One bridge ended and the next began
As we walked and talked about things
Outside the range of this Comedy;
At the high point we stopped to inspect
the next valley
Of Malebolge, expecting to see the
usual set of sinners
Weeping in vain. It was oddly dark,
Just like in winter at the Venetian
Arsenal Shipyard,
When the soft sticky tar
For caulking leaky ships is bubbling,
And where, since they can’t set off,
One person builds a new ship from the
bottom up,
Another plugs the seams of a well-worn
hull,
One hammers at the bow, another at the
stern,
One planes oars, someone twists rigging
rope,
One mends the staysail, another the
mizzen-sail. 15
So it was here, not by fire but by
divine ingenuity,
That a thick pitch was boiling below,
Turning the banks into a glue trap.
I saw it, but nothing in it, except the bubbles
That rose from the boiling and the
surface as a whole
Swelling up, then settling again.
I was focused on the pitch
When my teacher yelled, “Look out!”
And with a single sudden motion, yanked
me closer.
I quickly wheeled around like someone
in a hurry
To see what needs escaping, and who
then,
Panicked, keeps running while looking
Without stopping to stare. Behind us,
I saw a devil in a black leather jacket
racing
In our direction across the rocky
ridge. 30
He looked fierce and acted wild—
Touching down from time to time,
Then scurrying along with his wings
still outstretched.
He had a sinner slung over his
shoulder,
Which was sharp and held high; his
talons were hooked
Through the tendons of the ankles.
He shouted down, “Hey Psycho-Clawz of
the Fifth Bridge,
Here’s an Alderman from Santa Zita;
Push him under while I go back to the
city for another.
It’s endless. Everyone there is on the
take,
Except Bonturo! You know how money
converts
Every No to a Yes over there—snap—like
that!”
He tossed him in, then ran back
Along the stony crag; a pit bull
unleashed
On a burglar never ran faster. 45
The sinner went under, then rose
doubled over,
Tarred bottom up; the devils under the
ridge yelled,
“This is no place for an ebony Holy
Face!
You can’t jellyfish float here! It’s
not the Serchio!
Unless you wanna piece of claw,
Don’t come up out of the pitch.”
Over a hundred jabbed him with
pitchforks,
Taunting, “You have to live undercover
now! That way,
When you’re on the take, you can keep
it a secret!”
They poked him down like a cook has the
kitchen help
Plunge the meat down with a skewer
When it floats to the top of the pot.
My street-savvy teacher said,
“It’s better they don’t see you’re
here.
Crouch down behind this rock. 60
And don’t worry when they come at me.
Everything will be fine. I know about
these things.
I was once in a turf war exactly like
this.”
He strode the length of the bridge
To the bank of the sixth crevice; at
that point,
He needed to look like he knew what he
was doing.
With the unchecked fury of a pack of
feral dogs
That rushes to attack a beggar,
Forcing him to freeze and beg from where
he is,
They bolted out from beneath the bridge
With forks raised—but Virgil shouted,
“Stand back! Don’t be rash!
Before you touch me with one of those
forks,
I suggest someone come forward to hear
me out—
After that, you can decide whether to
stab me.” 75
They all agreed: “It has to be Badass.”
We waited until he emerged from the
pack,
Muttering, “As if this will do him any
good—”
My teacher said, “Think about it,
Badass,
Could I have safely come this far
In spite of the countless obstacles
Unless I’d been guided by divine will
and a promise
Of success? Let us through. Heaven
wants me
To show someone this soul-crushing
way.”
With that, his high-blown pride broke
under him
And he dropped the fork at this feet
and turned
To the others: “Fine, don’t anyone stab
him, at least for now.”
My teacher called out, “You,
Behind those boulders on the bridge,
It’s okay to come out here with me.” 90
At that, I stood up and ran over to
him;
The devils lunged forward, making me
doubt
They intended to keep the agreement.
I thought of the cease-fire at Caprona—
The terrified departing troops marched
out
Into the midst of a mob of jeering
enemies.
I pressed my body close against my
teacher’s
And kept my eyes fixed on their faces,
Which were far from friendly. They were
gesturing
With their forks and goading one
another; one said,
“Wanna see me poke his butt?” to which
the other
Answered, “You gotta make sure you
really gouge it.”
The devil named Badass, who was
speaking to my teacher,
Quickly spun around and snapped,
“Down, Scumbutt! Down!” 105
He then told us, “You can’t continue
along this ridge
Because here the arch over the sixth
ditch
Is nothing but a pile of rock at the
bottom of the fissure.
If you still want to go forward, walk
along the lip of the cliff
Between the pitch and the next pocket;
There’s another ridge you can cross not
far from here.
In five hours, precisely one thousand
and two hundred
Sixty-six years plus one day
Will have passed since this bridge
collapsed.
I was just getting ready to send some
of my workers that way
To check to see if anyone’s taking the
air above the pitch—
Go with them, they won’t hurt you.”
“Come here, Killer Clown, and Ilse the
Witch,”
He began. “You too, Mad Dog;
And Barbie, you be squad leader. 120
Let’s have Qaddafi too, and Dragan Nikolic,
Roadhog with his tusks, and Irma the
Beast,
Fubar, and Crazy Rummy.
Look all around the boiling glue pot.
Take care of these two until you reach
the next intact ridge
That crosses the crevice.”
“Really, teacher!” I said, “This does
not look good!
Please, let’s just the two of us go on
alone;
As long as you know the way, I don’t
want an escort!
You usually know what’s what! Don’t you
see
They’re showing their teeth
And making ugly faces?”
“Don’t act like a baby. They can show
their teeth
All they want. They’re doing it for the
benefit
Of the sorry ones boiling in the tar.” 135
They swung around to the left and
proceeded along
The bank—but first, each used his
tongue
To signal their leader with a
raspberry;
He, in turn, responded with a toot from
his bugle-butt.
