— Io laboro la terra, he said. Per me se mangia il pane.40
Hostile laughter mixed with words of encouragement celebrated the Cocoliche’s comeback.
— The gringo is right on that score, Pereda admitted.
— He’s a tavern owner! insisted Del Solar. All he cared about was getting rich!
And now the Cocoliche in turn metamorphosed into an old man whose patriarchal beard shone like polished brass. His gaze seemed to open up vast horizons; he was wearing a vicuña-wool poncho and a dark chiripá. Adam Buenosayres trembled like a leaf when he recognized the authentic effigy of his grandfather Sebastián.
— Not always, young feller, retorted the grandfather, looking at Del Solar with friendly eyes. A hundred times I crossed the pampa in my horse-drawn cart; a hundred times I smuggled loads across the river in my whale boat. I ploughed the virgin land and raised flocks. And now, even the land where my bones lie mouldering, I can’t call my own.
— It’s absolutely true! exclaimed Adam Buenosayres, succumbing to his third fit of tears.
But Del Solar wouldn’t give in.
— An exception. Honourable, but rare.
The discussion became general around this subject, which touched them all to the quick. And the legendary figure of Juan Sin Ropa, having already undergone two mutations, now took on the physiognomy of all peoples, the rampant aspect of all ambitions, the sadness of all exiles, the colour of all hopes. In the form of Mister Chisholm, he offered them a shiny locomotive in exchange for our fourteen provinces. Then, as Uncle Sam, he tempted them with the glory of becoming one more star in his illustrious top hat and letting them feature in a cowboy movie. Next, he appeared as the Wandering Jew and offered to buy up everything from their boots to the Southern Cross. Finally, in the guise of a derby-hatted Frenchman from Marseilles, he proposed they refine their culture, cuisine, and ars amandi. Through it all, each of the heroes defended his own cause and cast aspersions on the others. Just when their ardent spirits were threatening to spill into the terrain of Mars, the seven expeditionaries of Saavedra witnessed the arrival of a naked horseman, a radiant halo over his brow; as he drew nearer, he exuded an exquisite scent as of a glorified body.41
— Let there be peace! exclaimed the horseman. Peace be among you!
— Who are you? Adam Buenosayres asked him.
— Martin, the soldier, he responded. It was I who gave the poor man half my cape.
— Sir, what dost thou in the deep of night?
— I stand guard over the city assigned to my custody.
— And why so naked? insisted Adam.
— I willingly gave the poor man half my cape, and the poor man took away the other half. The poor man is a figure of Christ, and he who gives his possessions to the poor lays himself bare in Our Lord. But it is not meet that the poor man take away the other half of our cape.42
No sooner had he delivered this cryptic utterance than the naked horseman melted away into the night. But the astrologer Schultz was not accepting these childish versions of the legend. For him, the fable had an esoteric meaning. Juan Sin Ropa, winner of the lyric contest, was none other than the prefiguration of the Neocriollo who would inhabit the pampa in the distant future. At the word “Neocriollo,” Juan Sin Ropa underwent an incredible metamorphosis, the last of the series. His gaucho clothing fell away as he suddenly grew twenty feet tall, displaying the most disconcerting of manly forms that human ingenuity is capable of imagining. He was completely nude: his thoracic cavity and abdomen were X-ray transparent, his finely traced internal organs clearly visible. He stood on only one of his gigantic legs, while the other was folded up flamingo-style. But most astonishing was his great head encircled by a radiant nimbus: phosphorescent eyes swinging like headlights on the tips of two long antennae; a saxophone mouth; ears like two gyrating funnels, which were now trained upon the nonplussed heroes.
Franky Amundsen wanted to know what new demon this was, and Schultz replied that it was the Neocriollo himself. When Samuel Tesler opined that he was no thing of beauty, the Neocriollo’s saxophone snout rose and fell three times like an elephant’s trunk.
— Listen! said Schultz. The Neocriollo wants to speak.
Indeed, an inarticulate stream of sounds gushed from the saxophonish schnoz: a voice imitating the whistle of a partridge, the goldfinch’s aria, the cooing of turtledoves, the croaking of frogs, the owl’s hoot, the sparrow’s chirp, the shrill cry of the crested screamer, and the squawk of the lapwing.43 The Neocriollo alternately grew enormous or shrank to dwarf-like dimensions, in proportion to the greater or lesser sublimity of the sounds he produced.
— What did he say? asked Franky, as soon as the sound stream stopped.
Schultz qualified it as a sort of ineffable political harangue, then translated the Neocriollo’s words as follows: “If the laxative jacket and the reinforced concrete smile were not to sweet opprobrium as Neon, the harpsichord, is to the seagull in a daydream mouldering amid flowers, then much might be expected from the cosmic elephant, at the hour when pale fig trees resolve Baluk’s theorem. But beware, mortals! The non-submersible president has broken the pact, and already his thighs are clad in the black undershorts of doubt.”
That fragment of prose left the explorers absorbed in contemplation.
— Bah, scoffed Pereda. It’s too logical for his tender years.
— Logical! Samuel lamented. Regrettably logical.
Adam Buenosayes didn’t try to hide his melancholy.
— To escape logic, he exclaimed, one must be a madman or a saint!
But the Neocriollo’s saxophone snout suddenly emitted a very bright light.
— And that? asked Franky.
— Excellent! said Schultz. The Neocriollo is in a good mood: he just tossed out his tri-coloured laugh.
— Is that all he can do to show his good humour? grumbled Franky.
Upon hearing this, and with robotic grace, the Neocriollo began to dance the malambo, the cueca, the escondido, the zamba, the aires, the cuándo, the chacarera, the sombrerito, the pala pala, the marote, the resbalosa, the pericón, the huella, and the chamamé.44 Unfortunately, the explorers showed no signs of appreciation. What they wanted was a miracle. Lo and behold, the Neocriollo heard this request with his infundibuliform ears and wagged his trunk to call for attention. Then, turning around on the spot, he pointed his buttocks at the heroes and let fly a luminous fart: up into the night it sailed, ensconcing itself in the Centaur constellation between the fixed stars Alpha and Beta. His performance complete, he faded into black.
The next series of events took place in the natural realm. Until then, the terrain had been flat enough to accommodate an infantry advance, and the expeditionaries had encountered no obstacles. But now they sensed a downhill slope, and soon their feet were splashing through water, as though in a swamp.
— Hey! Hey! cried Bernini. What are we getting into now?
— Don’t worry, Del Solar cautioned them. We’re getting close to the ditch.45
Franky Amundsen started to moan softly.
— Just as I imagined! he groused. Up to my balls in mud — me, the best-shod dude in Buenos Aires!
But Del Solar admonished him severely, asking him whether by some excess of Nature his balls hung down to his heels. Then, reassuring, he told his men they weren’t really walking in mud; it was grass covered by standing water.