Waiting For Columbus by Thomas Trofimuk Read Free Book Online

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 theman’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