She sat up in the hammock and stared right at him.
Colón felt shivers up his spine as he gazed at her.
Ana was playing the game of not understanding, but the word slavery had her abandoning her stance. The men were staring at her fearfully, their mouths were slightly opened. She noticed that Colón had a chip on his front tooth and her mind stopped churning long enough to process this.
“Christian.” she pointed at them.
Colón released his pent up breath, for a moment he thought that she was going to talk to them. For one second he had thought that this half naked heathen understood him. Christian was a name that the Indians on Española called them. It was not surprising that she knew that word.
Ana watched as Colón sagged but Juan still stared at her speculatively.
The two men resumed talking then Juan got up and headed down to his ship. Colón leaned back on the tree, thoughtfully scanning his papers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“I admire you Cristóbal Colón,” Ana said softly.
Colón’s head snapped up and he looked at her closely. He seemed puzzled and half-afraid.
“Yes, it’s me,” Ana smiled, “I can speak your language. I even know what you are going to do next. Thanks mostly to the records of Doctor Chanca.” His mouth was trembling and his hands shook.
“Who are you?” He gasped. He looked around, the villagers were far away, no one was watching them, his men were milling around at the beach side. Juan had gone away for some papers.
“The name is Ana,” her pink lips had a smug grin on them. “It means flower.”
Colón swallowed. “Are you really speaking to me?”
Ana nodded.
“Are you sent by God?”
Ana grinned and tried hard not to laugh out loud. “Aren’t we all sent from God? Even the naked heathens whom you are supposed to be Christianizing are sent by God.” She raised her eyebrows querulously. “What is this talk of gold and enslavement, Mr. Christ Bearer? Have you forgotten your mandate from heaven?”
Colón stood up shakily and Ana got up from the hammock. She walked over to him. They were about the same height. He had gray eyes, very light almost silvery.
“You have quite a history Cristóbal Colón, born in Genoa or was it Portugal?”
She raised her eyebrows, “I admire you because you have the entrepreneurial spirit that most industrial leaders have, however, I detest you because you lie about your origins, you lied about your motivation to come to the new world and now you are turning into a slave master. Bad decision. People are not animals. I want you to remember this experience. I want it to haunt you.”
She exhaled slowly. “Every native life that you have ever taken or cause to be taken must haunt you till you die.”
Colón could not speak; he was getting that weak feeling.
“Don’t faint on me,” Ana said savagely, the man who will be known as the discoverer for years to come, the man who I will spend countless hours writing essays about…, can’t just faint now.
“This is a dream,” Colón said, “I am being attacked by demons. Have mercy on me Father, I have sinned,” Colón did the sign of the cross, he swallowed convulsively, “I …I...”
Ana watched him contemplatively; his Adam’s apple bounced up and down as he swallowed convulsively.
“You are a demon,” he gasped, “an apparition”
“That’s what you told people in your last moments…mmmm… lets see… when was that? May 20, 1506 in Valladolid, you died a sick broken man in an inn. When the priest says your last rites, you will see my face, and the faces of the people you will cause to die. Are you still hearing voices Colón?”
Ana crooned, “the voices that tell you that God sent you to the new world to carry out the Last Judgment.”
“How would you know that?” Colón asked, gasping for breath.
“I know a few things about you,” Ana said sinisterly. “You have two sons, Diego and Fernando they are at service in the palace in Spain under Prince Juan. You have a girlfriend called Beatriz. You are from a very mysterious background; people in the future are still debating where you are from, your birth date….You will be imprisoned on your third voyage and will be shipwrecked on your fourth.
By the way, the world is not pear-shaped, nor is this a shorter route to India; these people are not Indians. I think you know that already. How can a man who can predict an eclipse, think this is India?”
Colón made the sign of the cross.
“There are men who think you are part Jew and part Portuguese, hiding under an assumed name. Is it true? Did you steal the maps that brought you to the new world? Did you kill Martín Pinzón and your wife because they knew too much? Are you friends with Prince John II of Portugal, and this journey is just to throw Spain off the scent of a shorter route to India?”
Colón’ eyes got wider and wider and his ruddy complexion paled; the mosquito bites stood out in rigid relief, their redness seemed to wink at her.
“Answer me, what’s your real name? Where are you from? Are you a killer? Clear up the mystery,” Ana was shouting in his face.
“No,” Colón whispered. “No.” His hands trembled. “This can’t be. I am a man of God. Thou shalt not murder.”
“Now that’s rich, coming from you…what about, thou shalt not covet your neighbours’ gold or, thou shalt not steal,” Ana grunted. “Just answer me one thing. Just this one, what’s your real name? Remember, God above is listening.”
Colón shivered, “I…I…”
“Answer me, dammit!”
“It’s…I… really can’t say, I am on a mission for God,” he fainted against the tree. His mouth hung open, and slackly drool dripped from the sides of his lips and onto his face that was an odious shade of purple.
I guess I couldn’t be an interrogator, Ana thought grimly, as she glanced at the man who even after five hundred years was a controversial figure. A part of her wanted to grab him up by his shirtfront and shake him senseless. She saw Juan coming up the hill and scrambled back into the hammock. She tried to arrange her face in an innocent expression.
Juan came up the hill and glanced at her, then looked at Colón. He was out cold, his face as white as a sheet.
“Colón,” he went over to the man and shook him.
“Colón?” Juan said urgently, looking over at the girl, she was innocently swinging in the hammock again. “What did you do to him?” He asked her savagely.
She closed her eyes as if he had not spoken and then she opened them again and smiled. “Christian,” she pointed at him.
His heart warmed. That must be the only word she knew. He dismissed his wild fantasies as Colón woke up screaming.
Juan looked at Colón solemnly, “are you alright sir?”
The natives and a few of the men had rushed to the trees frightened. The Spanish men were already drawing their weapons.
“What’s wrong?” A wiry man with inky fingertips pushed through the gathering crowds.
“What’s wrong with Colón,” he touched Colón’s forehead and looked into his dazed eyes.
“She,” Colón weakly pointed to Ana, who was innocently staring at the scene. “She speaks Spanish, and she knows things.”
Juan’s head snapped around. Ana had moved and was standing by the Chief. She held onto her husband’s hand and looked perplexed.
“Is this true?” The wiry man looked puzzled as they all stared at the girl. She looked like an ordinary native to him.
“Yes it’s true,” Colón said sounding stronger, “she knew members of my family. Names of people, events...” his voice trailed away and his eye dropped from Ana’s knowing ones.
The Spanish men had their mouths wide opened as they stared at the girl.
“Come here,” Juan said, looking at Ana.
She looked back at him, her brows furrowed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“You have to use hand gestures,” the wiry man said, standing up and fr
owning.
Juan hooked his fingers and called her over. She came hesitantly.
“Who are you?” he asked, willing her to answer. But the vacant expression, that he had become used to seeing on the faces of the natives who did not understand his language, fit perfectly over her face.
“Her name is Ana, and her name means flower,” Colón said, looking at her closely, “isn’t that so?”
Juan felt shivers up his spine, when he heard the translation of the name; Guacanagari had said he would not let the flower go. Could it be this flower that the old man was talking about?
She said something in her native language and the chief came over and took her hand. He looked at the men accusingly.
Colón hung his head, “I heard her speak. I swore upon the holy cross, I heard her speak Spanish. She knew my sons’ names; she knew things…” his voice cracked.
The men started shaking their heads.
Dr. Chanca, who had his ever-present parchment in his hand, placed it in the grass at his feet. “I want you never to mention this again.” He looked at the men sternly and they nodded. “It’s a nervous problem, he is too tired.”
The men scattered, they were losing interest in a mad Colón.
Ana came over and patted Colón’s hand in sympathy.
Colón flinched and dragged his hand away. She looked in his eyes and smiled. “What’s your real name?” she mouthed.
Colón fainted again; stayed on board his ship for the day with his eyes closed in prayer. When he was leaving the island of Santiago, he saw her, she stood at the beach side awaiting him, “Cristóbal Colón,” she called out.
He spun around.
“Non confundar in aeternam –– “I will not be forever confused.” She winked. “Those are the words on your headstone.”
He fainted again, this time she was not around when they found him.
Colón and his men left the village that very night. His men treated him wearily, jumping to do his bidding, afraid that the madness would make him snap. But he went on to explore other islands, finally collapsing when he reached Española.
Her words rang in his head; the truths in her statement made him close his eyes in fear and he spoke about her in his fever-induced hallucinations. But no one took heed; they just thought he was too ill to know what he was saying.
******
Juan stayed at the village, which he learned was called Bieke. He tried to talk to Ana but she would just look at him and smile. There was one ship left where they had docked yesterday and only twenty men remained. The men were walking with natives who were supposed to be showing them the source of the gold. Instead, they found a small waterfall in the hills and little pieces of what looked like gold wash.
Juan was wandering around the village taking in the sights and the smells. He offered the Chief a breadfruit plant, which was firmly fixed near his hut in honor of the gesture.
Juan was really looking for Ana but it seemed as if she was deliberately avoiding him.
Pablo remarked on his obsession with her but he growled at his friend. Then he found her, down at the beach sitting under some wild grape trees, she was looking at his ship and pushing her toes in the sand.
He hunkered down beside her and looked toward his ship too.
“Are you going to tell me what you said to Colón?”
She looked at him as if she was weighing him up, and then sighed.
“Does that sigh mean you trust me enough to talk to me too?”
They weren’t in plain sight of his men or any of her villagers. He could force her to talk he realized but he did not want to use force, there was something about her that said he had to treat her gently.
“Okay I’ll talk to myself,” Juan said grinning at her.
She gave him a blank smile in return.
“My name is Juan Perez. I am from the province of Andalucía in Spain,” he looked for her reaction; she still had that smile on her face. “Spain is beautiful too, but not like here, she has her own brand of beauty. She has majestic mountains and coral blue seas. Your weather is better than ours though. I own many ships. We are merchants who trade with Asia and Africa. My father became rich because of the trades and married my mother, a noble lady, and daughter of a Vizconde.” He paused, “at least nod to say you understand.” He shook his head up and down.
Ana imitated him. He touched her hand but she pulled away.
“Okay,” he held up his hand, “I have three sisters. I had a brother but he died in the war in Granada. That’s where they were driving out the Jews. We are all good Catholics, but not as devoted as Colón. That man prays at least five times a day,” he held up his fingers and counted them for her.
She held up hers and he counted them.
“That’s five. Repeat after me, uno…dos…tres…cuatro, cinco.”
She repeated after him and Juan grinned, he leaned over and kissed her on her lips. “You are muy bella, magnifique, in my language your name means gentle. I would say you are un flor, in bloom.”
She jumped but did not run as he expected she would. She licked her full lips her eyes wide and she turned away from him.
“I am not married nor do I have any one waiting for me back home.” Juan whispered behind her. “I am sorry about the kiss. I know you are married to the Chief, Ana,” Juan said seriously, “I want to take you back to Spain with me. I know this may sound ridiculous but I have not felt this way before. I saw you and I wanted you. Please say something.”
Ana continued to ignore him, her heart breaking, he was so handsome in his little historical costume. She was attracted to him but she loved Orocobix. Just a few days ago she wanted to stay in the past for him. Then there was her undeniable attraction to Guani, who had looked at her with sad eyes, when he left for Maima.
If she went to Spain with Juan she would probably never wake up from this dream. The Spanish were the enemy here, how easily she had forgotten that glaring fact. It would be prudent for her to pretend that she was ignorant of the language and that Colón was indeed hallucinating. After all, didn’t history record him as going insane in his latter days?
As for Juan, this want of her, as he put it, would just have to disappear. The little part of her that enjoyed his kiss, she tried to squelch.
Juan stared at her, she was thinking deeply. Sometimes she would bite her full pink lips and fidget with her hands on her lap. At times she would gaze at him deeply and then hesitantly look away.
Right now, she was gazing at him with a sort of regret. The feeling that she understood everything he had said came back to him swiftly. He was not leaving this island without her, that was for sure. When he sailed tomorrow, she would be with him.
She was his destiny; the silken strands of connection had called him, all the way from Cádiz in Spain, to this new land.
******
“So are you going to do it?” Pablo asked Juan, as soon as he came back on the ship.
“What?” Juan asked absently.
“Carry the slaves for Colón.” Pablo said eying his friend.
“No,” Juan said shortly, “I know the Queen won’t be pleased with that idea, but there is no talking down Colón from this imprudent venture.”
“What about the King?” Pablo asked following Juan into his cabin.
“No,” Juan shook his head again, “the King listens to Isabella most of the time.”
“Well you know them best.” Pablo straightened his collar. “Colón asked Méndez before they left this afternoon.”
“Méndez will do it,” Juan snorted, “he is hungry for gold and he doesn’t care how he gets it.” He sat at his desk and leaned back in his chair, he was mentally exhausted. He had never felt so disconcerted by a woman before. He could see her big brown eyes staring at him wisely. He was carrying her to Spain; she was the only human cargo he was bringing back for his personal pleasure.
“You are thinking of the girl again, amigo.” Pablo shook his head. “First Colón goes berserk and then you.�
�
“No, I told you about her writing the date in the dirt and then Colón heard her speak.”
“In our language? I always thought that Colón was a little bit loco. Today proved it.”
Juan ran his fingers through his short black hair and sighed, he wanted to go back home. The new world was getting old. Half the men who came to the new world were already sick. They were stupid to stay. He had enough gold as it was. Spain was not that bad, and besides, he was an only son of a wealthy family. He was tired of this adventure. Maybe, his adventuring days were over. He was not as keen as Colón to find new countries for Spain. These islands didn’t have much gold anyway, when the men found this out, Colon would have hell to pay. What the little islands had, were people who were alternately hostile and accommodating.
“You are dreaming again,” Pablo watched Juan, “whenever I bring up her name you have a far away look in your eyes that I don’t trust.”
“I like her,” Juan frowned, “she knows me.”
Pablo laughed hitting his thigh repeatedly, “‘she knows me?’ Juan she is a native, you met her yesterday. She is a bit more attractive than the rest, but she is a Tay…no, or whatever they call themselves.”
Juan shook his head. “She is mine. I am leaving for Española tomorrow. I am going to get the cargo that Colón has for Spain and leave.”
Pablo nodded. “I have a hankering to stay but I will come with you, maybe I will come back when this place is more settled. I am reluctant to catch the bug that has some of the men on Española groaning.”
“They groan over everything,” Juan said savagely, thinking of the young royals who had come to the new world with wide-eyed wonder and bloated egos. “I am so happy my vessels are made to transport goods not people. They would drive me crazy. As it is, I am not looking forward to carrying those dogs, which the men said tasted like goat meat. It seems slightly sick to me, to eat them.”
Pablo got up to leave. “I hear a certain native calling me in her language.” He grinned at Juan. “Quench your thirst with some other girl and leave that one alone.”
The Empty Hammock Page 16
