Palm Trees in the Snow

by Luz Gabás

  They parked the pickup in front of the Ribagorza store and climbed the side stairs to knock. Julia took less than two seconds to swing open the door and invite them into a large and welcoming living room, which opened onto a terrace that served as both a dining room and a sitting room. It had a large table with wooden chairs in front of a rattan sofa. Kilian’s eyes wandered the walls, decorated with pictures of African themes, a red wooden spear almost two meters long, and a carey shell. The exception was a photograph of Pasolobino that brought out a nostalgic smile. On his right was an ivory tusk on a small piece of furniture, and scattered round the room were numerous ebony figurines. The most Western touch came from the Grundig record player and radio that sat on a small table beside the sofa, next to some issues of Hola and Reader’s Digest.

  Julia introduced Kilian to her parents, Generosa and Emilio, and offered the brothers a contrití, a popular island infusion, while the cook and the two boys finished preparing and serving the meal. Among the delicacies, Generosa had ordered the cook to prepare some toast with Iranian caviar and to cook a fritambo, an antelope stew that Kilian found delicious.

  “I was hesitant to open a jar of marinated meat that my mother sent me from Pasolobino,” explained Julia’s mother, a stocky woman with smooth skin and shoulder-length wavy hair in a brown skirt and a knitted ochre jersey, “but I finally decided on my cook’s star dish. I hope you will come again. Then I will prepare you one of my mother’s recipes.”

  Kilian liked Generosa and Emilio. He talked for a long time with them; they wanted to hear about the goings-on in Spain, so he repeated what he had already told Julia in the shop. Generosa reminded him of his own mother, although she was more talkative than Mariana. She still had mettle from her youth in the mountains, maintaining her excellent health. It was necessary to have endured so many years on Fernando Po. Emilio was a man of medium build, with only a few wiry hairs, a short mustache, and bright eyes like his daughter’s. Kilian saw that he was quiet and easygoing, well mannered with a smile never far away. Emilio asked after their father, whom he had not seen in days, and regretted that his health was not as good as it used to be.

  “Do you know,” he said, “how lucky we were to have each other when we arrived here for the first time? How different everything was! Now the roads are paved and have drains. We have water, electricity in the houses and streets, telephones, just like Pasolobino!”

  Kilian picked up on the irony. There could not have been two worlds more different than his village and Santa Isabel. The Europeans who came from large cities would probably not notice the difference, but Kilian, a man used to livestock and villages full of mud, did. He began to understand how Emilio and Generosa had managed to adapt so well to the comforts of a place like this. They had even been able to give Julia a good education in the schools on the island, a luxury … Perhaps one day he would be able to love this bit of Africa as Julia’s family did, but for the moment, he still sighed over the smallest details, such as the discovery, in a corner of the dining room, of a simple altar to the Virgin of Guayente—patroness of their valley—along with an image of Our Lady of the Pillar and the memory of parties in his house rekindled by the taste of the mellow wine from the small cask that Generosa had received from home to accompany the typical lard pastries from Pasolobino.

  Julia laughed. During the meal, the girl had been busy trying to win Jacobo’s attention with jokes and intelligent conversation. She had dressed up very prettily for the occasion, in a Vichy yellow-and-brown short-sleeved dress and her hair tied up in an elegant chignon that showed off her features. Kilian was sorry that his brother was not interested. They would have made a very good couple, even more so tonight with Jacobo looking impeccable in his linen trousers and white shirt. Julia and Jacobo were young, attractive, and fun. A good combination, thought Kilian. He felt sad for Julia, seeing the hopeful anticipation in her eyes when Jacobo responded with a smile or a laugh.

  One of the boys indicated that coffee would be served on the porch that led to the garden, lit up by kerosene lamps swarming with mosquitoes. The night was so clear that the moon would have been enough, projecting its light over the great mango and the huge avocado trees—Kilian reckoned that they were between eight and ten meters tall—that reigned over the exotic trees in the garden. Julia suggested that they play a game of cards, but her parents wanted to continue the conversation.

  Julia’s father was afraid that the winds of independence of places like Kenya and the Belgian Congo would arrive in Guinea and put their businesses in danger. Generosa skillfully but conclusively ended the conversation when she gathered that Kilian was not going to stop asking questions. The young man felt a little frustrated, as he would have willingly shared what he had learned about the Mau Mau movement on the ship. He could not begin to imagine that this perfectly organized colonial world had any cracks. Nevertheless, he did not want to be rude and followed the new topics of conversation.

  Every now and then, Jacobo glanced at his watch. He could imagine where and what Marcial and Mateo were up to at that moment, and a knot of urgency formed in his stomach.

  A few minutes later, a boy came to tell them that a worker from Sampaka, Waldo, was there to fetch Massa Kilian and Massa Jacobo and bring them back to the plantation.

  “Some Calabars were celebrating a party in the barracks”—Waldo talked quickly when he entered, in an agitated manner that Kilian found a little forced—“when they got involved in a big fight, with machetes and everything.”

  “They are like animals!” Generosa commented, blessing herself. “They are probably from that cannibal sect. Haven’t you heard? In the market they said something about how they had eaten the bishop in Río Muni …”

  “What are you saying, Mom?” Julia protested.

  Jacobo asked Waldo to continue.

  “Several men are injured,” continued the lad, “and no white man around to restore order, not even the new doctor.”

  Jacobo put his hand out to Emilio, kissed Generosa and Julia on the cheeks, and dragged his brother out of the house while Kilian repeated his thanks for the pleasant evening and promised to return soon. Julia went out with them to the pickup while they loaded Waldo’s bike in the back and said good-bye to them with a glint of frustration in her eyes.

  Jacobo drove quickly until, after a couple of blocks, he stopped the pickup, got out, gave the bike to Waldo, and put some notes in his hand.

  “Good work, lad!”

  Waldo lit a portable lamp and went off, happy to have earned such easy cash.

  Jacobo got back into the pickup and turned to Kilian with a wide smile.

  “You rogue!” Kilian reproached him, chuckling.

  “Welcome to Saturday night in Santa Isabel!” his brother said. “Here we come, Anita Guau!”

  Jacobo stepped on the accelerator and drove like a lunatic. Kilian became infected by his brother’s joy.

  “And what hola-holas have we here?” Just after the brothers entered the dance hall, a well-padded woman with an ample bosom greeted them affectionately, holding out her hand to them. “It’s been a long time since I last saw you, Massa Jacobo! And this must be your brother! Welcome! Come in and enjoy yourselves!”

  “I see nothing has changed, eh, Anita?” Jacobo took her hand while scanning the place. He made out his friends and waved to them. “Look, Kilian. Even Manuel is here. But I don’t see Dick or Pao.”

  “Who?”

  “Some friends who work in Bata, in the logging industry. They normally turn up on Saturdays … Well, I’m going to have my favorite whiskey. White Horse, black label. Difficult though it is to believe, it’s cheaper than beer. The advantages of a free port.”

  They went over to the bar, and Kilian noticed that, indeed, the majority of the drinks ordered were spirits. The waitresses served generous quantities of whiskies with names he did not recognize—they must have been Scotch or Irish—and well-known brandies such as Osborne, Fundador, 501, Veterano, or Tres Cepas. In the hou
ses of Pasolobino, he thought in astonishment, one of these bottles would last almost a year. In Anita’s, a few seconds.

  Jacobo asked for two glasses of White Horse as Kilian studied the open-air dance floor. The club was an enormous closed patio divided in two: on the right, a roof protected the bar and table area against possible showers; on the left, the dance floor was uncovered and bordered by the surrounding buildings. Numerous children stationed on the adjacent balconies watched the antics down below. White and black men with black women dressed like Europeans moved to the beat of the six-piece orchestra extracting frenetic music from different-size drums, a xylophone, a pair of maracas that looked like pumpkins, and a trumpet, resulting in a curious mix of African percussion and familiar Latin rhythms. Kilian found himself swinging his shoulders; this music was contagious.

  Jacobo gave his brother a drink, and they advanced toward the tables at the front, joining Manuel and Marcial, who were drinking with two pretty women. Between laughs, they pointed to the dance floor and saw Mateo trying to follow the breakneck rhythm of his partner, a woman much larger than he. Marcial got up to get two seats for the brothers. In a corner set aside for talking and drinking, dark fabrics covered the windows, which created an intimate atmosphere heated by tobacco smoke and the smell of perfume and sweat.

  “I’d like to introduce you to Oba and Sade,” said Marcial. “They just arrived from the continent. This is Jacobo and Kilian.”

  The girls offered their hands to the men. Oba, more petite than her friend, wore a wide-skirted V-necked yellow dress with a tight bodice and a bow at the front, her hair in a European-style bob. To Kilian, Sade’s height and haughty pose gave her the appearance of a beautiful queen adorned by colored-seed bracelets and crystal-beaded necklaces. A pale-pink dress showed off her figure with buttons to the waist and a white cotton neckline and cuffs that matched her sandals. Her hair was gathered in tiny buns, and the gaps between them created small mosaics that made her large eyes look even bigger and her lips fuller.

  “Would you like to dance?” asked Oba in perfect Spanish.

  Marcial and Jacobo agreed, and the four of them went to the dance floor. Manuel went for more drinks and on his way met Mateo, who returned to the table alone. Kilian smiled when he saw Jacobo match Sade’s provocative weaving and the disproportionate height difference between Oba and Marcial, who had to bend down to dance.

  “I’m wrecked!” Mateo, sweating, sat down beside him. “These women have the devil in their bodies! And you … why aren’t you dancing? You only need to ask one of them.”

  “The truth is I’m not very fond of dancing,” Kilian confessed.

  “I didn’t like it either, but once you let yourself be carried along by the sounds of the dundun, djembe, and bongo drums, it gets easier.” He laughed, seeing Kilian’s look of surprise. “Yes, I’ve even managed to learn their names. In the beginning, they were all tamtams …” He searched for his glass while scanning the room for a new partner. “It’s very lively here tonight. There are a lot of new girls.”

  Manuel arrived with the drinks. “You are not going to believe this! Gregorio and Regina are at the bar. Her mourning period was very short! What are you two talking about?”

  “About the drums, the girls … ,” responded Kilian. “Where are they from?”

  “Coriscans, Nigerians, Fang, and Ndowé from Río Muni … ,” listed Mateo. “A little of everything.”

  “And Bubis from here?”

  “Bubis, no!” said Manuel. “If they lose their virginity, they are punished.”

  “It’s amazing the different cultures in such a small place,” commented Kilian, remembering Umaru. “So this is the famous spot that makes the whole week bearable.”

  “It’s not the only one, but it is the best,” explained Marcial, keeping up to the rhythm of the music with his glass. “Sometimes we go to Riakamba, behind the cathedral. And there is also the Fernandino Club, but I don’t like it at all, because the girls aren’t as loose as they are here.” He let out a chuckle. “They act like the white women, all dainty and decent.”

  “It’s the equivalent to the white man’s casino,” Manuel qualified, amused by Mateo’s explanation. “That is where the elite blacks go. It’s frowned upon for a white man to dance with a black woman there. Here it’s different. For a few hours, we are all equal.”

  Marcial and Sade returned to the table without their respective partners.

  “What happened to the other two?” asked Manuel.

  “Oba has abandoned me for someone her own size,” joked Marcial, his large frame making the seat creak as he sat down. “And Jacobo has met an old girlfriend. Kilian, he said you should go back with us.” He shook his head. “That man doesn’t waste any time!”

  Sade sat very close to Kilian and cheekily asked for a sip of his whiskey, gently placing her hand on his thigh. The other men exchanged amused glances. Kilian got nervous as he felt a tingling in his trousers and hastily tried to distract everyone.

  “I was told today that some natives on the continent have eaten a bishop. A banned sect or something?”

  Mateo and Marcial shook their heads as Sade and Manuel laughed in unison.

  “You whites are afraid that we will eat you!” she said in a high voice. “And that we will take your power …”

  Kilian frowned.

  “There are tribes on the continent that hunt and eat gorillas,” explained Manuel. “A bishop is a species of gorilla with a goatee similar to that of the first missionary priests. By the way, they also eat diplomats …”

  Sade nodded while looking out the corner of her eye at Kilian, who blushed and finished his drink in one gulp. Marcial butted in.

  “Lads, lads! Will you look at the beauty who has just arrived!” They all looked up at the woman in the lilac dress, showing off her tremendous figure in extremely high heels. “That one is definitely my size!”

  He shot off in the woman’s direction, but stopped after a few meters. Another man much bigger than he had already offered her his arm to lead her onto the dance floor. Marcial turned around and went back to the table.

  “Mosi the Egyptian is a lot of Mosi, isn’t he, Marcial?” Mateo sympathized.

  “I know! Nothing I could do … Ah well, I’ll have another drink.”

  Sade got up and took Kilian by the hand. “Let’s dance,” she insisted.

  Kilian allowed himself to be dragged onto the dance floor. He was happy that the orchestra was playing a beguine, similar to a slow rumba. Sade stuck her body against his, intoxicating him with her deep eyes. Kilian was surprised by her overt advances. He felt a mixture of curiosity and desire. His past experiences were limited to a house of ill repute in Barmón, where his brother had taken him, flush after a livestock fair, to make him a man, then various encounters with girls who worked in the big houses of Pasolobino and Cerbeán. He remembered Jacobo’s word after Kilian’s first—and disastrous—time: “Women are like whiskey. The first sip is difficult, but when you get used to it, you learn to savor it.” Over time, Kilian learned that what his brother said was partly true. But unlike Jacobo, he did not go looking for that pleasure often. He needed some type of mutual understanding, or affinity, even if fleeting.

  In this situation, Sade knew exactly how to convince him. It seemed as if she really wanted to enjoy herself with him. Kilian began to feel the desire between his legs grow.

  “If you like, we could step outside,” she suggested sweetly.

  Kilian nodded, and they left the club, heading toward the back. They walked hand in hand along a quiet and tranquil street of small cottages until reaching the end, where the buildings stopped and the green blanket began. Sade led him through leafy trees, whose moon-shadowed outlines hid other couples, until they reached a place that seemed discreet and comfortable.

  Sade rubbed her skin against his, roaming his body with an expert hand and guiding his hands around her curves while uttering arousing words in her own language. When she saw that he was re
ady, she lay on the ground and opened herself to him. Kilian entered her with a dizzying mix of desire and confusion, as if he could not believe that his body could respond with so much hunger. Without speaking, he rocked inside her until he could not take any more and exploded. The sensation throbbed through his veins, and he remained lying down for several minutes until she gave him a pat on his shoulder for him to get up.

  They fixed their clothes with clumsy movements. Kilian was in a daze. He had yet to recover from the intensity of the encounter. Sade gave him an understanding smile, took his hand, and went with him back into the club. At the bar, they parted ways.

  “I’d like to see you again,” she told him with a flirtatious wink.

  Kilian made an ambiguous gesture with his head, leaned on the bar, and ordered a drink. Bit by bit, his breathing returned to normal. Still, he needed a few minutes before going back to his friends. They might talk about these things casually, but he could not. He did not want to be the butt of their jokes nor have to give explanations. As far as he knew, Marcial, Mateo, Jacobo, Gregorio, Dámaso, even Manuel—well, maybe not so much Manuel—understood the island’s pleasures. And, in a few minutes, he had become one of them. So quickly! So easily! His head was spinning. Would he see Sade again? Would she become his steady friend? They had barely spoken two words! He did not know what she was like or what she expected from life or if she had brothers or sisters, parents … Everything had happened so quickly. What did she expect from him? She had told him that she would like to see him again. Would he end up giving her money every month in exchange for exclusive favors? Was that how things worked? He was overtaken by a slight pang of conscience. The best thing would be to not return to Anita Guau for a reasonable period. Yes. Time would tell.

  He smoothed down his hair a few times, took several sips from the glass, and went back to the table at the front, posing as if everything were normal.