and the vast misty eyes. He heard the voice rumble again.
“Off with you, little thief, before I start an avalanche and bury you under a ton of rock.”
“I’m no thief,” said the young man. “I do not steal. I take. I am Hercules.”
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place? I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve been standing here for a thousand years, waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For someone strong enough to hold up my part of the sky while I take a little rest. The name they spoke was Hercules.”
“ ‘They’ are mistaken, whoever ‘they’ are,” said Hercules. “I haven’t come here to hold up any sky, but to pick some apples.”
“One little stamp of my foot and a ton of rocks will roll down on you,” said Atlas. “So you won’t get very far with your apples.”
Indeed, just at that moment, a huge boulder came rolling down the slope of the Titan’s thigh. Hercules had to leap away or he would have been crushed beneath it.
“That was just a sample,” said Atlas.
“All right,” called Hercules. “I’ll make a bargain with you. If you let me have an apple or two, I’ll take your place for a little while.”
“I agree. I agree. Take the sky.”
“But only for a very short while. I’m supposed to be strong for a human being, but I’m no Titan, you know. If I take the sky from you, you must take it back quickly.”
“Agreed, agreed,” said Atlas. “Are you going to stand there talking about it for another thousand years? Climb to the top of that hill there, and I’ll pass you the sky.”
Hercules climbed to the top of a nearby hill and called out, “Before I take it, just tell me in plain words how long you’ll be.”
“Not long, not long. I just want to stretch my legs a bit. I’ll run across to that orchard, pick your apples, and come back.”
“Do you promise?”
“Upon my word as a Titan—Titans are older than the gods and much more honest.”
And Atlas, moving swiftly for something so large, lifted the bowl of the sky from his shoulders and set its rim on the shoulders of Hercules. His knees sagged. He felt them sagging. He felt his spine crumbling. But he couldn’t bear to show any weakness. Pride became a steel rod running from his soles to the top of his head, stiffening his backbone. His knees locked. Thighs and legs bunched like rock, welding him to the mountain top. He stood there, hunched, muscles writhing, stood there on the mountain top holding the sky on his shoulders.
Atlas skipped over the island, trampling trees and blowing eagle nests out of the cliffs with the wind of his laughter.
Hercules stood, waiting. His shoulders were on fire. He felt his ribs caving in. He could hardly turn his head. He rolled his eyes, searching for the Titan. The light faded. He felt the sinking sun warm his back, saw his own hunched shadow on the plain below. It was a sight he didn’t want to see.
“Atlas,” he called. “Atlas!”
A thunderous chuckle rolled across the valley.
“Atlas! Where are you? Come back!”
Thunder chuckled again. “Little fool, I’ll never come back.”
“You promised.”
“I lied.”
Hercules, with great effort, moved his head, shifting his gaze upward. The evening star had come out. It is the first star to burn in the western sky. He looked deep into its greenish blue light; it seemed to be laughing at him. He shrugged. And the star fell hissing into the sea, starting a plume of steam and leaving a scar of light in the sky.
“Hold still!” roared Atlas. “If you move, the stars will fall, and we will burn, burn …”
“I can’t help moving,” said Hercules. “My shoulders are sore.”
“Never mind pain. It’s only for eternity. Bear your burden like a man.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Hercules. “But I’ll need a pad of some kind. My lion pelt will do. If I can fold it on my shoulders under the edge of the sky, then I’ll be able to stand here forever and not twitch or shake the
“Off with you, little thief, before I start an avalanche and bury you under a ton of rock.”
“I’m no thief,” said the young man. “I do not steal. I take. I am Hercules.”
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place? I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve been standing here for a thousand years, waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For someone strong enough to hold up my part of the sky while I take a little rest. The name they spoke was Hercules.”
“ ‘They’ are mistaken, whoever ‘they’ are,” said Hercules. “I haven’t come here to hold up any sky, but to pick some apples.”
“One little stamp of my foot and a ton of rocks will roll down on you,” said Atlas. “So you won’t get very far with your apples.”
Indeed, just at that moment, a huge boulder came rolling down the slope of the Titan’s thigh. Hercules had to leap away or he would have been crushed beneath it.
“That was just a sample,” said Atlas.
“All right,” called Hercules. “I’ll make a bargain with you. If you let me have an apple or two, I’ll take your place for a little while.”
“I agree. I agree. Take the sky.”
“But only for a very short while. I’m supposed to be strong for a human being, but I’m no Titan, you know. If I take the sky from you, you must take it back quickly.”
“Agreed, agreed,” said Atlas. “Are you going to stand there talking about it for another thousand years? Climb to the top of that hill there, and I’ll pass you the sky.”
Hercules climbed to the top of a nearby hill and called out, “Before I take it, just tell me in plain words how long you’ll be.”
“Not long, not long. I just want to stretch my legs a bit. I’ll run across to that orchard, pick your apples, and come back.”
“Do you promise?”
“Upon my word as a Titan—Titans are older than the gods and much more honest.”
And Atlas, moving swiftly for something so large, lifted the bowl of the sky from his shoulders and set its rim on the shoulders of Hercules. His knees sagged. He felt them sagging. He felt his spine crumbling. But he couldn’t bear to show any weakness. Pride became a steel rod running from his soles to the top of his head, stiffening his backbone. His knees locked. Thighs and legs bunched like rock, welding him to the mountain top. He stood there, hunched, muscles writhing, stood there on the mountain top holding the sky on his shoulders.
Atlas skipped over the island, trampling trees and blowing eagle nests out of the cliffs with the wind of his laughter.
Hercules stood, waiting. His shoulders were on fire. He felt his ribs caving in. He could hardly turn his head. He rolled his eyes, searching for the Titan. The light faded. He felt the sinking sun warm his back, saw his own hunched shadow on the plain below. It was a sight he didn’t want to see.
“Atlas,” he called. “Atlas!”
A thunderous chuckle rolled across the valley.
“Atlas! Where are you? Come back!”
Thunder chuckled again. “Little fool, I’ll never come back.”
“You promised.”
“I lied.”
Hercules, with great effort, moved his head, shifting his gaze upward. The evening star had come out. It is the first star to burn in the western sky. He looked deep into its greenish blue light; it seemed to be laughing at him. He shrugged. And the star fell hissing into the sea, starting a plume of steam and leaving a scar of light in the sky.
“Hold still!” roared Atlas. “If you move, the stars will fall, and we will burn, burn …”
“I can’t help moving,” said Hercules. “My shoulders are sore.”
“Never mind pain. It’s only for eternity. Bear your burden like a man.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Hercules. “But I’ll need a pad of some kind. My lion pelt will do. If I can fold it on my shoulders under the edge of the sky, then I’ll be able to stand here forever and not twitch or shake the
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