Pastwatch_ The Redemption Of Christopher Columbus Part 10

"I was in the middle of writing a recommendation that you be steered to another line of work," she said. "Then this comes in. A request from the Columbus project for your presence next week. Will I grant you a paid leave of absence."

"It would be cheaper for you to fire me, " he said, "but it'll be harder for me to help them in Juba if I lose my access to the Past.w.a.tch computer system."

She looked at him with thinly veiled consternation. "Are you telling me that you aren't a crazy, self-willed, time-wasting, donkey-headed fool after all?"

"No guarantees," he said. "That may end up being the list that everybody agrees to."

"No doubt," she said. "But you've got your leave, and you can stay with us until it's over."

"I hope it turns out to be worth the cost," he said.

"It will," she said. "Your salary during this leave is coming out of their budget." She grinned at him. "I actually do like you, you know," she pointed out. "I just don't think you've caught the vision of what Past.w.a.tch is all about."

"I haven't," said Hanahpu. "I want to change the vision."

"Good luck. If you turn out to be a genius after all, remember that I never once for a moment believed in you."

"Don't worry," he said, smiling. "I'll never forget that."

Chapter 7 - What Would Have Been.

Diko met Hunahpu at the station in Juba. He was easy to recognize, since he was small with light brown skin and Mayan features. He seemed placid, standing calmly on the platform, looking slowly across the crowd from side to side. Diko was surprised at how young he looked, though she was aware that the smooth-skinned Indies often seemed young to eyes accustomed to the look of other races. And, especially for one so young-looking, it was also surprising that there was no hint of tension in the man. He might have come here a thousand times before. He might be surveying an old familiar sight, to see how it had changed, or not changed, in the years since he had been away. Who could guess, looking at him, that his career was on the line, that he had never traveled farther than Mexico City in his life, that he was about to make a presentation that might change the course of history? Diko envied him the inner peace that allowed him to deal with life so ... so steadily.

She went to him. He looked at her, his face betraying not even a flicker of expectation or relief, though he must have recognized her, must have looked up her picture in the Past.w.a.tch roster before he came.

"I'm Diko," she said, extending both hands. He clasped them briefly.

"I'm Hunahpu," he said. "It was kind of you to greet me."

"We have no street signs," she said, "and I'm a better driver than the taxis. Well, maybe not, but I charge less."

He didn't smile. A cold fish, she thought. "Have you any bags?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Just this." He shrugged to indicate the small shoulder bag. Could it possibly carry so much as a change of clothes? But then, he was traveling from one tropical climate to another, and he wouldn't need a shaving kit - beardlessness was part of what made Indie men seem younger than their years - and as for papers, those would all have been transmitted electronically. Most people, though, brought much more than this when they traveled. Perhaps because they were insecure, and needed to surround themselves with familiar things, or to feel that they had many choices to make each day when they dressed, so they didn't have to be so frightened or feel so powerless. Obviously that was not Hunahpu's problem. He apparently never felt fear at all, or perhaps never regarded himself as a stranger. How remarkable it would be, thought Diko, to feel at home in any place. I wish I had that gift. Quite to her surprise, she found herself admiring him even as she felt put off by his coldness.

The ride to the hotel was wordless. He offered no comment on the accommodation. "Well," she said, "I a.s.sume you'll want to rest in order to overcome jet lag. The best advice is to sleep for three hours or so, and then get up and eat immediately."

"I won't have jet lag, " he said. "I slept on the plane. And on the train."

He slept? On the way to the most important interview of his life?

"Well, then, you'll want to eat."

"I ate on the train," he said.

"Well, then," she said. "How long will you need before we start?"

"I can start now," he said. He took off his shoulder bag and laid it on the bed. There was an economy of movement in the way he did it. He neither tossed it carelessly nor placed it carefully.

Instead he moved so naturally that the shoulder bag seemed to have gone to the bed of its own free will.

Diko shuddered. She couldn't think why. Then she realized that it was because of Hunahpu, the way he was standing there with nothing in his hands, nothing on his shoulder, no thing that he could hold or fiddle with or clutch to himself. He had set aside the one accessory he carried, and yet seemed as calm and relaxed as ever. It made her feel the way she felt when someone else stood too close to the edge of a precipice, a sort of empathetic horror. She could never have done that. In a strange place, alone, she would have had to cling to something familiar. A notebook. A bag. Even a bracelet or ring or watch that she could fiddle with. But this man - he seemed perfectly at ease without anything. No doubt he could fling away his clothes and walk naked through life and never show a sign of feeling vulnerable. It was unnerving, his perfect self-possession.

"How do you do it?" she asked, unable to stop herself.

"Do what?" he asked.

"Stay so ... so calm."

He thought about that for a moment. "Because I don't know what else to do."

"I'd be terrified," she said. "Coming to a strange place like this. Putting my life's work into the hands of strangers."

"Yes," he said. "Me too."

She looked at him, unsure what he meant. "You're terrified?"

He nodded. But his face seemed just as placid as before, his body just as relaxed. In fact, even as he agreed that he was terrified, his manner, his expression radiated the opposite message - that he was at ease, perhaps a little bored, but not yet impatient. As if he were a disinterested spectator at the events that were about to take place.

And suddenly the comments of Hunahpu's supervisor began to make sense. She had said something about how he never seemed to care about anything, not even the things he cared most about. Impossible to work with, but good luck, the supervisor had said. Yet it was not as if Hunahpu were autistic, unable to respond. He looked at what was around him and clearly registered what he saw. He was polite and attentive when she spoke.

Well, no matter. He was strange, that was obvious. But he had come to make a presentation, and now was as good a time as any. "What do you need?" she asked. "To make your case? A TruSite?"

"And a network terminal," he answered.

"Then let's go to my station," she said.

"I was able to convince Don Enrique de Guzman," said Columbus. "Why is it that only kings are immune to my arguments?"

Father Antonio only smiled and shook his head. "Cristobal," he said, "all educated men are immune to your arguments. They are flimsy, they are meaningless. You are opposed by mathematics and by all the ancients who matter. Kings are immune to your arguments because kings have access to learned men who rip your arguments to shreds."

Columbus was shocked. "If you believe this, Father Antonio, then why do you support me? Why am I welcome here? Why did you help me persuade Don Enrique?"

"I was not convinced by your arguments," said Father Antonio. "I was convinced by the light of G.o.d within you. You are on fire inside. I believe only G.o.d can put such a fire in a man, and so even though I believe that your arguments are nonsense, I also believe that G.o.d wants you to sail west, and so I will help you all I can because I also love G.o.d and I also have a tiny spark of that fire in me."

At these words tears sprang into Columbus's eyes. In all the years of study, all the arguments in Portugal, and more recently in Don Enrique's house, no one had shown a sign of having been touched by G.o.d in support of his cause. He had begun to think that G.o.d had given up on him and was no longer helping him in any way. But now he heard words from Father Antonio - who was, after all, a greatly learned man with much respect among scholars throughout Europe - that confirmed that G.o.d was, in fact, touching the hearts of good men to make them believe in Columbus's mission.

"Father Antonio, if I did not know what I know, I would not have believed my arguments either," said Columbus.

"Enough of that," said Father Perez. "Never say that again."

Columbus looked at him, startled. "What do you mean?"

"Here at La Rabida, behind closed doors, you can say such a thing, and we will understand. But from now on you must never give anyone even the slightest hint that it is possible to doubt your arguments."

"It is possible to doubt them," said Father Antonio.

"But Columbus must never give a sign that he knows it is possible to doubt them. Don't you understand? If it is G.o.d's will that this voyage occur, then you must inspire others with confidence in it. That is what will bring you victory, Columbus. Not reason, not arguments, but faith, courage, persistence, certainty. Those who are touched by the Spirit of G.o.d will believe in you no matter what. But how many of those will there be? How many of those have there been?"

"Counting you and Father Antonio," said Columbus, "two."

"So - you will not win your victory by the force of your arguments, because they are feeble indeed. And the Spirit of G.o.d will not overwhelm everyone in your path, because G.o.d does not work that way. What do you have in your favor, Cristobal?"

"Your friends.h.i.+p," he said at once.

"And your utter, absolute faith," said Father Perez. "Am I right, Father Antonio?"

Father Antonio nodded. "I see his point. Those who are weak in faith will adopt the faith of those who are strong. Your confidence must be absolute, and then others will be able to hold on to your faith and let it carry them."

"So," said Father Perez. "You never show doubt. You never show even the possibility of doubt."

"All right," said Columbus. "I can do that."

"And you always leave the impression that you know much more than you're telling," said Father Perez.

Columbus said nothing, for he could not tell Father Perez that his statement was the truth.

"This means that you never, never say to anyone, 'These are all my arguments, I've now told you everything I know.' If they ask you direct questions, you answer as if you were only letting a little bit of your knowledge escape. You act as if they should already know as much as you do, and you're disappointed that they do not. You act as if everyone should know the things you know, and you despair of teaching the uninitiated."

"What you're describing sounds like arrogance," said Columbus.

"It's more than arrogance," said Father Antonio, laughing. "It's scholarly arrogance. Believe me, Cristobal, that's exactly how they'll be treating you."

"True enough," said Columbus, remembering the att.i.tude of King Joao's advisers back in Lisbon.

"And one more thing, Cristobal," said Father Perez. "You are good with women."

Columbus raised an eyebrow. This was not the sort of thing he expected to hear from a Franciscan prior.

"I speak not of seduction, though I'm sure you could master those arts if you haven't already. I speak of the way they look at you. The way they pay attention to you. This is also a tool, for it happens that we live in a time when Castile is governed by a woman. A queen regnant, not just a queen consort. Do you think G.o.d leaves such things to chance? She will look at you as women look at men, and she will judge you as women judge men - not on the strength of their arguments, and not on their cleverness or prowess in battle, but rather on the force of their character, the intensity of their pa.s.sion, their strength of soul, their compa.s.sion, and - ah, this above all - their conversation."

"I don't understand how I'll use this supposed gift," said Columbus. He was thinking of his wife, and how badly he had treated her - and yet how much she had obviously loved him in spite of it all. "You can't be suggesting that I seek some sort of private audience with Queen Isabella."

"Not at all!" cried Father Perez, horrified. "Do you think I would suggest treason? No, you will meet with her publicly - that is why she has sent for you. My position as the queen's confessor has allowed me to send letters telling about you, and perhaps that helped pique her interest. Don Louis wrote to her, offering to contribute 4,000 ducats to your enterprise. Don Enrique wanted to mount the whole enterprise himself. All of these together have made you an intriguing figure in her eyes."

"But what you'll receive," said Father Antonio, "is a royal audience. In the presence of the Queen of Castile and her husband the King of Aragon."

"Yet still I tell you that you must think of it as an audience with the Queen alone," said Father Perez, "and you must speak to her as a woman, after the way of women, and not after the way of men. It will be tempting for you to do as most courtiers and amba.s.sadors do, and address yourself to the King. She hates that, Cristobal. I betray no confidence of the confessional when I tell you that. They treat her as if she weren't there, and yet her kingdom is more than twice as large as the King's. Furthermore it is her kingdom that is a seafaring nation, looking westward into the Atlantic. So when you speak, you address them both, of course, for you dare not offend the King. But in all you say, you look first to the Queen. You speak to her. You explain to her. You persuade her. Remember that the amount you are asking for is not large. A few s.h.i.+ps? This will not break the treasury. It is within her power to give you those s.h.i.+ps even if her husband disdains you. And because she is a woman, it is within her power to believe in you and trust you and grant you your prayer even though all the wise men of Spain are arrayed against you. Do you understand me?"

"I have only one person to persuade," said Columbus, "and that is the Queen."

"All you have to do with the scholars is outlast them. All you have to do is never, never say to them, 'This is all I have, this is all my evidence.' If you ever admit that, they will rip those arguments to shreds and even Queen Isabella cannot stand against their certainty. But if you never do this, their report will sound much more tentative. It will leave room for interpretation. They will be furious at you, of course, and they will try to destroy you, but these are honest men, and they will have to leave open a few tiny doors of doubt, a few nuances of phrase that admit the possibility that while they believe you are wrong, they can't be absolutely, finally certain."

"And that will be enough?"

"Who knows?" said Father Perez. "It may have to be."

When G.o.d gave me this task, thought Columbus, I thought he would open the way for me. Instead I find that such a slender chance as this is all that I can hope for.

"Persuade the Queen," said Father Perez.

"If I can," said Columbus.

"It's a good thing you're a widower," said Father Perez. "That's cruel to say, I know, but if the Queen knew you were married, it would dim her interest in you."

"She is married," said Columbus. "What can you possibly mean?"

"I mean that when a man is married, he is no longer half so fascinating to a woman. Even a married woman. Especially a married woman, since she thinks she knows what husbands are like!"

Father Antonio added, "Men, on the other hand, are not troubled by this aberration. Judging from my confessional, at least, I would say that men are more fascinated by married women than by single ones."

"Then the Queen and I are bound to fascinate each other," said Columbus dryly.

"I think so," said Father Perez, smiling. "But your friends.h.i.+p will be a pure one, and the children of your union will be caravels with the east wind behind them."

"Faith for women, evidence for men," said Father Antonio. "Does that mean that Christianity is for women?"

"Let us say rather that Christianity is for the faithful, and so there are more true Christians among women than among men," said Father Perez.

"But without understanding," said Father Antonio, "there can be no faith, and so it remains the province of men."

"There is the understanding of reason, at which men excel," said Father Perez, "and there is the understanding of compa.s.sion, at which women are far superior. Which do you think gives rise to faith?"

Columbus left them still disputing the point and finished his preparations for the journey to Cordoba, where the King and Queen were holding court as they prosecuted their more-or-less permanent war against the Moors. All the talk of what women want and need and admire and believe was ridiculous, he knew - what could celibate priests know of women? But then, Columbus had been married and certainly knew nothing about women all the same, and Father Perez and Father Antonio had both heard the confessions of many women. So perhaps they did know.

Felipa did believe in me, thought Columbus. I took that for granted, but now I realize that I needed her, I depended on her for that. She believed in me even when she did not understand my arguments. Perhaps Father Perez is right, and women can see past the superficial and comprehend the deepest heart of the truth. Perhaps Felipa saw the mission that the Holy Trinity put in my heart, and it led her to support me despite all. Perhaps Queen Isabella will also see this, and because she is a woman in a place normally reserved for men, she can turn the course of fate to allow me to fulftll the mission of G.o.d.

As it grew dark, Columbus grew lonely, and for the first time that he could remember, he missed Felipa and wanted her with him in the night. I never understood what you gave to me, he said to her, though he doubted she could hear him. But why couldn't she? If saints can hear prayers, why can't wives? And if she doesn't listen to me anymore - why should she? - I know she will be listening for the prayers of Diego.

With this thought he wandered through the torchlit monastery until he came to the small cell where Diego slept. His son was asleep. Columbus lifted him out of his bed and carried him through the gathering darkness to his own room, to his larger bed, and there he lay with his son curled into his arm. I'm here with Diego, he said silently. Do you see me, Felipa? Do you hear me? Now I understand you a little, he said to his dead wife. Now I know the greatness of the gift you gave me. Thank you. And if you have any influence in heaven, touch the heart of Queen Isabella. Let her see in me what you saw in me. Let her love me one-tenth as much as you did, and I will have my s.h.i.+ps, and G.o.d will bring the cross to the kingdoms of the east.

Diego stirred, and Columbus whispered to him. "Go back to sleep, my son. Go back to sleep." Diego nestled tighter against him, and did not wake.

Hunahpu walked with Diko through the streets of Juba as if he thought the naked children and the gra.s.s huts were the most natural way to live; she had never had a visitor from out of town who didn't comment on it, who didn't ask questions. Some pretended to be quite blas, asking questions about whether the gra.s.s used to make the huts was local or imported, or other nonsense that was really a circuitous way of saying, Do you people actually live like this? But Hunahpu seemed to think nothing of it, though she could sense that his eyes took in everything.

Inside Past.w.a.tch, of course, everything would be familiar, and when they reached her station he immediately sat down at her terminal and began calling up files. He had not asked permission, but then, why should he? If he was to show her anything, he would have to be in charge; this was where she had led him, so why should he ask to use what she obviously intended him to use? He wasn't being discourteous. Indeed, he had said that he was terrifted. Could this very calmness, this stillness, be the way he dealt with fear? Perhaps if he ever became truly relaxed, he would seem more tense! Laughing, joking, showing emotion, engaged. Perhaps it was only when he was fearful that he seemed utterly at peace.

"How much do you already know?" he asked. "I don't want to waste your time covering material you're familiar with."