Palm Trees in the Snow

by Luz Gabás

  That night after dinner, Julia dressed as usual so as not to raise suspicion, although she did take some time to make sure her makeup was perfect. When she got in front of the wheel of her father’s red-and-cream Vauxhall Velox, she undid the two top buttons of her pink flowery dress with elbow-length sleeves, and she also changed her pale lipstick to something more vibrant. Her heart was beating so fast that she could feel it despite the throb of the engine.

  She quickly left the city lights behind and entered a dark stretch of road. The headlights barely lit up a few meters ahead. A shiver of fear went through her body. She could sense the life that flowed through the jungle’s veins at night. When passing through the village of Zaragoza, the weak flames from the fires in the flimsy houses cast shadows through the unglazed windows. Julia wished she had picked a night with a full moon. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the palm trees at the entrance to Sampaka appear and disappear like ghosts. When a white-haired man carrying a small lantern raised his hand to get her to stop, her heart skipped a beat. The man approached the window, surprised when he saw a lone white female at the wheel.

  “Good evening, mis,” greeted Yeremías. “Can I help you?”

  “I have a message for Massa Antón.” She had practiced the phrase so often it came out naturally. “Is it always this dark?”

  “We have had a problem with the electricity. I don’t know how long it will take to fix it.” Yeremías pointed to a place. “You should park a little before the house. The Nigerians have filled the main yard—”

  “Okay, fine.” She nodded, wanting to hurry. “Thank you.”

  Julia drove the car on until she was suddenly surrounded by a mass of men dancing with machetes in their hands. Some of them held up kerosene lamps, making the whites of their eyes pop in the darkness when they bent down to peer at the strange driver. Julia calculated that if she left the car there, she would have to walk fifty meters through the crowd to the steps of the colonial house. Another option was to stay in the car or beep the horn like a lunatic, turn around, and leave. She took a deep breath, panicked, though the men did not appear violent. They looked at her for a second and then continued on their way. She decided to get out of the car. With trembling legs, she walked quickly, hearing comments with words she did not understand, but their tone was clear. Dozens of naked chests and muscular arms surrounded her as a cold sweat covered her body, and her vision grew cloudy. When she got to the bottom of the steps and bumped into someone she knew, she was ready to faint.

  “Julia! In God’s name! What are you doing here at this hour?”

  She never knew that a voice could sound so comforting. She looked up. “It’s not that late, Manuel. I’m here to give a message to Antón from my father.”

  “And couldn’t you have sent one of the boys?”

  “They weren’t at home,” she lied, and realized she was blushing, “so I came on the way to the cinema.”

  “That’s some detour!”

  Now with Manuel, Julia dared to look back at the men in the yard.

  “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  “The laborers have organized a massive hunt for jungle rats.”

  “Hunting gronbífs? In the dark?”

  “That way they will catch more. If they don’t exterminate them now, the rats will reproduce too much and damage the new crop. Afterward, they hold parties and eat them.”

  “And the whites participate?”

  “I don’t, although I admit I’m curious. The other employees and foremen will do the rounds to make sure there are no problems.”

  Julia did not know whether to laugh or cry. Of all the possible setbacks, it had never crossed her mind that rodents would spoil her plans.

  “Would you like to have a look?” asked Manuel. “The jungle is full of mysteries at night.”

  Before Julia could answer, she was interrupted by Jacobo’s voice as he came down the stairs with Kilian, Mateo, Marcial, and Gregorio.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Julia bit her lip hard as she came up with another lie to get her out of this mess. She held on to Manuel’s arm, and as the heat rose in her cheeks, she replied, “Manuel invited me to come and see the hunt. I was delighted to accept.”

  Manuel gave her a confused look, but something in her eyes led him not to say anything. They let them pass, then waited until the groups divided into areas and set off. Manuel asked her to come with him to one of the storerooms to get an oil lamp and suggested that they stay at the back of the brigade, in the cocoa trees nearest the plantation. Only whispers and the occasional sharp strike of a machete could be heard. Apart from the suffocating vegetation and the disturbing sensation that millions of insects were running under her feet, the hunt itself was not at all exciting.

  “I feel like somebody is watching us,” whispered Julia, rubbing her arms.

  “That always happens in the jungle. If you’d like, we can go and have a coffee in the dining room and wait until they come back with their trophies.”

  Julia gratefully nodded. On the way, they talked happily, as if they had known each other for years.

  The sound of drums brought them back to the plantation.

  In front of the laborers’ barracks, the women had lit several fires and started roasting some of the jungle rats that had been beheaded. Kilian had thought the hunt would never end. He was thankful for the warmth of the fire as the night chill announced the coming of the wet season. A worker came over to the white employees to offer them a bottle of malamba, and Simón ran to get some glasses. He returned with Antón, Santiago, and José, ready to join the party. Only the manager was missing. Garuz normally went home to his family in Santa Isabel when he finished work. He did not stay overnight on the plantation unless completely necessary.

  “This is strong as hell!” Mateo puffed and waved a hand at his mouth after feeling the sugarcane moonshine burn his throat. “I don’t know how they can take it.”

  “Surely you should be used to it by now!” joked Marcial, emptying his glass in one gulp and raising it to Simón for a refill.

  Kilian tried a sip of his malamba. His eyes filled with tears, and he began to cough.

  “Careful, lad!” Marcial slapped him on the back. “You have to drink it bit by bit at first. This weed killer doesn’t go to the stomach. It goes straight to the blood!”

  “It looks like we’ll all have hangovers tomorrow morning,” warned Antón, smiling and wetting his lips with the liquor.

  Kilian, his cheeks still burning, was happy to have his father there with them. He closed his eyes, tried the liquid again, and felt a pleasant heat run through his muscles. When he opened his eyes, he saw Julia and Manuel approach.

  Julia gave a start when she saw Antón and tried to turn, but Manuel took her arm and whispered, “Relax. Your secret is safe with me.”

  If Manuel ever figured out why Julia went to Sampaka that night, he never told.

  Julia nodded, excited by the chance to join an African party.

  “You’re still here?” asked Jacobo, surprised.

  “Julia!” Antón was also taken aback. “It’s been a long time! How are Generosa and Emilio?”

  “Very well, thanks. My father misses his evenings with you.”

  “Tell him I’ll come around soon. And what brings you here at this time of night?”

  Manuel came to her aid. “I promised her I’d invite her to a gronbíf hunt.”

  Jacobo frowned. “The hunt has been over a while. I thought you’d have left by now.”

  “And miss the show?” she answered flirtatiously.

  “I don’t know if it’s an appropriate place … ,” began Jacobo, looking to Manuel and Antón.

  “For a white woman?” she finished with a wry smile. “Come on, Jacobo. Don’t be so old-fashioned.”

  Antón looked at his eldest son and shrugged. The sudden memory of an inquisitive Mariana pestering him to let her see one of those dances brought a small smile to his fac
e. That was thirty years ago. A lifetime! He sighed, drank a little more malamba, and sat down in the chair that José had thoughtfully set out; that night he decided to be swept away by the drums and into the past.

  Kilian sat on the ground next to Manuel and Julia, distancing himself from the rest of the employees. This was also his first African party, so he could understand her curiosity. He was confused by Jacobo’s reaction. All of a sudden, his brother could not stop looking at her with a furrowed brow. Was it possible that he was jealous? Kilian did not think it would be bad for his brother to get a little taste of his own medicine. Kilian accepted another glass from Simón, and a marvelous sense of well-being enveloped him. He let himself be carried away, along with Julia, by the magic of the night springing from the flames of the fire.

  Many of the women had decorated their necks, waists, and ankles with collars. They wore frayed skirts that swayed with the vibrant, infectious, and repetitious music coming from the drum skins. The veins of the musicians’ arms traced their glistening muscles.

  The rhythm accelerated, and the dancers began to twist and writhe, moving every centimeter of their bodies at a frenetic pace. Their breasts swung in a mesmerizing pattern before the proud gazes of their men. Julia would have liked to remove her dress and become infected by the energy of their pleasure. Manuel glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, bewitched by the inquisitive sparkle in her eyes. She seemed to absorb the scene and inject it directly into the blood in her veins.

  The impossible movements continued for quite a while. The women were joined by some men, even white men, in a dance that was devilishly wild and erotic. Kilian recognized Ekon, Mosi, and Nelson. He laughed to himself. If Umaru had been there, his group of recognizable men would have been complete. The bodies shone and drops of sweat trickled down their taut limbs. When Kilian’s chest—and surely those of the rest of the white men—was about to burst, pleading for breath, the pace slowed down and the young lads practiced some steps until the music stopped. The hunks of meat and more drinks were passed around amid the shouts and songs of the Nigerians and the silence of the Spaniards, still ecstatic and shaken by the ancestral dance.

  For Julia, the magic broke when she looked at her watch.

  “Good heavens! It’s so late. My parents!” she said in a whisper.

  “If you’d like,” Manuel leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I’ll take another car, follow you home, and we can tell them that we met at the cinema and went to have a drink afterward.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “I’d be delighted. But we won’t tell them what film we saw.” He winked.

  Julia and Manuel said good-bye to the others and left. Jacobo followed them with his eyes.

  “Good-bye, Julia,” called Gregorio. “Regards to Emilio.”

  She turned around and waved vaguely.

  “I didn’t know you knew Julia,” said Jacobo.

  “Oh, yes. In fact, I saw her in the shop a couple of weeks ago. She asked me about some incident on the plantation. I explained her error. Didn’t your little brother tell you?”

  Jacobo looked at Kilian, who gave a resigned nod.

  “Gregorio, you are a total ass,” he spat out. He sprung up and stood squarely in front of him. “Get up! I’m going to smash your face!”

  Antón and the others quickly gathered round. Gregorio stood, ready to confront Jacobo. Many laborers observed them with an amused gleam in their eyes. It was very unusual for two white men to fight.

  “You’re not going to do anything, Jacobo,” said Antón firmly, grabbing his arm. “We are all tired and drank too much. In the morning, we’ll see everything differently.”

  Jacobo stalked off, followed by Mateo and Marcial in search of more drink. Gregorio sat down, looking around for some woman to finish the night with.

  Kilian decided to retire with the older men. His legs felt like rubber, and he had to make a serious effort to walk straight so that his father would not notice how drunk he felt.

  The heat was still with him when he entered his bedroom. There was still no electricity, and he walked clumsily toward the window to open the wooden blinds. He stumbled against a soft object and nearly fell over. Just then, he heard a whisper that sounded like a hiss. He turned around, and all the blood rushed to his head as his muscles became paralyzed in terror. Just there, insolently upright, with a triangle head the size of a coconut, he saw a snake over one meter in length weaving back and forth.

  Kilian wanted to move, but he could not. He felt bewitched by the devilish animal. It had a pointed snout and two sharp horns separated by smaller ones between its nostrils. On its head, a big black arrow-shaped mark stood out, matching the black diamonds joined in twos by yellow lines and forming a fascinating mosaic down its back.

  He wanted to shout, but he could not. The snake came toward him, swelling its body and increasing the intensity of its hiss. It projected itself forward, revealing its large hooked fangs, full of deadly venom. Kilian’s eyes located his machete on a chair. He only had to stretch to get it, but his arm felt as heavy as a wooden beam. His temples throbbed, and a great vacuum turned his body into a hollow trunk.

  He had to do something.

  He concentrated all his efforts on his throat muscles and let out a quivering bellow, increasing in volume as his hand clasped the machete and he swung it round to lop off the head of the snake. He continued shouting as he kept hitting, turning the snake into a mass of bloody meat with a fury he could not control. His own blood started to circulate through his veins, sending pulses of moonshine-fueled euphoria through him. He skewered the head with his machete and strode out of the bedroom.

  On the veranda, he bumped into Simón, who had run toward the bedroom after hearing the shouts. He caught him with his free hand and shook him.

  “This didn’t get into my room on its own!” he howled. “You are in charge of my things! Who paid you to do it, hey? Who?”

  Simón barely recognized the man who held his arm in an iron grip. “It wasn’t me, Massa!” he pleaded. “I was with you all the time outside!”

  Two doors opened, and Antón and Santiago appeared. They quickly released Simón as Kilian scanned the group still by the fire. Disjointed images flashed through his mind of naked bodies moving to the beat of the drums, incoherent laughs and twisted smiles, blood and more blood, an elephant collapsing in agony, headless rats, slithering snakes, machete chops, Mosi, Ekon, Nelson …

  He fixed his gaze back on Simón.

  “Have you seen anyone wandering around here?”

  “No, Massa … well, yes, Massa.” The lad bit his bottom lip.

  “Which is it?” shouted Kilian, waving away Antón and Santiago.

  “When I came for the glasses, I saw Umaru coming down the stairs.”

  “Umaru … Clean the room!” Simón ordered him. “Now!”

  Kilian flew down the steps, crossed the yard in leaping bounds, and showed the head skewered on the machete to those who remained by the fire. The light of the kerosene lamps cast a grotesque shadow on the ground. Jacobo, Marcial, and Mateo jumped up, startled by Kilian’s bloody appearance.

  “He’s not to move from here.” He pointed at Gregorio. “Nelson! Where is Umaru?”

  “I don’t know, Massa.” The foreman shrugged. “I haven’t seen him for a while.”

  “Find him and bring him! You hear me? Tell him make him come. Bring him, blast you! And bring your switch as well!”

  There was a deadly silence. The women gathered the children together and crept quietly away. Jacobo and the rest exchanged confused glances. Antón, Santiago, and José arrived and stood by them.

  Shortly afterward, Nelson appeared, holding Umaru by the arm. He shoved him in front of Kilian.

  “Who ordered you to put this”—Kilian brought the head of the snake toward Umaru’s face—“in my bedroom? Hey? Who paid you?”

  Umaru’s teeth began to chatter as he repeated the same words over and over.

  Nel
son translated. “He says he knows nothing. He says he was dancing at the party the whole time.”

  “That is a lie.” Kilian spat out the words. “You were seen in the bedroom passage.” He threw the machete to the ground and held out his hand to Nelson. “Give me the switch.” Nelson hesitated. “I told you to give me the switch! Umaru … if you no tell me true, I go hit you!”

  Antón stepped forward to intervene, but Jacobo stopped him. “No, Dad, let him sort this out.”

  Kilian felt the thinness of the switch in his hands. Pain rose in his temples, his chest, his teeth … He hated this place! He was tired of the heat, the bugs, the orders, the cocoa trees, and Gregorio! God, if he could only return to Pasolobino. He could hardly breathe. Umaru continued to say nothing. Dozens of eyes waited for Kilian’s next move. He raised his hand and let loose a belt on Umaru’s arms. Umaru screamed in pain.

  “Hold him, Nelson!” He raised the switch and asked again, “Who paid you, Umaru?”

  Umaru shook his head. “I no know, Massa! I no know!”

  Kilian circled and hit him again, this time on the back, once, twice, three times, four … The lashes opened thin furrows on the skin, and blood dripped to the ground. Kilian was out of control. He did not hear Umaru, who, on his knees, begged him to stop.

  He was about to hit him again when a hand grabbed his arm and a quiet voice spoke. “That’s enough, Massa Kilian. The lad has said he will tell you everything.”

  Kilian looked up. It was José. He felt disconcerted, once again a hollow man. Kilian was incapable of looking him in the eye. Umaru stayed kneeling. Between snivels and whimpers, he explained that they had found a nest of bitis in the cocoa trees, near the border with the jungle, that he had called Massa Gregor over to kill them, and that the massa had ordered him to go and find a box, where Umaru had kept them until nighttime. The lack of electricity helped give him the chance to sneak into the bedroom.

  “And your fear of snakes?” Kilian asked in sudden apathy. “How much did Massa Gregor pay you to get over it?”