The Infinite Matrix | Michael Swanwick & Francisco Goya | The Sleep Of

Reason 10

05.02.02

the sleep of reason

by Michael Swanwick

with illustrations by

Francisco JosÉ de Goya y Lucientes

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Digital image © copyright

Davison Art Center,

Wesleyan University

DAC permission required

for any other use.

10. [Plate 44]

The Godmothers

The three oldest witches in the world are named Clotho, Lachesis, and

Atropos. The thread they weave is thin, but not even the Devil can break

it. Clotho spins, Lachesis measures, and Atropos snaps the thread with

her sharp, sharp nails. Men call them "Godmother" to their faces, and

believe them to be the Fates.

They are not the Fates.

They are, in fact, only three meddlesome old women with far too much

power. Through long centuries of necromancy, they have accumulated so

much forbidden lore that it is nothing for them to twist a man's life

into a grotesque shape, to stretch it out too long, or to cut it off far

too soon. But they are only human, after all. Malicious beyond imagining,

but human. That means there is hope.

They are vulnerable, you see. In the time it would take a dozen men to

rush upon them with weapons, they could kill only eleven. Yes, those

eleven would die horribly. Yes, they would die wishing they had never

been born. But the twelfth could kill the Godmothers, and free us all

from their awful oppression.

The time has come. The time is now.

Who is with me? Juan! Take up your cudgel. Marie! Remember what they did

to your sister. James! Put down that bottle and join us.

No? Well, surely you, David? Suzanne? Gregory, imagine the world as it

could be! Manuel, you join in too. Hillary! Why do you turn away? Why do

you all turn away? Can't you see?

Everybody! One quick rush and the deed is done. In the time we've

hesitated, the Godmothers have killed hundreds, and blighted the lives of

a thousand more. Yes, granted, they've saved their worst for last.

Granted, eleven of us would regret beyond measure having agreed to this.

But eleven lives are simply not that many. Our misery means nothing when

held up against the suffering of the world. Surely the prize is worth the

price?

To arms! To action. Jennifer? Romano? George? Somebody?

Anybody?

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This is the 10th of 80 stories by Michael Swanwick written to accompany

Francisco Goya's Los Caprichos. For a listing of the most recently

available stories, go to The Sleep of Reason.

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