Excerpt
“Forgive me, Father,” he began, “for I have sinned.”
“I know, Pánfilo. Who hasn’t?” I mumbled, my mouth bitter and
sticky. “Tell me.”
“Well, I took something, but I was going to give it back, I swear.
And José’s wife . . .”
“I absolve thee.”
“But I’m only halfway!”
“Forgive me. Go on.”
I bent over and let out a trickle of bile. I cleaned my mouth with
my sleeve. Pánfilo didn’t seem to notice or care that I was barely able
to listen. I don’t remember what else he told me.
After the confessions, my head throbbed terribly, and the violent
sea, lifting me off my improvised bed and dropping me down again,
was almost unbearable. The men crouched on the floor wherever
they could find room.
The sound was muffled by the roaring of the storm, but we heard
the sharp cry of alarm from the upper deck and a thunderous crash.
The ship tilted sharply, and we rolled like pebbles and crashed
against the water barrels. I thought the ship had split in two.
I crawled up the forward companionway and thrust open the trap
door. I had to make sure Bartolomé was all right, but halted long
enough to inhale a mouthful of fresh air. A lightning bolt revealed
the sea, white with spume. “Merciful Heaven!” I muttered and
crossed myself.
A midshipman whose name I never learned, shouting into the
din, stepped over me and through the trap door. I stood up and went
out. Gusts of wind sucked the air from my nostrils as I strained to
breathe. On the upper deck, two silhouetted heads in the forecastle
disappeared momentarily in the gusty rain. On hands and knees,
like a wingless beetle, I made my way toward them, holding onto
whatever I could while praying for Bartolomé’s safety.
To my relief, Bartolomé was standing near the helm, with legs
wide apart. He looked as much a part of the ship as the mast. It was
the foremast that had broken. And lying beside the stump of the
mast was Antonio.
Libros Libertad 