Shanghaied

“Pietro!”

Everyone heard my mother calling, but if I moved I'd give away my hiding place and lose the game.

“Pietro! I'm telling you! Come here, or else ...”

“But Mamma!”

“Mamma’s calling, mamma’s calling.” The other boys chanted. The game was lost and frustrated I kicked at pebbles as I walked home.

“Yes, mamma?”

“Go find your father. I bet he’s on the wharf. Bring him home while he still has money.”

“But mamma! He never listens to me, no matter what I say. And then he says I’m a pest and he beats me. He says I shame him in front of his amigos.”

“Bah! They’re not amigos, freeloaders, the lot of them. Then beg him for a peso. Go, go. And don’t come back with less than half a peso!”

In the valley near the sea, the air was still and hot. The stink from the chicken runs, garbage, and sewage mixed with smoke from charcoal fires, roast meat, and spices. It would soon be dark. Everybody knows to stay away from the harbor at night. In the dusk I could see the fires on the pier of Palos harbor and knew the warehouses and taverns were nearby. The danger could not be seen, but I knew it was there.

I ran down the narrow streets, but slowed when I reached the quay. Staying in the shadows, trying not to be seen, I peered through the small, wavy glass windows, but I didn't see pappa. Not in the first tavern, or in the second or the next. He must be here somewhere, telling his tales and jokes, buying rounds, till the money is gone.

“Hola!” A strong hand grabbed the back of my shirt.

“No!” I screamed but the man lifted me easily and hoisted me over a shoulder. “Stop!” I shouted, kicked, and pounded my fists on the man’s back. “Pappa! Pappa!”

But it was no use. Whoever had grabbed me was strong and had no problem walking up the gangway while carrying me. “No, please, no! I have to go home and help my mother. Let me go!”

The man chuckled and climbed down a steep ladder into the dark hold of the ship. He dropped me to the deck then he kicked till my back touched a wall. A door slammed shut. Wood scraped over wood. He locked me inside a small dark space, a closet. The floor swayed under me.

“Let me go. Please, someone. I need to go home to my mother.”

“Shut up, runt. Forget about your mother.”

I pounded on the door and shouted for help till I was panting, sweating, shivering, and crying. Till my hands were raw and my throat sore. After a while there was commotion on the deck above, feet running, much banging, scraping, pounding, clanging. The ship rocked, creaked and tipped, rolled, and pitched. My stomach turned upside down. The stench in the little closet was sharp.

It was daylight before someone opened the door and let me out. The man cursed, pointed to a bucket and mop and ordered me to clean up my mess. When he offered me food, I rushed up the ladder and threw up again. Two men laughed when they saw me retch over the side of the ship.

When I looked up, my heart stopped. There was only water.

“Where did the land go?” I cried. “Where are we? Where are we going? I need to go home. My mother will be worried. And my sisters. I need …” Before I finished, I turned back to the railing and let my stomach turn itself inside out again. Both men had walked off without answering any questions.

My days were spent swabbing the deck and cleaning up my own mess. At night I slept in a hammock. It wasn't until the third day that my stomach learned to keep food inside.

“There now. You might make a sailor yet.” The large man was called Pancho, the cook. If he liked you, he’d give you a little extra but if he didn’t ... It was better to be polite to him if you wanted to eat. But more than food, I wanted to go home.

No one told me where the ship was going or when they would be home again. The men grunted or shrugged whenever I asked. And there was always water, so much water around us. Days and days of only water. I wondered if the ship would ever find its way home again. Were we lost? Did anyone know where we're going?

“How old are you, son?” Pancho asked when I held my first meal down.

“I’m thirteen, signor.”

“Good, good. Go on up and find Master Juan. He’ll give you your duty.”

Up on deck, Master Juan, the first mate, pointed to the top of the tallest mast. “See that perch?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You go sit there and let us know if and when you see anything. But most of all when you see land.”

“Me? Up there?”

“Yes, go now and don’t fall in the drink. We’re not turning around for you.”

“What’s the name of the ship, sir?” I asked before trying to climb up the rigging. “And where are we going? How long will be gone, sir?”

“This is the Santa Maria. That one." He pointed to the ship to our left. "Is the Pinta and the other one." He waved toward the one trailing. "Is the Nina. We are going to China, with God’s hand and a lot of luck.”

“Yes, signor.” Not really understanding what Master Juan meant, I climbed hand over hand to the top, wondering why luck was needed to find China. Shaking with fear and fatigue, I settled on the small shelf. The perch had a few handholds and a rope to lash myself to the mast, but mostly I'm at the mercy of the sun, the wind, and the motion of the sea.

Days became weeks. I grew more confident climbing up and down and sitting on the perch. But sitting up there all day was boring. There was nothing but water, not even a bird in the sky. Three, four weeks of nothing but water. each day the sun came up behind us and at the end of the day it sank into the water ahead of us. That meant the ships were sailing west. I had many hours to remember that pappa told me that China was in the east. But maybe he heard it wrong. Or maybe Master Columbus didn’t know how to get there.

Then one morning, even before I got halfway up the mast, I could feel the wind tug harder than normal, I could barely hold onto the rigging. Black sky, white caps the size of our small church back home, dark grey sheets of rain were coming from behind.

“Hola! Storm coming, sir.” I shouted and pointed while I hurried down.

“Stay up there, lookout.” Master Juan scolded me.

“No, signor. Too big. It’s a big storm, sir.”

At the same time that I dropped to the deck, Master Columbus shouted the order to strike the sails and batten down. All hands scrambled to secure water and food barrels before we went below. For three days the ships and men were tossed about like the dice in Julio’s cup. I huddled in my hammock, praying, trying not to cry.

Elio, Matheo, and Sergio were lost during the storm. More men washed overboard from the Pinta and Nina. When we finally went topside, we see that several water barrels and a pickle barrel were gone. The Pinta was barely visible on the starboard horizon and the Nina had been blown even further off course.

Alva spent the day flagging to the Pinta. By the end of the fifth week, the two ships joined up again and we were back on course. At least Captain Columbus said that he was on course. But the men grumbled below deck.

At night, after their ration of beer or wine, while playing dominos and dice, they complained. They were convinced we'd never get to China. Some claimed that the world had an end, and we would fall off. Others said that we'd be eaten by dragons before we would get to the end. They wanted to turn around, go back. “We need to stop this nonsense,” they said, “and go home.” I can’t sleep at night wondering were they right? Would we fall off, or be eaten by dragons, or …?

The next afternoon when the sun was close to sinking into the water Alfonse, Pancho, and Eduardo marched to the quarter deck. Others stopped their work and watched. As soon as I could, I hurried down the rigging.

“What are they doing?” he asked Carlos.

“Demanding that we turn around, give up this pipe dream.”

“Go home?” My heart swelled with hope. To see my home, my mother’s face. Feel her hug and taste her cooking.

Then Pancho rushed by. “The fool asked for an egg.” He grumbled.

I sneaked up behind the cook and peeked between arms and around bellies to see what is going on.

Signore Columbus challenged the men. “If any of you can make the egg stand by itself on my desk, then we will turn around. If I can do it, then we will go forward. Agreed?”

“It can’t be done.” One predicted. “Let me try.” Another said. “No, you gotta do it this way.” “Try it like this.”

One after another tried, thinking they knew the answer. “It can’t be done.” Alfonse declared.

Signore Columbus held out his hand. “Remember, if it stands, we go on.”

Alphonse placed the egg in the captain’s hand who smashed one end of the egg on his desk, cracking the shell just enough to flatten it and make it stand up, though it did leak some of its goodness. “We sail on, men.” He sayed and shooed everyone out of his cabin. “You, there.” He pointed at me. “Clean this up.”

“Yes. Captain.”

Five days later, more than six weeks after I last saw my mother, I shouted and pointed ahead: “Hola, China!”

Master Juan patted me on the shoulder. “Well done, sailor, well done.” I beamed. I had found China.

It took another five months before I saw my mamma again and was smother in a hug.