Curse of Stigmata (The Judas Reflections) (16 page)

Our conversation was cut short by a noise above deck, loud voices and scurrying footsteps told of a confrontation.

“I expect they’ve sighted a Mughlai vessel loaded with spices. It won’t get very far now. Chivers will force it to stop with cannon fire, board and remove as much in the way of goods as is possible. Maybe I can negotiate a deal for some of the load, cut out the middleman?”

“Emmanuel, I’m closing my eyes and ears to you. I know I’m not a religious man, but doesn’t profiteering from ill-gotten gains go against God’s wishes?”

“So it is written.”

“Then what would be the point of spending your immortality, searching every corner of the world to redeem your coins? Surely God will refuse you redemption by actions such as these, alone—not to mention your lack of compassion for others!”

“Why don’t you go and cook something… leave me to live in my world anyway I want to!” I retorted in anger. “I never judge your actions, so why judge mine?!”

“I have no intention of annoying you any further,” he said sullenly.

“That will be the best news I’ve had all day.”

He left my presence in a huff. We were beginning to get on each other’s nerves. Being at sea for such a long time, barely dropping anchor for longer than a few hours in strange places, forced to spend endless hours together… It was making us crazy.

I also felt compelled to make sarcastic comments to Rachel, who would often pass me without a word. Common sense told me to stop. The atmosphere on board was tense, with most of the crew barely on speaking terms. I didn’t need to make things worse. Every evening at eight, Juan and I would be summoned to the Captain’s quarters for dinner. In the beginning, with Rachel out of the picture, conversation flowed. Now, there was little left to speak of as one month drifted into another without event. I prayed for a strong wind to push us closer to Madagascar. Although we were ahead of schedule, it felt like an eternity.

With so much time to spare, I pondered on what I’d do once there. Maybe I could seek out an island wife, have an army of offspring and live a simple existence forever, forgetting all about coins, consequences, and the like. But the truth was, I feared becoming a committed father. The notion of being faced with a son or daughter that grew older than my physical self was too horrible to contemplate. Being told countless times I was a self-centered, rude and sarcastic woman hater didn’t help either. What wife would tolerate me, and what sired offspring would be proud to be mine?

“Land ho!”

The words brought music to my ears as I raced up on deck to see the outline of Madagascar. A blistering hot morning, the sky was a deep blue and the air was sweet. Soon, I told myself, I’d be enjoying a bowl of fresh exotic fruit while lounging in a shady hammock. Perhaps a nubile dark beauty would rub my feet.

Juan was just as excited. “Finally, we’ve arrived. Maybe someone can cook for me for once. What a blessed relief it will be, to walk on dry land!”

“Think of the new adventure awaiting us—we’re in another world, and one where we can relax and be ourselves,” I said.

I was far away from the harsh cold winds of the Pyrenees and Northern Europe. Nine months of sailing had brought me to a tropical island filled with rich pickings. But instead of a permanent new home, I would be productive and seek out lucrative exports. Spices and artifacts seemed the best things to focus upon, guaranteed to fetch large sums of money from eager buyers.

Unlike Europe, Captain Chivers could moor close to shore without fear of the authorities. In return, he paid the Island Chieftain a hefty sum to ensure his safety. It appeared his wasn’t the only pirate ship surrounding the island. I was soon to find out why.

“What sweet smells, the air is perfumed!” said Rachel as she jumped around on deck like an excited child.

“I suspect it will turn sour the moment we disembark and you put one foot down.”

Incredibly, she laughed, caught up in the moment and disregarding my latest insult. The dock was abuzz with fishermen selling their catch. Islanders, traders, legitimate Captains and pirates, all mingled together in a frenzy of buying and selling, eating and drinking. Captain Chivers pointed out the Sakalava, a minority group on the island known for trading goods for arms. I couldn’t help but be enamored by the beauty of their women, tall and slender with sensual almond eyes, a compelling sight. Rachel stayed close to Juan, with her skin darkened by the sun and hair falling loose, she looked like an exotic half white specimen, something the locals hadn’t seen before.

“They are all staring, how rude,” she commented.

“What did you expect?” I chided her. “How often do you think they see a white girl, let alone one with long hair hanging down and dressed to garner attention? You’re not in Europe now”

“I love it here,” Juan said, tired of our rhetoric. “The air’s so clean and the women are beautiful.”

We dutifully followed the Captain, not knowing where we were going. The heat was overpowering, and I quickly understood why the locals were either barefoot or wearing sandals. The women wore little more than a short colored cloth, much to Juan’s delight. I often forgot he was a red-blooded Spaniard, full of passion and easily ignited. I had seen plenty of nakedness in more hedonistic times long ago. Half-naked island women were decidedly mild compared to scenes I once witnessed on a regular basis. Rachel surprisingly took it all in her stride.

We were taken to a ramshackle hut where two white men knocked back bottles of pure rum and talked loudly. Juan and Rachel were instructed to wait outside while the Captain escorted me in to do what he called a ‘little’ business. “This is Emmanuel Ortiz, a merchant who wants to trade,” was how I was introduced.

“Goods or money in exchange for what I’m selling?” one asked.

“Money or gold,” I replied.

“I have two excellent items, both in perfect condition. They’ll fetch a pretty penny either in the European or new American market.”

“I need to see the merchandise before I make a decision,” I answered with caution, which seemed to be the best approach.

He snapped a finger to his associate, who ran off in a clandestine manner. Less than five minutes later, he returned with two young African women, heads bowed and chained by their necks.

“Less than eighteen years of age, virgins, disease free and strong. They’ll fetch you a good profit as an easy sell to the serious buyer.”

Shocked by what stood before me, their eyes were like frightened rabbits. Human cargo. “This is not my line of business,” I told him, firmly. “I deal in imports of spices and precious artifacts. I wouldn’t know where to begin with slaves.”

“You’ll make triple what you make now with one slave, let alone two. A good businessman never lets an opportunity pass by. I was once from England’s shores. Now I make a tidy sum doing this. With many ships coming to port, they’ll be sold by the end of day.”

Rachel and Juan were waiting patiently outside and, like me, had no choice but to watch as the two girls were dragged away roughly, unsold.

“Maybe the girls have nothing here. Being a slave in Europe can’t be that awful, we’re civilized,” Rachel said.

“Either you’re misguided or just wanting to cause an unpleasant conversation, as usual,” I replied angrily.

“Why not try to dispose of me, Emmanuel? Considering how much you’d like me to disappear, you could sell me off as a slave. I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Because I’ve better things to do, and it wouldn’t resolve the problem of my missing coin, which I’m sure you have tucked away somewhere,” I replied, searching her eyes for a reaction. There was none, only a blank stare.

“You’ve never knowingly harmed a woman since I’ve know you, I doubt you’d do such a thing as sell one,” Juan said.

“If I’m pushed further than I’ve ever been, who knows what I’m capable of,” I replied honestly. My intentions weren’t murderous, only determined.

“How long will we stay?” Juan gave me the impression he didn’t want to leave. The Madagascar paradise had caught his attention.

“Until the Captain has all he wants and needs. Maybe he’ll set sail for India or the African coast. There’s no telling what his plans are until we’re summoned to leave in days, weeks or months. Who knows and to tell the truth, who cares?” I replied.

I spent the day exploring the island. Meanwhile, Juan went back to the dock, spending much of his time inside the various rum shops. He missed out on more beautiful white sandy beaches, as well as rocky coves seemingly pristine.

“Aye, aye, what have we here?” a voice called out.

“A friendly stranger passing through and meaning no harm,” I replied.

A figure emerged from behind a tree, bare-chested and clad only in a cloth skirt.

“The name’s Robert Dalton, formally from Southampton England,” he introduced himself, cordially shaking my hand. “This is my wife, Abida, and my daughter, Frances Annie.”

Abida held a small child in her arms, with a dark complexion and fair, curly hair like her father. In need of tobacco for his pipe, Robert asked if I’d bought any goods since coming ashore.

“I’ll ask Captain Chivers, I’m sure he has plenty to buy.”

“The biggest scumbag this side of the island coves? I should think not! What would a gentleman like you be doing with the likes of him?”

“There aren’t many ships leaving Europe bound for places such as this. I seized the moment.”

It turned out Robert was a former pirate who gave up his cutlass for the love of Abida. He confessed to hiding deep in the forest, waiting for his ship to set sail without him. “My heart is here and I’m not the only one. There be hundreds of sailors and pirates alike, scattered all over the island with their women, vowing never to return.”

“Plenty of women to go round, then?”

“More than you can imagine!” He laughed. “Being there’s a shortage of men, you can’t help but strike gold. And, they prefer the fair skin men more than their own. We’re at a distinct advantage. Even Mercer the Scottish Missionary has a woman.”

I was quite interested to meet this Mercer fellow, to see if he were part of the new breed of misguided preachers who naively thought they could bring Christianity to savages, whether they desired it or not.

“Introduce me to him, and in return I promise you three months’ supply of tobacco at my expense.”

My generosity worked. Robert guided me to a hut not far from his, where a man with a long grey beard and not much hair sat carving something from wood.

“Mercer, can I introduce you to Emmanuel. He’s from… where are you from?” asked Robert.

“I’m from everywhere,” I advised. “And, sir, where do you hail from?”

“From the lowlands of Scotland, a place called Bo’ness. My mission is to help the poor unfortunates on Madagascar find themselves through God and enlightenment. We’re building a chapel for prayer, would you care it see it?”

“Sounds delightful.” It was the last thing I wanted to do but I didn’t want to be rude.

As we walked, I studied him carefully. His beard seemed so out of place in the heat and his hands were soft like a baby’s, a sign he never toiled at anything. I was in the company of an intellectual who delighted in telling me of books he had read and about the one he was writing.

“Do you ever look to the stars Emmanuel? They tell of more than you might think,” he said.

“I used to, a long time ago. In the desert on a clear night when all was visible, I would spend hours looking up. But then, I was little more than a young boy.”

“Shalom my friend, erev tov.”

“Where did you learn to speak Hebrew?” I asked.

“No one is ever too old to learn a language or study the stars. I can do your chart if you like. Tell you things about your past and future,” he replied.

“From the stars?” Was I dealing with a charlatan missionary or a mystic in disguise?

“Yes my boy, and, if my chart was good enough for King Charles the second then it’s good enough for you.”

’d become so intrigued by Mercer and his stargazing I forgot how long I’d been gone. With the tour of a half built church over, he took me to his modest hut, where row upon row of books and manuscripts were piled, from floor to ceiling. Keen to show me a large volume on applied mathematics, he confessed the name of the author, Doctor John Dee, to be himself.