What’s that? More English? But this used to be a German blog? Yes, I know. But there has been ahem an influx of folks with whom I have English as the main common language, so I thought why not post a few more of my stories in English.

And for those who like to feel like I’m still the same old Fabian, take solace from the very clumsy and borderline incomprehensible failed attempt at a reference in the title.

Here’s my minotaur story, translated:

Yeah. Sure.

I know what you’re thinking.

But I’m not like that at all.

Well, all right. I am a little bit. But not the way you think.

But let’s start at the beginning. I know the first question you’re gonna ask, but I can’t help you there. I don’t know if my mother actually had sex with a steer willingly. Actually, I think Poseidon just put a curse on us. Or someone else. But of course, the story about the steer may be true, in whole or in part.

Anyway, now I have this head, and these horns, and this body – and this reputation.

But from here on out I can actually answer everything. Yes, Minos has disowned me and rejected me – although, as I said, technically he is my father, or I think he is. But I don’t know for sure, like I said. Anyway. Now I’m back to the one thing I don’t know. Well, how much narrative skill did you expect from someone with the head of a bovine?

So again, from the start, yes, Minos has disowned and rejected me. And he took that toll and blamed it on me, of course. It’s obvious that the wealth of a king of Crete wouldn’t be enough for one more person, so he had to collect tribute from the other kings, just because of me, it’s logical and makes perfect sense if you think about it. And of course the tribute had to be paid in human beings, for my sake, because what do you think a person with the head of a cow would eat, if not human beings? Elementary!

And why would a king lie about his tributes? I mean, have you ever heard of a government telling the untruth about taxes and how they are used?

Exactly.

And just as trustworthy, always honest and decent were the rulers in my time. And just as heroic, by the way, in case you’re wondering next whether Theseus was really like in the stories.

You see, my father, who disowned and hated me and locked me in a cave, levies a tribute and I am the monster. Theseus personally kidnaps a woman himself, of his own free will, simply because he feels like it, and he is a shining hero.

One could already have the impression that heroism is not so much about what people do, and much more about whether they have a beautiful human head, or a grotesque bovine one, don’t you think?

But Ariadne.

Ariadne was really great. She would come and visit me sometimes and tell me what was going on outside and ask me things.

Ariadne was very curious, so she picked up a lot, and she also had a great memory.

Once she told me about Plato’s Allegory of the Cave and what she thought it meant, and that she had thought about something similar, which might give you an idea that she was pretty smart, but not the most empathetic person in the world either, maybe. I never got many visitors and I liked her, so I didn’t tell her that maybe I wasn’t the best audience for a parable about people who have been locked in a cave all their lives.

Also because I didn’t like talking. You can imagine that’s a bit frustrating for me, and for the people listening to me. You know. Bovine Head.

Anyway, we got on well, and yet I was surprised when she woke me up one night.

It wasn’t even just a pleasant surprise, despite everything, because … Please don’t laugh now, but I often dream of just being a cow. Probably a happier cow than almost any other who has ever really lived, but what else are dreams for? I stand in the sunshine on a beautiful meadow with lush grass, look out to sea and chew my chud. Are you laughing now? Yes? Then laugh. But for me, that was the only escape from reality back then. There was no internet, not even television, I couldn’t read yet, imagine a life like that, if you even can.

Oh, and if you’re wondering now: Yes, cow, bull, don’t care. I’m an agender minotaur, pronoun: it. I really don’t identify with the masculine role, and not with the feminine one either, and I can assure you, as a minotaur you are already as marginalised as you can get, so non-binary outing doesn’t cost that much anymore. Not that we had those exact terms back then. But I wasn’t the only one, just so you know that too. It’s not a new thing.

Where was I? Right.

„Wake up!“ said Ariadne. Her hand stroked my shoulder. „Wake up, we need to talk to you!“

I squinted into the light of the torches, licked my chaps and smacked twice loudly to get my tongue a little looser and wetter.

„What?“, I asked as clearly as I could. „Who us?“

You’ll have to imagine my pronunciation then as that of a very, very drunk person. I’ve practiced and learned a bit in the millennia since. Even Ariadne underestimated me mentally at first because of it, like all humans really. At least I have one small advantage: When people see me and hear me speak for the first time, they are always extremely positively surprised when I actually say something meaningful.

„It’s me,“ said a deeper voice that I couldn’t immediately place in my newly awakened stupor, so I was quite grateful that he then added: „Daidalos!“

The great builder visited me much less often than Ariadne, but because the competition was decidedly weak, I would let him count as a friend. Don’t know if he would have thought of it that way.

„Theseus and my father have made a bet“, said Ariadne. „If he can defeat you, the tribute shall be waived.“

„Theseus?“, I articulated with difficulty as I stood up.

I vaguely saw her head make a nodding motion behind the torch.

My night vision is actually much better than humans‘, but my eyes are also more sensitive to light. I’ll never understand what makes you want to hold something glowing in front of your eyes when you’re in a cave.

„Yes,“ Daidalos replied from behind her, „the King of Athens!“

I already knew who Theseus was, but it was too much trouble to say the whole sentence, so I just nodded and mumbled into my fur as knowingly as possible.

I know I’m an ox, but I don’t insist on everyone else seeing me that way.

„He is a great warrior and extremely skilled with a spear,“ Daidalos said, „And equally deadly with a sword, if what is said of him is true.“

 „He is also said to be cunning and sneaky!“ added Ariadne.

I nodded slowly. Sometimes I so wished my mouth parts worked well enough for me to reply something sarcastic in such situations. ‚You don’t say!‘ for example, or ‚Cheer for me, why don’t you? It feels good to know that my friends are behind me and believe in me!‘ Quite often, in fact.

„That’s why we came up with a plan to help you!“ said Ariadne.

Good. That was good.

I can’t smile, but I nodded more vigorously and indicated a grateful bow.

I’m quite big and strong, and also a lot faster than you’d expect someone my size to be, but Minos had forbidden me weapons, and I’d never had any real combat training. The few cocky adventurers and would-be heroes who had strayed into my labyrinth over the years I had managed quite well, but Theseus the legendary hero was quite a different challenge, you can imagine.

I had heard what he was supposed to have done to Procrustes, and to that extent I was quite happy to be able to hope for their support, and curious about their plan.

„Well then!“, I said.

I can do vowels and nasal consonants quite well. Plosives are tricky, but if I muddle the th a bit, no one minds.

What? Why do I manage such demanding foreign words without troube? Well, think about where I was born, and when, my goodness!

I liked the plan.

 

A few hours later – there were no better clocks than solar-based ones back then, and I didn’t have any of those, for obvious reasons – it started, or more precisely, he did.

Theseus entered the labyrinth, with Daidalos‘ thread sword in one hand and a torch in the other. You’ve probably heard the typical version of the story where Ariadne gives him the thread and the sword. That one has kind of caught on. It’s also a bit simpler and perfectly fine for the official version. But what actually happened was that Daedalus constructed a sword for Theseus with a bunch of thread wound up in the pommel. Ariadne persuaded Theseus that he could hide the thread in this way so that no one would know that he was cheating. You can see from this the truth value held by the stories about the wise King Theseus.

The guy didn’t even know that you don’t need a thread to make a labyrinth. You know what …

Yeah, I know. Gets pretty warm in here. But that’s normal. It’s part of the dramaturgy of the story. I’ll explain in a minute.

You know what a labyrinth is, right? Because unlike a maze, a labyrinth is simply a path with many changes of direction but no branches. This is  what a labyrinth looks like:

 

So you can’t get lost in it at all. You see, Theseus? Education can be so important.

You only have to think about the fact that Odysseus was known among these people as a cunning trickster.

So he arrived in the middle of my labyrinth at about the time I expected him to, with his gleaming sword, his oiled-up torso gleaming in the torchlight with the exaggeratedly defined muscles – I’m really not a fan of Theseus, you can imagine, but I can tell you I know modern bodybuilders too, but I maintain none of you have seen a torso as perfectly shaped as Theseus‘. Training schedules and steroids are one thing, divine favour is quite another.

„Turn yourself in, monster! The saviour of Crete and champion of humanity stands before you!“ he shouted, or something similarly silly heroic, and raised his sword.

And then he looked pretty silly as the blade fell away. In fact, Daidalos‘ and Ariadne’s idea had been quite different: The thread in the pommel of the sword prevented it from falling apart. She could give Theseus a few test strokes with it outside when she gave it to him, so he could get to know the balance, and brag to his heart’s content that the great Daidalos had forged a weapon especially for him. And then, on the way to me, the thread had gradually unwound – and now he stood there without a sword. Or more precisely: with a handle without a blade and a blade without a handle. Which is not much better than with no sword at all, believe me.

So anyway, Theseus may not have been very well informed and far too gullible, but he was a real Greek hero, was Theseus. He therefore recovered very quickly, threw the empty hilt away with a frustrated-embarrassed expression and stormed towards me with a loud heroic roar. I don’t want to rule out the possibility that he might have shouted something like „For Athens!“ or „For Crete!“ or maybe even „For Ariadne!“. I don’t know. I was too busy preparing my punch and making sure Theseus would receive the mauling of a lifetime when he got to me.

And that’s what happened. So I’m going to have to disappoint you now if you were hoping for an epic battle of the giants. A perfectly defined torso is all well and good, but … you see me before you. I’m a good 10 feet tall, and my arm is about three times the circumference of a stout human thigh. My fist is bigger than his head was. I am – literally, and I don’t mean figuratively literally like people do today, I mean literally – a goddamned monster. I crushed his skull. He immediately fell over like a sack of walnuts.

I’d like to say I had an impressive line ready, especially after the preparation time since Ariadne and Daidalos had warned me. Something like … „For-get-it.“ Or „For … a demonstration of how a real hero dies.“ Or „For nothing at all“ – yes well, there you go, even three and a half thousand years later I can’t think of anything useful. And back then I couldn’t even have articulated it properly.

Yeah, I know. Really warm. But it has to be, I’ll clear it up right away.

I pulled the thread and so gave Ikaros the agreed-upon signal. Daidalos had built him a hiding place behind a false wall in the labyrinth and produced a waxy mask that deceptively imitated Theseus‘ face. Yeah, don’t believe me if you don’t want to, but I’m telling you, Daidalos really was an artist. It was incredible.

„About to slay you again,“ I slurred.

I was so impressed that I didn’t even think to avoid sounds I couldn’t pronounce well.

„Please don’t!“ replied Ikaros with a mixture of amusement and genuine fear. „I … have to give you the poison.“

The mask helped hide his fear, but I could still see how hugely wide his eyes were and how much distance he kept from me as he hesitantly pulled out the small vial and held it vaguely in my direction.

Call me an ass, but I couldn’t help it. I snorted and made a lunge in his direction.

In retrospect, I must be glad he didn’t pee his chiton, he was so startled. He gave a pointed cry and jumped back, tripping over Theseus‘ body in the process, and fell on his back with a thud.

Now that I think about it again, I must probably be even happier that he dropped the vial rather late in the process, so that it didn’t break, just rolled away a bit.

I snorted again – this time with laughter, but I don’t know if he could tell – and held out a hand to help him up. I had to laugh even harder when I saw him panicking, trying to decide whether it was more dangerous to grab the hand of the monster in front of him, or to insult the monster by not grabbing its hand.

Yeah, I know. Actually, it’s sad to be seen like that. I realised that too, later. But at that moment I found it funny. I was still a bit wound up from the fight.

And that was really it:

I drank the stun poison, which put me into a state that at least Minos couldn’t distinguish from that of a dead minotaur. Ikaros was hailed as Theseus and lived in royal luxury, loved by everyone – until the thing with Lycomedes, although to this day I don’t know whether he really died then or whether that was just a new ruse.

Daidalos explained his son’s disappearance with the most implausible, silly story I’ve ever heard, but … Well, you probably already have a rough idea of Minos from what I’ve told you so far. One of those people who think they’re so incredibly clever that even a three-year-old can outsmart them without having to think too hard.

And he and Ariadne thankfully helped me escape. That was still difficult. Everyone thought I was dead now and no one was looking for me, but I still had this relatively conspicuous face, not to mention the rest of my gigantic body.

But with two of the most resourceful and goddess-graced people in the world, it was manageable.

How? Oh yes. Theseus‘ body.

Hmmmm yes. I’m glad you asked.

It’s like this. Remember when I said at the beginning that I’m a bit like you think maybe, but different? And how a little bit later I didn’t quite explicitly say that I don’t eat people? I just implied that it was illogical. And, I mean, what’s logic to a three-metre tall enchanted monster with a bull’s head?

Exactly.

And now you come into play, and the fact that it’s getting warmer here. Because I’m going to go outside for a few hours and take a walk on the beach with Ariadne. Maybe we’ll visit Daidalos in his underground laboratory and see how far he’s got with the transdimensional portal.

And when I come back…

you’ll be nice and crispy on the outside and still bloody on the inside.

Just the way I like you.