Flynn, who is argumentative and likes to take the opposing side, found nothing to say. When Cirito remarked that Fina had called on the phone to let him know she was staying in Salta another week and they talked about other things and drank more whiskey and Trafalgar more coffee, Flynn admitted that Trafalgar could be right, that the matter, if you thought about it carefully, seemed preposterous, yet he had the impression that it wasn’t all that strange. Cirito said:
“I’d like to go to Anandaha-A.”
“It’s all yours,” said the Albino.
“Was Veri Halabi that pretty?” asked Flynn.
“Now she is prettier,” said Trafalgar.
Of Navigators
At a quarter to ten, the bell rang. It was a Thursday of one of those treacherous springs that befall us in Rosario: Monday had been winter, Tuesday summer, Wednesday it had gotten dark in the south and hot in the north and now it was cold and everything was gray. I went to answer, and it was Trafalgar Medrano.
“We’re sunk,” I told him. “I have no coffee.”
“Oh, no,” he answered. “You won’t scare me off so easily. I’m going to buy some.”
A short while later he returned with a one kilo packet. He came in and sat at the kitchen table while I heated the water. He said it was going to rain and I said it was lucky we’d had the ligustrinas pruned the week before. The cat came and rubbed herself against his legs.
“What are you doing?” Trafalgar asked her; to me he said, “I don’t know how there are people who can live without cats. In the court of the Catholic Monarchs, for example, there were no cats.”
I served him the coffee. “What would you know about the court of the Catholic Monarchs?”
“I’m just coming from there,” he answered, and he drank half the cup.
“Stop kidding me. How’s the coffee?”
“Disgusting,” he answered.
I wasn’t surprised. Partly because Trafalgar finds all coffee disgusting, unless it’s the coffee he makes himself or that made by Marcos in the Burgundy or by two or three other chosen ones in the world; and partly because I do a few things moderately well, but coffee is not included on the list. The cat climbed up on his lap and half-closed her eyes, considering whether or not it was worthwhile to stay.
“Patience, drink it anyway,” and I served him another cup while I let my own get cold. “How did you manage to travel to the 15th century?”
“I don’t see why I should travel to the 15th century. Besides, time travel is impossible.”
“If you came to shake up my bookshelves, you can be going and leave me the coffee as tribute. I love time travel, and so long as I think it is possible, it is possible.”
The cat had decided to stay.
“The coffee is a gift,” said Trafalgar. “I am going to explain to you why one cannot travel through time.”
“No. I don’t want to know. But don’t tell me that if you come from the court of the Catholic Monarchs you didn’t travel through time.”
“What little imagination you have.”
That didn’t surprise me either. “Very well,” I said, “tell me.”
And I put the coffee pot on the table.
“Perhaps the universe is infinite,” he said.
“I hope so. But there are those who go around saying it isn’t.”
“I say that because this time I traveled through some very strange places.”
That did surprise me. If there is something Trafalgar, accustomed to traveling among the stars, finds strange, it is truly strange.
“If I tell you,” he continued, and he served himself more coffee. “Don’t you have a larger cup? Thank you. If I tell you that not even the merchant princes go there.”
“And who are they?”
“I call them the merchant princes, you can imagine why. They call themselves the Caadis of Caá. They’re like the Phoenicians but more sophisticated. I know they don’t go there because the last time I was with one of them, I think it was on Blutedorn, I discovered, exchanging itineraries, that they had nothing
“I’d like to go to Anandaha-A.”
“It’s all yours,” said the Albino.
“Was Veri Halabi that pretty?” asked Flynn.
“Now she is prettier,” said Trafalgar.
Of Navigators
At a quarter to ten, the bell rang. It was a Thursday of one of those treacherous springs that befall us in Rosario: Monday had been winter, Tuesday summer, Wednesday it had gotten dark in the south and hot in the north and now it was cold and everything was gray. I went to answer, and it was Trafalgar Medrano.
“We’re sunk,” I told him. “I have no coffee.”
“Oh, no,” he answered. “You won’t scare me off so easily. I’m going to buy some.”
A short while later he returned with a one kilo packet. He came in and sat at the kitchen table while I heated the water. He said it was going to rain and I said it was lucky we’d had the ligustrinas pruned the week before. The cat came and rubbed herself against his legs.
“What are you doing?” Trafalgar asked her; to me he said, “I don’t know how there are people who can live without cats. In the court of the Catholic Monarchs, for example, there were no cats.”
I served him the coffee. “What would you know about the court of the Catholic Monarchs?”
“I’m just coming from there,” he answered, and he drank half the cup.
“Stop kidding me. How’s the coffee?”
“Disgusting,” he answered.
I wasn’t surprised. Partly because Trafalgar finds all coffee disgusting, unless it’s the coffee he makes himself or that made by Marcos in the Burgundy or by two or three other chosen ones in the world; and partly because I do a few things moderately well, but coffee is not included on the list. The cat climbed up on his lap and half-closed her eyes, considering whether or not it was worthwhile to stay.
“Patience, drink it anyway,” and I served him another cup while I let my own get cold. “How did you manage to travel to the 15th century?”
“I don’t see why I should travel to the 15th century. Besides, time travel is impossible.”
“If you came to shake up my bookshelves, you can be going and leave me the coffee as tribute. I love time travel, and so long as I think it is possible, it is possible.”
The cat had decided to stay.
“The coffee is a gift,” said Trafalgar. “I am going to explain to you why one cannot travel through time.”
“No. I don’t want to know. But don’t tell me that if you come from the court of the Catholic Monarchs you didn’t travel through time.”
“What little imagination you have.”
That didn’t surprise me either. “Very well,” I said, “tell me.”
And I put the coffee pot on the table.
“Perhaps the universe is infinite,” he said.
“I hope so. But there are those who go around saying it isn’t.”
“I say that because this time I traveled through some very strange places.”
That did surprise me. If there is something Trafalgar, accustomed to traveling among the stars, finds strange, it is truly strange.
“If I tell you,” he continued, and he served himself more coffee. “Don’t you have a larger cup? Thank you. If I tell you that not even the merchant princes go there.”
“And who are they?”
“I call them the merchant princes, you can imagine why. They call themselves the Caadis of Caá. They’re like the Phoenicians but more sophisticated. I know they don’t go there because the last time I was with one of them, I think it was on Blutedorn, I discovered, exchanging itineraries, that they had nothing
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