Waiting for Columbus

honking. Columbus’s breathing is fast and threadbare. He notices this-wonders why he’s breathing so quickly. Are they okay? he thinks. Are the girls okay? The mother? They’re not in his peripheral view.

He smiles. Relaxes into his view of the ceiling and even the steady sprinkle of water on his face. There are rough wooden beams. He begins to count the beams in the room. He suddenly craves a cigar. Does he have any cigars? Is there a cigar in his pocket? Yes, a cigar would be nice right now. The queen will be most disappointed. I have made promises I will not be able to fulfill. Promises, promises, promises… and there will be no journey across the sea. All that fuss for nothing. Nothing! But I’m breathing. I’m breathing. There. That was a breath. That’s good. As long as I am breathing… I…

Perhaps I’m not going to ruin everything. It’s going to be all right, Beatriz. I’m not going to see what’s out there. Not for me to do. Somebody else’s problem. Blood. Blood. There won’t be any blood now. It’s all changed. All changed. No more blood.

But still, I’m breathing. There. There’s another breath.

Gabriel holsters his gun. He’s not sure why he drew his weapon. He leans over Columbus. Columbus sees that this is one of the queen’s guards; they were all issued Walther PPKs.

“Don’t move,” Gabriel says.

“That won’t be a problem,” he whispers.

“What?” Gabriel leans closer.

“The girls, the mother-okay?”

“They’re fine. They got away.”

“Tell Beatriz. I’m sorry.”

“Beatriz?”

“I’m breathing. I am… tell Beatriz…”

Gabriel pulls a tablecloth from a sideways table and makes a couple of sloppy folds, slides it gently under Columbus’s head. “Hold on,” he says. “Help is coming. You’re going to be all right.” He does not believe this man is going to be all right. He hopes this is not noticeable in his voice. He looks down at his hands-they’re covered in blood. Under Columbus’s head, the red expands into the white tablecloth.

Gabriel looks down at Columbus. Is he breathing? He seems to be smiling.

“Tell Beatriz I’m sorry…” Columbus thinks he says it. He’s not sure. Doesn’t matter.

Columbus tries again to smile. Thinks, Isn’t that odd? Exhales.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

She’s pacing back and forth in front of his desk. It is the morning of the day of the feast of Our Lady of Lourdes. Dr. Balderas sits and watches while Consuela paces across his vision and rants. Her movements are frenetic, inconsistent, and at times spastic. She’s been with this patient since he arrived. This morning, the story he’s telling takes a decidedly final and violent twist. Columbus takes the story line in a direction neither of them had considered.

“He has no idea who he is! And he killed himself. He killed Columbus off in his story. Columbus doesn’t survive. He dies. We have to put a suicide watch on him now, tonight, tomorrow-for a month. I don’t care how long, but now…” Consuela wants a cigarette. She considers pushing the doctor aside and rifling through his desk drawers to find one.

“Done,” Dr. Balderas says.

“You don’t understand. He’s dead. In his story, he died.”

“I said you could have your suicide watch. I’ll arrange it myself.”

“Good. That’s good. Thank you.”

“What else did he tell you? Is there more?”

“There is no more. He’s dead. The story’s done. And I have to tell you, I did not see this coming. I thought he was going to get on his fucking ships and sail out of the damned harbor… The end, and now it’s time to be sane! Flick the goddamned sanity switch! It’s time!”

Dr. Balderas quick-glances his chessboard. He’d dearly love to play a game. Clear away the fluff. Refocus. But he knows Nurse Consuela would not respond favorably to an offer of a game right now.

Consuela knows she needs to calm down. She’d love a game of chess-to be lost inside that world of thinking ahead, speculating about what your opponent is thinking, and so on, and so on. But she knows Dr. Balderas would probably think she had lost her mind if she offered a game, so she is silent.

***

“It’s just a matter of time now,” Dr. Balderas says. “ Columbus doesn’t exist anymore. He’s given himself nowhere to go.”

“That’s what worries me,” Consuela says.

“That’s why we’ve got a watch on him.”

Dr. Balderas, Emile, and Consuela are in the small boardroom connected to Dr. Balderas’s office. From the window, they can see Columbus, sitting by himself in the far corner of the upper patio. Emile is leaning on the edge of the table.

“Have I missed something?” Emile says.

“His last story. Columbus dies in his last story. It’s there in the report you’re holding.” Consuela turns away from the courtyard. “He’s telling these stories about himself. So he basically killed himself off. There is no more Columbus. So who is he now? That’s the question.”

“What’s the next step?” Emile leans forward.

“If we assume Columbus is Julian Nusret, we know a lot about him. We’ve got a good selection of buttons we can push. It’s just a matter of pushing the right one.”

“Buttons?”

“A daughter’s name. His wife’s name. A city. A gentle reminder of his life. Some snippet of information that will get him to move out of the fifteenth century.”

Both Emile and Dr. Balderas turn and look at Consuela. Emile looks worried, concerned. The doctor, intense. She gets up and pushes her way through the door into the hallway. Around the corner, Consuela stops and leans against the wall, closes her eyes, and breathes.

***

Consuela is out for dinner with Faith and Rob. Emile finds them at Enrique Becerrita, one of Consuela’s favorite restaurants. She loves the roast lamb, the pork in crab sauce. But her absolute favorite is the specialty: oxtail croquettes and baked white prawns from Isla Cristina. Consuela picks Becerrita because she knows Rob appreciates the wine cellar, which is outstanding, and there’s actually a cigar menu. Rob smokes the occasional cigar. Faith disapproves.

Consuela drank almost an entire bottle of Cava before hopping in a taxi for the restaurant. This conspicuous consumption is a purposed buffer against her sister’s good intentions. She’s surprised when their dinner isn’t a setup. Faith and Rob arrive without a surprise date for Consuela. There is no tag-along friend. Instead, they have news. Faith is going to have another baby. Consuela is going to be an auntie, again. Faith’s tone is subdued and delicate. She tiptoes toward the word baby-pads the word with cotton batting. Consuela takes her hesitation as an underscoring of the fact that Consuela has no man in her life, no immediate prospect of family. It’s as if she has to be delicate about it because it might upset Consuela, the sister who is so far from having a baby of her own.

“Faith,” she says, “that is the best news I’ve heard in months. Congratulations, you two.” She glances toward the entrance and sees a face she knows-and he’s coming her way. Consuela was about to stand and offer a toast to baby number three. Instead, she stands up to greet him. “Mr. Germain. Emile. What a nice surprise. This is my