Pedro Álvares Cabral — alt story (Part Two)
Senhor Fernão did not seem to be as cheerful as Pedro, maybe due to their byes to be said at the stairs or as the young man read through his eyes, it was maybe a mix of both absence of his loved son and a bitter disappointment due to this course of choice was on Arts instead of Architecture. ‘If he is lucky enough he will join some Italian atelier, although he better not learn with the French’. At this moment a tearful Sr. Fernão stopped walking amidst those long stairs at the entrance of the University of Coimbra, then gazed ahead while waiting his son to stop ~so he could stand taller than the young boy.
~ I once said you should always follow your heart, my son. Are you definitely sure this is it?
~ I wouldn’t be this far if it wasn’t, father.
~ You said exactly the same a couple years ago, Pedro. ~ Sr. Fernão enjoyed looking at his son downwards. Pedro felt odd, although he was used to oddness. It was as if along with his words a frozen breath was sent straight to his spine.
~ Father, I thought we had been through this already.
~ I just wish you luck, son. I love you ~said the father with a glance of confusion.
The fall sunset was just shading Pedro’s face down the stairs, while the young man was staring at his father’s brown eyes that looked goldenish from under. He caught a teardrop running down his eyes and thought foolishly it was about the money he was handing out of his coat to him. So Fernão said, in a strangely calm manner:
~ You are a navigator, Pedro. I just wish you become able to discover what you are searching out from within.
He was struck by what his father had just said, and tried to speak a word. But at this moment his lips was just shut, and finally when he did mumble something he woke up bursting out in tears.
He reached his latest techy pocket watch in the top drawer to see it was just past 4 a.m.. He felt a bit uneasy even sailing on a tranquil sea. It was March, 31st. So he wore his clothing to go for a walk on the deck.
Miguel was sitting at the quarterdeck table having a cup of tea struggling to understand the book that was on his hands. When noticing the Captain had noticed him, he goofed, nearly spilling the hot drink on his lap. Then apologized for that, trying to hide the book.
“Good morning, senhor”.
“Good morning, Miguel. No need to panic, mister. It is a quiet sea night. What book are you reading, if you don’t mind my disturbance.”
“It’s one of Geoffrey Chaucer’s. The Complaint of Mars.”
Pedro nodded, seeming to know what the book was about. So he uncrossed his hands, pocketing them and saying afterwards:
~ I will give you something to clear your mind for this read. Heat some water for us, would you? I’m gonna be right back.
The sailor felt embraced by the Captain.
“…so it’s all about astrology? that wind me up.” At this moment Pedro threw the towel off his shoulder and decided to agree with that question so he could move out of the subject. So he said with a face of despair: “yeah it’s exactly it”. He excused himself to light a cigar in solitude. Miguel seemed thrilled he’d just made a great discovery just that moment.
While opening the box, labeled “Tabaco do Novo Mundo” Pedro felt lucky to be living in such a moment. “Dark Ages have gone behind”, thought to himself. He barely knew the Portuguese Inquisition was setting itself up in Lisbon as slowly as the cigar he was smoking. Pedro was looking nowhere behind the ship where he could spot one or two other ships in distance. He was so distracted by his thoughts that he didn’t realize Miguel had walked out of the quarterdeck. So when he heard a cracking sound behind him on the table, he turned around saying:
~ Miguel…
He couldn’t believe his very own eyes and nearly fell off the boat. The Portuguese cigar did not have the same fortune, falling into the sea.
~JESUS CRISTO DO CÉU!!!!
It was a man on a white tunic, with a long beard and an odd-shaped hat. He seemed to hold a gem on each hand.
~ Pedro. I once said you should always follow your heart. Are you definitely sure this is it?
The Captain felt a storm raging inside of him, shutting his mouth, freaking him out and panicking his soul out of himself. This time it seemed realer then the dream, so real he couldn’t even move a feet nor shout out for help; he didn’t feel to need to do so, though. He was a frozen man. The old man looked wise enough to comfort him somehow.
~ I know you cannot say a word. I will tell you something, my dear. You will find out what you are looking for, even though you don’t have a clue of what that is.
Pedro couldn’t resist and began to cry due to the purest thrill of knowing he was on the right way to something he did not have a clue of what that was. The old man went on:
~ The only thing I ask you is to, well… Pick yourself just one person to bring with you to the New World. Choose carefully and don’t make hasty decisions, since this person is going to be along yourself in your destiny.
He was only able to agree with his head, crying as a newborn baby at this stage.
~You will have a few more days before reaching the Land. Make a good use of your mind and body, and have good luck on your quest.
The Captain finally mumbled a “yeaaaaa…” before passing out.
On the next morning his crew faced a riot started by a couple ships that were starving and sickening.
(to be continued…)
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