Waiting For Columbus Read Online Free PDF Page A

name did I call out?”
    “You said, ‘Your Majesty.’”
    Relief. “Yes, yes, of course, because I was dreaming the end of the journey across the Western Sea. And there was a
majesty
there to greet me—a man, a king of some kind.”
    “A man?” she says with a mocking edge to her voice. “You want me to believe you were dreaming of a man?”
    “Yes. He was smiling and there were thousands cheering. I led twelve ships, in my dream, across the ocean, and it seems I did it with very little hardship. Bartholomew was there and—” Columbus stops. She doesn’t need to know everything. She doesn’t need to know he could not remember, or did not know, how long it took to sail across the ocean. She’s liable to ask if he continues his report.
    Beatriz is not yet smiling but her face has softened. She has not wrapped herself back up. It’s okay for Columbus to see her body now. It’s okay to open herself to him, a little. She moves a candelabra from a shelf to the table across the room. The candles are not lit. There’s noneed for candles as the room is awash with sunlight. Her robe feathers as she moves. She shows him her body in this movement. Columbus relaxes a bit. After all, this was just a dream. How can he be held accountable for his dreams? One cannot control one’s dreams.
    “And in this dream, you made it back in one piece?”
    Columbus tenses. Breathe, he tells himself. Breathe. There are times when it is all right to lie, he thinks. In this dream he remembers having no hope of being able to return. No idea of how far. No idea of how many days. Nobody on the bloody ship knew how long it had taken them to get across the Western Sea. He thinks there are times when God, being a man and also a god, will understand that a lie is sometimes required. God will draw upon all He knows of men and women and instantly forgive certain small untruths, even infidelities.
    Beatriz turns toward him, finds his face. “Columbus? You made it back, right?”
    “Yes, of course,” he says. “Piece of cake.”

    Consuela stands up. Looks at him. Flatlines her voice. “You dreamed about Columbus having a dream?”
    “Yes, I dreamed
I
was having a dream.”
    She sighs. “And Beatriz is …?”
    “Ah, yes. A delicate flower. The most amazing green eyes! She was my woman. She bore me a son.”
    “Your woman, not your wife?”
    “What is it with women and marriage? You think all your problems will be solved and your life complete if only you can marry. Isn’t that a bit delusional?”
    “So you did not marry Beatriz.”
    “We exchanged vows. We exchanged rings.”
    “But you did not marry her.”
    “No. It’s complicated.”
    This perks Consuela’s ears. A woman and a child. This is a first. A woman, according to Dr. Fuentes, could be at the heart of his illness.
    “But you loved her.”
    “Of course I loved her. Don’t be so stupid. She was my woman.”
    “What happened to her?”
    “Beatriz? Nothing happened to her. She’s in Barcelona. She works as a barista. She doesn’t have to. She has a stipend. It was arranged.”
    “I notice she doesn’t visit very often. She doesn’t visit at all.”
    “Ah, yes, well, that can be explained by reminding you of the unique vagaries of all women. While I love Beatriz to this day, she was not my only love. No offense to you, Nurse Consuela, but this ability to love more than one woman is one of the traits of men that is not appreciated by most women.”
    “You fooled around on her.”
    He’s not sure how to answer her. He does not have the language to speak his heart about Beatriz.
    “I’m not judging,” Consuela says. “I’m just interested.”
    Columbus leans forward. Hands on his chin, elbows on his knees. He seems on the verge of saying something but then pulls back—just closes his eyes and sighs. “Look, there were days when I was daunted. I was depressed about this journey. I would wake up in the morning in a new town and yes, there were, sometimes,