one down the beach, watching him. There is no need to turn around and look. He feels them. He can smell them.
Alberto, a patient who as far as Columbus can see is perfectly normal except that he is openly homosexual, throws a red ball the size of a large orange toward Columbus. Shouts, “Heads up, Columbus!”
He turns and snatches the ball out of the air, an almost automatic gesture, then throws it back to Alberto. Columbus walks back to the umbrella encampment and sits down. He begins to wait.
Elena comes over and sits beside him. Regardless of the fact that she does not speak, he has enjoyed having her around. She has a good energy. It costs him nothing to be with her-she’s not a taker of energy.
“What do you see out there, Columbus?” Elena says. A creaky half whisper interwoven with the sound of the waves feathering the shore.
Columbus wants to turn toward her. He wants to ask her what she means. He wants to be sure he just heard her say something. But all these options would ruin it-erode the magic of Elena speaking. He decides to trust himself. Of course she spoke.
“Freedom,” he says softly.
“If I can help, let me know,” she says, even more withdrawn than before.
Columbus turns toward her. Finds her face, her eyes. Her eyes are hazel. She pushes a few strands of hair away from her face-in behind her ear.
“Thank you, Elena.”
“It’s what wounds you that you love,” she says.
“I don’t know my wounds,” he says.
“You will,” she says.
Two of the orderlies begin to set up folding tables for a midday meal. Columbus gets up and offers his assistance, which they accept. At least this way they know exactly where he is.
After lunch, he and Alberto go for a stroll along the beach. Columbus nods to Benito, who looks more weighed down than usual, seems more resigned to the fact that life is hard. Benito says nothing but follows, leaving them plenty of room.
“You really are crazy if you think you can do this,” Alberto says.
“Perhaps. But will you help me?”
“Of course. It is a small thing you ask. I hope you make it.”
They walk a bit more. Alberto stops to pick up a starfish and throws it back into the ocean. They both watch as it is swallowed by the incoming waves. “What exactly are you in here for, Alberto?” Columbus says.
“I like men.”
“That’s it?”
“That fact alone, which I do not deny, makes me crazy. I am insane because I am not physically attracted to women. There are a few other things, small problems with coping. I don’t handle stress well.”
“How long have you been in here?”
He closes his eyes. And then softly: “A year and a half.”
It’s a simple plan. Around two o’clock, Alberto kneels at Pope Cecelia’s side and whispers that Elena has been spreading a rumor about her. “She’s been saying that you’re the Antichrist,” he says. Cecelia glares at Elena and Elena nods-confirms the alleged rumor. Cecelia goes completely ballistic. She splinters. She stands and, with strength one would not normally attribute to a woman of her age, she tosses her beach chair at the nearest food table, which collapses-spills the small loaves of bread, meat, cheese, and bottles of water into the sand. Condiments splatter across most of the patients. The collapsed table bangs into the other table and it teeters. Pope Cecelia lunges at Elena, attempts to grab her neck, wants to choke the lie out of this sinner. Elena holds out one of her long arms and keeps Cecelia at bay until the orderlies can stop her. James, who has narrow, scary eyes, has mustard spilled across his shirt and pants. He caws like a crow-raspy squawks. These caws come sporadically, surprising not only those around him but also James. He has no control whatsoever. He caws now as he attempts to get at the pope. He accidentally steps on Howard, who’s mostly deaf and had been sleeping on his back throughout the ruckus. Howard comes to, sits up, in a foul mood-wants to know why James has stepped on his arm.
“Fuck you, you satanic bitch! You white devil!” Cecelia shrieks, trying to displace the anger, which seems to be aimed at her.
“Why did you step on me, you bastard?”
“Look at my shirt! Look at my shirt! Look at my trousers!”
“It’s her! She’s the Antichrist! She’s the Antichrist!”
“Calm down, everybody. Calm down.” Dr. Balderas is holding a jar of mustard.
“I was sleeping! I was dreaming a beautiful fucking dream! Does anybody care that my dream was disturbed? I’ll never get that dream back!”
“Oh piss off, you minor twit.”
Nurse Tammy looks around the demented circle and tries to comprehend how something like this could happen so quickly. She looks like she’s about to lose control-like this is too much for her. Dr. Balderas hands her the jar of mustard, which she holds as if it’s the Holy Grail.
“This will never, never, never, never come out! You owe me for a new shirt. You must replace this shirt. This is silk!”
“I think my arm is broken!”
“I was dreaming! I was stepped on!”
Consuela’s holding the edge of one of the tables with one knee and a hand, trying to keep the remainder of the food and bottles from spilling onto the beach. “Cecelia!” she shouts. “Cecelia, Your Holiness, it’s all right. Everything is all right. Calm down. Calm down. We’ve called in the Vatican Guard.” Balderas is fiddling with the crumpled table legs, trying to get them to behave.
“Clam down. Clam down,” James says. “Cawk, Cawk! Cawk!”
Elena watches Columbus edge away from the cacophony. He looks back over his shoulder at her. Elena smiles encouragement. He nods his thanks. Consuela watches him, too. Columbus moves very slowly, almost gracefully, toward the water, drops his robe, and then naked, slips into the ocean. He’s a hundred feet out before she’s free of the table. He’s only a dot by the time everything has calmed down. She’s torn. Doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t want to lose him. Wants him to be free. Wants him to live. Wonders if he knows how to find her. Did they ever talk about where she lives? What if he dies out there? Where in the hell does he think he’s going anyway? Something freezes inside her. Does Columbus believe he can swim to India? Is that what he’s doing?
“I can get that out.” Everybody looks at Sonia, a black-haired woman in her mid-twenties. Everybody knows her story. She was raped-can’t stand to be touched by anybody. She looks at Consuela. “What? I can. I can get that stain out. You look funny. What’s the matter with you?”
“What do you mean, I look funny?” Consuela feels her face start to burn. Is she that transparent?
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Nonsense.”
Sonia turns to James. “Give me that shirt. I’ll get that stain out.” He caws a couple of times but doesn’t move. “Give me your fucking shirt, I said. Now! Don’t touch me but give me your shirt!” James backs up but takes his shirt off and hands it to her, carefully dangling it in front of her.
“Thank you.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Consuela can see one of the orderlies-is it Benito?-doing a head count. This is something they do every half hour on field trips. It’s the institute’s standing policy. Here it comes, she thinks.
“I count only twelve.”
“Do it again,” Dr. Balderas says. “Find out who’s missing.”
“Could that be,” Consuela says meekly to Dr. Balderas, pointing out to sea at a small black dot, “someone?”
“It’s Columbus,” Benito says.
“Well, there goes one of our innocents,” Consuela says.
“Fuck.” Dr. Balderas walks slowly toward the water. “How did no one see… Oh, forget it. He probably arranged that little fracas back there.” He sighs heavily. “We’re going to have to get him back. Ideas? Anyone?” The three of them stand at water’s edge, turn to one another with blank faces, and then they watch the small black dot get
