Orson Card - Pastwatch - The Redemption Of Christopher Columbus

Not the new one, though. Chipa. She wore clothing, and spoke Spanish. Everyone else was amazed by this, but not Pedro de Salcedo. Clothing and Spanish were to be expected from civilized people. And she was certainly civilized, even if she wasn't yet a Christian.

Indeed, she wasn't a Christian at all, as far as Pedro could tell.

He had heard all her words to the Captain-General, of course, but when he was assigned to provide her with safe quarters, he took the opportunity to converse with her. He quickly found that she hadn't the faintest idea who Christ was, and her idea of Christian doctrine was pathetic at best. But then, she did say that this mystical Sees-in-the-Dark had promised that Colўn would teach her about Christ.

Sees-in-the-Dark. What kind of name was that? And how did it happen that an Indian woman had received a prophecy telling of Colўn and Christ? Such a vision must have come from God -- but to a woman? And not a Christian woman, either.

Though, come to think of it, God spoke to Moses, too, and he was a Jew. That was back when Jews were still the chosen people instead of being the filthy vile thieving Christ-killing scum of the earth, but still, it made you think.

Pedro was thinking about a lot of things. Anything to keep him from thinking about Chipa. Because those thoughts were the ones that disturbed him. Sometimes he wondered if he wasn't just as low and vulgar as the seamen and the ship's boys, so hungry for venery that even these Indian women could become attractive to him. But it wasn't that, not really. He didn't particularly lust after Chipa. He could still see that she was ugly, and for heaven's sake, she didn't even have a woman's shape, she was a child, what kind of pervert would he have to be to lust after her? Yet he also saw something in her voice, her face, that made her beautiful to him.

What was it? Her shyness? The obvious pride she felt when she said difficult sentences in Spanish? Her eager questions about his clothing, his weapons, the other members of the expedition? Those sweet little gestures she made when she was embarrassed at making a mistake? The sheer translucence of her face, as if a light shone through from beneath the skin? No, that was impossible, she didn't really glow. It was an illusion. I've been lonely too long.

Yet he found that the only part of his duties that he looked forward to these days was tending to Chipa, watching over her, conversing with her. He lingered with her as long as possible, and sometimes neglected his other tasks. Not that he meant to; he simply forgot anything but her when he was with her. And it was useful for him to spend time with her, wasn't it? She was teaching him the Taino language, too. If he learned it well, then there would be two interpreters, not just one. That would be good, wouldn't it?

He was also teaching her the alphabet. She seemed to like that most of all, and she was very clever about it. Pedro couldn't think of why she wanted it so much, since there was nothing in a woman's life that made reading necessary. But if it amused her and helped her understand Spanish better, why not?

So Pedro was making letters in the dirt, and Chipa was naming them, when Diego Bermudez came looking for him. "The boss wants you," he said. At twelve, the boy had no sense of propriety. "And the girl. He's going on an expedition."

"Where?" asked Pedro.

"To the moon," said Diego. "We've been everywhere else."

"He's going to the mountain," said Chipa. "To meet Sees-in-the-Dark. "

Pedro looked at her in consternation. "How would you know that?"

"Because Sees-in-the-Dark said he would come to her."

More of that mystical claptrap. What was Sees-in-the-Dark, anyway, a witch? Pedro could hardly wait to meet her. But he'd have his rosary triple-wrapped around his wrist and hold the cross in his hand the whole time. No sense taking chances.

Chipa must have done well, Diko decided, for runners had been coming up the mountain all morning, telling of the coming of the white men. The most annoying messages were from Guacanagari, full of half-veiled threats about any attempt by an obscure mountain village like Ankuash daring to interfere with the great cacique's plans. Poor Guacanagari -- in the prior version of history, he had also had the illusion that he was in control of relations with the Spanish. The result was that he ended up being a quisling, betraying other Indie leaders until he, too, was destroyed. Not that he was any stupider than others who have fooled themselves into thinking that they've got the tiger under control just because they're holding on to its tail.

It was midafternoon when Cristoforo himself came into the clearing. But Diko was not outside to meet him. She listened to the noise from inside her house, waiting.

Nugkui made a great show of greeting the great white cacique, and Cristoforo for his part was gracious. Diko listened with pleasure at the confidence in Chipa's voice. She had taken to her role and did it well. Diko had dear memories of Chipa's death in the other history. By then she was in her twenties, and her children were murdered in front of her before she was raped to death. She would never know that horror now. It gave Diko confidence, as she waited in her house.

The preliminaries ended, Cristoforo was now asking for Sees-in-the-Dark. Nugkui of course warned him that it was a waste of tirne talking to the black giant, but this only intrigued Cristoforo all the more, as Diko had expected. Soon he was in front of her door, and Chipa ducked inside. "Can he come in?" she asked in Taino.

"You're doing well, my niece," said Diko. She and Chipa had spoken only in Spanish for so long that it felt odd to Diko to revert to the local language with her. But it was necessary, for the moment, at least, if Cristoforo was not to understand what they said to each other.

Chipa smiled at that, and ducked her head. "He brought his page with him. He's very tall and fine and he likes me."

"He'd better not like you too well," said Diko. "You're not a woman yet."

"But he's a man," said Chipa, with a laugh. "Should I let them in?"

"Who is with Cristoforo?"

"All the big-house people," said Chipa. "Segovia, Arana, Gutiftrez, Escobedo. Even Torres." She giggled again. "Did you know that they brought him along to be an interpreter? He doesn't speak a word of Taino."

He didn't speak Mandarin either, or Japanese or Cantonese or Hindi or Malay or any of the other languages he would have needed if Cristoforo had actually reached the Far East as he intended. The poor myopic Europeans had sent Torres because he could read Hebrew and Aramaic, which they considered to be the matrices of all language.

"Let the Captain-General come in," said Diko. "And you can bring in your page, too. Pedro de Salcedo?"

Chipa did not seem surprised that Diko knew the name of her page. "Thank you," she said, and then stepped outside to bring in the guests.

Diko could not help feeling nervous -- no, why quibble? She was terrified. To finally meet him, the man who had consumed her life. And the scene they would play would be one that had never existed before in any history. She was so used to knowing what he would say before he said it. What would it be like, now that he had the capacity to surprise her?

No matter. She had a far greater ability to surprise him, and she used it immediately, speaking to him first in Genovese. "I've waited a long time to meet you, Cristoforo."

Even in the darkness inside her house, Diko could see how his face flushed at her lack of respect. Yet he had the good grace not to insist that she call him by his titles. Instead, he concentrated on the real question. "How is it that you speak the language of my family?"

She answered in Portuguese. "Would this be the language of your family? This is how your wife spoke, before she died, and your older son still thinks in Portuguese. Did you know that? Or have you spoken to him often enough to know what he thinks about anything?"