Palm Trees in the Snow

by Luz Gabás

  “Giving them some change.”

  “Just like a typical paternalistic tourist.”

  “I loved it when I was young,” she whispered, irritated. “Look at their faces! Do you really think I’m doing something wrong?”

  “In Baney, there are two thousand people,” he said mockingly. “If these little ones spread the news, you’ll be left with nothing.”

  Iniko went into the house. Clarence remained outside a few seconds longer, upset. She was not used to such criticism. The amulet had not lasted long! She decided to forget about it and followed the man inside.

  When they saw that Bisila had arrived with a European, Bisila’s sisters, Amanda and Jovita, also with their hair covered under pretty scarves, turned an informal family party into a real feast. Clarence did not know how, but some seventeen people—Bisila’s sisters and their husbands, their sons, their daughters, the wives and husbands of their children, and their grandchildren—took their seats around a rectangular table covered by a printed floral oilcloth that was being covered with dishes of chicken with yucca, bream with avocado sauce, and the bóka’ò of vegetables that she had tried in Bisila’s house. Clarence found the stews very tasty, but what she liked most was the dessert: the crunchy coconut biscuits and the ginger and pineapple drink.

  With the hubbub around the table, they did not even notice that a tropical storm passed over with the same speed as it had arrived.

  Clarence went out to smoke a cigarette on the veranda. Iniko had not said a word to her during the whole meal. His loss, she thought. She was upset that an innocent act caused him to draw a conclusion more in keeping with their first meeting in Sampaka. It looked like their relationship veered between attraction and repulsion. One minute they would be joking like teenagers, the next attacking each other—him especially, treating her as an outsider. She was afraid that the argument would end the trip and that Iniko would decide to go back to Malabo.

  She concentrated her attention on the extraordinary view of the stretch of sea that separated the island from the continent. The skies cleared for an hour and showed the distant and majestic Mount Cameroon crowned by cloud. Bit by bit, the mists closed in on the summit.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Bisila came over to the railing that Clarence was leaning on.

  “This is …” Clarence looked for a word that would do honor to what she had just seen. “Exceptional. I’m not surprised my father fell in love with this island.”

  Bisila pressed her lips together.

  “I suppose he would tell you many stories of his life here,” she murmured, without taking her eyes from the horizon.

  Clarence studied her profile. There was something about Bisila that attracted her. Her disturbingly clear eyes and her firm lips reflected intelligence, strength, and determination, although she appeared to be a physically fragile and delicate woman. Laha and Iniko said she was responsible, hardworking, and cheerful, but she transmitted sadness and vulnerability.

  “I’m afraid parents never tell us everything,” she said.

  Bisila gave her a sideways glance. Clarence remembered Mamá Sade. She guessed she was a little older than Iniko’s mother. How different her reaction would have been had Bisila remembered her father!

  “Do you know what happened to me the other day?” she asked. “I don’t know if Iniko has already told you.” Bisila gave her a perplexed look and Clarence felt brave enough to continue. “In a restaurant, I was set upon by someone called Mamá Sade. She was certain I reminded her of someone, a man she knew a long time ago.” She forced a tense smile. “It was daft, but for one minute, I thought she could have known my father.” She paused, but Bisila’s face did not show any surprise.

  “Mamá Sade has dealt with many people in her life.”

  “Then you also know who she is.”

  Bisila nodded. “And why does it worry you so much that she might have known your father?”

  “Well …” Clarence hesitated, but a voice inside her head pushed her to be sincere. Why do you not say out loud once and for all your reason for visiting the island? She opened her mouth, but Iniko interrupted them.

  “Ah! Here you are! Clarence, we’re going now,” he said without looking at her. “I’d like to get to Ureca before dark.”

  The two women followed him to the entrance. Amanda and Jovita insisted that they accept some food wrapped in packets and a bag of the coconut biscuits that Clarence had liked so much. The children surrounded them again. The white woman had been the day’s, and probably the year’s, novelty.

  At the last second, Clarence noticed that Bisila’s gaze was fixed on the simple necklace that Iniko had tied around her neck. She could not be sure if the sight of the small shell awoke some special memory in her. Bisila’s eyes clouded over in tears, and before they rolled down her cheeks, she gave Clarence a big good-bye hug, as if they were never going to see each other again.

  Once inside the car, Clarence did not stop thinking about Bisila. She was sorry she had not been brave enough to ask her more about her life. Most Equatorial Guineans her age had been educated only in those tasks deemed suitable for women: the home, the kitchen, growing the crops, and maternity. As an alternative, some had stalls in the market. From what she had been told by Rihéka, Melania, and Börihí, things had not changed much, despite the country’s constitution, which—in theory—gave women equal rights.

  Bisila had managed to be an independent woman who began her studies in the colonial period. Clarence did not know how much a woman earned in those times but supposed it was not much. And what’s more, hers was the only salary in the family. How had Bisila managed to raise her two children without the help of a man?

  “What are you thinking about that has you so quiet?” Iniko broke his silence.

  The white lines on the narrow tarmac road weaved through the green weeds.

  “I was thinking about your mother,” Clarence answered. “I’d like to know more about her. She seems a very special woman.”

  “And what would you like to know?” he asked in a conciliatory way that Clarence accepted as an apology.

  “Well, why is it she doesn’t live in Baney with her family? How did she settle in Malabo? How was she able to study? How many times did she marry? Who was your father? And Laha’s father? What was life like for you in Sampaka?”

  “Okay, okay!” he chuckled. “That’s far too many questions!”

  “I’m sorry. You asked.” She was afraid she had gone too far, but Iniko did not seem to mind.

  “My mother,” he began to say, “worked in the hospital on the Sampaka plantation as a nurse’s assistant. She married someone who worked there, and they had me. My father died in an accident, and we moved to Malabo. At some point, she had an affair with a man, and Laha was born. She has never wanted to talk about it, and we didn’t push the subject. From my time in Sampaka, I have the odd memory of school and the Nigerian barracks where a neighbor looked after me. Then I spent many years with my grandmother in the village. I liked it more than the plantation because there I felt free …”

  For a moment, the letters that mentioned a nurse who had looked after her grandfather Antón on his deathbed came to Clarence’s mind. Just then, she imagined the hands that had held a damp cloth on his forehead belonged to a woman with Bisila’s face.

  Could it be?

  Iniko drove looking straight ahead, with his head cupped in his hand and his elbow out the open window.

  “And what happened afterward?” asked Clarence.

  “After what?”

  “How did Bisila avoid having to leave the country like so many others after Guinea gained its independence from Spain in ’68? Didn’t they expel many Bubis and Nigerians?”

  “Well, she did not pose any political threat. If anything, she was necessary, since her abilities in the field of medicine were the same or better than any doctor’s.”

  He fell silent in anger. Clarence put a hand on his thigh to comfort him, and Iniko put his right
hand on top of hers while holding the steering wheel with his left.

  They left behind Riaba, called Concepción during the colonial period, and drove toward the south of the island.

  “What does Iniko mean?” Clarence asked. “Don’t you have another name? I thought that everyone here had a Spanish name and a Guinean one.”

  “Something like Iniko Luis?”

  She giggled. “Yes, something like that.”

  “Well, I only have this name. It’s actually Nigerian. The priest in school told us that God wouldn’t recognize our names and we would go straight to hell. He didn’t frighten me, and I only answered when he called me by my real name. In the end, he gave up.”

  “And does it mean anything?”

  “‘Born in hard times.’”

  “Very appropriate … for the period you were born in, with the change from a colony to independence and all that, for everything you’ve gone through …”

  “If I hadn’t been named Iniko, the same things would have happened to me, I suppose. A name doesn’t hold that much power.”

  “Yes, but it makes you special.”

  “Well, we make a good combination. Clarence, the city and the volcano”—his voice became soft and warm—“together with Iniko, a man born in hard times. What can we hope for from all this?”

  Clarence felt her cheeks burning. She had to take advantage of this magical moment before it was ruined and grab on to that fine thread that an invisible spider had spun around both of them before it disappeared.

  “Yes,” she replied, trying to make her voice sound suggestive. “What can we expect from a volcano and a Bubi warrior?”

  Fire, pure fire, she thought.

  It seemed to her that the surrounding jungle, thick and dense, had suddenly fallen silent, as if someone were watching them. Once again she remembered, with relief, that on the island, unlike the continent, there were no dangerous animals like elephants or lions, only monkeys. Still, the calm made her suspicious. It would soon be dark. As if he had read her mind, Iniko said, “It’s not far to Ureca now.”

  A new excitement grew inside her. Would someone there remember her father?

  The Land Rover took a narrow, unpaved road, and Clarence had the feeling that all signs of civilization were disappearing. The 4x4 drove with difficulty over unposted dirt tracks. After a few kilometers, they made out a simple barrier that blocked the traffic.

  “It’s a police checkpoint,” announced Iniko, a little tense. “Don’t say anything, okay? They know me. It will only take a minute.”

  Clarence nodded.

  As they approached, she saw that the barrier was made up of a barrel at either side of the road and a bamboo trunk resting on top of them. Iniko stopped the car, got out, and said hello to the guards. The uniformed men gave the vehicle the once-over and asked Iniko a few things with serious expressions. Clarence had the feeling that something was not right. Iniko shook his head, and one of the men raised a finger threateningly. Clarence decided to disobey Iniko’s warning, took out her papers and some money from her purse, and got out of the car.

  “Good evening,” she said politely with a timid smile. “Is there something wrong?”

  Iniko pursed his lips and gave her a look of reproach.

  One of the police officers, a thick-set man with an unfriendly face, went over to her and, after looking her up and down with a disagreeable scowl, took her papers. He studied them with a deliberate lack of haste. Then he walked over to the other officer, showed them to him, came back to Clarence, and returned them with a grunt. A few seconds went by, but neither of them made any movement to raise the barrier. Clarence, remembering how Laha had rescued her from those police in front of the cathedral, stretched out her hand with the notes and quickly reached toward the officer before he could notice her nervousness. He opened his hand, quickly calculated the amount that she had given him, and, to Clarence’s relief, seemed satisfied. He signaled to the other, and they let them go through.

  Once inside the vehicle, Iniko, more relaxed, said, “Could you tell me who taught you the customs of the country?”

  Clarence shrugged. “Laha.” She gave him a satisfied smile. “As you can see, I am a quick learner.”

  Iniko shook his head. “That Laha! They gave him the right name.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Laha is the Bubi god of music and good emotions. Translated it would be something like ‘someone with a good heart.’”

  “It’s a beautiful name.”

  “Much better than his other one. His full name is Fernando Laha.”

  “Stop the car!”

  Iniko stopped dead. Clarence opened the door, got out like a shot, and leaned against the car. She raised her hands to her face and rubbed her temples. Laha was called Fernando!

  She went over all the clues: Julia’s advice to search for a Fernando older than she and born in Sampaka, the little she knew of the life of Bisila, the coincidence that she had lived on the plantation, the cup of coffee smashing to the floor on hearing the word Pasolobino, the flowers in the cemetery … Could it be? Laha was mulatto, and he was also called Fernando! And if … ? And if … ?

  Iniko put a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped.

  “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Yes, Iniko, sorry, I …” She took a deep breath. “I got a bit dizzy. It must have been the heat, and the tension of the police checkpoint.”

  Iniko nodded.

  It was hot, but Clarence rubbed her forearms as if she were cold. She peeked at Iniko, who looked at her with a furrowed brow. And if she told him her suspicions? She shook her head and closed her eyes. What would she achieve by telling him that there was a small possibility that they shared a brother? Was she going to waste some promising days based on a hasty conclusion held together by a thread? How long had it been since she had allowed herself a bit of excitement? Would it not make more sense to wait until Ureca?

  She opened her eyes, and there was Iniko, standing with his legs slightly apart, his arms folded across his rock-hard chest, and his enormous half-closed eyes looking at her patiently.

  “I’m feeling better, Iniko,” she sighed. “We can continue, if you like.”

  The last part of the journey turned into a constant battle between the 4x4’s powerful engine and the vegetation that had reclaimed the track.

  “And this remote and inaccessible place is part of your work route?” Clarence asked, her stomach slightly queasy because of the potholes.

  “I don’t come here very often,” he admitted. “More for pleasure than for work.”

  “And when was the last time you were here?”

  She pretended not to be jealous, but a cheeky question did go round in her head: Has he made the same journey with Melania?

  “I can’t remember.” He smiled. “Actually, it’s a place I would like you to see. Accept it as a present.”

  He stopped the vehicle in a small clearing from where some houses could be seen.

  “Now we have to walk a bit to go down to Moraka Beach, but it’s worth the effort.”

  The way to the sea first followed a gently sloping cocoa plantation, and later they walked along a path through a forest closed over by enormous trees whose roots extended along the surface and tripped up Clarence. After a short while, they heard the roll of the waves, and a large gap opened in the canopy to reveal an indescribable panorama.

  At their feet, a cliff fell away for almost a hundred meters. She swayed, seeing that Iniko was taking a narrow, steep, and winding path, practically hanging off the precipice. Though frightened, she followed him. She slipped on the stones and the tree trunks that sometimes acted as steps, making Iniko laugh and throwing into doubt her skills as a mountain woman. When they got to the bottom, Clarence turned and looked up, not sure she would be able to climb back up.

  If she ever wanted to go back.

  She opened her mouth, dumbstruck. The effort had indeed been worth it. All the possible images of paradise sh
e had in her head materialized in that very instant.

  Before her eyes was the most gorgeous sight she had ever seen in her life. It was a long, wide beach of black sand and clear water. Close to the end of the path, an enormous waterfall cascaded down, creating a crystalline pool. It was the mouth of the Eola River, its death turned into pure beauty.

  Entering the sea, an outcrop of rocks rested on the sand, placidly lapped by the waves. Where there was no beach, the blue of the sea and the green of the jungle shared each other’s frontiers.

  “What do you think?” Iniko asked, happy to see her expression.

  “My father, in spite of not being poetic, always claimed to have had the good fortune of knowing two earthly paradises: our valley and this island. And it’s true. This is paradise!”

  Iniko took off his boots and motioned her to do the same. Then he took her by the hand, and they began walking along the beach.

  “Each November or December, thousands of giant sea turtles end their migration across the Atlantic Ocean here. The majority were born on this beautiful beach and come back to lay their eggs. They come out of the water to the dry sand, where they lay the eggs and bury them. Some return to the sea. Others die from exhaustion. Others are caught by the hunters who wait in hiding, even though they are a protected species and in danger of extinction. They turn them over with the shell on the ground. They can’t right themselves, and they stay like that until they have died.” He moved his arm over her shoulders and squeezed her against him. “When I think of the turtles coming out of the water and dragging themselves to the shore, Clarence, I think of those from my country who left and couldn’t return, of those who came back and were mistreated, and of those who, at all costs, try and succeed in keeping their descendants on the black beach.”