Dusty Quattlebaum
The Geats build up the fire, prepare to sleep.
And now, silence.
Darkness.
It is time (Gardner 166).
The door bursts open as I push it in—all of the pointless work from tedious hands gone to waste once again. The door lies flat under my feet and I feel my weight strain the lumber. I move quickly over the shattered pieces into Hart to find the Geats all asleep. “Lucky me!” I will have my fill tonight. There are so many tonight, and I don’t know where to start. I wonder if the Geats taste any better than the Danes. They sure are bigger! But where is the grand warrior? I know he is here, but where? Surely he has not fallen asleep like the others, for I witnessed him not drink a drop of mead. He kept his wits about him all night. When he went to sleep his head was as clear as ever. I must find him first! He is the one I want! I am the reason he is here and I can’t get on with my life without him gone. He has come to rid the Danes and their king of the “monster” that is me. I smile with menace as I think of yet another helpless human dying—for some type of glory—to try and stop my wrath upon Hart.
I feel my fear and rage rising up inside me again, remembering the Geat’s words to Unferth and the Danes. I have never heard of a man so bold and scary. Why do I feel afraid? I have never had to worry about any man before. Is he something different? Not a man? “No, he is only a man, just like all the others.” His strength cannot be equal to mine, and besides, I have one thing they do not have… time. I chuckle under my breath, as if to hide the fact that I just burst down the doors. All weapons are useless against me because of the Dragon. The Dragon. He is why I am here. I must control the lives of the Danes so they will have something to be remembered by. It is me who the histories are written about, not them. I provide all they need. The Dragon said so himself. But why must I come here each night to kill them? I do not need their blood. Or do I? I hate the Dragon. Nevermind this nonsense. I must find him!
Everyone looks the same in this darkness. Where is he? They can’t see me in the darkness, but I can see them. I stealthily creep across drunken Danes and a few Geats. I feel my blood-lust rising, but I can’t attack yet. I must find him! Once I destroy him, the others will be nothing but folly. Then…I spot him. I see the chest as wide as an oven, the arms like beams. I see the moon shining on his unbearded face. I see the wrath of him lying down for a nice sleep, unaware that his fate is quickly coming to meet him. “I found you,” I whisper. I creep closer to him, and reach out to grab him. “Hello warrior,” I whispered. As I grasp his arm to rip it off from the shoulder, he grabs me!
What is this? How did he know I was coming for him this night? He must have heard me break in the door. “Stupid Grendel. He was not drunk from mead, you watched him! He has been waiting on you all night, to rid you from Hart.” He is not like the others, he is smarter than them. “You should have known,” I whisper to myself. He has tricked me as he lay there pretending to be asleep. I feel my fear rise in me again. His grip is strong, much stronger than any man I have ever dealt with. As I try to pull away from him his grip tightens. He can beat me I thought. A sudden rush of regret and fear rose inside me. Why did I choose tonight? Tonight he must have been waiting? I could have waited for a night when he became drunk with mead. No matter, he has me now. I must fight.
Ouch! My arm is being pulled to its limit. I can’t take this much longer or I will be torn in two. I reach out for his other arm, but he moves away. Blast his trickery! No warrior fights with trickery; I will best him if it kills me. I must grab his other arm. I reach out once more, but “Wa!” he jerks my arm hard as if to rip it off. I feel every muscle in my arm screaming for help, but I am in no position to get away from this terrible man. Now I must change my strategy. Instead of trying to pull away, I will get closer to him. I am larger than he! My fear starts to fall away as my blood-lust builds up even more. I surprise him as I push him into a wall. Now I can grab him!
As I grab hold of his arm I feel his grip tighten on my arm. “WA! WA!” This is killing me! I must get him to loosen his grip and break free. I wince with pain as the bones in my arm break under the pressure of his grip. “WAAAAA!” I open my eyes to see the Geats and the Danes, drunken still, standing around us holding their weapons (as if they have ever worked before). I turn my attention back to him. He smiles at me, which surprises me. Pushing away from the wall, I realize he has loosed his arm from my grip. “Blast! Focus Grendel!” Without him the rest of them are nothing; like tiny ants compared to you. I keep glancing around as if to find an attacker brave enough to confront me, although I know there are none.
As he crushes my arm he speaks to me, “Vicious beast, your time has come! No longer will the hall of Hart sleep anxiously awaiting your return. I have come to rid you from the world, and I will do it. I have never been defeated. The men will now become drunk with mead each night with no worries of meeting their fate. I know you, monster. I will defeat you.” He speaks my language, even more than the Danes and Hrothgar. What is he? Has the Dragon sent him to destroy me? Blast the Dragon! I will not lose this battle. I answer him, “You are but a man, and a human has no chance in a fight against me. I have devoured men here in Hart for twelve years, and you will not be the man to stop me. You will make a good meal because of your strength and size. I make the histories here. Without me the Danes would have nothing to spend their time preparing for. My presence made Hart what it is today. Today Geat, you will meet your fate.” He smiles…his grip tightens…”WAAA!” He understands me. His strength is amazing, more than any adversary I have encountered. He does not draw back in fear of me. But now I draw back in fear of him. I am scared. Tonight is the night Grendel dies.
He tightens his grip once more, “WAAAAAA! Please stop! It hurts, it hurts!” When will his strength give out? I can’t take any more of this pain. He smiles as he sees my pain and hears my screams. “WAAA!!!” He looks me in the eye and whispers, inaudible to the others, “Grendel, much fear you have entered into the lives of the Danes. Tonight is the end. No more will your hands tear at the flesh of humans. Demons will have you by the end of this fight. I have beaten you. Look, even now you cry with fear and submission. I am the great warrior. I feel no pain, I fear no creature.” I am ready to give in to his power and strength (even the strength of his words), when I see a Dane still in a drunken slumber on the floor behind my opponent. “This is your chance, Grendel. He has tricked you, and now it is time for tricks to conquer him.”
“If you win it’s by mindless chance. Make no mistake. First you tricked me. Accident” (Gardner 171). I declare.
I search through the searing pain.
The pain of my throbbing arm.
I need a burst of strength.
I find it.
“WAAAA! WAAAA! WAAA!” I scream through the pain as I push against him. As his foot hits the Geat I see his face change. I have accomplished my goal. He has fallen over the drunken Dane, and loosed his grip to catch himself. “I am free!” I scream with joy and pain as I rip my arm free of his strong hand. Now the fight is begun. It is an even match in this moment. No more will fear of this man take control of my body. “I am thirsty for blood!” My eyes redden as I think of a way to kill this extraordinary warrior. He grabs for a sword from the spectators, which makes me laugh. “You are unaware of my strength, warrior. Your weapons can’t penetrate me. You gained the upper hand by trickery, but now trickery has evened this battle. The Dragon (I will kill him for sending this man to harm me) has put a spell on me against your weapons.” This human, once the hunter, is unaware of my ferocity, and is now the hunted. “Until now you have controlled the fight, with pain and sleight of hand. There is nowhere for you to go Geat. Hart belongs to me, Grendel! This hall belongs to me!”
The Geat glances back and forth, not nervously, but searching for a way to take advantage of the fight once more. He is not like other men. He did not shrink in fear from me when I attacked him first. He does not shrink now. “Useless strength. Strength without a plan is useless,” I explain to him. He does not listen. Still he plots, plans to destroy me. He is stronger than any warrior Hrothgar has ever sent to fight me, and yet, in this moment he is in a position of danger. I have made the fight even (which of course is an advantage for me! HA! HA! HA! HA!), but still he believes fate is going to help him defeat me.
Doubtful of my speech, the Geat swings with all of his might with a sword at me. It glances off without leaving a mark in my hide. I laugh as my blood-lust rises. He swings again, and again. I continue to laugh. My blood-lust rises again, and again. He is doubtful of his chances now, or so I think. He rushes at me while I am still laughing, my arm still throbbing from the first encounter. “WAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” he has my arm once more. “Blast, Grendel!” I yell. The pain has come back tenfold from the first encounter. I react this time, not with fear and doubt, but with rage. I want to kill him so bad I can bear it no longer. This great warrior has pushed me too far, and now it is time for him to die! I grab at his other arm as I bite the one constricting my arm. My teeth tear through his flesh, warm, slick blood on my tongue. My blood-lust is gorged. I can think of nothing except the well-deserved meal of this man once I defeat him. I am like a ravenous wolf that has finally trapped his prey. The more the Geat fights, the more I enjoy this.
He does not scream.
Or wince in pain.
Or loosen his grip on my arm.
He is the great warrior.
“It is now or never Grendel” I tell myself. No longer is this raid of Hart for fun, this is for life or death for poor me. Blast the Dragon for his thoughtless evil! I tear with my teeth once again at the huge arm of the Geat. It takes three gnashes to get through his arm. Now I take advantage. With only one arm he is defenseless against me. I can now kill him. He recognizes this. He grabs at me one more time with his other arm, weak attempt. He picks up the sword in desperation and stabs at me. “It is over.” I tell him. But he does not listen, for he must die in battle. He rushes me, in order to die admirably in front of his men. I reach out with my huge hands to grab for his head, and then it is over.
I quickly suck the blood from his head and neck (how warm it is). I grab up the body and leave Hart. My work is done for the night. I will eat in happiness, and also in pain. My arm is mangled, and in an oddly human way I feel saddened that this great warrior had to die by my hand. Why could we not have lived in harmony? We could have been great adversaries. I rule the lives of the Danes. He ruled the lives of others beyond the sea. We could have written the histories of the Danes for many years to come. I eat him while sitting on the hill, as I watch the funeral pier being built. There is nothing to burn, for I have all of him here with me. It is out of the human mind that such things are necessary. Tomorrow the door to Hart will be rebuilt, with more reinforcement than ever before. The tedious work will be done by the same tired hands as it always is. Futile.
It is morning. As I yawn and stretch I feel the dried bold of the warrior pulling on my hairs. My arm is throbbing, but I ignore it. Now my mind is set on one thing, destroying Hart. I go through the day without a care in the world. Why should I worry about anything? “He is gone!” I exclaim. By the hand of the monster, Grendel, the greatest warrior has fallen. But I have no time for looking backwards and thinking on the past. That is for the humans to do. I must prepare. For tonight, I will kill them all.
It is night now, the day after I killed the Geat. My arm is useless, but I will attack anyway. I only had a small meal last night, and I am hungry. The new door is finished, with new steel hinges (I can see them from the shadows outside of Hart). The warriors drink mead tonight, in honor of their fallen hero (or maybe hoping, against all odds, that my destruction of the great warrior would fulfill my blood-lust). Hrothgar, old and weak, sits upon the throne and tries to look kingly. The warriors are finished drinking now, they are preparing their beds for sleep and the probable attack that waits outside their doors.
The sorrowful build up the fire, prepare to sleep restlessly.
And now, silence.
Quiet and darkness reign over Hart.
It is time.
Work Cited
Gardner, John. Grendel. New York: Vintage, 1989. Print.