The Empty Hammock (21 page)

“The beasts are called dogs.” Ana looked into his eyes, “this is it, the beginning of your recorded history.”

“I am sorry Ana,” Orocobix said heavily, “I am sorry for doubting you and for shunning you.”

Ana nodded. It didn’t matter anymore. She touched his cheek and hugged Tanama closer.

The morning after, Ana was lying in the hammock, between the two palm trees, near the caciques hut, when he came to her. He blocked the sun with his body and forced her to open her eyes.

She half smiled at him and Juan forgot to breathe. She was really beautiful; he ran his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know if this is crazy, but I think you wrote the date on the ground yesterday. My captain, Pablo says I couldn’t have seen that, but from the first moment I saw you I knew you were different.”

She was gazing at him avidly, as if she was committing his face to memory.

“So… am I?”

She looked up at the blue skies and started humming in her own language.

It was just wishful thinking on his part that the girl knew anything. How could she?

He sat at the root of the tree and she turned to stare at him.

He gazed up at her trying, to read her dark brown eyes. They were open and friendly and he saw what looked like laughter in their depths. She reached out her hand and touched his tunic; she felt the material and then touched his hair, then his lips.

She placed her fingers over his lips, when he whispered, “Ana.”

This could not be happening to him, Juan thought, he was not falling in love with a woman that came from the new world. He came for gold, his heart was not supposed to be engaged.

“Who are you Ana?” Juan asked brokenly. “Why is it that of all the people we’ve met so far I am fascinated with you?”

She stopped smiling, turned back into the hammock, and looked up into the sky.

“Are you married to the Chief of the village?” Juan asked, looking at her swaying body; her pert breasts.

She ignored him and kept swaying aimlessly.

Colón was heading toward him, his face glowering. “Vizconde, that’s the Chief’s wife. We already had one uproar last night. Please let’s not have another.”

“I was just talking to her.”

Colón laughed. “She wouldn’t understand what you are saying.” He pulled out a parchment and ignoring Ana, he pored over a map pointing to different areas. “I want to go around this island, see what else is here. It seems big compared to the others.”

“I might stay a few more days,” Juan said, “explore this place at leisure.” He glanced over at Ana. There was no change in her body language, no indication that she understood what was being said.

“You are staying for her,” Colón snorted, “what about looking at new lands and finding more gold? I thought you were homesick…I thought you were keeping away from the native offerings.”

“I came to deliver cargo,” Juan smiled. “You are the explorer, I already found enough gold to last me until I’m an old man. As for the native women, I had not found one that interested me, until now.”

Colón sighed. “How is it that you have enough gold? No one I know has enough gold. We hardly found any gold on Española. I need to send back gold to Spain and I barely have enough. I don’t know what I am going to do; the men are getting quite unruly. Some have complained of illnesses and now the natives are rebelling.”

Juan was irritated and he was tired of Colón’s whining. Why did he accept the post of viceroy if he couldn’t handle it?

“Can’t help you there.” Juan held up his hands, “I’ll be leaving for Spain soon.”

“Could you take back some slaves for me?” Colón had that earnest expression on his face again.

Juan looked over at Ana she had stiffened. The hammock was no longer swaying with such force. She was gazing at the two men with something akin to hatred in her eyes.

Colón realizing that Juan had not given him an answer. Instead, he was staring at the native girl.

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 frowning.

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.