Act VI: The Bitter Sea (Part 4)

Four

"When was the first time you were on a boat?" Yubi asked, sitting on the deck.

“Oh, I was about your age then.” Schumacher was holding a charcoal pencil and scribbling on a damp cotton cloth. “That ship went from Venice to Constantinople. I spent all my savings and in the end I could only find a corner in the cargo hold and had to help the captain with his work every day.”

Yubi's eyes were dark and swollen with fear. "You went alone?" But he still asked with concern, "Were you feeling this bad then?"

“I’m all alone,” Schumacher remarked, gazing at the oars slapping against the water. “It’s tough too, but not as bad as what you’re going through. People in Venice spend every day on boats; they get used to it quickly.”

“If you’re not used to it, they’ll take all your belongings while you’re unconscious and throw you into the sea to feed the fish.” Yakov leaned reluctantly against the railing, carrying a handkerchief in one hand and a bag of water in the other. “They’ve swallowed the money for the ticket and saved a seat.”

“It’s not that terrible!” Schumeer pointed at him. “Those are merchant ships from Venice to Constantinople. The route is well-established and stable. The captain makes the trip every year; he’s trustworthy!”

Yakov snorted, too lazy to argue. "And you?" Yubi turned to him again and asked, "Did you feel uncomfortable the first time you were on a boat?"

The blood slave being questioned had a stern face, his lips pressed tightly together. "I've been hurt too," he said, "but so what? Nobody cares."

No sooner had he said that than he saw Yubi lean against the railing again, stretching his neck and vomiting up everything in his stomach—mostly his blood, mixed with other things. "What did you steal to eat again?" Yakov angrily gripped his handkerchief and leaned over to scold him, "Don't you feel bad enough?"

“I’m going to feel nauseous and vomit anyway!” Yubi grabbed his handkerchief to wipe his mouth, then rinsed his mouth with water from his bag, before slumping back into his chair and closing his eyes. “In that case, we might as well try something new.”

The boat first headed east, then north. More and more tributaries flowed into the main channel, widening the river. It was January, the dead of winter, but this southern river was not frozen—for Yubi, a river that didn't freeze in winter was a rare sight. He changed his heavy fur cloak for a light, oriental-style cape, and fastened a pearl-encrusted brooch on his right shoulder, from which hung three gold chains. When the sun came out during the day, he discovered that the river, which appeared azure like a jewel at night, was actually full of silt, a murky yellowish-green. But those weeds and silt were the favorite hiding places for fish of all sizes—Yubi saw flocks of birds he didn't recognize flying overhead, scrambling to steal the catch from the fishing boats, pecking at the big fish and running away, infuriating the fishermen who stomped their feet and yelled from their boats.

"There are so many birds here!" Yubi looked up and exclaimed. "They're so brave!"

"We're almost at the seaside. Birds love living here; it's warm and cozy." Schumeer's painting depicts a large, leafy tree, laden with countless birds. "In Venice, seagulls are like robbers; they even dare to steal food from people's plates!"

"Then why didn't you catch the seagulls?" A childish ferocity appeared on Yubi's face. "We could have made the seagulls into food too!"

“How could you catch them! They snatch the food and then spread their wings and fly out to sea.” Schumeer flicked his paintbrush. “Besides, people love seagulls. In Venice, they are a symbol of the safe return of ships.”

“Those are all excuses,” Yakov, who was standing to the side, suddenly spoke up. “Seagull meat is terribly unpalatable.”

This made Schumacher show a look of disgust, his nose wrinkling. "You've eaten seagull?" Yubi's eyes, however, lit up with curiosity. "What does it taste like?"

"It was sour and tough, the meat was so old it was impossible to chew." Yakov saw Seleman at the bow of the ship, holding a route map and searching for directions with his men. He suddenly wanted to boast more, "Besides seagulls, I've also eaten 'fins'."

“What is that?” Schumer’s expression twisted even more. “I’ve never heard of such an animal.”

"Where did you see it and eat it?" Yubi's weakness of the past few days seemed to have been swept away by this curiosity. He grabbed Yakov's sleeve. "'Finger-footed'? What does it look like?"

Yakov coughed softly, stroking his beard with satisfaction. "Just like its name, this animal has flippers as feet, and its entire body is smooth and black. It has a fish-like tail, and its face is like a cat's with whiskers, but it doesn't have ears." He continued, half-teasingly, half-scarefully, "In the far north, people gut it, remove its internal organs, stuff its belly with a small auk, and seal it with oil. Finally, they bury it in the permafrost for two or three years, then break open the belly of its 'flippers,' and they can hold the small auk and suck the juice from its tail."

Now it was Schumeer's turn to make a gagging gesture. "My God, this sounds utterly wicked...isn't this just rotting bodily fluids?" His little braids trembled and swayed. "Don't you feel disgusted eating this stuff?"

“It does smell bad,” Yakov grinned. “But it’s edible.”

“I really want to see what it looks like.” Yubi rested his chin on his hand, gazing at the trees and reeds on both sides of the riverbank. Suddenly, he jumped up from his seat, as if he had an idea. “Schumel, can you draw it for me!” he exclaimed.

"Huh? What should I draw?"

“The one Yakov mentioned!” Yubi exclaimed, his eyes widening with excitement. “'Fingers'!”

“But I’ve never seen it, it was Yakov who saw it!” Schumer exclaimed in surprise, putting away his charcoal pencil. “I can’t draw it!”

"Didn't Yakov tell you? Just draw it according to his instructions!"

They crowded closer to examine the outrageous drawing. It was a simple sketch, every stroke revealing Schumeer's reluctance and bewilderment. Yubi stared at the drawing, his brow furrowing.

“‘Fingers’ don’t look like that,” Yakov denied categorically. “Nothing about them is right.”

“Everything is drawn exactly as you said,” Schumeer said, shaking the papyrus with dissatisfaction. “Look, fins for feet, a fish’s tail, a cat’s whiskers, no ears. What’s wrong with that?”

“But why does it have a human face?” Yubi muttered.

"What does Yakov say about its face?"

Yakov shook his head. "The eyes should be rounder, and the nostrils bigger."

Upon hearing this, Schumeer angrily flipped the papyrus over and quickly redrawn it with charcoal. "How about this?" he said, handing the new drawing to the two of them. "The eyes are rounder, and the nostrils are bigger!"

Yubi glanced at the drawing and couldn't help but burst into laughter, nearly falling off the deck. Yakov, barely suppressing his laughter, took the paper from Schumeer—the drawing, rather than depicting "fins," resembled a hideous, bald old mermaid, staring at him with wide, round eyes and flared nostrils, mysteriously smiling. "I never said that thing could laugh," Yakov said, frowning as he examined the masterpiece, his lips twitching. "...I can't explain it, it just doesn't look like it."

"What a waste of my time, my paper and pen!" Schumeer snatched the paper from his hand and haphazardly stuffed it into a stack, his face flushed with anger, his mustache swaying back and forth. "It's all your fault for not explaining things clearly!"

Yakov finally couldn't help but laugh out loud, and Schumer laughed in exasperation as well. Their laughter was contagious, as if the sun shone brighter, the air fresher, as if they were now standing on the solid and safe Tower of Babel, all their suffering temporarily submerged beneath the surface. A vast flock of migratory birds, thousands upon thousands, flew overhead, blotting out the sun. They chirped and flapped their wings lively, their voices a cacophony of noise. Their laughter was drowned out by the din—Yakov laughed, then suddenly caught a glimpse of the bow. The brown-skinned eunuch stood there, watching them from afar, as if seeing something else through them. He smiled faintly, lost in thought.

Yubi chased the bird from beside him to the bow of the boat. "Look at that bird! It has a big beak, like a leather pouch!" he exclaimed, craning his neck to look out from the railing, seemingly brimming with boundless energy. "Come and see, Yakov!"

The boat slowed down, and the oarsmen inside the cabin no longer swung their arms vigorously, letting the gunwales sluggishly cut through the water. Yakov looked around and immediately understood why—the river had widened to an endless expanse, the silt carried by the current forming countless islands overgrown with reeds and bushes. Countless birds perched on the riverbanks, fragmented by the water, building nests, courting, hunting, and resting. Yakov also spotted the strange birds Yubi had described; they were circling together, simultaneously raising their wings and plunging their hood-like beaks into the water, causing panicked fish to burrow into their throats.

“This is like Venice built by birds,” Schumacher exclaimed, gazing at the amazing sight. “It’s truly a bird paradise.”

"A paradise for birds, a graveyard for ships." Yakov's smile had vanished completely. "Ships will run aground here."

“You know this?” Schumer asked in surprise, following him to the bow. Yakov didn't go to Yubi, but instead stormed off towards Seilman. The two were similar in height and build, facing each other intently, as if about to fight. “This waterway is completely impassable,” Yakov said in a low voice. “Didn't you look at a map beforehand, scout out the route?”

“The terrain here changes every year,” Seilerman admitted his mistake, but he wasn’t embarrassed at all. “If you’re careful, you can get through.”

"Be careful?" Yakov pointed to the dense sandbars. "With so many and such islands, the water level is no longer high enough for boats to pass!"

“That’s not a real island, it’s a floating island,” Seymour said with a laugh. “The water level is high enough for boats to navigate, but the floating island will float with the current and won’t be submerged. It would be dangerous for a boat to hit it.”

Floating islands? Yakov instinctively disbelieved. Aside from the fictional monsters in sea monster books, he had never seen a real floating island. And he generally didn't believe anything he hadn't witnessed firsthand—yet Seilman's words were so unquestionable, so familiar and certain, as if they were merely discussing the fish and bread he'd eaten for breakfast. Yakov reluctantly thought that this man might truly be knowledgeable and experienced. He opened his mouth, wanting to continue his rebuttal, but he really didn't know how to voice his doubts.

As if reading Yakov's mind, Seilman spoke kindly. "I was just about to call the small boat out to pull away those floating islands." He smiled, wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. "Can you help?"

Yakov suddenly realized that Yubi and Schumeer were already surrounding him, awaiting his answer. He wanted to refuse, but a small competitive urge made him feel restless and trapped. "...Okay," Yakov had no choice but to answer, "Send me a few men."

“I want to go too!” Yubi’s eyes lit up as soon as he agreed. “I’ll be your Greek translator!”

"Stay here!" Yakov scolded him angrily. "What kind of good job do you think this is?"

“Your master has a point,” Seymour said. “Why refuse him and not let him do as he pleases?”

Yakov was speechless, his thoughts racing, not expecting his loyal servant to hold such an opinion. He then noticed Yubi's face—his hair seemed to have grown a little longer, the part behind his ears almost reaching his shoulders—and he looked subtly different from the naive young nobleman he had been a month ago.

“…You’re not allowed to do anything except translate.” Yakov turned and leaned down to warn him, “Sit in the ship, don’t touch or budge anything. Understand?”

“I understand.” Yubi smiled happily, two shallow dimples appearing at the corners of her mouth.

Selman sent three Greek soldiers with them. The five men boarded a small boat and were lowered into the water by rope. The weather was fine today, neither too sunny nor too cloudy, perfect for crossing the river—that's what Schumeer said, but he insisted on staying on the large ship, refusing to go, claiming he was clumsy and would mess it up—Yakov thought, carrying the rope loop, "That lazy Jewish bastard." How could he be clumsy? He was simply cowardly and suspicious.

The reeds in the river were extremely lush, covered with a thin layer of frost, appearing like a high wall from inside the boat, obscuring the edge of the water. Yubi, head bowed, trying to distinguish the riverbank from the floating islands, suddenly exclaimed excitedly, "Look, the water here has two colors!" He tugged at Yakov's clothes, gesturing for him to see, "One side is muddy yellow, the other clear! They don't blend together!"

Yakov glanced at it; it was indeed a rare sight. "Don't bother me with this!" he said, though. "Have you found the floating island yet?"

“This is the riverbank, and the reeds grow all the way to the bottom of the water.” Yubi reluctantly pointed to the other side. “We should go take a look over there.”

Yakov and the soldiers rowed to the other side. Yubi switched to Greek and chatted with the Greeks, laughing—Yakov couldn't understand their language and felt a vague resentment, as if he hadn't wanted to spoil their fun. A moment later, one of the Greek soldiers said something, which Yubi quickly translated into Latin. "This is a floating island!" Yubi said. "The roots of the reeds are all clustered on the water!"

Yakov put down his oars and stood up unsteadily, rope in hand. The small boat reached the shore, and he reached out to part the reeds, but as soon as his hand touched the plants, a large flock of unidentified black-headed white birds burst forth from the middle of the floating island, their hoarse cries extremely noisy, causing the accompanying soldiers and Yubi to cover their ears. Annoyed, Yakov brushed the bird droppings off his clothes, grabbed the reeds with his gloves, and parted them to find a sturdy spot to tie the rope.

In the middle of the reeds was a bird's nest, and a huge swan was perched inside, refusing to leave. Upon seeing Yakov, it spread its wings, trying its best to intimidate the uninvited guest. Yakov turned his head and grabbed its neck, preventing it from pecking—"Don't do that!" Yubi poked his head out to stop him, "There are eggs in the nest!"

Yakov looked down and saw only a single, long, pointed egg in the nest. He hesitated for a moment, then let go.

They decided to continue circling the floating island and soon found a low, crooked tree. Yakov got up again and shook the tree to see if it was stable. They tied the rope to the trunk and rowed vigorously and in unison to Yakov's commands. The rope was pulled taut, and the entire floating island was indeed being dragged along, slowly moving on the water. Yakov thought that Seleman hadn't lied to him; perhaps it was experience and knowledge that kept him calm in the face of adversity. A small sense of admiration and self-doubt crept into his heart.

This was arduous work. Half a day passed, and they had towed several more floating islands to clear the path. The soldiers on the small boats all had aching arms and backs soaked with sweat. Yakov's head looked like it was boiling water, with white steam constantly rising from his chainmail, as if he had just come out of the bathroom. "Can I help you?" Yubi said with heartache and regret, "I really shouldn't have come; I've made the ship even heavier!"

"You can't possibly weigh more than a floating island?" Yakov untied the last knot. "It makes no difference."

He removed his gloves, clasped his rough, large hands together, and blew a long, loud whistle—the ship received the signal, furled its sails, and its massive, densely packed oars swung in unison. The cleared channel wasn't very wide, and the oarsmen carefully maneuvered through it—Yakov gazed at the ship, secretly marveling at how agile such a large vessel could be. He knew the source of this agility: a team of extremely well-coordinated and obedient sailors, and a decisive and experienced captain.

Finally, very slowly and cautiously, the large ship emerged from the murky waters. Yakov and his soldiers had left the floating island's shore and sailed into a wider expanse of water, waiting for the large ship to anchor so they could rejoin it. Yubi gazed at the water and found it was no longer muddy and murky, but a transparent, bluish-black. A bloody stench rose from beneath the small boat into his nostrils, compelling him to crane his neck to look down and reach out to touch it. A terrifying depth gripped him; he recoiled in fright and sat down in the middle of the boat. He noticed that the waves beneath him seemed to be more turbulent, leaving him feeling alone and helpless.

"Where is this?" Yubi grabbed Yakov's arm, utterly distraught. "The water's turned salty!"

Yakov looked into the distance. "That's the Black Sea," he said calmly.