"Once we find a way out of here, we'll know where we want to go. And where we shouldn't. I don't think you'd want to take a route like this again either."
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A Story about...
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With the nostalgic smell of ink filling the room, he sets the book down, along with his pen.
Again, he sits on the chair and continues jotting down on the book.
"I tried to be as friendly as possible, but something about those people made me feel angry... Rather uneasy."
He stops. Maybe it could've been the superiority he felt while he was there, but it didn't take long for him to feel some sort of hatred towards the voyage. And though he felt the most sophisticated, even someone like him has felt somewhat humiliated by the sheer pride of the captain.
The man continues, "I had even met a small boy at the island, and of course, tried being friendly... But it seems that they couldn't get the message."
Once again, his hand stops moving... The boy he met on the island... What was his name again? Had he ever given him his name? His head aches from just trying to remember, it had been a good few months ago... Maybe he was just getting old.
"The land... Had their own gods to believe in, the people were nice and didn't question the lord of Spain. Although heathens¹, they were hospitable... Most of them."
He writes, remembering the unpleasant encounter he had with a certain black-flagged man carrying a bow and arrow. Though seeming to be religious and faithful to his god's words, had no sense of impression and didn't even bother to watch his profanity. He sighed.
"What was your name, boy? Have you told Enrique your name?" He wonders to himself, "Enrique had grown to be a strong and righteous man, what would you and your other people think when he finds the island again and apologizes?"
It was true, Enrique had grown, and he had promised to himself that he wouldn't be involved with anything the Spanish empire did. Two decades had made him mature... Yet he still had the immature dream of going back to where he had met the boy.
"I can't even start to believe that man... Back to the island? Where there were rampant storms and horrible weather? And where there was the sun that..."
He stops and drops his pen on the paper. Yes... The Sun.
It has nothing to do with their expedition, it didn't do anything at all. But that didn't mean it wasn't important. From the rays and the searing heat, he knew that these people were truly loved...
But by who?
"The island is strange..." Pigafetta says, "It's as if I had walked into the territory of an angry god."
