Excerpt
“I don’t want to fish you out of the water,” he yelled, weaving the
line deftly and wringing the water out of the square knot at my
waist. “I couldn’t. So don’t fall.”
The green lights of Saint Elmo illuminated the spar and masts of
the vessel with a ghostly glow.
“Pray, brother,” Bartolomé said.
He hated to see people idle.
The tempest lasted for three days.
The remainder of our voyage seemed like a mere aftermath. Men
dreamed of home. I longed for the solid walls and red tile roofs of
the monastery of Santa María de la Rábida where Bartolomé and I
had come, numbed and destitute, after the murder of our mother.
I recalled the freshness of the chapel, the cold stone beneath my
knees. I could smell again the incense and hear the cooing of the
doves nested under the roof outside my window. This was the
monastery where Christopher Columbus had found support for his
voyages, so that might have had some influence on my brother’s
decision to go to sea.
The ever-capable bosun ordered the commencement of repairs.
The carpenter improvised a seat to hang from the stump of the
foremast and proceeded to saw the tip off. With astonishing
dexterity, he and his helpers fastened a mast pole to the stump of the
original by tying it with lines twisted like tourniquets. New rigging,
new sail, and we had a new foremast.
Cormorants and seagulls shrieked above us and landed on the
yards, letting fly their sour droppings. With no clouds in the sky, the
wooden planks grew hot and exuded a dark resin; whether it came
from the wood or the joins, I didn’t know. Walking was disagreeable
and sticky. Miasma of tar hung so thick in the air that my mouth
tasted like it and my habit stunk. Below decks the muggy heat was
just as unbearable.
There was no place to escape the torture of a hot calm day at sea.
Libros Libertad 