Thomas Trofimuk - Waiting for Columbus

Salvos is a pig of a man. He’s fat like a stuffed sausage and leers at most women, but he serves decent food and cheap drinks. He runs a couple of girls in one of the upstairs rooms. Both of these women know better than to approach Columbus, who has never taken advantage of their offers. The best thing about Salvos’s bar is that it’s a relatively safe place in which to speak. Salvos may be an ugly man, but he edits his clientele carefully. There are no ears from the Holy Brotherhood. No ears from the Inquisition. No clergy. It’s not a perfect system, but after any given night, what was said at Salvos’s place was swept up in the morning, carried across the threshold, and thrown into the Jabalón River. Also, this bar is, compared to most bars along the river, well ventilated.

“Hola, Columbus,” Salvos says. “How many days does it take to sail to Japan?” He smiles. All his smiles are a variant of lecherous. Usually Columbus feels soiled after just looking at him. Mercifully, his service is not great, and his one waitress, Sophia, takes on most of the bar.

“Ya, good one, Salvos. It gets funnier each time. Today it’s hilarious.”

“What?”

“Hilarious. It’s a word that means… really funny-mirthful.”

“I know what hilarious means. Why is it hilarious today?” Salvos finishes pouring the wine. He leans toward Columbus as he passes the drink but he does not let go of the glass. They are stuck like two planets revolving around this glass of wine. “Seriously, how does it go, my friend?” Columbus is surprised that Salvos’s breath is not foul. He’s not sure what this is about-this suddenly serious and concerned Salvos. So he is honest. He’s got nothing to lose, especially in the safety of this temenos. “I have high hopes for Spain,” he says. “But it is difficult… sometimes I… I’m daunted.”

Salvos considers this, releases the glass of wine, and whispers, “Noli nothis permittere te terere, my friend.”

This stops Columbus. He did not expect Latin from this man. This blessing from such an unlikely source moves him. It props up his hope. He nods his thanks at Salvos. Indeed, he won’t let the bastards grind him down. Salvos grunts and moves to the end of the bar. Columbus watches in the mirror over the bar as the doorman opens the door the distance of two hands, enough for Salvos to see who is there. Having seen, Salvos shakes his head. The doorman closes the door and delivers the bad news to the man on the outside. Perhaps he advises the bar is full, or that it’s a private party.

There are three booths at the back wall. Columbus likes the booths because he can spread out his charts and notebooks. There’s breathing room, elbow room, and they’ve got the best light. The candelabras are not bright but they hang low over the wooden tables.

He’s just about to sit down when someone bumps into him, causing him to almost spill his wine. When he turns around he’s irritated. He is also instantly embroiled in a conflict of some kind. He appears to be in the middle of a standoff.

“She’s a stinkin’ Jew and I won’t drink with Jews.” The man is massive, has a tattoo of a black skull across the top of his left hand, and spits when he talks. His hair is black, thick, and greasy. His tunic is filthy. Columbus can smell him from across the room. But regardless of the man’s odor and apparently foul disposition, Columbus reminds himself it’s just not a smart thing to confront large men with tattoos of black skulls on their hands, no matter how right you are about any given issue. This he has learned. Not much else, but this he knows for certain. The tattooed man looks down on a smaller man who stands in front of a woman. This big man has three friends behind him-hands on hilts. The tattooed man is the biggest of the lot, but the others are also undeniably large. The woman has her back to the wall and has been pushed there by a table-she can’t move. She’s bleeding from her lip and there’s a redness across her cheek, below her right eye. She does not wipe the blood. She is resolute and unflinching.

“Juan?” Columbus says. “How are you, my friend?”

Juan smiles. “Couldn’t be better. Just in the middle of something right now.”

“I see,” Columbus says. He glances over at the four big men. He steps forward to the point where the man will have to step back in order to draw his sword if that’s the way this is going to play out.

“What’s this about?” Columbus says.

“She’s a stinkin’ Jew bitch.” The man spits out the word “bitch.”

Columbus glances over his shoulder at Juan. “Brevior saltare cum de-formibus viris est vita, my friend,” he says.

“Huh?” the big man says.

“He said, life is too short to dance with ugly men.” Juan also steps forward, joins Columbus in crowding the giant. The tattooed man backs up a step, then another. Juan and Columbus take two steps forward. The big man’s three friends spread out.

“Now why would you say such a thing?”

“Well, you are ugly as sin,” Columbus says. “Surely you know this.”

He appears to have no idea how to respond to this. Looks confused. “Look, this is not your concern. It’s about her. I want this fuckin’ Jew out of my sight. She’s a filthy whore. I will not drink with stinkin’ Jews. She and her kind bring disease, they bring the Black Death.”

“You could leave,” Juan offers.

“You defend this Jew? Why? She is no better than disease-infested cow shit.”

“It’s not so much that I love Jews, but rather that I despise those who hate for no reason.”

Tattoo man’s hand twitches slightly-a tell. Columbus can see Mr. Tattoo is about to draw his sword. He’s going to make that cross-body movement and draw his blade. This is when Columbus draws his own blade, an Italian-made dagesse. It’s a short blade and he does it quickly. The blade is at the tattooed man’s thick neck before his own sword is half drawn. Columbus is fascinated by the intense throbbing under the skin where the tip of his sword presses into tattoo man’s neck.

“Stop,” Columbus says. “Enough. I just wanted a glass of wine, not a minor war.” All eyes are on Columbus.

“Who are you?” the tattooed man says through clenched teeth. He moves his eyes toward Columbus -but moves nothing else.

“I’m the guy holding a blade to your neck. I like Jews, and I’m rather fond of filthy whores. Tell your friends to get out.”

“But-”

“Now. Just do it.” He presses the point.

Columbus doesn’t know much about swords, but any idiot could see this man’s weapon was way too long to be effective in close spaces. The tattooed man nods, delicately, toward his companions and they start to pick up their coats and bags-one guy pounds his drink down first.

Salvos appears in the archway, slightly out of breath, a short thrusting sword in hand. The ring of a sword being drawn is a sound that cuts through any din. It’s not something he would ever miss. “Everything okay, my friend?”

“Has this guy paid yet? And those?” Columbus motions with his chin in their general direction.

“Yes,” Salvos says. He looks them over with a scowl.

“They’re leaving. Those three first.” The crowd parts as the men make their way to the door. Columbus looks over at the woman who seems a bit shell-shocked. “What’s your name?”

“Selena,” she says. There is vulnerability in her eyes but they are also ferocious. Columbus thinks he can smell vanilla.

He turns his attention to the tattooed man. “Good-bye.” The big man backs away until Salvos grabs his shoulder and roughly guides him to the door.

Columbus looks at Juan and Selena. “Join me for a drink,” he says.

Up close, Columbus finds Selena to be stunningly beautiful. “Do you always draw such a crowd when you come into bars?” he says.