Palm Trees in the Snow

by Luz Gabás

  “Has the cat caught your tongue?”

  “Eh? No, no. Gregorio is still the same, making me lose face in front of the laborers. He tells them behind my back not to pay any attention to me, as I’m new, but later he sends them to me to sort out their problems. Waldo told me.”

  “He’s jealous of you. Garuz said he needed someone to put things right in that yard. It was very intelligent on his part to send someone new who shows interest in doing things right. If you continue like this, you’ll soon be in charge of the main yard.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not a leader. It’s difficult to get the laborers to do what I tell them. I have to repeat things twenty times. They wait until I get annoyed and shout at them, and then they look at me with a smile and do it.”

  “Threaten to warn the guards. Or send them to the Santa Isabel Labor Office for fines.”

  “I’ve already done that.” Kilian bit his lip. “The problem is I’ve told them a thousand times what I’m going to do, but later I regret it and don’t follow through. And then they don’t believe me. They don’t take a darn bit of notice.”

  “Then give them one or two cracks of the cane and you’ll see how they obey!”

  Kilian looked at him in surprise.

  “But I’ve never hit anyone in my life!” he protested.

  “You’ve never?” joked Jacobo. “Have you forgotten all the fights we had when we were children?”

  “That was different.”

  “If you can’t do it, order one of the foremen to do it instead. Problem solved.” Jacobo’s tone got a bit harder. “Look, Kilian, the sooner they respect you, the better. Many other Spaniards would like to be in your position, earning what you earn …”

  Kilian nodded in silence. He looked out the window and saw some small monkeys who seemed to be waving to the picú from the cocoa trees. A thick green blanket led to the outskirts of Santa Isabel, where the track turned into a tarmac road.

  “We’ll first do a quick trip round the city so you can get your bearings,” Jacobo said. “We have plenty of time. And stop scratching yourself! You’re making me nervous.”

  “I can’t help it!” Kilian placed his hands under his thighs.

  Jacobo drove through the narrow streets, which seemed to have been drawn with a ruling pen, from the seafront to the river consul, marking the boundary with the forest. They began by visiting the high part of the city, mainly inhabited by Nigerians. Throngs of children ran about with rubber balls made from the viscous liquid of the rubber tree, or shooting dry pellets from makeshift blowpipes using the hollow branches of the papaya tree. Young men and women, the men bare chested and the women carrying bundles on their heads and children in their arms, walked along the exotic stalls filled with local produce or goods imported from around the globe. The sellers, using leaf swats, tried to shoo away the persistent flies that prowled around the sticks on which fish and monkey and gronbíf, a field rat the size of a hare, meat were strung. The spicy smells of the prepared stews, on display beside kola nuts that the natives ate to combat tiredness, and of the fresh vegetables laid out on sheets of the Ébano newspaper or on banana leaves, reached the car. It was a cornucopia of noise, color, smell, and movement. A feast for the senses.

  Kilian noticed that although the majority of the women were wearing blouses over the clotes, which the soft breeze made stick to their legs, some women had bare breasts. With a roguish smile on his face and a gleam of novel excitement in his eyes, he gazed at the dark, firm nipples of the girls. He smiled, imagining his girlfriends in Pasolobino dressed, or rather undressed, like so.

  The houses in the upper quarter were built of sheets of zinc or calabo wood, with the roofs also of zinc or palm leaves called nipa interwoven with cords of melongo. As the brothers neared the area where the Europeans and wealthy businesspeople of all races lived, the buildings turned into a series of similar houses surrounded by well-kept gardens with exotic fruit trees—papayas, coconuts, mangoes, guavas, and avocados—and shrubs covered in flowers—dahlias, roses, and chrysanthemums. The lower level and the rear of many of these houses were storerooms and shops, and the upper stories were the living quarters.

  Jacobo stopped the pickup in front of one of these houses, jumped out, and motioned to his brother to do the same. “I’m going to the chemist’s at the corner for a minute to see if they can give me something for that cro-cró that’s killing you.” He pointed to a shop named Factoría Ribagorza, owned by a family from the valley of Pasolobino. “Start on the list and tell them to put it all on the plantation’s account.”

  When he went in, Kilian was surprised by the wide range of objects that were stacked on the floor and shelves. He recognized all types of tools—typical of a hardware shop—beside jars of preserves, shoes, sewing machines, perfumes, and car accessories. A pleasant little voice called from behind him:

  “If you can’t find what you’re looking for, it can be ordered.”

  He turned around and discovered a girl about his own age, quite pretty, not very tall, brown haired, and with a friendly look that he found vaguely familiar. To his surprise, he saw she wore green pleated trousers and a white short-sleeved diamond-patterned sweater. A fetching red scarf adorned her neck. The girl squinted at him and exclaimed, “But you’re Kilian, Jacobo’s brother! You look a lot alike! Don’t remember me?”

  Then he remembered. He had been to her house, some three kilometers from Pasolobino, accompanying his father. Each time Antón returned from Fernando Po, he visited the grandparents and family of the girl and brought them packages from her parents, who lived on the island. While Antón talked with the adults, Kilian played with a mischievous child who told him that one day she would go to Africa.

  “Julia? Forgive me, but you’ve changed so much …”

  “So have you.” The girl moved her hand in the air up and down. “You’ve grown a lot since”—she calculated in her head—“you were ten.”

  “Has it been that long since you’ve been home? I mean, Spain? And your parents? Are they well?”

  Julia nodded. “Things are going well for us here, so after finishing secondary school at the Colonial Institute, I decided to help with the family business.” She shrugged. “Every year I say I will go back to Pasolobino, and for one reason or another, I don’t! I’m always asking Jacobo about our beloved mountains. Has he come back from his holiday yet?”

  Kilian brought her up to date on the village, answering all her questions about recent christenings, weddings, and funerals. For some minutes, the conversation about their common world, Pasolobino, made him forget his itchiness.

  “Sorry for the interrogation!” she suddenly exclaimed. “And what about you? How are you adapting to your new life?”

  Kilian stretched out his arms so that she could see the state of his skin.

  “I see.” Julia played it down. “Don’t worry. It goes away in the end.”

  “Everyone says the same thing. They say I shouldn’t worry.” He stooped down and lowered his voice. “I must confess something to you. I thought colonial life would be different.”

  Julia burst out laughing. “Within a few months, you will have changed your mind!” He scoffed as she put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “How much do you bet?”

  At that moment, the door opened and Jacobo entered. He came over and affectionately greeted the girl, giving her two kisses on the cheeks. Kilian noticed how Julia blushed slightly.

  “Great to see you again. How did your holidays go?”

  “I always enjoy holidays. And even more when they are paid!”

  “You didn’t miss us even the slightest bit?” Julia teased.

  “You know what happens when we cocoa men leave the island.” Jacobo retained the ironic plural. “We are tired of weeds and machetes …” Seeing the disappointment on her face, he qualified himself. “But you also know that we like to come back. By the way”—he quickly changed the subject—“be sure we remember to buy limes. They sure go
through them!” He turned to Kilian. “Have you got everything we need?”

  His brother shook his head. He took the list out of his pocket and gave it to Julia, who busied herself preparing the goods while the men looked at the shelves in case they needed anything else.

  “That’s nougat from last Christmas,” said Julia on seeing Kilian trying to decipher the contents of a tin. “As you can see, we have everything here.”

  “Tinned nougat!”

  “When somebody wants something, it sharpens the mind.”

  Soon the parcels were ready. Jacobo signed the receipt and paid for a bottle of Tullamore Dew Irish whiskey with his own coupon.

  “For the old doctor’s going-away party,” he whispered to Kilian, giving him a wink. “It’s tonight.”

  Julia accompanied them to the pickup. “How would you like to come to the house for lunch or dinner this week? My parents would be happy to see you.” Before Jacobo had a chance to make an excuse, she added, “And it would be good for Kilian to get out of the forest.”

  Jacobo had a different type of party in mind for his brother. Such soirees were fine for young married couples. Single men looked for other types of entertainment. He tried to come up with a polite way of refusing the invitation, but Kilian interrupted. “Thanks, Julia. We’d be delighted. Wouldn’t we, Jacobo?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  “We’ll see each other this week then.” Julia beamed. “I’ll send you an invitation with the boy. Bye for now!”

  Satisfied, she turned around and went back to work with a spring in her step.

  Jacobo put his hand in his pocket, took out a small jar of cream, and threw it angrily to his brother before getting into the vehicle. “Take this!”

  Kilian got into the pickup and began to spread the cream on his arms and the top half of his chest. Jacobo drove in silence.

  “Do you mind telling me what’s bugging you?” Kilian asked after a while.

  Jacobo pursed his lips and shook his head. “She certainly got her way!”

  “Are you referring to Julia? She seemed a very nice and intelligent woman. She’s easy to talk to and has a great sense of humor.”

  “She’s all yours.”

  Kilian frowned, then let out a roar of laughter while slapping his thighs. “So she’s in love with you! You kept that very quiet …”

  “And what’s there to say? She’s not the first nor the last to chase me.”

  “They won’t all be like Julia.”

  “You’re dead right.” Jacobo nodded with a devilish smile. “In other circumstances, I would take her for a stroll down Lover’s Lane at Punta Fernanda. But it’s too early.”

  “Too early for what?”

  “What do you think? For me to get engaged.” When he saw that Kilian looked confused, Jacobo gave an over-the-top sigh. “Boy, sometimes you’re a bit thick. Look, Kilian, here, at our age, we all have many … let’s say … girlfriends, but no one steady. Well, some do have a steady girl, but not like Julia, I mean, not one of ours, but the steady ones cause problems because they become infatuated and want money, or they entangle you with a child … I try not to have anyone steady. I hope you’ll also be sensible … I don’t know if you get what I’m saying.”

  Kilian had gotten some idea. He looked down at his hands. “But our father as well? I mean, someone married who spends long periods alone here …”

  Imagining Antón in the arms of a woman who was not Mariana caused a strange knot in Kilian’s stomach.

  “Look, I don’t know what he might have done when he was younger, nor have I asked him. But since I’ve been here on the island, I haven’t heard or seen anything untoward. And usually these things come out.”

  Kilian breathed out a sigh of relief.

  “Anyway, I’m not surprised. You know what Dad’s like on religion and morality …”

  “And he loves Mom a lot … He wouldn’t do that to her—be unfaithful, I mean.”

  “Well, yes, but other married men also love their wives back in Spain and don’t hesitate to look for company to keep themselves amused during the long campaigns. Love has nothing to do with these things.”

  Kilian did not completely agree, but he did not comment. Far from answering his questions, the embarrassing conversation had led to many more. He decided to put an end to the serious mood.

  “And where do you see your girlfriends? In the fortnight I’ve been here, I haven’t seen any …”

  Jacobo gave him a rakish grin. “You’ll see, Kilian, you’ll see. What’s more, I think it’s time that I introduce you to them soon. You’re the very type who’d easily fall for someone like Julia. I’m not going to let you miss the best this island has …”

  “Thanks for your concern,” said Kilian derisively. “I hope I measure up.”

  He noticed that his brother was smiling. Turning his head and looking out the window, he saw that they had returned to Zaragoza. His first visit to the city had made him feel better. The itching had not stopped, but his talk with Julia had made him feel less lonely, and the drive through the tunnel of palm trees did not seem so strange. He even noticed a comforting gesture of familiarity in the wachimán Yeremías’s greeting.

  “By the way, Jacobo,” he said when the pickup stopped in front of the white-columned porch of the beautiful main house.

  “Yes?”

  “It was my turn to drive.”

  After unloading the purchases, Jacobo took another vehicle and went off to Yakató. Kilian sat in the driver’s seat to join in the day’s work at Obsay. He moved the picú forward a few meters in fits and starts and stopped again to return the hello he got from Antón, who was walking at a distance toward the main stores accompanied by the ever-present José. Kilian waited until they had gone into the building—he did not want any witnesses. Fortunately, at this time of day, there was nobody in the main yard.

  He arrived at Obsay, sweating buckets but proud that he had not stalled the engine even once. He parked the pickup and started walking briskly to the cocoa trees along the main path. A little later, he heard the workers singing. A few meters farther on, he spotted a woman dressed in a colorful clote, carrying a large empty basket on her head. He assumed she was looking for wild fruit or wood. Suddenly, the woman stopped as if she had heard something from the undergrowth, and without hesitating, she went into the jungle. Kilian did not pay it any mind, knowing that the Calabar women were used to the forest. They often went there with food for their husbands when they were working.

  He continued his journey until he heard the murmuring of the laborers, the chop, chop of pruning and slashing, and the whirring of the sprayers spitting out the Bordeaux mixture of copper sulfate and lime that stopped the young plants from getting the mildew that attacked during the rainy season.

  Soon afterward, he came upon the first workers of a long row and saw Nelson, one of the foremen, at the end of it. He gave him a thumbs-up to ask if everything was going well. The man nodded. Kilian then looked at the laborer closest to him. He racked his brain for a simple question, wanting to give the workers the chance to see how his Pichi had improved.

  “Whose side Massa Gregor?”

  “I no know, Massa Kilian.” The man shrugged, raised his hand, and waved it toward various places. “All we done come together, but he done go.”

  Kilian did not understand anything, but nodded. He wasn’t sure what to do, so he began walking through the laborers, paying attention to what they were doing and moving his head up and down as a sign of approval, until he got up to Nelson, just where the cocoa trees ended and the jungle began. Nelson, a well-built man as tall as Kilian, with a completely round, flat face and the beginnings of a double chin, was squabbling with a man while shaking the sprayer he held in his hands. When he saw Kilian, he straightened up.

  “Everything’s fine, Massa,” he stuttered in Spanish with a strong accent. Spanish proficiency was a prerequisite for promotion to foreman. “The mixture should be properly stirred to pr
event damage to the trees.”

  Kilian agreed. He felt a little ridiculous pretending he was in control when there was so much he did not know. He would have preferred to help in the yards, fixing the barracks. When it came to building and construction, he could run rings around them, thanks to the many hours spent maintaining the house and the hay sheds in Pasolobino. As far as cocoa went, he was still clueless.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said to Nelson, collecting some fresh leaves from the ground.

  Going into the woods to relieve oneself was a good way of ending an awkward conversation. The first meters were fairly clear, but after a few steps, Kilian had to use the machete to clear the way to get to a suitable spot. He pulled down his trousers and relaxed, observing as a yellow-and-black spider put the final touches on a thick web that stretched from one plant to another. Just as well, he thought, that he was not afraid of spiders or tarantulas. These crawlers were ten times bigger and hairier than those in Pasolobino, but none were immune to a good stomping. Snakes were a different matter. He could not stand them. Kilian was always on guard, especially after the incident with the boa.

  When he finished, he cleaned himself with the leaves and stood up by grabbing on to a branch that suddenly came to life. Kilian stumbled back and stood dead still. The greenish-brown branch was slowly twisting. He squinted his eyes and made out a head and a tongue slithering in the air.

  Slowly, he did up his trousers and began walking backward. He turned and hurriedly walked away, his heart beating wildly. After a few minutes, he realized he was heading in the wrong direction. He cursed under his breath and retraced his steps. Just then he heard an exclamation, only a few meters from where he stood. He listened carefully and recognized Gregorio’s voice. He had probably gone into the woods for the same reason. He gave a sigh of relief. His partner knew every inch of the area. He charged through a small clearing in the undergrowth,