left.

Story source

Kline, Tony. Ovid's Metamorphoses. Pygmalion.