He was ten feet tall. He grasped a formidable wooden club, and wore only a loincloth, dirty and brown. His whole body was a deep, mottled red-white. He had fangs, large and dripping saliva.
A heavy, meaty smell hung about him. A scowl twisted his crimson countenance.
“Halt, human! None can come to the village of Kutuchek except through me.”
“And how am I to pass your crossing, demon?”
For I needed to pass.
“A girl like you.” He looked me over, thinking. “You look smart. You have a student’s cap.”
I did (and I was).
“You can answer three riddles.” The monster said.
“If I can’t answer correctly?”
“Death, obviously. Look at me, what else do you think I’ll do? Give you an E minus?”
I needed to get to Kutuchek to take my final exams. “I accept.”
“Good! First…”
The little river gurgled pleasantly over the wooden bridge. I smelled sage in the meadows beyond.
“Alone when in company, and in company when alone. What am I?”
That one was simple. “An ordinary person.”
As others’ company made people aware of themselves, aware of being inside themselves, and to be alone allowed them to imagine being with someone who let them forget themselves.
“Correct! Second. I burn, I swelter, I feel myself melting, but I cannot take my coat off. What am I?”
“A jacket potato.”
The beast appeared surprised. “Third. What is my name?”
“This is unfair. How could I possibly know…”
“I will tell you my story, and you can guess.”
Was this really the only bridge to Kutuchek? It wasn’t exactly Königsberg, was it?
“Go ahead.”
“The artist Cellini summoned me in the Colosseum one night. He was careless; he, his priest, his apprentices fled in dawn’s light, not bothering to seal me away. I lived in Rome for centuries, hidden in darkness, nameless. Then, after the failures of the liberal Crispi, I emigrated. I went to America, and I was discovered. I had to flee – I chose Japan, fled across the world.”
Other side? Only if you saw the world with Europe and Africa in the middle. “And then?”
“Try living in that country with a red face. They thought I belonged to their legends. When I introduced myself, this was only confirmation, in their eyes.”
“You’re very well-travelled.”
“If you like.”
Italy…America…Japan. The question was his name. I stopped for a moment, considered the monster’s face.
I was a student. Like all proper students, I had a penchant for strange old theories and discredited learning. I found nominative determinism particularly interesting – the idea that a name, given in advance, would influence how someone turned out.
The monster was red with white spots. He stank of meat. He was born in Italy, had gone to America, and then had gone to Japan and been mistaken for a demon…
“Your name’s Pepper-Oni!”
“Correct!” The Pepper-demon bawled, throwing down his club. “Congratulations, young lady. You may pass. My compliments to your teachers…”
“Thank you!”
verso folio 