Chapter 7

Now I was in Getaria yet again, but this time with only a little money which was in the keeping of a goldsmith. My brothers were happy to see me, and my mother was glad that I had survived the massacre at Gelves, but I had no ship, and no possible work apart from sailing again to the Grand Banks, but this was too dangerous in winter, and unless I was the captain I knew that the rewards were small for crew men. I soon learned that Mari was not available to resume our meetings in the tavern because as her mother informed me with angry words, she was expecting my child. The shame of being pregnant and unwed was such that she remained indoors and did not show her face to the neighbours. I had no money to support her if we wed; I had no means of contributing to my family’s budget; and I did not want to depend on the charity of my family, so, in December, I went to Hondarribia to visit my old captain, Juan de Hondarribia, who had opened a tavern there. I needed to put distance between Mari’s angry mother and also my family who would perhaps insist that I marry Mari to prevent her shame.

When I arrived in Hondarribia, I enquired and soon discovered that the tavern owned by Juan was beside the port as Juan could not resist the lure of the sea. And it helped that mariners were always thirsty when they had been paid after a voyage, so they looked for the nearest tavern to slake their thirst. The proximity to the port also helped to offload smuggled cargo from France, which lay on the opposite bank of the river Bidasoa, and to store such cargo until it could be sold discretely.

The tavern was typical of so many Basque taverns. There was only one low-ceilinged room with a long counter that served as the bar, and behind which were kept the barrels of wine, cider and beer to be sold in pottery or pewter mugs. There were a few bottles of brandy on a shelf behind the bar which was also half-hidden by legs of pork that had been rubbed with salt and continued to be cured while hanging from hooks suspended from the ceiling in the smoky atmosphere generated by the smoke emitted by candles and by the clay pipes of tobacco that was just becoming popular among certain sections of the public after having been brought from Cuba by Christopher Columbus. Most customers drank wine if they were not from the Basque region, beer if they were thirsty, and cider if they were Basque. There were some wooden tables and chairs in the room and wooden boards covered with sawdust lined the floor. Sawdust was necessary as drinks were often spilled as drinkers became inebriated or agitated or argumentative. With the low ceiling and only one door and one window, the room was not bright which was ideal for private business, especially the smuggling business.

As I opened the door and entered, the tavern was empty as it was early in the day, but I saw Juan leaning on the bar. He did not seem to be the strong and forceful captain of the fishing boat who had guided us to build our cabin to help us survive the winter so many years before. Instead, he seemed frail and ill. The years of hardship at sea had taken their toll and his body seemed shrunk and without vigour.

“Kaixo, egunon” (Hello, good morning) I said.

“Kaixo,” he replied automatically, without lifting his head to look at me.

“Ezagutzen al nauzu?” (Do you know me?) I enquired.

“Ez” (No). Basques are famous for being direct in speech and for not using more words than necessary. However, he had still not looked in my direction, so of course he could not know who I was as I had grown tall and strong since I was the 16-year-old boy who had returned with him from the Grand Banks.

“Juan Sebastián naiz” (I’m Juan Sebastián).

“Zurekin egon nintzen neguan naufragio egin genuenean” (I was with you in the winter when we were shipwrecked). His eyes lit up when he heard my name, and he left his perch behind the bar to hobble towards where I stood in order to welcome me as if I was someone who had returned from the dead.

We sat and talked for what seemed to be hours. I told him of my adventures in Naples and Oran, but tactfully omitting the fact that I had made Mari pregnant, while he told me that he had retired from the sea and was now living peaceably as the owner of this tavern. However, I could see that his health was failing although he himself made no mention of being ill. Although it seemed to be a struggle for him to remember names and places that we talked about, he was still able to carry on a lively conversation, albeit with some mistaking the identities of people.