Baudolino (54 page)

Tall, enfolded in a long garment that gracefully outlined two erect little breasts, the creature walked with the step of a languid cameleopard, and her garment swept the grass that enhanced the lake shore, as if she were gliding over the earth. She had long soft blond hair, which fell to her hips, and a very pure profile, as if she had been modeled after an ivory brooch. Her complexion was a faint pink, and that angelic face was turned towards the lake in an attitude of mute prayer. The unicorn meekly pawed at the ground around her, sometimes raising its face with its little nostrils quivering, to receive a caress.

Baudolino watched, rapt.

"You, Master Niketas, must bear in mind that since the beginning of my journey I had not seen a woman worthy of that name. Don't misunderstand me: it was not desire that had overcome me, but a feeling of serene adoration, not just of her but also of the animal, the calm lake, the mountains, the light of that declining day. I felt as if I were in a temple."

Baudolino was trying, with his words, to describe his vision—something that is surely impossible.

"You see, there are moments when perfection itself appears in a hand or in a face, in some nuance on the flank of a hill or on the sea's surface, moments when your heart is paralyzed before the miracle of beauty. ... That creature seemed to me at that moment a superb aquatic bird, a heron, or a swan. I said her hair was blond, but no: as the head slowly moved, the hair at times had bluish glints, at other times it seemed to have a light fire running through it. I could see the outline of her bosom, soft and delicate as the breast of a dove. I had become nothing but pure gaze. I saw something ancient, because I knew I was not seeing something beautiful, but beauty itself, like the holy thought of God. I was discovering that perfection, even glimpsing it once, and once only, was something light and lovely. I looked at that form from the distance, but I felt that I had no hold on that image, as happens when you are on in years and you seem to glimpse clear signs on a parchment, but you know that the moment you move closer they will blur, and you will never be able to read the secret that the page was promising you—or, as in dreams, when something you desire appears to you, you reach out, move your fingers in the void, and grasp nothing."

"I envy you that enchantment."

"Rather than shatter it, I transformed myself into a statue."

But the enchantment was finished. A creature of the woods, the maiden sensed the presence of Baudolino, and turned towards him. She had not an instant of fear, only a bewildered gaze.

She said in Greek: "Who are you?" When he did not answer, she boldly approached him, examining, studying him closely, without shame and without coyness; and her eyes were like her hair, of shifting color. The unicorn had come to her side, his head lowered, as if to extend his beautiful weapon in the defense of his mistress.

"You are not from Pndapetzim," she then said. "You are neither a eunuch nor a monster. You are ... a man!" She showed that she recognized a man, as he had recognized the unicorn, from having heard man mentioned many times, but never having seen one. "You are beautiful, a man is beautiful. May I touch you?" She reached out and, with her slender fingers, she stroked his beard and grazed the scar on his face, as Beatrice had done that day. "This was a wound. Are you one of those men who make war? And what is that?"

"A sword," Baudolino answered, "but I use it in my defense against wild beasts; I am not a man who makes war. My name is Baudolino, and I come from the lands where the sun sets, over there," and he made a vague gesture. He noticed that his hand was trembling. "Who are you?"

"I'm a hypatia," she said, with the tone of someone amused to hear such a naive question, and she laughed, becoming still more beautiful. Then, remembering that she was speaking with a foreigner: "In this wood, beyond those trees, only we hypatias live. You're not afraid of me, like those of Pndapetzim are?" This time it was Baudolino who smiled: it was she who feared he was afraid. "Do you come here to the lake often?" he asked. "Not always," the hypatia answered. "Our mother does not wish us to come out of the wood alone. But the lake is so beautiful, and Acacios protects me." She pointed to the unicorn. Then she added, with a worried look, "It is late. I must not stay away so long. I should not meet the people of Pndapetzim either, if they come this far. But you are not one of them, you are a man, and no one has ever told me to keep away from men."

"I'll come back tomorrow," Baudolino dared to say, "but when the sun is high in the sky. Will you be here?"

"I don't know," the hypatia said, troubled, "perhaps." And she vanished lightly among the trees.

That night Baudolino couldn't sleep; in any case—he said—he had already dreamed, enough to remember that dream for all his life. However, the next day, just at noon, he took his horse and returned to the lake.

He waited till evening, not seeing anyone. Dejected, he turned towards home, and at the edge of the city he ran into a group of skiapods who were practicing with their fistulas. He saw Gavagai, who said to him: "You, look!" He aimed the reed up high, fired the dart, and killed a bird, which fell nearby. "I great fighter," Gavagai said, "if White Hun arrive I pass through him!" Baudolino congratulated him, and went off at once to sleep. That night he dreamed of the previous day's encounter and in the morning he told himself that one dream is not enough for a whole life.

He went back to the lake again. He remained seated by the water, listening to the song of the birds, who were celebrating morning, then the cicadas, at the hour when the noonday devil rages. But it was not hot, the trees spread a delightful coolness, and it cost him no pain to wait there for a few hours. Then she reappeared.

She sat down beside him and told him she had come back because she wanted to learn more about men. Baudolino didn't know where to begin, and he started describing the place where he was born, the events of Frederick's court, what empires are and kingdoms, how you hunt with a falcon, what a city is and how you build one, the same things he had told the deacon, avoiding grim or lewd stories, and realizing, as he spoke, that men could even be portrayed with affection. She listened to him, her glistening eyes changing color according to her emotion.

"How well you talk. Do all men tell beautiful stories like you?" No, Baudolino admitted, perhaps he told more and better ones than the others of his race, but among them there were also the poets, who could speak better still. And he began singing one of Abdul's songs. She didn't understand the Provençal words but, like the Abcasia, she was bewitched by the melody. Now her eyes were veiled with dew.

"Tell me," she asked, blushing slightly, "do men also have their ... their females?" She asked this as if she had understood that what Baudolino sang was addressed to a woman. Yes, indeed, Baudolino answered, just as male skiapods mate with female skiapods, so men mate with women; otherwise they cannot make children, and that's how it is, he added, in the whole universe.

"That's not true," the hypatia said, laughing, "hypatias are simply hypatias, and there are no—how can I say it?—no hypatios!" And she laughed again, amused at the very idea. Baudolino wondered what it would take to hear her laugh again, because her laughter was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. He was tempted to ask her how hypatias are born, but was afraid of marring her innocence. At this point, however, he did feel encouraged to ask her who the hypatias were.

"Oh," she said, "it's a long story; I don't know how to tell long stories the way you do. You must realize that a thousand thousand years ago, in a powerful and distant city, there lived a wise and virtuous woman named Hypatia. She had a school of philosophy, which means love of wisdom. But in that city also some bad men lived, who were called Christians; they did not fear the gods, they felt hatred towards philosophy and they particularly could not tolerate the fact that a female should know the truth. One day they seized Hypatia and put her to death amid horrible tortures. Now some of the younger of her female disciples were spared, perhaps because they were believed to be ignorant maidens who were with her only to serve her. They fled, but the Christians by now were everywhere, and the girls had to journey a long time before reaching this place of peace. Here they tried to keep alive what they had learned from their mistress, but they had heard her speak when they were still very young, they were not wise as she had been, and they didn't remember clearly all her teachings. So they told themselves they would live together, apart from the world, to rediscover what Hypatia had really said. Also because God has left shadows of truth in the depths of the heart of each of us, and it is a matter only of bringing them forth, to shine in the light of wisdom, as you free the pulp of a fruit from its skin."

God, the gods, which if they were not the God of the Christians were necessarily false and treacherous ... But what was this hypatia saying? Baudolino wondered. However, it mattered little to him, for him it was enough to hear her and he was already prepared to die for her truth.

"Tell me one thing at least," he interrupted her. "You are the hypatias, in the name of that Hypatia: this I can understand. But what is your name?"

"Hypatia."

"No, I mean you—yourself—what are you called? To distinguish you from another hypatia ... I'm asking: what do your companions call you?"

"Hypatia."

"But this evening you will go back to the place where all of you live, and you will meet one hypatia before the others. How will you greet her?"

"I will wish her a happy evening. That's what we do."

"Yes, but if I go back to Pndapetzim, and I see, for example, a eunuch, he will say to me: Happy evening, O Baudolino. You will say: Happy evening, O ... what?"

"If you like, I will say: Happy evening, Hypatia."

"So all of you then are called Hypatia."

"Naturally. All hypatias are called Hypatia, no one is different from the others, otherwise she wouldn't be a hypatia."

"But if one hypatia or another is looking for you, just now when you are absent, and asks another hypatia if she has seen that hypatia who goes around with a unicorn named Acacios, how would she say it?"

"Just as you did. She is looking for the hypatia who goes around with a unicorn named Acacios."

If Gavagai had given him such an answer, Baudolino would have been tempted to slap him. But not with Hypatia: Baudolino already was thinking how marvelous the place must be, where all the hypatias were called Hypatia.

"But it took several days, Master Niketas, for me to understand what the hypatias really were...."

"So you saw more of each other, I imagine."

"Every day, or almost. I couldn't do without seeing her and listening to her: this shouldn't surprise you, but it surprised me, and filled me with infinite pride, as I understood that she, too, was happy to see me and listen to me. I was ... I was like a child again who seeks its mother's breast, and when the mother is not present, he weeps for fear she will never come back again."

"It happens also to dogs with their masters. But this matter of the hypatias arouses my curiosity. Because perhaps you know, or don't know, that Hypatia really did exist, even if it was not a thousand thousand years ago, but, rather, eight centuries, and she lived in Alexandria in Egypt, when the empire was ruled by Theodosius and then by Arcadius. She really was, we are told, a woman of great wisdom, learned in philosophy, in mathematics, and in astronomy, and even men drank in her every word. In the meantime our holy religion had triumphed in all the territories of the empire. There were still some unruly people who were trying to keep alive the thought of the pagan philosophers, such as the divine Plato, and I will not deny that they were doing good, transmitting also to us Christians the learning that would have been lost otherwise. But one of the greatest Christians of the time, who later became a saint of the Church, Cyril, a man of great faith but also of great intransigence, considered Hypatia's teaching contrary to the Gospels and unleashed against her a horde of ignorant and enraged Christians, who didn't even know what she was preaching, but now considered her, with Cyril as witness, dissolute and a liar. Perhaps she was slandered, even if it is also true that women should not meddle in divine questions. In sum, they dragged her into a temple, stripped her naked, killed her, massacred her body with sharp shards of broken vessels, and put her corpse on a pyre. ... Many legends sprang up about her. They say she was very beautiful, but had taken a vow of virginity. One young man, her disciple, fell madly in love with her, and she showed him a cloth with the blood of her menses, telling him that only this was the object of his desire, not beauty itself. ... In reality, what she taught no one has ever known exactly. All her writings were lost; those who had preserved her spoken thought had been killed, or had tried to forget what they had heard. Everything we know of her has been handed down to us by the holy fathers who condemned her, and, honestly, as a writer of history and chronicles, I tend not to give too much credence to words that an enemy puts into the mouth of an enemy."

They had other meetings and many conversations. Hypatia would talk, and Baudolino hoped her learning was extensive, infinite, so he would never stop hanging on her lips. She answered all of Baudolino's questions, with intrepid sincerity, never blushing: nothing for her was restricted by any sordid prohibition, all was transparent.

Baudolino finally dared ask her how the hypatias, after so many centuries, perpetuated themselves. She answered that at every season the Mother chose some of them who would procreate, and she accompanied them to the fecundators. Hypatia was vague about these; naturally, she had never seen them, nor had she ever seen the hypatias destined for the rite. They were led to a place, at night, they drank a potion that inebriated and dazed them, they were fecundated, then they returned to their community, where those who remained pregnant were tended by their companions until the birth: if the fruit of their womb was male, it was returned to the fecundators, who would bring it up as one of themselves; if it was female, it remained in the community and grew up as an hypatia.