by Luz Gabás
He did not wait for an answer, turning instead to the mastermind, who tilted his head back with a slight smile.
“Congratulations,” said Gregorio with disdain. “You are now almost like me. You’ll do well on the island.”
Kilian held Gregorio’s ratlike gaze. Then without warning, he punched him so hard in the stomach that he fell to the ground.
“Case closed.” He threw the switch down in rage. “Palabra conclú.”
He walked away, shrouded in total silence.
When Kilian went into the bedroom, he saw that Simón had cleaned everything and left a lamp lit. There was no trace of the snake. Kilian sat on the bed and buried his head in his hands. His breathing still felt unsteady. The last few minutes of his life paraded clearly across the dark screen of his mind. He saw a white man brutally beating a black man. He saw how he broke the skin until blood poured out. He saw dozens of men silent and unmoved as the blows continued. That man was him! He had allowed himself to be overcome and hit Umaru in blind rage! How could it have happened? What demon had taken over his psyche?
He was disgusted with himself.
His head went around in circles. He could barely get up. He went over to the basin, his insides wrecked with nausea, and vomited until not even bile was left. He raised his head and saw his face reflected in the mirror hanging over the basin.
He did not recognize himself.
His green eyes, sunken in two dark bowls against the pallor of his angular blood-splatted cheeks, seemed grayer than ever, and his forehead was marked by deep lines.
“I’m not like him,” he said. “I’m not like him!”
His shoulders began to shake, and deep sobs rose within him.
Kilian cried bitterly until he had no tears left.
The following morning, the manager called for him. In his office, Kilian found Gregorio, Antón, and José.
“I’ll get straight to the point,” said Garuz gruffly. “It’s evident that you can no longer work together.” He spoke to Gregorio. “I will send Marcial with you to Obsay. He is the only one who can keep you under control, and he doesn’t mind going.”
He turned to Kilian, who had to make a real effort to keep his composure. The man’s words reverberated in his head with the intensity of a drill. He had gotten up with a terrible headache and still had some blurred vision. Hopefully the optalidones he had taken on an empty stomach would soon take effect.
“From now on, you will work with Antón and José in the main yard. Don’t take this as some kind of reward. One more incident, no matter what, and you’re sacked, is that clear?” He rapped the desk with his fingers. “I’m only giving you this chance for your father, so you can thank him. That’s all.” Garuz picked up some papers. “You may leave.”
The men stood and walked toward the door in silence. Kilian was last, his head low so as not to have to look at his father. Outside, the others broke away. Kilian decided to go to the dining room for a coffee to wake himself up. Soon after, Jacobo entered.
“I was looking for you.” Jacobo’s voice sounded hoarse. “Dad brought me up to date. Are you all right?”
Kilian nodded.
“I’m happy that I’m not going back to Obsay,” he said, “but I’m sorry for taking your place. I suppose it was your turn to be in the main yard.”
“No way!” Jacobo shook his head. “I’m perfectly fine where I am. In Yakató, nobody controls me.” He winked and gave him a friendly elbow. “Mateo and I have set it up very well. In the main yard, everything can be seen. But we wastrels, we prefer darkness.”
He saw that Kilian did not laugh and grew serious.
“You did the right thing, Kilian. You showed them who’s the boss. From now on, they will respect you. Gregorio as well.”
Kilian pursed his lips. This newfound authority did not make him one bit proud. He sat and accepted the coffee offered by Simón. With a wave of his hand, he did not let the lad add any brandy.
“I’m off,” Jacobo said as he left his brother. “We’ll see each other at dinner.”
When Jacobo passed through the doorway, Simón came over to Kilian as if to talk, but he restrained himself.
“I’m fine, Simón,” said Kilian. “I don’t need anything else. You can go.”
Simón did not budge.
“Is there something wrong, lad?”
“You see, Massa … there is something you should know.”
“What is it?” he said, slightly annoyed. The coffee had warmed his stomach, but the headache persisted. The last thing he wanted was to listen to insignificant problems. He had enough with his own.
“Last night something happened, Massa. Two friends of Umaru wanted to get you back for the beating and came after you.”
Kilian, stunned, raised his head.
“Yes, Massa. After the party, José did not go to sleep like everyone else. He told me he noticed something strange. He stayed up all night for you. Yes, yes, and so did I. Using the darkness, they went up to your room, and there we were hiding. José and me and two of the guards who owe José some favors.” He opened his dark, shining eyes. “They were carrying machetes to kill you! You were very lucky José was there, Massa! Very lucky!”
Kilian wanted to say something, but he could not. He lifted the cup, and Simón went for more coffee.
“What will happen to them?” Kilian finally asked when the boy returned from the kitchen.
“They will be sent back to Nigeria. Umaru as well. But don’t worry, the big massa won’t hear everything. And nobody will say anything. I don’t think anyone else will try it again. There is no danger now, Massa, but it would be better to close your window and your door properly for a while.”
“Thank you, Simón,” murmured a pensive Kilian. “For your help and for telling me.”
“Please, Massa … ,” the lad pleaded, “don’t tell José I told you. He knows my family, we’re from the same village … He made me promise not to say anything.”
“So then why did you?”
“You are good to me, Massa. And the thing with the snake was not right. No, Massa, it was not right.”
“Relax, Simón.” Kilian got to his feet and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll keep the secret.”
Kilian went outside, where he looked up to the sky, contemplating the low dark clouds. He could breathe the humidity. As the hours went by, the heat would be sticky, but he welcomed the chance to enjoy a new day despite his headache, the remorse that had taken hold of his heart, and the fear of what might have happened.
At a few meters’ distance, he made out the unhurried walk of José, who moved from one end of the yard to the other, organizing the men for the day’s tasks. He was a man of average height, strong despite his thin physique, which starkly contrasted the muscular bodies of the laborers. From time to time, he would stroke his short gray beard slowly and pensively. The workers respected him, perhaps because he looked like their fathers. He knew each one’s name and talked to them firmly but without raising his voice, gesturing energetically but without violence, as if he knew how they felt at every moment.
As he looked at José, Kilian felt enormously grateful. They had tried to get revenge while he was asleep … He owed him his life! If José had gone to bed like everyone else, at this moment, Kilian would be … dead! Why had he done it? Perhaps for Antón. A shiver ran through his body. He did not know how, but he would find a way of showing this man that his noble and brave act had been worth it.
That same night, Kilian took a pickup and, without saying anything to his companions, drove to Santa Isabel.
He went into Anita Guau and went straight to the bar to order a whiskey and ask for Sade.
That night, Kilian clung tightly to the body of the woman with cold greed, enjoying her like the moss enjoys the ceiba tree: celebrating life without feeding off it.
6
Inside the Bush
1955
The last truck of cocoa sacks drove out along the royal palm drive
heading for the port in Santa Isabel. Kilian saw it go with relief, pride, and satisfaction. He had successfully completed his first full campaign on the island. After twenty-four months, he considered himself an expert in the cocoa production process. Sampaka’s cocoa was famous all over the world because of the meticulous way it was made to achieve maximum quality. It sold for five pesetas more per kilo, and tons of it were produced. This meant an absolute fortune. And Kilian had helped after endless hours in the dryers: day and night checking the texture of the bean by hand, making sure that it swelled without flaking and that it was roasted just enough—not a second more nor a second less—so it did not turn white. The dry and well-fermented cocoa that filled the sacks, ready for shipping, was thick, chocolate in color, brittle, fairly bitter to taste, and had a pleasant aroma.
With tired faces, Jacobo and Mateo sat down on a low wall, and each lit a cigarette. Marcial stayed standing.
“I’m wrecked,” huffed Mateo. “I’ve even got cocoa dust in my mustache.”
Jacobo took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead.
“Garuz will be happy with this harvest,” he said. “The best in years. He’ll have to give us bonuses!”
Kilian was also exhausted. More than once he had been tempted to copy the odd laborer and use the din of the Christmas parties to escape from work. He sat down beside the others and accepted the cigarette his brother offered him. He inhaled deeply. A fine chocolate-colored dust had seeped into every last pore of his skin. When the dryers ceased all their activity, the smell of roasted cocoa persisted. The sun was going down, but the terrible heat had not abated. Still the echoes of the Christmas carols and boozy parties of his second Christmas away from home seemed strange in the sticky heat. He remembered the mass on the twenty-fifth of December—short sleeves, skin tanned by the sun, and the midnight dips in the pool on the plantation. This dry season was hotter than normal, and the occasional shower in Sampaka did not give any relief from the sweltering heat.
“In the mountains of Pasolobino, I’m sure it’s bitterly cold, right, lads?” said Marcial, opening the tiny buttons of his shirt with difficulty.
Kilian imagined his parents and Catalina in front of the fire while the livestock fed themselves in the sheds and the snow covered the fields in a thick blanket. He missed them, but with the passing of the months, the terrible homesickness of the first weeks on the island had faded. It was not pulling at his heartstrings as hard.
“The truth is I’m looking forward to a change of scenery,” commented Kilian.
“Well, it won’t be too long now. When Dad returns—because I’ll bet you anything that he will be back—you’ll be going to Spain on holidays. I’m jealous!”
Antón had said good-bye to his sons as if he were never returning to the plantation. Kilian was also convinced that, as last year, he would be back, rested and a little heavier.
“Hey, don’t complain,” Kilian reproached his brother. “You’ll be going soon.”
“It kills me to say it, but I have to admit that you’ve earned the right to go first, hasn’t he, Mateo?”
Mateo agreed.
“Who would have thought? Even your appearance has changed. When you arrived, you were all skin and bone. And look at you now! You have more muscles than Mosi!”
Kilian smiled at the over-the-top comparison, but the truth was he had given his all so that his father, his brother, his work colleagues, and the manager would be proud of him, and also to make up for the incident with Umaru and Gregorio. It had not been difficult, as he was used to hard work. He remembered his first days on the island. Despite everything, he had fit into the daily routine set out by the sounds of the tumba, the droma, and the Nigerian songs. Soon work would begin again outside in the cocoa trees at the edge of the jungle, hours and hours of the machete falling implacably on the bikoro, the Bordeaux mixture being sprayed on the young shoots …
“In the end, I have to say that you were all right, Dad and you and Julia … Yes, I’ve gotten used to the island. But a good long rest at home won’t do me any harm.”
He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Jacobo pursed his lips when Julia’s name was mentioned. The previous November, amid the festive dances, concerts, and canoe races of Santa Isabel’s festival, Julia and Manuel had made their engagement official. From then on, they were inseparable, traveling the island in search of plants for Manuel’s studies, having afternoon snacks in the Moka Parador, or enjoying a good film or a refreshing dip in the casino’s swimming pool. Emilio and Generosa were delighted. Manuel, as well as being an educated and well-mannered man, was a doctor. Their daughter was engaged to a doctor. Jacobo appeared to accept the news well, although, deep down, his pride had been wounded. He was fully aware that he had lost his chance to win the heart of an extraordinary woman. So he continued dividing his existence between Sampaka and Santa Isabel, only regretting a lack of friends for his parties. Bata was not close enough for Dick and Pao to come to the island regularly, and Mateo and Marcial alternated between their dissolute flings and their dates—each time more frequent—with Julia’s friends in the casino.
“The one that will miss you is that little belter …” Mateo maliciously half closed his eyes. “What’s her name? I always forget it!”
“Which one of them? He’s got all of them mad for him.” Marcial scrunched his lips in a kiss. “Careful, Jacobo. Your brother is gaining ground on you.”
“Well, he has plenty to do to catch up with me!” Jacobo laughed. “He looks more like a Claretian father than anything else. Do you know what the girls in the city tell me?” He looked at Kilian. “They’re saying that you are going to take on the rough appearance of the plantationers who disconnect themselves from the world.”
“Fine, fine. It’s not that bad. And you two,” Kilian jokingly counterattacked, pointing to Mateo and Marcial alternately, “you remember what you want to remember. I suppose that with Mercedes and Ascensión, you’ll forget about the friends in Anita’s.”
“Completely,” Mateo agreed with an impish look. “And the opposite as well.”
The four burst out laughing.
“Yes, yes, you laugh,” said Jacobo sarcastically, “but I see that like Manuel, you will make the engagement official and start having afternoon snacks in the Parador.”
“Everyone’s hour comes sometime, Jacobo.” Marcial shrugged his broad shoulders with a resigned smile. “Sooner or later, but it comes. The years pass and a family has to be formed, says I.”
“I’m going for a shower. It’s dinnertime.” Jacobo jumped to his feet and began walking to the dining room.
“It’s bloody amazing how much that lad likes black meat!” whispered Mateo to Marcial, shaking his head. “I don’t know if he could get used to the other now.”
Kilian scowled. The same thing always happened: after a good laugh, there was always a bitter aftertaste. He lit a cigarette and let the others pass him. He enjoyed this moment where, almost without warning, day became night. He leaned back against a wall, waiting for the shadows, and he thought of Sade.
In his mind, he drew the svelte figure of the woman, her long legs, her smooth skin, her generous and firm breasts, her long, thin face with dark almond-shaped eyes and full lips. Like the dark dust that pervaded the atmosphere, the dizzying succession of days in the last few months had also been bittersweet, rivers of sweat compensated by an excellent harvest and by short moments with her. As Kilian’s body and limbs filled out and his skin took on a permanent tan, he noticed he was as successful as Jacobo at a dance. Decked out in their white linen shirts, perfectly ironed, their baggy beige trousers and their brilliantine-doused dark hair, the brothers had no problem getting the attention of women—white and black. Kilian knew all too well that going out with Jacobo meant finishing up fairly drunk on whiskey and in the arms of a pretty woman, but he had gotten tired of this months ago. So he had decided to restrict his outings to the city to those sporadic encounters with the beautiful
Sade. She never asked or reproached him for anything. He went to the club, and there was his Sade, always willing to be with him after weeks had passed. Kilian enjoyed his occasional moments with her, and he laughed at her fresh sense of humor and her worldly and affectionate attitude.
In the end, he had not been able to avoid everyone finding out about his relationship, and he had to put up with the jokes. He tried to act indifferent, and even gave witty replies, but in his heart of hearts, he felt ashamed. He was no different from the rest of them, even getting to the point of asking himself if one day he could think of Sade as a woman that he could plan a future with or start a family …
The answer circled his insides until it became confused with the craving for another cigarette, and that is where it stayed, crouched and cowardly like a rat in the forest.
A few days later, Jacobo approached Kilian with a telegram he had received from Bata.
“It’s from Dick. He’s inviting us on another elephant hunt in Cameroon, and to spend some time in Douala. Garuz is happy. I’m sure he’ll give us permission. It’s a pity that it coincides with the harvest party at the Fishing Club next Saturday. The whole world will be there. And I also have tickets for the evening’s boxing in the Santa Isabel stadium. Slow Poison versus Bala Negra.” He swore. “We go through months with nothing and then everything at once! What’ll we do?”
Kilian had no intention of going to any of the events, especially after hearing about the hunt from Dick and Pao. And he did not fancy another big party. As for boxing, he got no pleasure in seeing two men beating each other till they collapsed.
“I won’t go to Cameroon,” he answered. “It’s bound to cost a lot of money, and I’m saving it for my trip to Spain. But you should go without me.”
“Yes, but …” Jacobo clicked his tongue. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll do it next time. Then, we’ll go to the party … We can go to the boxing match afterward.”
Kilian said nothing.
A few meters away, José appeared with a load of empty sacks left over from packing the cocoa. He stopped to tell a worker to sweep better and not to leave any of the husks that remained in the dryers; they would be sold to make low-quality cocoa.
