As they crossed a clearing, like an island in that ocean, they saw in the distance and in a single place that the surface no longer moved in uniform waves, but was agitated irregularly, as if some animal, an enormous hare, moved in sinuous curves and not in a straight line, at a speed superior to that of any hare. Since these adventurers had already encountered animals, and of a sort that inspired no confidence, they tugged on their reins, and prepared for a new battle.
The serpentine line was coming towards them, and they could hear a rustle of disturbed ferns. At the edge of the clearing the grasses finally parted, and a creature appeared, thrusting the ferns aside with its hands, as if they were a curtain.
Hands they certainly were, and arms, those of the being coming towards them. For the rest it had a leg, but only one. Not that the other had been amputated; on the contrary, the single leg was attached naturally to the body, as if there had never been a place for another, and with the single foot of that single leg the creature could run with great ease, as if accustomed to moving in that way since birth. Indeed, as he came swiftly towards them, they couldn’t tell if he moved in hops or managed, built as he was, to make steps, and his one leg went forwards and backwards, as we move with two, and every step bore him ahead. The speed with which he advanced was such that it was impossible to distinguish one movement from another, as with horses, of whom no one has ever been able to say if there is a moment when all four hoofs are raised from the ground, or if two at least are always firmly planted.
When the creature stopped before them, they saw that his sole foot was at least twice the size of a human foot, but well shaped, with square nails, and five toes that seemed all thumbs, squat and sturdy.
For the rest, he was the height of a child of ten or twelve years; that is he came up to a human waist, and had a shapely head, with short, bristling yellow hair on top, a pair of round affectionate eyes like those of an ox, a small snub nose, a broad mouth that stretched almost ear to ear and revealed, in what was undoubtedly a smile, a fine and strong set of teeth. Baudolino and his friends recognized him at once, for they had read about the creature and heard him spoken of many times: he was a skiapod, and they had even put skiapods in the Priest’s letter.
The skiapod smiled again, raised both hands, clasping them above his head in a greeting and, erect as a statue on his single foot, he said, more or less: “Aleichem sabi’, Iani kala bensor.”
“This is a language I’ve never heard,” Baudolino said. Then, in Greek, he said: “What language are you speaking?”
The skiapod replied in a Greek all his own: “I not know what language spoke. I believe you foreigners and spoke a language made up like foreigners. But you speak language of Presbyter Johannes and his deacon. I greet you. I is Gavagai, at your service.”
Seeing that Gavagai was harmless, indeed benevolent, Baudolino and the others dismounted and sat on the ground, inviting him to do the same and offering him what little food they still had. “No,” he said, “I thank, but I have ate very much this morning.” Then he did something that, according to the best tradition, was to be expected from a skiapod: he first stretched out full length on the ground, then raised his leg so as to provide himself with shade from his foot, put his hands behind his head and again smiled blissfully, as if he were lying under an umbrella. “Some cool is good today, after much running. But you, who is? Too bad, if you was twelve, then you was the most holy Magi returning, even with one black. Too bad only eleven.”
“Too bad indeed,” Baudolino said, “but we are eleven. Eleven Magi don’t interest you, I suppose.”
“Eleven Magi no interest anybody. Every morning in church we pray return of the twelve. If eleven come we prayed wrong.”
“Here they really are awaiting the Magi,” the Poet murmured to Baudolino. “We have to find a way to persuade them that number twelve is around somewhere.”
“But without ever using the word Magi,” Baudolino insisted. “We are twelve, and they’ll think the rest on their own. Otherwise Prester John will discover who we are and will have us eaten by his white lions or something like.”
Then he addressed Gavagai again: “You said you are a servant of the Presbyter. Have we then come to the kingdom of Prester John?”
“You wait. You cannot say: here I am in kingdom of Prester John, after you have come a little way. Then everybody come. You are in great province of Deacon Johannes, son of Johannes, and rules all this land that you, if you want the Presbyter’s kingdom, have to pass through. All visitors coming must first wait in Pndapetzim, great capital of deacon.”
“How many visitors have already arrived here?” “None. You people first.”
“Really. Before us, a man with a black beard didn’t arrive?” “I never seen,” Gavagai said. “You men first.”
“So we must stay in this province to wait for Zosimos,” the Poet grumbled, “and God knows if he will arrive. Maybe he’s still in Abcasia, groping around in the dark.”
“It would have been worse if he had already arrived and had given the Grasal to these people,” Kyot said. “But without the Grasal, how will we present ourselves?”
“Stay calm; even haste demands some time,” Boidi wisely observed. “Now we’ll see what we find here, then we’ll think up something.” Baudolino told Gavagai that they would gladly stay in Pndapetzim, waiting for their twelfth companion, who had been lost in a desert sand storm many days’ march from where they were now. He asked Gavagai where the deacon lived.
“Down there, in his palace. I take you. No, first I tell my friends you arrive, and when you arrive there is feast. Guest is the Lord’s gift.” “Are there other skiapods around here in the grass?”
“I don’t believe. But just now I saw blemmy that I know. By chance, because skiapods not friends of blemmyae.” He put his fingers to his mouth and emitted a long and very well modulated whistle. After a few instants the ferns parted and another creature appeared. He was very different from the skiapod, and, for that matter, having heard a blemmy mentioned, the friends were expecting to see what they saw. The creature, with very broad shoulders, was hence very squat, but with slim waist, two legs, short and hairy, and no head, or even a neck.
On his chest, where men have nipples, there were two almond-shaped eyes, darting, and, beneath a slight swelling with two nostrils, a kind of circular hole, very ductile, so that when he spoke he made it assume various shapes, according to the sounds it was emitting. Gavagai went to confer with him, pointing out the visitors; the other creature visibly nodded, by bending his shoulders as if he were leaning over.
He approached the visitors and said something like: “Ouiii, ouioioioi, aueua!” As a sign of friendship, the visitors offered him a cup of water. From a sack he was carrying the blemmy took something like a straw, stuck it in the hole beneath his nose, and began to suck the water. Then Baudolino offered him a large piece of cheese. The blemmy put it to his mouth, which suddenly became the same size as the cheese, which vanished into that hole. The blemmy said: “Euaoi oea!” Then he put a hand on his chest, or, rather, on his forehead, like someone making a promise, waved both arms, and went off through the grass.
“He arrive before us,” Gavagai said. “Blemmyae not run like skiapods, but always better than slow animals you go upon. What is they?” “Horses,” Baudolino said, remembering that horses did not live in the Priest’s kingdom.
“How is horses?” the curious skiapod asked.
“Like these,” the Poet replied, “exactly like them.”
“I thank. You men powerful, and go with animals like horses.”
“But listen a moment. Just now I heard you say that skiapods are not friends of blemmyae. Do they not belong to the same kingdom or province?”
“Oh, no, they servants of the Presbyter like us, and like them also ponces, pygmies, giants, panotians, tongueless, nubians, eunuchs, and the satyrs-that-are-never-seen. All good Christians and faithful servants of Deacon and Presbyter.”
“You are not friends because you are different?” “What you say? Different?”
“Well, in the sense that you are different from us and—” “Why I different you?”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” the Poet said. “To begin with, you have only one leg! We and the blemmyae have two!”
“Also you and blemmyae if you raise one leg, you have only one.” “But you don’t have another one to lower!”
“Why should I lower leg I don’t has? Do you lower third leg you don’t has?”
Boidi intervened, conciliatory: “Listen, Gavagai, you must agree that the blemmy has no head.”
“What? Has no head? Has eyes, nose, mouth, speaks, eats. How possible if has no head?”
“But haven’t you noticed that he has
