How is a baby’s bottom truthful? Juan wonders. Doesn’t matter. “You don’t stand a chance of pulling this off. Unless you know a lot more than you’re saying, you’d have to be an idiot to go to sea and expect to reach the Indies, or China, except in a foundering ship filled with dead men. Not to mention the fact you’ll be adrift in a rowboat-set there by your mutinous, starving crew.”
Columbus looks across the table at Juan and smiles, then nods his head. Here is a worthy challenge. If he can convince this man, he can convince anybody.
“You can’t carry enough water, or food, for this voyage,” Juan adds. “Maybe on a ship five times bigger, but first, you would have to build such a ship, hmm?”
“Faith against doubt. Hope against hopelessness.”
“That’s not a very convincing argument. I mean, if that’s it, it’s no wonder you’ve not lined up any ships.”
“Juan, you could be right. Those at the commission are probably right. Most of my calculations are grossly underestimated when it comes to the size of the Earth. But if this is true, then could you tell me, please, how big the Earth is?”
“Well, I don’t know. The commission did not know. How the fuck would I know? But I’m not proposing to sail halfway around the damned thing.” Juan leans back and lights up a beedi. The heady scent spreads like incense in the dead air.
“The thing is, nobody knows for sure. This voyage to the Indies will not be executed with the use of intelligence, mathematics, or maps. It will be made by failing to understand what goes through the mind and heart of a man standing alone on a beach looking out to sea.”
“Look, have you actually read any of the reports? While nobody is sure, they are fairly certain it is an immense distance to India and Japan across the Western Sea. The guys that made these reports are not dull. These are the best minds of our time. This is not based in superstition. It has to do with the curve of the Earth. This is science. And please don’t tell me the planet could be shaped like a pear.”
“Here’s what I know, Juan. There’s something out there. I do not know if it is Japan or the Indies. But I do know there is something out there and it is entirely reachable by sea.”
“A new land?”
“That is possible. An island, or a group of islands, between here and Japan. A group of outer islands before Japan. I don’t know.”
“How is it that you know this?”
“I had a conversation with a Norseman.”
“A what?”
“A Norseman, off the coast of Britain. He spoke of writings that mention a land out west that his people have seen. And I overheard a couple of sailors talking about finding a small man in a death boat twenty-one days west of the Canary Islands.” Columbus does not mention that the Norseman said his people had been there. Nor does he bring up the fact the Norseman said there were demons there.
“A Viking? Don’t they do horrible things to their children?”
“Have you ever seen a Viking do something horrible to a child? Jesus, where do these rumors come from?”
“You talked to a Norseman and you overheard a conversation. Well, that changes everything. A couple of rumors about land being there
“Juan, I want to tell you something that will not sway you in the least.” Columbus takes a drink. “I am no longer trying to convince you. I simply wish to tell someone what I am feeling. You are not my family but I trust you by your actions.” Columbus clears his throat, pours more gin and tonic into a sweating glass, and takes a huge swig. “Do you believe in fate?”
“No. I believe we make our own lives.”
“Fine. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is I can feel a shift. The weight is shifting toward this journey of mine, and I don’t know if I could stop it if I tried. It’s almost as if I am irrelevant. It’s like this huge rock I’ve been pushing against has started to fall over. And now, it is not so easy to stop. It’s going to fall. And when it finally hits the ground, anything that happens to be in the way of the rock will be squashed.”
“You’re right about it not being much of an argument.”
“Regardless. I want you to watch. Because it’s going to happen. And when it does, I’m going to need someone, a clear thinker, to observe and record with cold eyes-eyes that question. For that reason, for your steady dubious nature, I’d like you on the voyage.”
“You what?”
“I want you to come.”
“You want me to die with you when we run out of water and food and hope? I’m honored, touched.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Columbus speaks slowly. His voice becomes throaty, seems to slip down an octave.
Juan looks at him hard-sees the steady belief Columbus has in his own words written in his narrow, stern face. He concedes this belief. Columbus, at the very least, believes he will succeed.
“Don’t answer right away.”
Juan was not expecting an invitation. “I won’t take your invitation lightly, my friend. Now let me tell you about Selena, who is crazy about you, by the way.”
“Is she really?” Columbus says.
Both men turn at the sound of pots clanging onto a stone floor somewhere inside the main house.
She’s running toward the picture-taker. This girl, who is four years old but looks to be six. People are always mistaking her for a six-year-old. This early burst of height is something she gets from her mother. I have no names, no understanding of relationships-just this half knowing.
This tall, four-year-old girl is running toward the picture-taker. This picture captures her, one foot off the ground, in mid-stride. There is glee in her smile and in her eyes. She is loved. She knows she is loved. Her arms are outstretched-she is coming for a hug. I have no memory of this girl. This little girl does not register as a part of my life. She has no name. There is no relationship.
This picture is within mountains. There are mountains heaved up and gray in the background. Mountains tall enough to have snow in the upper reaches. In the foreground is a silky green lake. There are flowers on the ground, along the path where this girl is running, and deciduous trees and shrubs.
She has sun-bleached blond hair that hangs to her shoulders. In this picture her hair is flying behind and to the left. Her face is focused, eyes directly on the photographer, and she is happy. He can see this girl is happy. Perhaps she likes the color pink. Her shirt is pink and she is wearing pink leggings. A jean skirt with beads around the waist. Her boots are utilitarian, useful, brown leather. A yellow teddy bear is just visible, sitting upright in the tall grass behind her. Behind the yellow bear is a circle of stones enclosing four pinecones, a hawk’s feather, a clump of lichens, and pine bark. This girl has worked quietly all morning, gathering the elements of this circle. It has a name. She builds these organic circles everywhere. They’re called something. I can’t remember what they’re called.
I can imagine the low rumble of a train across the lake. The train moving large along the lip, at the edge of the water-going somewhere.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Faith invites Consuela to Cordoba for the weekend, and Consuela hesitantly says yes. Faith is her only sister. She’s blood. Even though Consuela tends to walk away from interactions with her sister hurt and slightly bruised, Faith means well. Faith is on her team and that’s enough. Their parents are in Switzerland, in Neuchatel, which is a bit of a commute. Consuela talks to her dad every Saturday morning. She used to take her first coffee and a cigarette and the phone; now, though, it’s just coffee and conversation. Last Saturday, he’d once again proclaimed that his nose was still in fine form-that he and his nose were still in demand across France. He’d even had a call from a winery in the Okanagan region of Canada that was producing award-winning pinots.
