"Now," he said, once the rain had ceased, "take out thy chisel and hammer. Seek all the skulls and separate them from the rest. Then from each skull wrench the jawbone free. Put everything in the burlap sack."
I stared at him, aghast. "We are… desecrating corpses?"
"No. We borrow what they no longer need."He gripped my arm with brutal strength. "Remember: an Echo, not a spirit. Down here, only one rule stands: survival. The sooner thou understand Hell plays with different cards than thy old world, the sooner thou wilt gain an advantage. And here advantages decide whether one lives… or becomes these bones."He kicked a tibia, sending it flying into the Abyss.
Thus, wounded in my pride by yet another lesson of his, I found myself cracking skulls and tearing off jawbones like a common grave-robber. Becker did it with ease, treating the remains like stationery: he studied them, split them, discarded them without hesitation. I struggled, nauseated, yet morbidly fascinated by his coldness.
In truth, he was right. These bones were nothing but tools. And if I wished to remain alive, I had to learn to use them.
They had already received their Eternal Rest in life. Clearly it had not worked, judging from the state in which they had ended. By what right could I, a miserable survivor, pretend to be more merciful than a divinity who had failed to protect them? And by what right could they, already dead, deny me the chance to live?
I set to work under Becker's lantern light. Each skull I pulled out was examined and, if it gleamed with gold, thrown into the sack. If the precious teeth lay in the jawbone instead, a single sharp blow of the hammer made the bone snap. Twice I unearthed heads still held together by tendons, red with congealed blood. I nearly vomited, but Becker laughed, calling me Angsthase. I had no idea what it meant, but it did not sound like praise."More strength!" he shouted, while I sweated like a condemned man. He, meanwhile, detached jaws with the ease of cracking open a pistachio.
"But why," I asked, exhausted as I wrestled with a stubborn skull, "don't the demons take the gold? Do they not notice it?"
"Nein. They need no eyes: they sense it, like truffle dogs. But they may not touch the teeth of the dead."
"And why not?"
He brightened, pleased I had asked. "Because, Herr Cremaschi, as a known saying goes: demons tear bodies apart, yet leave the teeth chattering."
"Meaning…?"
"Meaning they can turn thee inside out like a stocking, yet the teeth remain… chattering. Intact. Many ancient chronicles speak of it."
I returned to breaking bones, Becker whistling merrily. Suddenly he cried out: "Look what I found!"
I lifted my head—and froze. In his filth-smeared hands hung a red scrap of fabric, with yellow star-shaped buttons and scorched white stripes.
"But that is… a piece of the burnt clown's costume!"
"The what?"
"A clown! He was on the Ark with me, at the beginning. This means—"
"—that he had golden molars!"Becker held up enthusiastically a skull still sporting its red nose and strips of skin. The empty sockets seemed to beg for mercy. I bent over and vomited while he, unfazed, tossed the head into the sack, staining it red.
"Thou art far too sentimental, Herr Cremaschi. If thou cling to humanity, thou wilt die soon. As thy predecessor did."
Instinctively, I touched my family jewels. "Do you think the ones from the Red Barge truly work down there?"
"I doubt it," he replied. "How should a ship plough through land? It is far more complicated. No one knows where they go. Those who return remember nothing, as if drugged by the Lotus-Eaters."
"And what if they're on the other side of the world?"
He shook his head. "Impossible. This world is flat."
I stared at him, incredulous. "Flat?" I repeated.
"That is what I said. What art thou, a parrot?"
I ignored him. "…like a disk?"
"More like a polished rock."
"And the water? Does it fall off in a cascade? Like in Asterix?"
Becker glared at me. "Ho weh, ho weh! And thou claim to be a man of the future? Newton would strike thee. Gravity exists, Herr Cremaschi, written in books since the year 1666. Hast thou not noticed that the sea's horizon stands far higher than the land when thou look from the shore? One does not need Euler to grasp how this force works on a plane."
I changed subject. "Tell me something: are people condemned before they die? One doesn't usually go to the grave with gold!"
Becker cracked a vertebra. "Now it is so. Those who gained nothing in life enjoy nothing after."
"Why now?"
"Because once it was different. Before taking power, Occhi di Brace was merely a boatman."
"And there was someone else?"
He lit up. "Indeed! Then he vanished, leaving the throne empty… and Charon seized it. Since he rose to power, he has collected everything: gold, paintings, men. Hast thou seen the elite section at the casino? Boccaccio, Crassus, Emperor Claudius—they are not players but his trinkets."
A shiver ran through me. "That's horrible."
"Alas, yes. I envy the ancient times: there was sunlight here, even in Hell."
"Seriously?"
"Absolutely. They say that in the beginning Hell resembled the Underworld. The obol was a natural rite, and life here was not unlike life above. Then the Light fell. And the crimson darkness began."
"Who held the sceptre before Charon?"
He smiled with mischief. "When I said his departure left a void at the center, I meant it literally. That hole that spews darkness today… once it shone with light. They called him the Bearer. A fallen angel—yet more human than the current despot."
A chilling thought struck me. "You don't mean that void…"
Becker turned, solemn. "Herr Cremaschi, I present to thee: Lucifer."
A crimson ray erupted from the horizon, revealing the immensity of the Abyss. A gulf carved as if by a cosmic drill.
I fell to my knees, trembling. "Even Dante… placed Lucifer at the center…"
"No time!" Becker was suddenly agitated. "We must reach the city before the black sun rises. Schnell!"
And we began to run through the grey ash, while the world shifted its color around us.