Thomas Trofimuk - Waiting for Columbus

Sylvester looks hard at Columbus, weighing his words, measuring height, weight, physical condition. He hesitates. Columbus lurches forward and head butts the orderly-a hard, ugly thumping sound. Sylvester goes down. There are far too many keys on his ring for a quick exit, so Columbus hands the key ring to Cecelia and starts to look around for something he can use to force the door open. Something that could be used as a makeshift pry bar. Many of the candidates are screwed to the floor. Cecelia chooses a key with assuredness. “This one,” she says and Columbus turns around. “Is he hurt?” she adds, pointing at Sylvester.

“He’ll have a lump.” Columbus pushes the key into the lock and turns it. The door opens smoothly and quietly. Son of a bitch, he thinks.

Outside they find the bird, a sparrow. Its neck is broken. Its body still warm. They bury the bird quickly, carefully, under a rosebush and Columbus defers to Her Holiness the Pope for a prayer. Cecelia turns to Columbus with tears in her eyes, at a loss. The only thing he can think of is the first verse from the hymn “Silent Night.” He recites it with apologies to the bird but it seems wholly appropriate. It seems correct that this bird should have these words. “Silent night,” he begins, “holy night…” He and the pope stand in the garden above the small mound, with a growing indigo sky above. “Sleep in heavenly peace,” Columbus says. “Sleep in heavenly peace.”

They go back inside and Sylvester is still out cold on the floor. They reattach the keys to the orderly’s belt. Columbus hustles into the adjoining lounge and brings back a pillow, which he slides under Sylvester’s head. Columbus and the pope look at each other. Cecelia is smiling, a vulnerable, grateful, and astounded smile.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You’re the pope. You ought to be able to attend to sparrows whenever they fall. It was an honor and my pleasure.”

“Good night, my dear.”

“Sleep well, Your Holiness.”

The next morning, Columbus looks at Consuela with a glint in his eye. He watches her as she approaches his table at breakfast with more interest than usual. He studies her gait.

“ Columbus persists,” he says. “He’ll do almost anything to get his ships.”

“Good morning to you, too,” she says.

“You look quite beautiful today… I mean you always look good, but I noticed that today-”

“Thank you, Mr. Columbus. I get it.” She takes a deep breath. “So what would you do to get your ships?”

As usual, Columbus kneels before the queen. She keeps him kneeling for all of their audiences while she either sits or swishes around the room. She likes to watch him from behind. To leave him there faced away from her voice. That way, anyone who entered unexpectedly would see nothing was going on. And truthfully, nothing was happening between them, at least on a physical level.

She also liked to sit in front of him, on the throne, her legs pulled up and apart. Her feet flat on the seat of the chair. A pose that without her flowing dresses would not have been appropriate. She did it to tease. She did it to titillate. She did it to move him off course from his obsession. To see if she could shake him.

Isabella sits before him. Considers how she should begin. She is not calm. This audience, which has been arranged by her treasurer, Luis de Santángel, is an inconvenience to her. But she likes this Columbus, more than she would like to admit. He wished to serve the king and queen and would risk his life to do it. He wished to bring glory to Spain. And he was persistent, bloody dogged, about it.

“The commission at the university has come to a decision,” she says.

“They have no imaginations, no desire to explore. They are dead men with pencils,” Columbus says. “I already know what they-”

“Now hear me well, Columbus. I will personally look at your plan once we take back Granada from these shit-assed godless Moors.”

“My queen, you are wise. You are intelligent. You are powerful and-”

“Oh cut the crap, Columbus. I have sycophants galore. Just open that door and walk down the hallway and I’ll show you a hundred completely useless sycophants. Be patient, Columbus. We will take Granada, and soon. And then, we will see about your ships.”

“But-”

“Patience. Patience, Columbus.”

“You’ll need money after the Granada victory. I can bring the royal treasury riches from the Indies and Marco Polo’s Japan.”

“That’s a promise we will remember, Cristóbal.”

“Could you not spare just three ships, most revered servant of God? Even two ships would-”

“Look, Cristóbal, I like you. Your enthusiasm is undeniable. You have great charm and you are unequivocally brilliant. But I have to tell you-and I hope you can hear this through the haze of your single-minded passion-get the fuck off my back about these ships.”

“But my queen, I-”

“I’ve had a snootful of you and the new route to the Indies and Japan. I have an entire city filled with Moors that I’ve promised to extricate. I’ve got a holy Inquisition that’s running amok-I have no idea what they’re going to attack next. I started the damned thing, and frankly, they scare the crap out of me. I’ve got Jews spread across my lands who don’t seem too pleased about leaving and aren’t very enthused about converting. I’ve got God’s emissaries from Rome saying converting isn’t going far enough anyway. And I have a treasury that does not runneth over. I have-”

“If I am successful, when I am successful, I will fill the treasury with riches.”

“And to top it off, my tits hurt. They ache. For some reason, I have to cram them into these tight dresses. Gowns, gowns, and more gowns, and they’re all tight little torture suits.”

“My queen, I hear you. I only wish to please God, and to bring honor to Your Majesties.”

“How the hell could you know what it’s like to wear these damned clothes?”

“I… I cannot imagine it, my queen.”

She rises from the throne and shushes by Columbus so she is behind him. Columbus smells her odor and its edgy sexuality stops him. It’s a hot, muggy day to begin with and now this! His head feels light. The smell of this woman, this queen, shakes him.

She walks through an archway at the back of the room. Columbus can hear a door opening and closing. The queen comes back into the room and walks over to him.

“A couple of my girls are coming in here to get you dressed. Then we can talk some more.”

“But I am dressed-”

“Trust me, Columbus.”

In a couple of minutes, two of the queen’s servants enter the room with a blue gown and a corset. The girls shrug, stifle giggles, and go to work on Columbus.

“But this is a dress,” he says. The girls ignore him.

“And you’re going to cram your body into it. So you really understand what I go through to look like this.”

“But-”

“Just do it for your ships.”

Isabella walks across the room and disappears through the doorway.

When the queen comes back, Columbus is on his knees in the blue dress, the corset tight across his chest and midsection.

“That’s better,” she says.

“I can barely… breathe.”

“Fantastic, isn’t it? Welcome to my world, Columbus. Those two girls are my most trusted-they’ll not say anything about this-but there are rumors about you and I. The tabloids say there must be something going on because your scheme is being entertained by the queen. Just rumors, but pile rumor on top of rumor on top of innuendo and I could be in trouble. My husband chases whatever bitch in heat he damned well pleases, but I? I must remain faithful.”