Wise to Her, by Norbert Kovacs

Oedipus and the Sphinx, by Gustave Moreau (France) 1864.

Wise to Her

She had a lot of gall to do it, he thought. He had solved the Sphinx's riddle after dozens of other hopeful, if less clever, men had failed and gone to death under her savage paws. He was due some respect. Didn't she say she'd honour the man who played her game and won? Well, it seemed her promise was short-lived. She had jumped down from that high post of hers where she'd quizzed him and landed smack on his waist front, one set of paws digging into his mid-torso (the quick route to his heart, did she think?), the other set lewdly planting themselves in his crotch like an amorous overture. To top it all, she gave him the you're-my-hero look, her fine, human head turned up toward his in supposed admiration. It was plain ridiculous, he told himself. As if he would let a woman who had her record with men seduce and play with him. Well, he'd show her. He would just stand there, cool and confident in his new triumph, look down in contempt, and allow the half-form creature to guess her ploy wouldn't work. He would stand there all day before he stirred an inch. And once she got the point, she could leave him nicely and die.

​Norbert Kovacs

Norbert Kovacs lives and writes in Hartford, Connecticut. He loves visiting art museums, especially the Met in New York. He has published stories recently in Blink-Ink, Zephyr Review, MacQueen's Quinterly, and The Write Launch. His website: www.norbertkovacs.net.