The Padre

[Iron Oars]

Monday, 3rd "Oars! Iron Oars!"

The blustering voice of the English privateer captain on deck jolted me out of my reveries. I had heard shooting a short time earlier; no doubt they had taken a prisoner who spoke Spanish. I blew gently on the wet ink in my journal and softly closed it.

A young privateers burst in and said, "Hey, you better get topside. The Captain is looking for you!"

"Iron Oars!" thundered the captain's voice again from above.

I followed the young man to the main deck. Standing at the rail was a man in the rough brown cloth of a padre or monk. He stood quite erect, with each hand folded into the opposite sleeve of his robe. At his sandled feet lay a wounded Indian. His glance fell upon me and I thought I saw his face temporarily shift to one of intense interest.

"There you are!" said the captain. "Ask this man where the rest of his money is."

I did so. He looked calmly at me and said that the Captain had all that he had on him. I reported this to the captain.

"Then ask him where his dwelling with the rest of his money is at!"

"Where is your domain?" I inquired.

"Everywhere," he replied.

"Everywhere?"

"Everywhere that is nowhere."

I looked quizzically at him. "I can't answer him that. He'll flay you."

"Then tell him he has everything I own."

I did so, explaining that he had no domain.

"Well where in blazes does he sleep? Ask him that, Oars!"

I did.

"I sleep where ever I find place to sleep. I am a wandering healer. Everything I own is in the bags that were in my canoe."

I looked the rail of the ship into the water. His canoe, completely submerged, bobbled gently back and forth as small waves passed over it and lapped against our ship. A hole was visible through the crystal water in the bottom his boat. The privateers must have staved it in. On deck, the some of the privateers busily searched the rough cloth bags.

"He says he is a wandering healer and has no home."

"A healer?" The captain stroked his bristly beard. "Maybe our surgeon could use a hand. Tell the padre that he will be our guest."

"As I am your guest?" I inquired.

"Precisely!"

I explained to the man that he was being kept aboard. He looked at me and smiled for an instant and then his countenance became placid again.

"May I have my herbs and medicaments so that I may attend to my companion?" he asked me, gesturing toward the Indian.

I put the question to the captain.

"Of course! That's the way we treat guests, now! Isn't it?!"

The captain roared at his joke. He then turned to the men rooting through the bags on deck "Belay searching those bags!" he barked at the men. "You'll not find anything of value to you lot in them."

The captain shot me a glance. "When he's done fooling with the Indian, introduce him to the surgeon. Our guests work for their passage." Then turned on his heel and walked toward the quarter deck.

I looked at the new prisoner as he sorted through his bags of herbs. "You've been captured by these English pirates."

The padre glanced up at me. "I can be here as well as I can be anywhere," he commented with a half smile. He set about selecting various herbs, placing them in a wooden dish and then mashing them with a small, scarred wooden post. He spoke soothing voice to his wounded Indian friend in a language I didn't understand as he smashed the herbs.

Edited January 3, 2009 by Iron Oars

[Iron Oars]

We carried the Indian below deck in a hammock once the padre had packed his wounds with the remedies and neatly bandaged with strips of lint. The excitement of his capture had dissipated and the privateers were going about their business. The captain announced that a crew was to go ashore this day to search out water and food for the coming voyage. The shore looked accommodating, so we would stay here until sufficient stores were gathered.

We passed by the tailors, busily working on a new set of main sails and the carpenters who were repairing our salt water casks. They had been damaged during a particularly harsh storm a few days previously and had splashed the water all across the orlop deck. I could hear brushes being scrubbed somewhere inside the ship as well.

The surgeon was in a small area with half a dozen hammocks that was hemmed in by canvas walls hung from the beams. He was a short, chubby, florid man with a large mustache. He had a somewhat high pitched voice, made quick, jerky actions and possessed a most cheerful manner. I had always thought him rather like a curious sort of puffy bird. Like most of the privateers, he had been signed on to the voyage at Bristol with the promise of the potential for great wealth from the ship’s planned voyage to New Spain.

“Now who’s this then?” he asked, jabbing a stubby finger in the direction of the padre.

I looked at the Padre and realized that I didn’t know his name. I asked him.

“You can call me Francesco,” he answered.

I told the surgeon his name. I explained that he was a sort of local healer that the pirates had picked up.

The surgeon looked delighted.

“Oho! A man of the healing arts! We must trade recipes. What little I know of plasters, salves and medicaments I have to get from the book” he explained, jabbing a pudgy thumb in the direction of a sparsely loaded shelf.

“They generally don’t teach us surgeons a lot of apothecary. Figure we don’t need it, you know. If only the College had to ply the trade on the seas, they’d see!” He chuckled to himself.

The Indian groaned. We had set the hammock down outside the little canvas ship-board hospital so that I could introduce the padre to the surgeon.

The surgeon peered outside the room at the man lying atop the pile of canvas. “Very neat job on those bandages,” he noted softly to himself.

We brought the Indian into the little room and put him in a hammock already hanging there.

“The surgeon will do a good job looking after him.” I explained to Francesco.

“Yes, I know he will. Please tell him that I will prepare the balms and change the dressings as needed.”

I did so.

“Yes, yes. I expect so. This is his man, I take it?” the surgeon quizzed.

I asked Francesco.

“No man belongs to me - or to anyone else, for that matter. This is my companion. We teach each other.”

I told the surgeon that the Indian was his man. I thought that Francesco’s mouth slid up at the corners slightly.

The surgeon then began to quiz Francesco about the medicaments he used and what he had learned about local herbs, trees and healing salves. I faithfully interpreted the conversation between the two men of medicine as best I could. Francesco would sometime grab an herb from his bag, show it to the surgeon and slowly give the name. The surgeon would brightly repeat the word slowly, savoring the sounds. The padre would then explain where he had found it – next to what tree or root or river and the surgeon would nod sagely. Then he would explain its uses. This went on until dinner. The padre followed me and the surgeon to the ship’s mess.

Following dinner, the surgeon and the padre went topside. The surgeon pulled one of his clay pipes from his waistcoat pocket and packed it with tobacco.

“Would you like a pipe?” he queried Francesco. The padre demurred. “Too bad. There’s nothing like a good pipe after a meal.” The surgeon lit his pipe and smoked.

Francesco began to point out stars in the sky and give their names, repeating them slowly for me and the surgeon. He gave the story behind each star’s name the way the Indians had explained it to him. I interpreted all this for the surgeon.

We continued the star lesson for well over an hour. I was thoroughly exhausted. Translating was more challenging than one might expect. Finally I had had enough of it and I bid the other two men good night and headed for my hammock below deck. When I last saw them they were both gazing at heaven’s lights.

[Iron Oars]

Tuesday, 4th. The prows were in the water all day, plying the water between the ship and shore. About 2 of the clock, Francesco joined me as I leaned over the rail and watched two men swim with one of the large water casks toward the shore.

A fresh spring had been discovered over a hill which stood several dozen yards away from the shoreline. The privateers had started out loading the first huge cask into a boat to transport it from the ship to shore, but it had proved to be unwieldy and difficult to load and unload. Since the casks were empty and floated, the privateers had determined that it was easier to just unceremoniously dump them into the water and swim them along. When they reached shore, they would drag the cask to the hill and push it to the top, swearing at the cask all the while. Once filled, two more men would join them and the group would have to struggle with the cask on the opposite side of the hill to get it to the crest and laboriously guide it back down using ropes.

The two men in the water reached the land and begin to guide the cask on land. Obscenities floated across the calm of the little bay in which our ship sat.

“Hard work, eh?” I said to the padre.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he answered.

“What do you mean?”

“Work is only difficult when you see it that way.”

I turned toward him, still leaning on the rail, but he was gazing at the struggling pair on shore.

“There is another way to see it?”

He twisted his head toward me.

“There is another way to see it. There’s another way to see everything. Work can become play.”

I looked doubtfully at the men rolling the heavy wood cask up the hill.

“I don’t see how they’ll be able to make that into play,” I commented dubiously.

“No. You don’t.”

We watched the two men as one of them fell in the slippery earth and leaves which had been churned up in trips up it with other casks. The man who was still standing did not realize his companion had fallen and kept pushing. This caused the cask to turn and it roll back down the hill at an angle. The men swore loudly at it.

I laughed, despite myself.

“Now you see the humor?”

“I don’t think I’d see it if I was one of those two men.”

“That’s probably true. They chose to see it as a disagreeable necessity.”

The two men trudged back down the hill to the bottom where the cask lay askew and began the chore again.

“How is it possible to see things in any other way?”

Francesco’s eyes seemed to sparkle. He didn’t reply immediately.

[Iron Oars]

We watched the two men struggle to push the cask up the hill again despite the unsure footing. On reaching the top, they let the barrel roll down the other side. One stood with his hands on his hips, bending slightly backward while the other, the man who had fallen, bent over with his hands on his knees. Both men looked exhausted.

“Look into the water,” Francesco said suddenly.

“What?”

“Tell me what you see.”

I looked. The water was quite clear. I could see various rocks and plants on the bottom of the bay. I said as much.

“Oh?”

He was silent for a several moments.

“What?” I finally asked..

“I see something very different.”

He was silent again.

“Well, what do you see?” I finally asked with exasperation.

“Something very different than you. Look again.”

I stared at the water. I saw rocks and plants. A few fish darted around amongst the plants. I mentioned them hopefully.

“No, no. That’s not what I see at all.” He looked up at the sun.

“I need to go check on my companion below and see to his wounds and dressings. Keep looking until you see something other than what you’ve told me.”

I studied the water intently until I heard the men shifting the now laden cask back to the top of the hill. They attached several ropes around it to help to ease the descent. The task would be much more challenging now that it was filled. Several more joined the two in pulling and guiding the ropes to keep the barrel from getting loose. They didn’t want it to come crashing down the hill, hit a tree and burst.

Slowly, slowly, the barrel was guided down the hill to the waiting boat at the water’s edge. The men grunted and groaned as they lifted the barrel into the boat on the shore in preparation for rowing it over to the ship. The little boat sank deeper and deeper into the water until I thought the sea would overcome it. But it didn’t.

As the weary men in the boat rowed, ripples spread throughout the water. I remembered that my task was to study the water. I glanced back at the rippling surface. The ripples distorted the bay bottom. They ocean shifted and distorted; then I saw it! The sky was reflected in the water. The trees on the shore were there along with the colorful birds that flitted about in them. There was another world shown in the water. I watched it entranced. It was a clever trick the padre had played me!

When he returned, I looked triumphantly at him. “I see your ‘other world’ signore. It is the sky and the trees and birds of the air reflected.”

“Exactly. That is the answer to your question,” he said with a wide grin.

“What question?”

“The one you asked me earlier.”

“What question did I ask you earlier?” I queried slowly.

He looked at me with disappointment. “The most important thing we do in this world is to ask questions. Nearly all of our learning experiences are acquired through the answers to questions. Questions we ask others, questions we ask ourselves, questions we ask the universe. The better you understand this, the sharper and more important you will find your questions becoming. To master yourself and this world, you must perfect the art of asking questions!”

I felt like a young boy being scolded for not following through on his daily chores.

“See if you can remember what you asked me earlier. It was a good question.”

[Iron Oars]

I thought the rest of the afternoon about what we had discussed – the men pushing the barrel, the bottom of the bay and now the importance of questions. Then I remembered that I had asked him how the men could see their job in a different way. I searched him out and told him what I recalled.

“Yes…” he said hesitantly. “Except that you stated your question very differently. It was the form of your question that was important to the answer. I’d prefer you to recall it yourself, but I will remind you.” He glared at me.

Once again, I felt like the chastised child.

“You asked me how it was possible to see things in any other way.”

I nodded in recollection. “Yes, about how the men pushing the cask up the hill could enjoy that tiresome task. The water is the answer?”

“Not the water, what you just learned gazing at it.” He gazed at me hopefully.

“That I can see the reflection of the sky?”

“Exactly!”

I stared at him.

“I still don’t understand.”

He sighed heavily.

“Think on it, my friend. It will come to you.”

The captain appeared on the main deck and espied Francesco and I at the rail.

“So how are our two ‘guests’ finding life about the Triumphant Return?” He guffawed. Then his look turned serious.

“I want the Padre to come with me and see if you can help me out. You come along, Oars. You can translate. With your navigational skills you may also be able to help me ”

We went up to the quarterdeck and the captain proceeded to ask Francesco about the details of the shoreline, the currents, the winds and various natives in various places along the shore. It occurred to me that he was learning something important to him and his voyaged through questions. Francesco grinned up at me when I realized this, then went back to explaining his recollections.

The priest proved to be quite knowledgeable about the land and winds, but knew only a little about the currents and depth of the water. He had been traveling in a canoe and these things were not very important to him. I added my navigational knowledge to the discussion.

Later, lying in my hammock, I recalled the problem of the water and the men pushing the cask. I tried to understand what Francesco had explained to me as my hammock rocked gently back and forth with the motion of the waves on the anchored ship. The rocking motion lulled me into a sleep so sound that I slept right through the bells for the first dog watch.

[Iron Oars]

Wednesday, 5th.

I found Francesco in the makeshift hospital creating his balms. The surgeon wasn’t there. He smiled at me and continued his work.

“It hasn’t come to me.”

He glanced up.

“I thought this was going to be easier than this. What did you see yesterday in the water?”

“First the bottom, then the sky.”

“Was it the same water?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Water is water.” I answered with assurance.

“Hmm. Well, we’ll leave that for now. How is it, then, if you were looking at the same water that you saw two opposite things?”

Because one time I was looking at the bottom and the other time I was looking at the sky.”

“Really? You saw the sky?”

He was testing me again. I learned that this was a disconcerting habit of his. Eventually I would come to understand that he was trying to make me think more clearly, but in these first few discussions it was very unnerving.

“Well…I saw the reflection of the sky.”

“But it was different than the bottom.”

“Yes, of course.”

“So, in looking at the same thing, you saw two very different, even opposing, elements?”

“Yessss…”

“That is your answer.”

I was silent.

“But how does this relate to the men having to do the onerous task of pushing the cask up and down the hill?”

He signed. The Indian groaned and shifted restlessly in the hammock and Francesco turned to utter what sounded like soothing words to him.

“The men can see the task any way they want. They can see it as hard labor that their captain is ‘forcing’ them to do. Or they can see it as an important duty to get water aboard the ship which both they and the rest of this crew will be grateful for when we have been away from land for several weeks. It is their choice to see it however they want, just as you could choose to look at the bottom of the bay or at the reflection of the sky. You did it by altering your perception.”

He continued working with his medicaments.

“So they can see it two ways?” I finally asked.

“They can see it an infinite number of different ways. They can choose not to see it at all and can leave the task on the shore and run through the forest. Unlike your understanding of the water, we are capable of as many interpretations of events as we choose to allow ourselves.”

He continued working the herbs in the wooden bowl. Suddenly he stopped and looked with great intensity, directly into my eyes.

“No, that’s not stated rightly. Forgive me. We are capable of as many interpretations as we are willing to see. The different interpretations are always there, it is only our unwillingness to grasp them that keeps them from us. Remember that if you don’t like your situation, it is only because you have chosen to see it in an unlikable way. You always have the option to make a new choice.”

He continued gazing steadily into my eyes. I finally turned away.

“Remember this, my friend. It’s most important.”

He went back to his work. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, I left.

[Iron Oars]

Thursday, 6th.

The privateers had completed the loading of the casks of water, caught several fish in their nets and had even managed to catch, slaughter and salt a few wild pigs for their voyage. The wind was blustering to the South West and looked as if it would be quite accommodating to leaving the peaceful bay.

I was up helping the ship's navigator to plot our course. Francesco was there as well. He seemed very interested in the navigation proceedings. The privateers planned to sail south away from the coast, to watch for sails.

The privateering navigator was a thin, rather reedy man. He squinted a lot and asked me questions in short, clipped phrases.

"No shoals here?" has asked, pointing to a spot on his navigational chart.

"None of which I am aware."

"Here?" he asked, rapidly moving his finger to a new location further down the chart.

"No."

"Good."

He took the ship's backstaff, placed it on his shoulder and, turning his back to the sun, began to take a measurement.

"What's he doing?" Francesco asked me.

"He's taking another measurement to determine our latitude," I replied. "He's already taken three today."

"Perhaps not everyone has your level of confidence in the latitude."

"Nor competence."

Francesco grinned. "Nor arrogance. It's better to be sure in navigation, isn't it?"

"It is better not to have so many measurements that you doubt yourself."

"Yes, perhaps you have a good point there."

He looked at the instruments on the table in front of us.

So what is this?" He pointed to an octant.

I began to explain the use of the octant in navigation. He asked about several other instruments and we spent quite a bit of time discussing them, the charts and the keeping of the log. He became absorbed in the topic and asked many good questions.

"Oars," the navigator called.

"Yes?"

"Give me a hand."

After assisting the navigator, I returned to Francesco who asked, "What is 'Oars'?"

"'Oar' is their term for remo," I explained.

"And 'Iron Oars'?"

"That is their little joking nickname for me. 'Iron' is their word for hierro."

"Why should they joke about you being an Iron Oar?"

"It has to do with the day they caught me. I was the navigator on a Spanish ship called the Nuestra Senora de la Soledad. We were preparing to leave a bay after stopping to visit a small town near the coast. I had gone back to shore in the boat to retrieve some of my navigational instruments which I had left behind. I shouldn't have taken them off the ship, but I didn't want them to disappear. As I was returning from the village, I heard cannon fire from the bay. I ran back to my boat to see why they were firing the cannon.

When I arrived a ship was heading toward the Soledad and so my crew was getting underway to avoid being captured.

I quickly jumped into the boat and started to row out to the Soledad. The pirates were coming in fast, but I thought I could make it. One of my oars got caught up in a fishing net our sailors had left in the water in the rush to leave. Rather than free it, I kept trying to row to the ship."

"Sometimes in a hurry, we make unwise decisions," he mused.

"Yes, well, you were not there, Francesco. One of my crew saw me rowing towards the boat. They had forgotten about me in their haste to escape the pirates. Several crewmen come to the side of the ship facing me and yelled for me to quickly row back to them before the ship was too far away for me to catch.

'Since my name is Orrez, they were yelling to me,

'Orrez! Orrez! Hurry!'

The oar caught in the net slowed me down too much. I sadly watched as they sailed away. The pirates had sailed too close into shore to try and position their cannon to attack the Soledad and ran aground."

I snorted and looked at the man taking his measurements. "Some navigator…"

"By the time they had freed themselves, the Soledad gone. I attempted to row to shore, but with the net caught in the splinters of the oar, I was rowing so slowly that they easily caught me."

When they brought me on board, the First Mate, had heard my crewmates calling out my name.

He misunderstood it as the English word 'Oars' and said, 'Oars! More like Iron Oars the way he rows!'

The other men thought this was very funny and called me 'Iron Oars' from that point on."

Francesco laughed. I liked to watch him laugh. He put himself wholly into whatever he was doing and laughter was no different. His mirth was contagious and I laughed myself.

"'Iron Oars'!" he finally said. "What is your real name then, Senor Orrez?"

"Ignació Orrez," I announced with a small bow "At your service."

He laughed again and we shook hands jovially.

"Nice to meet you formally."

Edited January 10, 2009 by Iron Oars

[Iron Oars]

Finishing his observation, the navigator returned to where we were standing. He turned his log book toward him and began to enter his observations.

Francesco watched with some fascination.

“Would you tell him that I think his log is very well kept?”

“How can you tell?” I asked.

“Look at it, Ignació,” he said, gesturing to the log book as the navigator carefully printed. It was very orderly and the observations seemed quite detailed.

“Mine was better kept.”

Francesco laughed.

“I have not seen your log. I believe I would have to travel a long way to see it at this point as it is on the Soledad, correct? Besides, I was not talking of you.”

I glared at him.

“Go on, tell him.”

I did so. The man stood a little straighter and his mouth turned up slightly at the corners.

“I was always considered quite neat by my captains,” he noted with pride.

“What did he say?”

“That his swine English captains have apparently never had a navigator as good we Spaniards.”

“You really must get over your prejudice, my friend.”

“Why?”

“You will find that, at the core, every man is the same.”

“Perhaps. I still don’t see what is so great about his log book or his overly detailed observations. Or anything else the man does for that matter.”

“Perhaps you are right. Perhaps you are not. Either way, it never hurts to compliment the things that someone does better than most. Even if it is a simple thing like keeping a log book.”

“What does it do for us to make this man feel good?”

“All men require praise; it encourages their best traits.”

“Even pirates?”

“Perhaps pirates more than anyone.”

“Hmph.”

The English navigator looked up from his log entry. He had once again written an awful lot – more than would seem necessary to me.

The navigator looked at me. “Ask the Padre if he’d like me to show him how I use a backstaff.”

Francesco looked from the navigator to me.

“Ignació…what did he say?” he finally asked.

“He wants to show you how to mess up a backstaff reading.”

“Tell him that I would be delighted to have him teach me and you would be delighted to translate for me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“My mother told me never to lie.”

He raised his hands, palms upwards and looked to the sky.

“Oh, all right.”

We spent 15 minutes going over the use of the backstaff. The navigator carefully adjusted the tool and positioned Francesco so that he could take a good measurement. He actually was very thorough.

Finally the Captain came up to the navigator and told him the ship was ready to depart.

Francesco looked at me. “You see?”

“What?”

“When you sincerely compliment someone, they feel good about themselves. They also feel good towards you and will often go out of their way to help you if they can.”

“I can’t see where it helps you to know how to use a backstaff.”

“You never know, although that is not my point. It was a simple gift he could give to me in return for my simple gift to him.”

“Yes, perhaps.”

We were then shooed off the quarterdeck as the crew completed the preparations for leaving. They weighed the anchors and got underway.

[Iron Oars]

Saturday, 8th.

It was dusk. We had finished dinner and some of the men produced instruments and began to play. Other men sang and danced on the deck. The ship was sailing well with good winds to move her. Francesco and I stood off to one side of the deck admiring the setting sun.

“Beautiful,” Francesco commented. “Look how the water turns gold, then red.”

“What do you think of gold?”

“It is a fine metal. It polishes up very nicely.”

“That’s not what I mean. What do you think of money?”

“It seems to be a pretty good method of exchanging things. I mean, if you used sheep and pigs as methods of exchange like our people once did, you’d have to bring our farm with you every time you went to town. It would make for very messy streets.”

I have him a funny look.

“The privateers asked me to sign their articles when they first brought me on board. Had I done that, I would have been given a share of any treasure they took and I wouldn’t be a prisoner.”

“So why didn’t you?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“I would be betraying Spain!”

“What is Spain to you?”

“It is my native land. My country of origin! A man does not just turn his back on such things!”

“Why are you here then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you in the New World? It’s almost as if you have turned your back on your country of origin.”

“Yes, well…it was a good decision for me. A man can become wealthy here.”

“A man can become wealthy anywhere. You can become wealthy signing the articles of these men.”

“Do you think I should have signed them?”

“It depends.”

He was silent for some time. Finally I had to ask.

“On what?”

“On whether you agree with the articles. I do not believe you should commit to be a part of something unless you believe in it.”

“Well, I do not think that a bunch of pirates marauding Spanish territories is a very good thing to believe in.”

“Do you believe enslaving Indians to retrieve the gold from their land for you is a good thing in which to believe?”

I glared at him.

“I’m just asking,” he said simply.

“Well you don’t have to worry about it. The church takes care of you.” He arched an eyebrow at me, but I kept talking. “They get their money from men who get Indians to retrieve gold from their land.”

“This is true.”

“So how can you sign up with such an organization?”

“Who said I did?”

I looked at him with the question on my lips, but his expression caused me not to ask it.

“It is important to be true to yourself. If you believe in something, then I commend you to it. If you do not, then I suggest you avoid it.”

“What if you believe in some parts of a thing, but not other parts. Should you commit to it then?

“It would seem to me that you would be divided if you did. Does that seem like a good state?”

“Nothing is perfect.”

“That seems to be true.”

“If you don’t commit to anything, then you don’t get involved in anything.”

“That is not true. There is always another way to look at and to do things. Remember how your view of the water one way was of silt, but in another way was of the sky?”

“You would never compromise?”

“Compromising seems like another way to say ‘giving up’ to me.”

“That’s a mighty strict doctrine.”

“It is the one I chose. You do not have to do so, we are all free. Dividing myself suggests a giving up on a part of myself. However, that is only the way I view it. You may view it differently.”

[Iron Oars]

Wednesday, 12th.

After several days of good sailing, the weather took on a threatening aspect. The clouds were dark when I arose and by 11 of the clock they were turning quite black. We were no where near the shore. I wondered if they planned to ride the storm out at sea. All the sails had been furled.

Lightning lit the sky in the distance. A cold wind suddenly arose and I knew we were in for some really bad weather. I decided to go below to help in any way that I could to make the ship secure. The crew had had all morning to do this, however, and so there was little for me to do.

Francesco suddenly appeared from behind me.

“Looks like we are in for a storm,” he said cheerfully.

“You don’t seem very worried about it.”

”Why should I be?”

“Have you been at sea during a storm?”

“Many times.”

“A very bad storm?”

“I suppose you could call some of them very bad.”

“Then you should know.”

“What should I know?”

“What danger we are in!”

“We are always in danger or approaching danger or leaving it. Danger is a part of life.”

“Don’t you think this storm is a problem?”

“No. It is a fact. If I were to dwell obsessively upon every challenge you face with the intensity you seem to want me to direct to this storm, I would be paralyzed by fear. Most of the things we fear in advance never happen.”

The ship began to rock more in the water.

“Do you still think this storm will never happen?”

He steadied himself against a beam as the rocking increased.

“No the storm will happen. But you are not afraid of it.”

“I’m not?”

“Certainly not.”

The wind began howling outside through the rigging. It continued to build. I have found that that cold burst of air is often a sign of rough weather. I also steadied myself as the rocking increased.

“What am I afraid of then?”

“You’re afraid of what the storm might do.”

“There’s a difference?” I asked, my voice rising to overcome the howling wind.

“Certainly. The storm is a certainty. What the storm may or may not do is uncertain. You are afraid of being hurt or even killed.”

“You’re really not helping!”

“Sorry, I’m just trying to help you see things more clearly.” He smiled. “Your thinking is muddled.”

“I’ll remember that when the ship starts to break apart and drives shards of wood through me.” I replied even louder. That wind was really going. The boat was tipping over and we could hear water lashing the deck.

“See?” he yelled. “You’re afraid of the results of a splinter that may or may not come driving towards you!”

We had to really hold on now. The ship leaned heavily as the wind drove it sideways. Thunder roared outside at intervals.

“Doesn’t this scare you, Francesco?”

“A little. Although I suspect I’m able to accept it a little better than most men. Perhaps a seat is best at this time!”

He sat down, holding tight to the beam he was near. Items that had not been stowed well enough were sliding around the deck.

“How do you only fear such things a little?!” I asked, hollering to be heard over the wind.

“You decide to do so!”

Conversation was halted as a loud clap of thunder sounded outside and the noise of the storm stymied further conversation.

Water began leaking down from the deck. ‘The waves must really be high,’ I thought to myself. The ringing whistled with the tune of the driving winds. We remained seated and holding tight to our temporary protection.

[Iron Oars]

As harsh storms often do, this one began abating after only a while. The ship’s pitched decks began to right, although water still poured down from above. The decks up top must have been awash with the waves and rain. It had become quiet enough that we could talk normally again.

“So it the Lesson of the Storm not to be afraid?”

“The ‘Lesson of the Storm’?”

“Yes. Just like ‘seeing things in different ways’ was the Lesson of the Bay.”

“I had never thought of the things we’re talking about as being formal lessons with attachments to particular events. I usually do not like assigning labels, but if it helps you to comprehend important principles, perhaps this is a good thing for you. To answer your question Ignació, your ‘Lesson of the Storm’ is probably better stated ‘you can always decide how to respond to external events’.”

“I can just decide not to be afraid?” I asked.

“Well…to a point. Fear is built into us and cannot be totally conquered. Such a situation as this one brings up fear naturally. However, you do not have to be a slave to your fear, either.”

“How do you do that.”

“Like I said before: by deciding not to. No matter what your situation is, you can always decide how you’re going to react to it. It is a gift we have been given. No other creature that I know of has this gift. By understanding this, asking ourselves questions about what’s going on outside of us and then choosing how we want to respond, we can decide to be more or less fearful, more or less aroused and more or less unhappy. In fact, we can control emotion we choose with practice.”

“Well I was very scared during the worst of that storm.”

“Of course you were. You were scared before it even began. You began thinking about the ship breaking apart and large splinters rushing toward you. If you put those thoughts into your mind from the start, you must be very afraid. If you wanted to create a recipe for being afraid, you would start with ‘I must think of the worst thing that could possibly happen and imagine it in great detail.’ Isn’t that what you did?”

“Perhaps…”

“You even explained it to me, you imagined it so well. This is a very poor use of your imagination, my friend.”

“What would you do if a large chunk of wood came flying at you?”

“Duck?”

I looked icily at him. “Very funny.”

“I suppose it could have been funnier. Let me answer the question that you didn’t ask me. If a large piece of wood drove its way through me, I would then deal with that. Why should I borrow trouble and imagine it happening before it actually does?”

“You have to think about the future!”

“Yes, that it certainly true. Still, I notice you were not pierced by a large chunk of wood. What good did your planning do for you? If in planning for the future, you become more helpless – or afraid, if you like – then you are intentionally creating obstacles to being prepared. Too much caution is at least as destructive as none at all.”

The storm appeared to have abated. Water continued to leak from above, but less of it. Francesco and I stood up. Our clothes were soaked.

“Think about it.”

“Yes… Perhaps I should go up and find out what damage the weather has caused,” I suggested.

“That could be useful.”

With that, I left.

[Iron Oars]

Friday, 14th.

“Tell him that I cannot understand their language.”

I reported Francesco’s statement to the First Mate. He glowered at the two of us. He was an extraordinarily large man who always seemed to be in a foul temper. He had not looked very happy when the Captain had sent us along with him to find the Indian village.

We spent the previous two days cleaning up the ship and sails and rigging operational again. Replacement spars were brought up from below to replace those destroyed in the storm. Once the ship could sail, it was directed towards the shore.

There, one of the privateers had spotted two Indians fishing from a canoe along the shore. Many of our provisions had been ruined by sea water during the storm and the privateers were looking for replacements. So the captain had tried to catch the two Indians. They were too quick for the privateers and scurried into the woods with their canoe.

The pirate captain reasoned that they must belong to a nearby Indian village, so he assembled a party of men to go and trade with them. The men gathered up knives, rusty saws, nails and scissors along with some toys that Indians seemed to like sometimes. At the last minute he came up with an idea.

“The padre talks with that Indian of his,” he said, “take him and Iron Oars along and see if the pair of ‘em can speak to the barbarians. It’ll make things easier. The First Mate looked at him with annoyance, but complied. We had walked at least a mile into the woods, following a pathway of sorts through the forest that began where the two Indians had gone in.

When he realized that we would not be useful, the First Mate told one of the men to bring us back to the ship.

“Naw sense havin’ them dead weights ‘round our necks. We’ll sort these savages out aw’ right.”

So we started walking back to the ship along the makeshift path we had taken into the forest. Francesco seemed delighted and moved slowly along. Our privateer companion didn’t seem tohave any particular reason to rush back to the ship, probably because he had work waiting for him, so he moved at the padre’s pace.

“Why go so slow? Let’s get back to the ship!” I demanded.

The other man, not understanding Spanish, ambled along with us and started to pack his pipe with tobacco from a pouch made from a pelican’s bill.

“There’s nothing important at the ship. And this is a beautiful place.” Francesco replied.

I looked around with disdain. “It’s the same forest we saw coming in!”

“Is it?”

I looked again. “It seems to be so to me. It’s all just a lot of trees, bushes and weeds.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Life is dull to dull people.”

I didn’t say anything at first.

“I am not dull.” I finally answered sullenly.

The padre stopped. So did we. The privateer took the opportunity to light his clay pipe. He smiled at us. Francesco smiled back.

“You’re choosing to be dull at this moment. If you make it a habit, you’ll become a dull person. Just like that First Mate has chosen to be angry.”

“He was born ornery.”

“Nobody was born anything. They become so through many little decisions about how they are going to view life. Remember what you called the ‘Lesson of the Storm’. This is that lesson magnified. Choosing to view a situation the way you wish to view it allows you to choose your attitude. Doing so repeatedly allows you to choose your personality. It’s like building a house of bricks. You create each section, brick by brick until you have a wall, then you build each wall until it is an unmovable structure.”

He picked a tall, thin stalk of wild grass from the ground and put it in his mouth. Then he smiled at the privateer again and began walking. We followed.

“You say you see nothing but trees, bushes and weeds when you walk through this forest. That’s all there. But there are also see other things. What else do you see here?”

I looked around. “The same stuff we saw before. The same stuff we saw on the walk to the village, the same stuff we saw at the Indian village and the same stuff we saw five minutes ago!”

“Really?”

He was silent. He smiled at the privateer again. The privateer smiled back.

“What’s he talking about?” the privateer asked.

“Trees, bushes and weeds.” I said flatly.

“He’s a funny sort of fellow.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“He seems nice and friendly.”

“That’s only because you can’t understand him.”

[Iron Oars]

Suddenly a squirrel darted across the path.

“What did you just see?” the padre asked.

“A squirrel.”

“Just a squirrel?”

“A black squirrel.”

“Is it like the squirrels you’ve seen where you come from?”

As a matter of fact it wasn’t.

“No,” I conceded, “it was bigger and it was black. The ones I’m used to are red and small. Like this.” I held my hands apart to indicate the smaller red squirrel’s size.

“Now isn’t that interesting?”

“Not very.”

He sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if you can learn any of this. I am teaching you things few men understand – and most of the one’s who do don’t understand it very well – and all you can see is trees, bushes and weeds.”

We walked in silence again. It was finally broken by the privateer.

“Hey, let’s stop for a minute. I want to empty my pipe.”

We stopped. The privateer tapped his pipe on the heel of his shoe. He drew out his pelican pouch again and began to reload.

“Ignació, close your eyes. Clear your mind. Throw away your preconceived ideas about this forest. Now open your eyes again and study everything. Look at the smallest details. See the tips of the branches, the sunlight breaking through the trees, the little insects flying around. Look at the shape of the trees, the way they lean, how they sway in the breeze. Glance around the place where you are standing. Look at the things going on at your feet. Look deeply and closely, without judgment. Forget the bland labels you have placed on the things you saw here walking into the forest and see them anew. See them for the first time.”

When I opened my eyes, the forest took on multiple lives. I noticed the little bug crawling along on the underside of a leaf near my head. The bug moved intently on, stopping only when it reached the edge of the leaf. Perhaps he was confused by the edge? He started wandering along the edge. I laughed.

I looked up and saw the branches of the tree I was standing near as the branches reached out to grasp at the sun that filtered through the branches above it. I glanced behind me and saw the plants we had trod upon slowly begin to recover from being trampled – ever so slowly. I saw myriad ants crawling along the dead leaves and old branches lying on the ground – their movements quick and jerky. A spider web stretched from the end of a leaf on a small plant to another plant to the ground. The spider sat hesitantly at the edge of the web, sensing our presence and trying to decide if we were threatening. The forest was suddenly alive! I saw millions of things going on right in front of me that I hadn’t noticed at all before. It would take pages and pages to explain them all. The same old forest was now amazing!

The privateer broke the spell. “Let’s move on,” he said.

He started forward, continuing the ambling pace Francesco had set. We followed him.

“What did you see?” he said hopefully.

“It was astonishing! The whole forest is alive with activity.”

“And that’s just what you noticed. Had we stayed and been still even longer, you would have discovered what a truly fascinating place this is. In fact, you will come to find that every place can be equally fascinating.”

I mused upon this as we walked along. I caught birds flitting about, insects going about their business and slight breezes moving the leaves.

“Do you remember the bottom of the bay?”

“Yes.”

“You told me you saw rocks and weeds.”

“That’s right.”

“When I forced you too look closer, what did you see?”

“Little fish.”

“What about when you realized the sky was reflected in the water?”

“At first that was amazing.”

“The first time we see something that seems new, we are fascinated by it. We try to understand all its parts and grasp its significance. We learn its name and function and it fascinates us. The next time we see it, all we see is its name and its usefulness to us. This is the process of making something that is interesting into something quite dull. The interesting properties never go away, they are always there waiting to be noticed, but we decide to label and ignore them. If you seek to always look for the intrinsic properties of things about you, you will start seeing new things all the time. This leads to new ideas, new combinations of ideas and new understandings.”

“That’s very interesting.” I noted.

“Life is interesting to interesting people.”

[Iron Oars]

The magical spell of noticing gradually wore off as I tried to piece the things I had learned together.

"So I will become dull because I gradually choose it to be so?" I asked.

"You can if you want…you don't have to."

"Did the First Mate choose to be angry in that way?"

"Probably not."

"Well which is it?" I demanded.

"Most people choose not to realize that they are even choosing. Something happens and it gets them thinking in a certain way. Maybe the First Mate had something bad happen to him and decided it was an important event in his life."

"Perhaps it was an important bad event."

"Events are neither good nor bad. We choose to make them so. Then we react what we have decided the event means."

"That sounds all very well and good in discussion, but you don't know what happened to the First Mate."

He chewed on his piece of grass.

"I once knew a gunner who had to have his leg amputated after he was wounded by a large chunk of wood in a battle. Would you say that was a good or bad thing?"

"That's bad."

"You would think it would be, wouldn't you? What do you suppose he did?"

"I don't know."

"What would you do?"

I thought about it. I wouldn't be a very capable seaman. "I might go and live with my sister and her husband."

"And then what?"

"I could beg…"

"That's a fine career. Very uplifting."

"Well what did your gunner do?"

"He became a cook on a naval vessel."

I wrinkled my nose. "That explains the things I've heard about the shipboard fare in the English navy."

"It is common for them to make sailors wounded in action into cooks. However, rather than just feeling like an unloved sailor stuck in a worthless position, my friend chose to view it differently. While in a port, he procured a copy of a cooking recipe book. He learned how to make foods taste better by using different spices, roots and plants that were available in the various ports they wound up in. He had the powder monkeys gather items for him. He was highly prized on his ship."

"So I should learn to cook?"

"You should do whatever seems to make your life most pleasing to you."

"Like the First Mate?"

"Does the First Mate seem happy to you?"

"Not even remotely."

"Would you say whatever got him into his unhappy state was bad for him?"

"Obviously."

"You're not listening very well. It was neither good nor bad for him. Things happen to everyone that they can do nothing about. This is how life works. One minute you're a competent gunner, the next you're minus one leg, being relegated to the kitchen. What you choose to do with that situation is up to you."

"So you think the First Mate needs to choose to look at the world in a different way?"

"I doubt he even realizes he's as miserable as we think he is. He just thinks he has bad luck or life is unfair and he just has to keep going until something good happens."

"Will it?"

"Something good is always happening. Good and bad things happen to everyone every day. But if you're convinced life is a miserable affair and you're getting more than your share of the bad luck, that's the part you'll notice. Like attracts like."

"How would the First Mate become happy?"

"First he has to realize that he's not happy. Then he has to realize that it's up to him to do something about this. He has to notice which choices he's making are keeping him in a miserable state. He has to see where how it is he is noticing the good in preference to the bad. He probably sees most people as trying to make him unhappy. This causes him to speak and act toward them in a manner that will actually make them unhappy. Thus they continue to do things towards him that make him unhappy."

"It sounds like a vicious repetitive cycle."

"It is. Of course, a positive, upbeat cycle works just as repetitively. If he saw things and people as beneficial to him rather than as obstacles, they would begin to react to him in that way and he would find them beneficial toward him."

"Life is happy to happy people?" I asked.

"Yep."

[Iron Oars]

We arrived at the edge of the water. The ship was sitting placidly on the water.

“I can’t see any reason to go right over, can you?” the privateer asked me.

“Whatever you think is best,” I answered.

“Then I’ll have a nice quiet smoke and you two fellows can continue your conversation. The First Mate wouldn’t like it if he arrived and the boat was gone because we took it over to ship anyhow.”

“The First Mate won’t like it if we’re just sitting here. The First Mate won’t like it not matter what we do.”

The privateer laughed. “Naw, you’re probably right. But I’m gonna’ sit here and smoke. You do as you like.” He slumped down with his back against a tree.

I turned back to Francesco.

“At the bottom of all this seems to be ‘The way in which you behave is the way people will behave towards you.’”

“Yes. Knowing this is only half the battle, though. The really tough part is to put it into practice. Perhaps you would like to call this the ‘Lesson of the Shore’?”

“Not the’ Lesson of the Forest’?” I asked.

“Wouldn’t the Lesson of the Forest be the importance of noticing things?”

“I may get this yet.”

“You will.”

Eventually the First Mate returned with the rest of the men. He was actually in better spirits. One of the men had managed to explain to the Indians that they wanted to trade the objects they had brought with them for food and water. The Indians had agreed. Seeing us sitting there waiting turned him slightly sour.

“Have you lot been just sittin’ on the ground waitin’? Well, you will work now, I wager! We’ve got to transport all that provender from the Indian camp! Step lively!”

Friday, 15th.

The weather changed suddenly and it became colder. We had been sailing south since leaving the Indian villiage. I had heard the Captain say that he expected colder weather and that something must be done for the men. So he had the sailmakers start working on sewing up rough clothes to be given to the men who did not have adequate clothing for the colder temperatures. Francesco and I watched them stitching the rough slops and coats.

“The ship provides it’s crew with clothing?” Francesco asked.

“Not usually. The crew doesn’t have good clothing for the colder weather.”

“Didn’t anyone tell them that this part of the country would be cold during this season?”

“Actually, I was told that they did. The Quartermaster told me that many of the men sold their cold-weather clothing in the Mediterranean to buy food and drink while on shore.”

“Why would they do that?”

“I guess it was quite warm when they were in the cities in the Mediterranean.”

“Oh.”

“It seems very foolish to me.”

“Most people do not choose to think very far ahead. They almost seem to want to avoid doing so.” Francesco noted.

“Haven’t you ever been caught up in the moment?” I asked him.

“No,” he replied simply.

“Never?!”

“Not the in the way you say.”

He was challenging me.

“Don’t tell me that every time you get caught up in the moment and fail to plan ahead, you are choosing to do so.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

“How can you chose to get lost in what’s going on around you? It’ doesn’t make sense!”

“You chose not to think ahead and just live for the instant, that’s how.”

“What about the way a man acts when he’s drunk?”

“Did he make any choices to get him into that state?”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean he can make far-thinking choices at that time.”

“Up to a point, he probably can. After that point, you are right, but it says more about his original choice to get into that state. Most men know when they when they get drunk they are not going to think very clearly or far ahead. So to blame short-sighted decisions on the drink is to pretend you didn’t make the original choice to get into that state.”

“Sometimes it is better to think on your feet,” I protested. “You occasionally have to react to a situation. Imagine trying to think ahead in a fight!”

“Actually, the best fighters do just that. They observe what their opponent is doing and prepare to parry that action before it is brought fully against him.”

“I must always think two steps ahead when I’m talking to you!” I cried in frustration.

“So must the men who want the temporary treats of food and drink in the Mediterranean. Because they don’t, they sell their clothes.”

[Iron Oars]

Sunday, 17th.

It had started as a murmur amongst the privateers. You’d come across them talking low but when you got close, they’d become silent. People talked in low tones, looking around furtively. Finally the truth came out. I only found out when it was announced that two men who had been put in irons were to be flogged the next day. I asked one of the privateers about this.

“Two men was buggering each other,” he said with gravity. “That’s normally a hangin’ offense, but the punishment is being kept lenient because we can’t afford no less men that what we got for takin’ ships.”

So there was going to be a flogging!

“You are certainly in a good mood, Ignació,” Francesco commented, looking up from sorting through his bags of herbs.

“Two of the English privateers are to be flogged tomorrow.” I grinned.

“This makes you happy?”

“It is funny to see that our English captors have their problems.” I told him about the two men.

“This should be punished?”

“Certainly. In the English Navy it is a hanging offense. One of the privateers told me so.”

“Do you think it is a hanging offense?”

“Of course!” I responded uprightly. “It is a sin!”

“Against who?”

“God.”

“Against God,” he repeated softly.

“Surely you know that!”

“How would I know that?”

“Because the church says it is so!”

“I should let the church think for me?” looking back into his bags.

I wondered at this man the privateers called ‘Padre.’

“Well, if you don’t like that, it is the law of the Spain!” .

“I should let laws do my thinking for me?”

“Of course! It is every Spaniard’s duty to serve the King!”

“Oh. Ah, here it is,” he noted, pulling a dried plant from one of the bags.

“Besides, it is the law of the English Navy that such an act be punished – even unto death.”

“So the English Navy thinks for you now?”

“No, but it would be the same in Spain!”

“Then it is the Spanish Navy that thinks for you. My you have a lot of people getting in front of your thinking for yourself.” He studied the herb. “At least I think this is the right one…”

“Well it is the law of this ship. You can’t argue with that.”

“You live by the laws of the ship? So now it is the officers of the ship who think for you?”

“You’re being disagreeable!”

“I am just asking you who thinks for you.”

“It is a sin and I know it.”

“How?”

“I have been told so since I was a young boy! Weren’t you told when you were young?”

“I was told many things when I was young.”

“Well, there you are.”

“Many of the things I was told turned out not to be true.”

“So you are in favor of this heinous act?” I asked with incredulity.

“I have no opinion of an act in which I have no interest in participating. Why would I need to have an opinion?”

“But it’s wrong!”

“According to the church, the laws, the English and the Spanish navies, the officers of this ship and people who were adults when you were young.”

“That is a significant list! Well, except for the English Navy.”

“Do you think so?”

“I do.”

“Well at least you’re thinking about something for yourself. Even if then end result of your thinking is to let a bunch of other people who aren’t even here do the rest of your thinking for you.”

I glared at him.

“God will punish them.”

“How do you know that? Have you have spoken with God?”

“No, but the church says it is so.”

“Oh. We’re back to letting the Church think for you.”

“Don’t you believe that God will punish them?”

“I honestly don’t know what God may or may not do. He does not confide in me.” He sniffed the herb.

“I am sure God will punish them!”

“Ok, let’s say this is so. Why then do the English need to flog or hang them?”

“Because they committed an offense against God! You just agreed so!”

“I said let God could punish him as he saw fit. This doesn’t explain why if God intends to punish them that the privateers need to do so as well. They are not God.”

“You want men fornicating with each other everywhere?”

“What I want is irrelevant.”

“I cannot believe you do not care about this!”

“Why should I? I have no control what other men decide to do or do not do. I can only decide what I will do. I do not see where these men harm anyone here. I do agree that they may run the risk of being punished by God.”

“But it’s bad for morale and discipline.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s against the Articles of the ship.”

“I haven’t seen the Articles of the ship, but I’ll wager that’s not in there.”

“It’s implied!”

He signed heavily.

“What these two men do is of no concern to you or even the officers of this ship unless it actually affects the ship. You might make an argument that such an entanglement between two men on an extended voyage like this could lead to bad feelings down the road that would cause problems with discipline. At least you would then be thinking about the potential for future harm. As it stands now, I do not see where it either your concern or the concern of anyone else on this ship.”

“You would stand by and do nothing?”

“I intend to do exactly that.”

“You’re a funny sort of Holy man.”

“Any Holy man worth listening to is as human as you are and admits as much. It’s the men who believe otherwise that cause so much trouble.”

He leaned over and closed his bags. Then he sat upright and looked at me.

“However, that’s not the point, Ignació. If you want to be a free man, you must avoid judging others. It poisons you against them, separates you from them and actually makes you inwardly despise yourself for making decisions that you are not qualified to make.”

“I cannot be a free man unless I decide not to judge others?”

“Exactly.”

“Then people could do anything they wanted!”

“They can anyhow. Is flogging the men going to stop them from repeating their action?”

“It may!”

“Or it may not. It is up to them to decide if they want to risk future floggings and the potential wrath of God. Every choice has benefits and consequences. However, it is up to each person to choose for himself and live with the results.”

[Iron Oars]

“What if a man commits murder?”

“You ask me this when we are prisoners aboard a pirate vessel looking to take your countrymen’s ships by force?” There was a gleam in his eyes as he noted the irony. “If someone commits murder, he will have to live with the consequences.”

“If nobody judges another, then what’s to stop the murderer?”

“Being a murderer is its own punishment.”

“Maybe so, but what about the murdered man?”

“His troubles are over.”

“That’s horrible!”

“It’s the truth. If you believe in heaven, he may get to go there.”

I looked at him doubtfully.

“What about your Indian friend? Does he believe in heaven?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Well what’s his reward for being murdered?”

“His troubles are also over. He knows of God and heaven because I have told him. If he chooses not to believe, then he also chooses all the benefits and consequences that go with that particular choice.”

“It sounds like a pretty poor situation for him.”

“It must not be if that’s what he chooses.”

“But the man who murdered him…” I persisted.

“Murder is a terrible responsibility for someone to bear. They know, deep inside, that they have played God and must bear the responsibility for that choice. They may rationalize this to make themselves feel that it was justified, but the weight of responsibility for prematurely ending someone else’s life – their dreams, their hopes, their future, their family - is always there. I would not want it.”

“How do you know?”

“I cannot know. I do not want to know. I do know what it is to commit a minor sin and the feel the rippling effects of that action in my life.”

“What about the victim’s wife?” I asked, taking up another route of attack.

“What about her?”

”She must have justice for her loss!”

“You are forgetting your ‘Lesson of the Storm’. Didn’t we agree that it is up to each individual to decide how they feel about external events?”

“But she has lost her husband suddenly! How will she provide for herself?”

“Do you know any women who have lost their husbands suddenly to unfortunate events?”

“Surely.”

“How did it happen?”

I thought about shipboard life. “Some men I know are sailors who have been swept into the sea and drowned.”

“If your imagined wife had lost her imagined husband to an imagined drowning instead of an imagined murder, what would happen to her then? Wouldn’t she be like the real women you know to whom this has happened?”

“I suppose so.”

“Do the real wives who lose their husbands manage to survive?”

“Yes.”

“So it is possible to survive the loss of a husband. Many women have done so. The problem facing a woman who loses her husband isn’t how the loss occurs. The true question is how she responds to what has occurred. Dwelling on how or why something occurred only stops you from beginning to make decisions to help yourself to move on..”

“But the murderer can go on to murder others!”

“It is possible. I believe that in most cases it would be unlikely as I explained before.”

“There need to be laws to protect people.”

“You can chose to give the power to convict the murderers to the politicians. They will gladly accept it. The art of politics is to gather as much power as possible. Politicians can only gain power if each of us agrees to give it to them.”

“It is necessary. It is for the betterment of society!” I insisted

“That is arguable, but let us return to the woman with the murdered husband. Suppose she gets justice and the murderer is hanged for his crime. Would this solve the problem of the loss of her husband?”

“It might!” I replied defiantly.

“Do you really think so?”

“No.”

“What would?”

I thought about this for a few moments. “Perhaps she could get a new husband.”

“Very good! You are finally understanding this.”

“But it would better if she got justice first.”

“Oh, Ignació!” Francesco said despairingly. “I thought you were finally understanding me. The murderer makes no difference unless she lets him. The only effect he can have is to distract her from responding to the real problem that has been created in her life! We are constantly confronted with problems. They are usually not as tragic as the one you have decided to discuss, but problems always arise in our lives. They can either be dead ends or they can be springboards to growth! Problems, no matter how difficult they seem at the time, are always opportunities to grow if we let them allow us to do so. What is important is that we do not let them stop us.”

“I see what you are saying, but I think you are wrong about the murder.”

“Possibly. We are all human and we must all reserve the right to be wrong. What is important is that you recognize the flaw in focusing upon the murderer.”

[Iron Oars]

Tuesday, 19th.

The effects of the storm the previous week had required the replacement of several spars. This left the ship woefully low on extra spars in the hold. The Carpenter had told the Quartermaster.

The Quartermaster was a brawny, friendly man. He seemed quiet until you got to know him better, after which he became quite jovial. He made a case to the Captain for stopping someplace with straight and tough trees. Today we had reached a place that they both deemed to be a suitable. A boatload of men left the ship with axes and hatchets and went to work felling and cleaning up trees. While the ship was quiet and calm, the sail-makers continued working on the new main sails below decks, where a stove was lit now that the ship was not moving. Francesco seemed to prefer the deck overlooking the shore to comfort and warmth. Having nothing better to do, I bundled up and went topside to talk with him.

“A brisk day,” I commented,

“Yes, I had rather been hoping to stay in a warmer location this time of year,” Francesco commented. “However, I seem to have chosen a path in a different direction.

“You seem to have the world all figured out,” I said cheerfully, “Why didn’t you just leave the ship before it got cold?”

“Because there is something I have to learn here.”

“Oh, I see. You stayed to learn. It didn’t have anything to do with the fact that they had punched a big hole in your canoe and then took you prisoner?”

“No, of course not.”

I laughed.

“So you could basically just leave the ship at any time.”

“Yes.”

I looked at him suspiciously. “You’re serious!”

“Of course.”

“What if we were a hundred miles away from shore?”

“Even then, there would be a way…”

“What? Like walk on water?”

“Hopefully nothing so dramatic would be necessary. Besides, a hundred miles over an uncertain ocean would be an awfully long walk.”

“You can’t walk on water!”

“Why not?”

“Because no one can!”

“No one?”

He was playing with me again.

“Well, we do have the one account…” I answered doubtfully.

“I believe there is a way anyone could do it.”

“Even me?”

“Even you.”

“How?!” I demanded.

“I didn’t say I knew how to do it, I just said it was possible. Anything is possible.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Suppose I decided – just for the sake of argument – that I wanted to figure out how to do it.”

“You had better get working on it. It appears to be a pretty complex problem, so it will take some serious thought and experimentation.”

“You think it’s just a serious problem; one with a solution.”

“Naturally..”

“I think you’re crazy. It’s impossible.”

“That’s certainly an empowering way to start figuring it out.”

“You want me to figure out how to walk on water?!”

“I don’t want you to do anything of the kind. You’re the one who said you wanted to figure out how to walk on water.”

“I only said it ‘for the sake of argument’!”

“Oh. Why bother then?”

“Why bother at all?”

“We have to do something with our time. It may as well be something productive.”

“I still say it’s impossible.”

“Almost anything is possible to someone who believes it is possible and is willing to persevere at doing it.”

“Almost anything?”

“When it comes to individual people, you must consider their lifetime as a limitation to the solution of a problem. Some problems require more than one lifetime to solve. This doesn’t mean they’re insoluble, it just means they may be more complex than one lifetime would allow.

“Are there problems that take dozens of lifetimes to solve?”

“What do you think?”

“Yes, there must be.”

“You’re coming along well, Ignació! Knowledge is built over time. You can create a mountain digging with a teaspoon, it just takes longer than if you have a shovel”

I smiled.

“I would like to go for a walk.” Francesco said.

“On the water?”

“No, you still have to figure out how to do that. For this trip, we should choose a more conventional mode. See if you can get permission for us to leave the ship for a bit.”

I went to ask about going over to the land on the next boat returning from bringing a load of spars to the ship.

[Iron Oars]

After being advised that there was no settlement within a great distance of where we were and that escape would be pointless, we were allowed to leave on the next boat back to shore. Francesco didn’t seem to mind the cold as the little boat cut through the waves on the way to the shore. When we reached land, he stepped out of the boat, still wearing his sandals. I looked doubtfully at the slightly snow-covered ground.

“Your feet are going to get cold.”

“I’ll manage fine.”

We walked along for a while in silence. The trees were barren and the leaves under the light snow crunched under our feet. Francesco breathed the cold air deeply.

“As I explained to you on the boat,” he said, “the two keys to addressing any challenge we choose are to believe it is possible to solve it and then to stick with your conviction.”

“Is this also true for the problems that are thrust upon us?”

“As I have explained before, you always have choices when faced with something. They may be limited, but you can at least do or not do something so long as you’re willing to face the consequences of your choice. This is also true when a problem is ‘trust upon you.’”

“I see.”

He glanced at me doubtfully, but didn’t say anything further.

“So if I decide I want to solve the problem of how to walk on water, I can do it if I stick with it." I said.

“Yes. In fact, if you decide to persevere in your effort to solve a problem, you don’t even need to worry about believing it is possible.”

”Why is that?”

“Because if you are willing to persevere in an attempt to do something, you will eventually come to believe it is indeed possible.”

“Suppose I don’t?”

“Then you will give up when the first major hurdle occurs.”

“What if no hurdle occurs?”

“Then you will probably solve it and what you believed will be proven wrong. However, there are almost always hurdles when you try to solve complex problems.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t say why. It’s almost like the problem is testing you to see if you are worthy of solving it.”

“What if the problem is impossible to solve?”

“I don’t believe there are any such problems. Our capacity for creativity and learning is unlimited. Look at the great things we’ve done.”

“We haven’t figured out how to prevent scurvy.”

“We will, if only because someone out there will be determined enough to do it and will stick to their convictions until it is solved.”

“Determination can solve anything?”

“Over time, I believe so.”

He suddenly stopped at a small stream trickling toward the ocean. He crouched down at the edge.

“Look at this.”

I crouched as well. I looked at the water moving rapidly down the little hill.

“Is this another of your exercises for me?” I asked.

He laughed. “No. Look at that.” He pointed at something at the edge of the stream poking up through the snow.

“Why, it’s a little plant!”

It was about an inch tall, curving up as new plants do. The stalk was red and the tiny leaf at the top was a pale green color.

“That’s determination. If we came back in the warmer months, that plant would probably be the largest and most prosperous by the stream.”

“Because it grew in the snow?”

“Because it started first. The earliest plant to take root in an otherwise barren area which survives is often the heartiest and the most successful when conditions change.”

He stood up again and I followed him.

“Shall we head back?”

“Sure.” We turned around. We saw some of the privateers off in the distance removing the branches from a tree they had cut down.

“What happens when someone spends their whole life trying to solve a difficult problem and it can’t be solved in one lifetime?”

“They will learn things that the next determined person who attempts to solve that problem can use to build upon. When we work hard to solve one problem, we often solve several others. If you are observant, this can even give you ideas about better ways to solve the original problem. It is one of the side benefits of determination. Take that little plant. If it survives and becomes the biggest plan along that creek, it will spread seeds. These seeds will be its offspring. They may also be able to survive the next winter and a solution to things not being able to grow in the cold may occur.”

“Do plants transfer this ability?”

”I don’t know. I have seen the more of same sorts of plants in areas I’ve traveled through regularly over time. I believe they may do so.”

[Iron Oars]

Friday, 29th.

“What’s this?” Francesco asked, entering the little space I had made for myself below deck to write.

“This is my journal.”

“You keep a record of events?”

“Yes.”

“What do you put into it?”

“Things about the voyage. The wind direction, the decisions of the officers, the places we touched and the people we meet. It is a habit I picked up being a navigator. However, I’ve lately been writing about the things we have talked about.”

“May I see?” he asked.

“Certainly.”

He leaned over my shoulder and peered at the diary in the flickering light of the lantern.

“This is to be the last page of this part of the journal. It contains all your lessons.”

He picked up the book and looked at it. It read:

The Lesson of the Bay: There are always many different ways to view something.

The Lesson of the Navigator: All men require praise to encourage their best traits.

The Lesson of the Articles: It is important to be true to yourself.

The Lesson of the Storm: You can decide how you feel about external events.

The Lesson of the Forest: It is importance for your continuing growth to notice things.

The Lesson of the Clothes: It is important to think ahead, not just focus on what is in

front of you.

The Lesson of the Shore: Through many small decisions we craft our personality which

is always capable of being changed through new decisions.

The Lesson of the Flogging: To be free, you must avoid judging others and think for

yourself.

The Lesson of the Wife: Problems enter our lives to give us an opportunity to grow; we

must not let them become ends in themselves..

The Lesson of Walking on Water: Almost anything is possible to someone who believes

it is possible and is willing to persevere.

“This is very interesting. However, remember that these are the lessons you have learned, not the lessons I have taught you.”

“There is a difference?”

“Yes. I do not have a list of ‘lessons’ that I teach others. I observe what they are doing or what is going on around them and I comment on what I see from my perspective.”

“Ah, the Lesson of the Bay!”

He laughed. I reveled in the joy I caused him.

“If you prefer, we can call it that. However, you must understand, Ignació, that these are merely my observations and they are based on my learning. What is right for me may not necessarily be right for you. If you go around following my ‘Lessons’, then you are not thinking for yourself.”

“The Lesson of the Flogging.”

He only smiled slightly this time.

“I’m very serious Ignació. You cannot codify my beliefs and expect them to make sense of your life. You have to draw your own conclusions. This is why I told you to observe and make decisions for yourself. The more you allow others to make decisions for you, the more you will be in their service.”

“Isn’t that a lesson?”

“I suppose it would seem so. Forgive me.” He grinned widely.

“On the contrary, I applaud you. I appreciate your insight. It is not wrong to learn lessons from the experience of others is it?”

He suddenly became very still.

“No…I suppose this is true…yes.”

“So if I write down the ideas that you have presented to me and allow others to see them, perhaps they will begin to understand the world better - as you do.”

“This is only proper if they do it in their own way.”

“We must do everything in our own way.”

He was still and silent for several seconds. It seemed like a long time to me.

“I believe you’re right! You have applied all these labels to organize the ideas I have given you. We spoke of it many weeks ago, but I hadn’t realized that you were actually keeping a record. Yes…this is your interpretation of my ideas about the world.”

“It may even allow me to learn other things faster. I do not have to struggle to learn all the things you have explained to me.”

He sat down and stared at the wall for awhile. The flickering flame of the lantern seemed to make his face move, but I knew he was almost motionless. Since he wasn’t talking, I began writing the most recent lesson down. When I finished and gently blew on the wet ink, he started.

“This must be what I came here to learn!” his exclaimed with soft intensity.

“What?”

“Your book…your idea. It is right to put ideas in print and let them wander into the world so that people can build upon them! There they can accept or reject them. They can think about why they accept or reject them and correct the mistakes that the author has made.”

I looked proudly at my list of lesson.

“Maybe the mistakes that other people have made,” I said righteously.

“Yes, this is it! I have a work to undertake as soon as I get back to land. There are many herbs and plants in this land that would be of use to people. My companion has taught me things that even the Spaniards do not understand.”

“Or the English. You could write a whole series of books about the things they do not understand.”

“You may need to add another lesson to your last chapter, my friend. The Lesson of the Book: Knowledge can be shared, transferred, interpreted, ignored or rejected by others; but only when it is written down.”

“It’s not one of your lessons,” I answered doubtfully.

“No, it is your lesson to me! I must make preparations to leave.”

“I don’t think you’re going to leave any time soon. We’re not even in sight of the shore any more. Besides, what of your Indian companion?”

“He is doing quite well. He told me he would be ready to depart whenever I was ready. I think he likes the attention the Surgeon pays him, so he stays in the little hospital.”

He looked off into the darkness behind my right shoulder.

“Of course,” he mumbled to himself. “I will go look in on him right now.”

“I am going to stay here and finish this chapter.”

“You do that. Publish your journal notes. Maybe someone hundreds of years from now someone will be able to find some use in your Lessons.” He laughed. “Fair winds, my friend.”

Then he left the little area that the lantern illuminated.

[Iron Oars]

Saturday, 30th.

That was the last I saw of Francesco. Despite the fact that we were out of sight of the shore, he and the Indian both disappeared sometime during the night. The Captain was sure he had taken the Indian and flung himself overboard in despair over their being prisoner.

The First Mate said, “Good riddance.”

I doubted they were right. I couldn’t figure out how he had gotten away, but I was sure he had. Fortunately, I was left with my account of what had happened and so the experience was not lost.

Nor were Francesco’s words lost. At the next place we stopped, I made my escape from the Triumphant Return. I spent weeks scrounging through the wilderness until I came to an Indian town. Making signs to them, I figured out that they had a priest who came around regularly to guide them on the path to enlightenment.

The Indians were very accommodating. They were poor, but they were willing to share their food and shelter with me until the Father showed up.

Traveling a rather long route with the Father once he arrived in the town, I eventually made my way back civilization. From there I went to Spain where I published the book you are now reading. Perhaps you may find the lessons of Francesco as stimulating as I have.

The End

Copyright January 2, 2009, Miguel Thomás Orrez