Twisted Cross

“This will be your last mass, Salvador. You have another fate,” he said. What fate? Salvador’s questions were drowned out by calls from boisterous sailors filling the plaza.

   “Fetch me a brew, boy, por un peso, here’s a dollar,” a sailor said. He staggered toward Salvador and tossed the money at his feet. Throngs of seamen filled the plaza between the church and the port road to Finisterre. They stomped around like wild bulls, cursing, gambling and wrestling with one another.

   “¿Solo uno just one?” Salvador asked. He grabbed the money. Should he trust this man?

   “¡Ha, mìralo! Look here, we’re joined by a little businessman tonight,” the sailor said. He tossed more money and pushed Salvador toward a cart filled with beer barrels. Salvador actually held real silver pesos! These husky men looked rich and tough in their high leather boots and their heavy capes slung over their backs. Each man wore a golden emblem on a chain and a sword hung from his belt. Returning with the beer, Salvador asked about the golden emblem.

   “¿Este, this? It’s the symbol of our ship, La Buena Fortuna, the Good Fortune,” the sailor said. Most of the men ignored Salvador, but a few gave him a nudge and a wink, making him feel welcome. The more they drank, the more stories and silver they shared with him. Salvador’s wish for adventure was already starting to come true.