Gateway to the Moon_A Novel

by Mary Morris

  There is another scream from the backseat and once more Davie is in tears. Miguel turns to look. He assumed that Davie was just a crybaby, but he sees Jeremy pinching the fleshy part of Davie’s upper arm. Miguel gives Jeremy a look that can cut through kryptonite and the boy glares back at him.

  Something in that seven-year-old’s eyes stuns Miguel. They aren’t like Davie’s eyes, which are silvery blue. Despite his reddish hair Jeremy’s eyes are opaque, dark as black holes. He has mean eyes. “Stop it, Jeremy,” he says in a firm tone, under his breath, but the kid just stares back. He will break this boy, Miguel tells himself. Or at least he will teach the little one to protect himself. As Rachel Rothstein smiles and, for once, ceases her chatter, Miguel is clear as to his mission.

  That evening as he drives back to Entrada, he has a strange feeling about his life. He can’t explain it, but he knows that something is about to change. He drives north. The farther he drives, the fewer lights there are. And there isn’t a cloud in the sky. As he gazes up, the sheath of the Milky Way looms overhead. On a night like this he can see ten thousand stars.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A JEW IN THE BAHAMAS—1492

  They come in long boats carved out of wood, their paddles barely rippling the water. It is a strange silent procession. At first Luis de Torres thinks it’s a herd of animals he’s read about but never seen—mermaids or manatees—that is swimming toward them. Columbus joins him on the stern castle. He too has noticed the long boats from his cabin where he has been writing in his log, and he gazes toward the shore. He expects to see Chinamen dressed in the finest silk, with long black braids, yellow skin, and almond eyes. Instead what they see are men, naked from the waist up, their faces painted in red beetle juice and the green of banana leaves.

  As they approach, Columbus fondles the key he wears on a chain around his neck. It is the key to the box where he keeps his documents, including his letter of introduction from the king and queen of Spain. Luis has translated it into all the languages he knows. Yet the space for the name of the Great Khan remains blank. Soon he will fill in the name. The men cannot imagine Columbus’s thirst for gold and how it grows with each passing day. He will yearn for it all the more because it eludes him.

  He turns to Luis de Torres. “Do you think they will speak Hebrew?”

  Luis shakes his head. “I have no idea, sir.” As the long boats tie up to their ship, Luis tries to greet them in Hebrew and Arabic. He tries Spanish and Portuguese. The natives keep smiling through their yellow-stained teeth, calling out in a language none of them has ever heard. In the end they use sign language. Columbus waves and they scramble aboard. They carry no weapons. No swords or arrows. They only bring with them squawking green parrots and colorful shells that they offer as gifts, and the white people give them in return the tiniest of hawk bells and beads of glass. Trinkets of no value.

  It amuses Columbus and his men when the natives handle their swords. Clearly these are not a warrior people because they slice their skin on the sharpness of the blade. One almost chops off two fingers. The Taino are terrified of the blades and so Columbus and his men sheathe them. It seems that the only weapon they carry are the sharpened sticks they use to hunt the fish and fowl that they roast over open flames.

  They have a leader with them, and through gestures he explains that the only enemy they have is another tribe that they call the Carib. “Carib,” Luis says, showing that he understands. Their leader points to the sky. He acts out an elaborate scenario. The Carib people came from the moon, and once they reached Earth they had no way to return. At night they howl like dogs. They are filled with anger and longing. The Taino show Columbus the bite marks where the Carib have tried to eat them. They will defend themselves if need be, but it is rare. That night Columbus notes in his journal how gentle and docile the Taino are.

  Luis tries to understand their language. He learns the words for boat, sea, and sky. Soon he will be fluent in their language, Arawak. For now it is all gestures. “Ask them to tell the Great Khan that we have come,” Columbus tells Luis, who pantomimes what the Admiral has requested. That night in his cabin Columbus reads over the letter of introduction from the king and queen of Spain that he keeps locked in the box on his desk. It is October 1492 and Columbus believes he has landed on the coast of Asia. He is sure that this is a land of gold and pearls and soon he will be taken to the city of the Supreme Ruler. When the natives return to shore, Columbus tells his men that all they have to do now is wait. The news of their arrival will reach the halls of the Great Khan. Any day an invitation will come. They dream of the feasts that they will be served, the riches that will be showered upon them, the women that will be offered.

  In the meantime they amuse themselves. They swim in the crystalline waters and drink sweet milk from the huge brown nuts they find on the beaches and crack open on the rocks. They find whelk, as pink as their sunburned skin, and when they put their ear to it they hear the sea roaring back to them. One sailor collects one of every shell he finds. In his idle hours he lays them on the deck according to color and size. Rose, silver, mauve. He will weep when the pilot makes him hurl them overboard for the journey home.

  But as the days go by they languish in the harbor. To keep his men occupied, Columbus orders them to clean and polish every inch of their ships. He wants his boats to shine when the emissaries arrive. He sends out small expeditions to hunt for game, but they return with scrawny rodents no bigger than rats and pigeons with no flesh on their bones. Some of the men dive for lobster and crabs. The salt water stings their blistered skin. The cook throws all the seafood into a boiling pot. They suck the juice from briny shells. Afterward they dive into the sea.

  During the day the heat wraps itself around them and there is no escape. Even the water of the sea is too warm to cool them down. Some of the men try sleeping on the beach at night, where there are trees and a breeze. As they drift off, they hear the footsteps of giant lizards that they think are men. Bats tear above their heads. And, as the air grows still, mosquitoes and enormous green flies swarm. In the morning the men return to the boats, their skin speckled with bleeding sores. Some come down with fevers that make their teeth chatter and their lips turn blue. Still no one dies. Columbus considers this a miracle.

  But no emissary comes. The Admiral waits for days and then a week for His Eminence to send for him, and when he does not receive word, he decides to send the Jew. The Jew will find the descendants of the Great Khan and the Ten Lost Tribes, and Columbus will begin to fill his coffers for the king and queen for whom he does all of this. He orders Luis de Torres and another sailor named Guillermo Jerez to make the first expedition inland. They are to follow the natives back to their leader. “I am certain they will bring you to the Jewish traders.” Even if it is dozens of leagues inland, Columbus is certain that he will reach the palaces he has spent years imagining.

  “I would like Rodrigo to accompany me, sir.”

  “Guillermo is a good explorer,” Columbus says.

  “But, sir—”

  Columbus holds up his hand. There is no use arguing with him. He has never liked Rodrigo. That afternoon Luis and Guillermo set off. They leave the beach and the waters behind. The jungles are thick and they have to chop their way with swords. Luis is unaccustomed to the heat and hard work. His thin pale hands are made for more delicate chores. He does not know how to slash his way through the thickets anymore than he knows how to hoist a mainsail.

  Insects the size of fists buzz around them, and mosquitoes, thick in swarms, attack their faces and necks—anything that is exposed. Luis is grateful that he wears pantaloons and a long-sleeved tunic. Green iguanas that blend into the foliage scurry by, startling them. Land crabs scuttle on their claws and iridescent birds with blue tail feathers like a bridal train flutter past. Even as they hack their way through the brush, it seems to Luis as if it will close in around them as they walk by. As they trudge on, he is certain they will be lost in this maze of jungle forever and ne
ver find their way back to the sea again, but he says nothing. He marks the trees with deep gashes from his sword.

  At last they come to a village of lean-tos with roofs made of palm fronds. The lean-tos have no doors. The women who greet them wear only short skirts. The men wear woven palm fronds. The children are barefoot and naked. The villagers are surprised to see such tall pale men wearing long pants and long-sleeved tunics with high collars. They point, laughing, wondering how these men can survive in the heat, covered in clothes. The villagers approach them, but the men are not afraid. Luis tries to find a language they speak in common. He tries Spanish and Portuguese, Arabic and Aramaic. He tries Hebrew in the hopes that Columbus is right and they are the descendants of the Lost Tribes. But they do not understand a word.

  Luis has no idea where they have landed, but he doesn’t think that these dark-skinned people are the Orientals Marco Polo described. Still, the natives welcome the visitors. They make solemn bows. Luis talks to them with his hands. He motions that they have come from far away, across the seas. He makes the movement of a boat on the water. He points to a boy and indicates that he has two, and then presses his hand across his chest. The natives nod, seeming to understand. Luis does not miss the irony. With all of his knowledge of languages he has come this far to speak with his hands.

  They motion for the visitors to sit around a pit in which there is a small flame burning despite the heat. The fire is very smoky and smells like pine, and Luis thinks it must be to keep the insects away. The men stuff dried leaves into a pipe. They take deep puffs on the pipe and smoke appears. Neither Luis nor Guillermo has any idea what this is. The men hand the pipe to Luis and show him how to take the smoke into his lungs. Luis coughs and chokes. The natives laugh until tears run from their eyes. Guillermo chokes as well. Luis cannot imagine why anyone would want to draw smoke into his lungs.

  They feed them bowls of sweet gruel served in coconut shells filled with fermented fruit juices that they sip until they grow sleepy. They are given a lean-to. Buckets of fresh water are drawn from a well so that they can sip and bathe. The water is cool and the men drink in great gulps. Mats of palm fronds are laid down on the forest floor. They sleep for hours and when they awake, a feast awaits them. Grilled turtle, the breasts of birds, cooked yams, and arrowroot. The food is as salty as the seawater they fish in. Enormous beige dogs roam among them, waiting for scraps. The breast of the bird is tender and juicy. They haven’t eaten cooked food like this since they left home. Luis de Torres has never tasted fowl such as this. He points to the meat and the natives nod.

  After they have eaten, one of the men taps Luis on the shoulder and indicates that he should follow. He isn’t sure if he should be afraid, but he rises to go along. Guillermo stays behind. Luis follows the native down a path out of the village. The man moves stealthily. He is small and slim with gangly muscles. His feet are thick with calluses. He has no teeth. With a flick of his machete he cuts a path. They walk for several minutes in silence and Luis wonders where he is being taken. Overhead birds sing sweetly.

  The man plucks a yellow fruit from a tree. He slices it in two, removes the skin, and places it in Luis’s hands. Then he cuts another for himself and shows Luis how to eat it. He puts the mango into his mouth and sucks on the pulp, his hands covered in yellow slime. Luis grips the fruit that keeps slipping from his hands. At the first taste a sweetness fills his mouth. He never knew that the earth could produce something this succulent. For a moment he believes he has found something more important than the gateway to Asia or even gold. He has found paradise instead.

  When they finish their mangoes, they wipe their hands on moist palm fronds and walk on. They walk for a long time until Luis is certain he is being led to his death. Perhaps he has been chosen as a sacrifice to appease their gods. He has heard of this. Natives sacrificing humans on high altars, surrounded by flames. He has heard that some are forced to lie down and have their hearts ripped out or that virgins are flung into the cones of bubbling volcanoes.

  A shudder runs through him. Many times he has envisioned himself consigned to the flames. Still, what choice does he have? He must follow his guide who seems to be searching for something. At last the guide turns to him and puts his fingers to his lips. How is it possible that people who cannot speak the same language and have never laid eyes on each other before have the same signal for being quiet?

  They come to a clearing. It is a meadow in the woods filled with wildflowers. In the middle is a flock of wild birds. They are big with fat breasts and brownish-red feathers that hide them in the dry grass. He points as if to ask the native what they are called and the man whispers back a word he cannot understand. Then the Taino raises his bow and arrow and shoots one square in the chest. That evening he shows Luis how to cook it over an open flame. Luis de Torres cannot think of a name for this bird so he calls it a tukki after the Hebrew word for parrot. It has a sweet taste. When they open the gullet, it is filled with wildflowers.

  Four days later Luis and Guillermo return to their ship. They bring with them fillets of the fowl and the yellow fruit that surely is the nectar of the gods. The men feast, but Columbus is dissatisfied. He tells them to return to the forest and find those who live there and command that they bring gold. He is certain they are hiding it. He needs it to pay back his creditors, and if he does not pay them back, he will return a failure. And this will be his one and only voyage of discovery. Luis is to order the Taino to bring them gold and in return they will be given tags of worthless bronze to wear around their necks.

  But there is no gold on the island, though the natives desperately search for it. They have no idea why these gold pebbles matter so much, but still they scavenge the riverbeds and along the shores for shiny yellow stones. They bring the tiniest glistening pebbles to Columbus, and if he accepts their offering, they are given the tag that they wear around their necks. Those who are found without tags have their hands cut off. Writhing they stumble, holding up what’s left of an arm until they bleed to death. Others, terrified, race into the forests even as Columbus has his men run after them and murder as many as they can. It becomes nothing to slice off fingers, toes. Sometimes the men do it because they are bored. Luis can barely watch. One night he turns to Rodrigo, standing on the shore, a sea of blood surrounding them, and says, “I cannot go on. This man is insane.”

  When they do not find gold or spices or the palaces of the Great Khan, Columbus decides to sail. He takes with him the brightest green-and-blue parrots he can find, trinkets of gold, and several Indians. On the voyage home one of the parrots will fly off into the Atlantic as a sailor tries to get it to perch on his shoulder, never to be seen again. Most of the Indians will die in their own filth in the holds of ships. Those who survive the journey will be displayed in Lisbon and Barcelona as proof that Columbus has discovered the Indies. He will be hailed as a great man. His future expeditions will be funded because of the treasures he brings, though it will never be gold.

  But some of the men grow weary of discovery and the bloodshed it brings. Luis is one of them. He feels the ocean breezes. He puts his toes into the sea that reminds him of the Mediterranean he left behind. Then they sail on and leave this ruined island. One chief tells them about an island called Cipango. It promises cascades of gold, trees with rubies and emeralds for fruit. Lakes of diamonds. It seems as if the chief will do anything to get rid of these pale men. They set their sails due west for what the history books will one day call Japan.

  The men are exuberant. Before they leave, they have a night of feasting and drinking. Columbus allows the wine to flow. In Cipango they will find the treasures that have eluded them for so long. The men drink until they are numb and then stumble down to their hammocks. At midnight they sail. Luis too has been reveling. He imagines his homecoming. How Catalina will greet him, stunned, and he will crush her in his arms. He will share with her the plan he has with Rodrigo. Together they will make their way to the New World.

  Luis lies ba
ck on his bedding with Rodrigo already snoring beside him. Overhead is a night of shooting stars. He makes wishes. He does not see the Admiral of the Ocean Sea retire to his cabin where he will sleep for the first time in two days. He does not notice the drunken helmsman, Nino, turn the wheel over to the cabin boy and go below to sleep off his intoxicated stupor. Luis is too busy dreaming of home.

  It is a clear night of smooth sailing as Pedro de Terreros steers the vessel. He has never been alone at the helm. If he holds the wheel at all, he has Nino beside him. But now the Admiral is asleep and Nino is dead drunk, and the sea is as smooth and calm as it can be. Surely on a night like this it will be safe. Still it is forbidden. The Admiral has said so many times. A shiver runs through Pedro. He takes a deep breath and gazes up at the profusion of stars. It is Christmas Eve. The night before the birth of baby Jesus, and Pedro de Terreros is alone with only the inky darkness before him.

  His hands clasp the wheel. The tug is stronger than he remembers. The ship pulls at his hands as if she were a beast he’s riding, not very wild but unpredictable nonetheless. But as he holds the wheel steady, Pedro has a vision. He was a boy, barely fourteen, when his father made him sign on. He cried night after night in his hammock. And now here he is, just months later. He has learned all the ropes and lines and rigging of this ship. He knows her masts and sails.

  As he gazes out onto the black silky waters, he has a vision of his future. On the night before Christ was born, he steered the ship. This is the story he will tell. He too will make discoveries. When he returns to Spain, even the king and queen will honor him. Columbus will present him at court. “Here is my cabin boy who has become a man. He will be your next great explorer.”

  Just months ago he feared the life at sea, but now he would welcome it. He loves the feel of the boat in his hands. In the darkness he moves the tiller to the right. A gentle breeze catches the sails and they make the flapping sound that reminds him of the rise of wings. He tacks left and the ship obeys. Everything is before him. His whole future. For weeks he has been turning the sandglass every half hour. He has watched time slipping away. He never thought much about the passage of time before, but now he thinks he understands. Here he is at the helm of this ship that has discovered the western route to China. He will be a hero. Girls will flock to him. His father will praise him. His mother will weep at his return.