Waiting For Columbus (51 page)

Not your fault
, Rashmi says. She looks across the table of the bar in Pamplona with her crooked smile and he inhales sharply. She looks across time at him with her sad blue eyes and her kind face.
It’s not your fault
, she says.

I could have done something …

There is nothing you could have done. It’s not your fault
.

I left you alone
.

You couldn’t have known what was going to happen. It’s not your fault
.

I know
, he whispers.
I know, but I carry this weight—this guilt
.

The sound of the ocean rises up—moves through him with surprising strength.

I miss you
, he thinks.
I miss you so much. I don’t know how to live without you and the girls. There is only this hole
.

Of course you know how to live, Jules. Don’t be foolish
. She reaches out her hand as if to smooth his face, but stops. Her eyes brim but she does not cry. She sits up straight, lifts her chin and breathes deeply.
It’s like this
, she says.
Life always goes away. Love doesn’t. It’s your job to carry on, to love
.

Julian sits for a long time, adrift in memory. It’s begun to drizzle a bit—on and off. He pulls down the brim of his cap to shield his eyes. He has no more tears. His sorrow can go no deeper. It has no more words. He takes a big breath. There is only right now, and what’s next. There is the deep, green-gray smell of ocean. The light is fading quickly and the approaching blackness is not some city darkness—there’s a thickness to it. Julian does not mind the darkness. This is a nice tuft of grass. He hugs himself against the chill. He knows the ocean will soon be only the sound of the ocean. Very soon, the Cape Race lighthouse will burst to
life and push a hole far out over the Atlantic. It will push through the darkness, clouds, and rain. Julian will not be able to look at this light as a warning. He will see it only as a beckoning. If Columbus is out there in the Atlantic and he needs a way in, this light will be a beacon. Somehow he’ll make it through the killer reefs and jagged rocks along this shoreline. He’ll avoid the icebergs. He’ll find a beach and put in to shore. We all need Columbus, he thinks. Columbus does not turn away from adventure. He dreams big and then chases those dreams. He sails, fearless or fearfully, into the unknown. He looks toward the horizon with curiosity and wonder. And Columbus loves ferociously. Julian feels an illogical obligation to see what comes ashore. If it’s Columbus at 4 A.M., well, he wants to welcome him with open arms and an open heart. Surely he can wait until then without freezing to death. And instead of driving the ugly Portugal Cove South road in darkness, he can sleep in the car tonight—use his raincoat as a blanket. He needs Columbus to come ashore, to walk up the beach, boots full of water, smiling with the innocence of a little kid. Together they can drive back to St. John’s in the morning. Then the next day, he and Columbus can go the other way on board the
Dolly Varden
—they can start again on the Atlantic.

But first, this lighthouse has to do what it’s been doing for more than a hundred years. A few steady drops pelt down with a promise of more to follow, but Julian ignores the rain. He waits. He sits at the edge of the ocean and waits.

Thanks to Hilary McMahon at Westwood Creative Artists, who was my first reader, and who responded to my semi-neurotic, exuberant e-mails with such kindness and compassion. Thanks also to Natasha Daneman and Chris Casuccio at Westwood, and to my editors, Lara Hinchberger at McClelland & Stewart, Alison Callahan at Doubleday, and Charlotte Greig at Picador, for understanding the book, loving the book, and helping to make it better.

Thank you to Dr. Anthony S. Joyce, director of the psychotherapy research and evaluation unit, Department of Psychiatry, University of Alberta, who with a couple of preliminary e-mails helped identify and solidify some of the psychiatric pathologies presented in this book.

Thanks to Dr. Leah Fowler (CF), who read an early draft of this book and whose comments reshaped its tone and texture; Elena Ray for her words on wounds; Cara Winsor Hehir for her consultation on Newfoundland; Wayne Silver for his advice and consultations, over much wine, on Arabic; Roberta for her help with the sweetness of Sevilla; Gail Sidonie Sobat and Geoff McMaster for their warm hospitality, sustaining laughter, and constant support; Dean Baltesson, my friend in life; Terence Harding for his steady encouragement; Laurie Greenwood, who
has been such a lovely, warm wind of support; and Mark Kozub, Randall Edwards, Michael Gravel, Gordon McRae, and all my Raving Poets comrades in verse.

Thanks to Donya Peroff, whom I have never met, but whose edits on a previous manuscript taught me so much about writing, and to Marc Côté, who made that happen.

Thanks also to John and Anna, at Miette Hot Springs Resort (Anna, for your exquisite Greek coffee). For me, there is no better place on this planet to write.

To Cindy-Lou, who holds the kite string while I flitter about the sky. In your most frail gestures are things which enclose me, still.

And to Marie Mackenzie for making me pinkie swear, a lot.

While this is not a historical novel, much of what goes on in this book is based on what we know, or what we think we know, about Christopher Columbus.

Books and academic papers on Christopher Columbus, or with references to Columbus, that I read over the past five years and that may have influenced this novel include
The Mysterious History of Columbus: An Exploration of the Man, the Myth, the Legacy
, by John Noble Wilford;
A World Lit Only by Fire: The Medieval Mind and the Renaissance: Portrait of an Age
, by William Manchester; and “The Hospital of Innocents: Humane Treatment of the Mentally Ill in Spain, 1409–1512,” by Emilio J. Dominguez, in the
Bulletin of the Menninger Clinic
. I also was probably influenced, to a small extent, by watching Ridley Scott’s movie
1492: Conquest of Paradise
. References to saints all came from
www.holyspiritinteractive.net
.

I owe a debt of gratitude to
The Tao of Steve
for Father Paulo’s rant on women.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2009 by Thomas Trofimuk

All Rights Reserved. Published in the United States by Doubleday, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

www.doubleday.com

DOUBLEDAY
and the DD colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

“Pacing the Cage,” written by Bruce Cockburn, © 1997 Golden Mountain Music Corp. (SOCAN). Used by permission.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Trofimuk, Thomas.
Waiting for Columbus / Thomas Trofimuk. — 1st ed.
  p. cm.
1. Psychological fiction. I. Title.
PR9199.4.T76C65 2009
813′.6—dc22    2008050051

eISBN: 978-0-385-53206-8

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