Palm Trees in the Snow

by Luz Gabás

  Images came to mind of the beautiful woman whom he had fantasized about for so many nights. He had felt her fresh breath on his face in that bed when he was sick, after the death of his father; he visualized her figure walking determinedly through the plantation toward the hospital, the pharmacy, the church, or the stores; he remembered the softness of her hands on the skin around his ankle when she removed the chigger.

  Kilian sighed. He had barely been back on the island for a couple of minutes but felt as if he had never left. It had taken him weeks to adjust to Pasolobino and recover his place in the House of Rabaltué. He now understood that just as the passing of the centuries had not undermined the strength of the house, he could never renounce the responsibility of his role in it. At the same time, as he faced the same tasks in the same fields as his forefathers and paced the same paths, his soul was comforted by and reconciled with his past and his present. His father was no longer there, but he was, and his house was still alive after five hundred years. Contributing to this certainty was also the infectious strength of Mariana, who took care of everything as if time stood still, as if Antón and Jacobo were to arrive at any moment from Fernando Po, as if Kilian were not going to depart, leaving her with the sole company of a weak Catalina, who spent most of her time in Rabaltué, trying to absorb some of her mother’s energy to get over the death of her only child, or simply to survive.

  He inhaled deeply, and the smell of the cocoa trees filled his lungs. The man who the talkative Simón was bringing up to date with the latest happenings was not the impressionable and inexperienced young man who missed his home and could not tell the difference between a good cocoa bean and an excellent one. Kilian knew exactly what would happen next. The entrance to the plantation. The royal palm trees. The wachimán Yeremías and his hens. The roasted cocoa. The friends. Her.

  Would she still be so beautiful?

  “So, Massa?” Simón distracted him from his thoughts. “Are you happy to be back?”

  Kilian’s heart skipped a beat when the vehicle turned into the royal palm tree avenue. The answer was so clearly inscribed on his mind that he felt a little guilty.

  “I think so, Simón,” he responded dreamily. “I think so.”

  Kilian wanted to clean himself up before going up to Obsay. Simón had prepared his same room. He hung up his jacket and started to unpack. Minutes later, someone knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for an answer.

  “I see the holidays have treated you well!” Jacobo flung himself at his brother and gave him a strong hug. “How are things at home? How are our women?”

  Kilian found Jacobo as bright and robust in health as when he had left. He had gained a bit of weight, so his belt now did not fit at his waist.

  “They’re fine. You’ll never guess what I have in the cases. Food and more food!” He raised his eyes, and Jacobo laughed. “Mom thinks we never eat here.”

  He tapped his brother a few times in the stomach, went over to the mounted wooden washbasin, poured in some water, and prepared to shave.

  “And you? Are you still going from one party to another with your friends?”

  “I do what I can … I’m lucky that Dick and Pao come from Bata fairly often, because Mateo and Marcial are more and more tied down by their girlfriends.”

  Jacobo sat down, and Kilian started to lather his face.

  “How do you think the plantation is looking?”

  “The little I saw surprised me. Everything is very tidy and clean. It’s obvious you didn’t miss me.”

  “No one is indispensable, Kilian!” joked Jacobo. “Last week we were honored by a visit from the one and only regional governor of Equatorial Guinea. Can you believe it? You should have seen Garuz! They gave us a couple of days’ warning, and he had all of us fixing up the plantation day and night. Waldo spent a whole day waxing the Mercedes that the governor was going to use to tour Sampaka.”

  Kilian smiled.

  “His visit coincided with another from some journalists from La Actualidad Española who wanted to do an article on our cocoa.”

  “In all this time, I haven’t heard much about the island.” Kilian remembered how much he had missed the weekly news from Fernando Po’s Hoja del Lunes. Apart from a tiny announcement about a book on elephant hunting and the showing of two films, On the Beaches of Ureca and Balele, in the provincial edition of La Nueva España newspaper, only four lines had appeared about the decree from March’s ministers council that divided the Guinean territories into two Spanish provinces: Fernando Po and Río Muni.

  “I also thought that nobody could be interested in daily events in Guinea, but according to them, the article will help show many Spanish readers how well things are done in the colony.”

  “Precisely now … ,” said Kilian while looking for a white shirt in the case. “On the plane, I heard a conversation between two men, I think they were civil guards …”

  “Many of them are coming. Of course, double salary, a six-month tour, and six months of vacation … Things can’t be going very well in Spain. The other day, Garuz said that in spite of the new economic plan that was supposed to attract companies from abroad, many Spaniards are emigrating to Europe. Just as well that for the moment, we have a guaranteed salary here!”

  “They commented that new times are coming, that the colonies’ days are numbered.”

  Jacobo waved a hand in the air. “The day the colonies disappear, these people are lost. Also, what sense would there be in forming the provinces if they weren’t sure that things would continue as is?”

  Kilian remembered the argument Julia’s father had with Gustavo in the casino and the conversation that New Year’s Day in Manuel’s house. Now the colonies were more closely linked to Spain, so independence was not necessary. Was that not what Emilio had said his friend Gustavo was afraid of?

  “I don’t know, Jacobo. The world is changing very quickly.” Still echoing in his ears was the noise of the airplane that had flown through the air at over four hundred kilometers an hour. The day before, everything had been stone and slate in the mountains and new apartments being built on the lowlands; a few hours and several airports in different African countries later and he was on the island.

  Jacobo nodded. “Who could have told us that there would be black mayors in Bata and Santa Isabel and black representatives in Parliament? And coloreds in the cinemas. Even they feel uncomfortable and out of place. Well, I won’t repeat the nonsense that some people are saying, but I admit it seems strange.”

  “And what are some people saying?” Kilian finished buttoning his shirt and turned toward the mirror.

  “Well, they are saying that”—Jacobo lowered his eyes to the floor and hesitated—“that … even if they are suddenly now all Spanish, they’re still monkeys.”

  Kilian gave his brother a long and hard look. Jacobo coughed, a little embarrassed. Finally, Kilian took a deep breath and turned around.

  “How is everyone else?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Santiago left for good about two months ago … He said he was too old for this type of work. And there is a new man with me in Yakató.”

  “Better he’s with you than with Gregorio. And Julia and Manuel?”

  “I don’t see them much.” Jacobo looked down. He had no intention of offering further explanations about the happy family. Julia only had eyes for her little Ismael. “Any other questions?”

  “How is the harvest?”

  “The dryers are going at full belt. You’ve just arrived for the worst part!” Yes, until January, life on the plantation would be frenetic, thought Kilian, but he loved that time of the year. Soon the rains would stop and the dry season and its suffocating heat would begin. He felt strong and well prepared. “Although, I do have a piece of good news. The beans are now sifted automatically. You don’t have to go from one end to the other with paddles.”

  “That is good news.”

  There was silence for a few seconds. Kilian picked up
a tie and put it round his neck. Jacobo sat up in his chair.

  “Why are you getting so dressed up?” he asked.

  “I’m going to Obsay. Today is the baptism of José’s grandson.”

  “And you need to dress up?” He frowned.

  Kilian bristled and finished tying the knot.

  “A christening is a christening, here and anywhere else. Would you like to come?”

  “I have better plans in the city.” Jacobo stood and walked toward the door. “By the way, I almost forgot! There is someone there who has missed you a lot. I suppose she’s hoping that you have brought her some present from Spain.”

  “Sade …” Kilian sighed. How long since he had thought about her? He would have understood if, during his long holidays, Sade would also have forgotten about him, but his brother’s words made it clear that this was not the case.

  “She’s getting more beautiful every day.” Jacobo clicked his tongue. “Luckily you’re my brother, because if you weren’t …”

  Kilian shot him a look of warning.

  “Don’t worry, lad, it’s a joke.” He winked. “I’m sure that, after so many months of abstinence, you’ll take care of her with pleasure. Unless you have met some Spanish girl.” He gave Kilian a sideways look, but gave it up for lost. “Anyway, if you’ve come back, it’s because no girl has set her cap on you.”

  Kilian stayed silent. He would rather let his brother believe what he wanted if it meant ending that conversation. He had not the slightest intention of wasting his time talking to him about his few and insipid romantic flings or speculating about a possible reunion with Sade, which he did not want in the least. At that moment, he had something infinitely more important to do. He opened the jar of brilliantine, took a small amount between his fingers, and combed his hair back. He looked at himself for a final time in the mirror and went out after his brother.

  José was happy to see his friend again. Either that or the palm wine led to the continuous hugs he gave Kilian.

  The party was in full swing when he arrived in the Obsay yard. There were many people singing and dancing to the beat of the drums. Everyone was dressed in their best clothes: the men in long trousers and white shirts and the women in long dresses and colorful headdresses, although some had chosen to wear a European-type dress to the knee, tailored at the waist. Kilian remembered that they dressed up like that only when they were going to spend the afternoon walking around Santa Isabel, but this time they had preferred to be with Mosi.

  José hugged him again and lowered his voice.

  “I really have missed you, white man.”

  “I missed you too, Ösé, mi frend.” Kilian said it in all seriousness, although he could not take the smile off his face. “I always arrive in time for one of your parties!”

  “In this life, everything must be celebrated. We’re here today, and tomorrow … with the spirits!”

  “And where was he baptized? Don’t tell me that Father Rafael came all the way up here!” Things were certainly changing, but Kilian was sure that the priest had not given up guiding the faithful along the right path, something that did not actually run parallel to their customs and traditions.

  “Father Rafael celebrated a very beautiful ceremony in the village of Zaragoza. We have fulfilled our obligations with your church.” José winked. “And we didn’t take off our shoes until we crossed the main yard.”

  Kilian let out a loud snort. He looked around. The shouts carried words in Bubi and Pidgin English. He still did not understand Bubi, but he understood the Nigerians’ dialect as easily as his own from Pasolobino. Several men raised their glasses to him in welcome. Others, among them Waldo, Nelson, and Ekon, came over and greeted him with slaps on the back. As with Simón, he also found Waldo older. Nelson had put on weight, making his jowls even bigger. And Ekon, who now spoke Spanish almost fluently, sported a gray or two in his curly hair, although his dimples helped him retain his youthful demeanor.

  A short, round woman who introduced herself as Lialia, Ekon’s wife, went over to her husband and dragged him up to dance, making everyone laugh. Kilian suppressed his surprise when he realized that it was the first time he had seen the woman that Ekon had shared with Umaru. A fleeting thought brought him back to that awful night. What kind of life would Umaru be leading in his homeland? It was not that Kilian cared much; after all, if it were not for José, Umaru would probably have killed him. Still, Kilian’s regret made him impossible to forget.

  Waldo offered him a small bowl of alcohol, and Kilian took a sip. The liquid burned his insides. The music of the drums and the high-pitched songs of the women resounded in his chest. It really was a true celebration of life. There was no holy water, nor a paschal candle, nor oils to anoint the newborn to free him from original sin and welcome him into the Holy Church. But there was fresh sweat, hot blood, tense muscles, and penetrating sounds with which to honor the majesty of existence.

  “As if nothing has changed in hundreds of years … ,” murmured Kilian, completely captivated.

  José heard the comment. “Ah, mi frend! Here all days seem as if nothing has changed, but the truth is nothing is the same.” He placed his hand on Kilian’s shoulder. “And now I have another grandchild, blood of my blood. Is that not a change?”

  “Now you are more grandfatherly!”

  José laughed heartily.

  “By the way, where are the parents? I’d like to congratulate them.”

  It happened again. She raised her eyes to him, and the world stopped and the songs fell silent.

  This time it was for more than an instant. Her big bright eyes did not go through him like two lances. They settled on his, and he understood that she was pleased to see him again.

  She was sitting down and holding a beautiful and chubby baby in her arms. Her immaculate wide-strapped white dress highlighted her smooth caramel skin. A few meters away, Mosi toasted and danced with everyone, but out of the corner of his eye, he watched his wife, who was paying a lot of attention to the massa.

  Kilian lowered his eyes and gazed at the child.

  “Congratulations. He’s beautiful,” he said. “What’s his name?”

  “Iniko,” she answered. “It means ‘born in hard times.’”

  Kilian looked up again. “Are these hard times?”

  She held his gaze. “They might change now,” she answered, her voice trembling.

  They looked at each other in silence.

  “I’m happy you are back, Kilian,” she whispered.

  Kilian froze.

  He did not even know her name!

  She had always been José’s daughter. José’s daughter, the nurse. The nurse who had looked after Antón before he died. The caring woman who had comforted him in his grief. The face that had appeared in his dreams.

  And he did not know her name …

  He felt himself redden in embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry,” he began to stutter, “b-but … I don’t know your name.”

  She smiled. Her right hand rose to stroke two shells hanging from a leather collar.

  I thought you’d never ask me.

  “My name is Daniela Bisila.”

  A boy of about two with blond locks and sky-blue overalls played on the doorstep with a Studebaker Avanti. His chubby little hands expertly opened and closed the doors and hood of the small car with its round headlights.

  “You must be Ismael.” Kilian bent down to pet his head. “You’ve grown a lot … Is your mommy around?”

  The child stared at him, wrinkled his forehead, and began to cry.

  “Oh … Did I give you a fright?”

  “Oba!” Kilian heard Julia’s happy voice. “Can you get the boy?”

  A small woman with a childish face and hair tied back in a green scarf immediately appeared and looked at him with a surprised face. Kilian recognized Sade’s friend. He frowned. What was she doing there? Oba would not take long in telling her friend that she had seen him.

  “Could y
ou tell your mistress that a friend has called to see her?”

  “Kilian!” Footsteps approached rapidly, and Julia, dressed in white culottes and a tank top, gave him an affectionate hug. “Heavens above! How long has it been?” She pressed her finger to his chest. “Could you please enjoy your vacations like everyone else, two campaigns and six months in Spain? What’s the meaning of disappearing for more than a year? I thought you wouldn’t come back at all.”

  Kilian laughed. “I got back a few days ago,” he said, “but they told me you were away.”

  “From time to time, Manuel takes me on one of his botanical expeditions … Come in, we’ll have some coffee.”

  In Oba’s arms, Ismael had stopped crying and curiously observed the man.

  “You have a very handsome son.”

  Julia thanked him with a smile and asked Oba to take the boy out for a walk.

  “Oba as a nanny?” asked Kilian. “I thought she worked in the shop.”

  “She does, but she’s fallen in love with the baby, and she likes to spend time with him.” Julia lowered her voice. “Actually, she looks for any excuse to come to the plantation. It seems the man who holds her heart, Nelson, works here.”

  “Now I understand why he’s in charge of purchasing goods!” Kilian followed Julia to the terrace, left his helmet on a low table, and sat in a wicker chair. “And your parents? Is Emilio still involved in the Neighbors Council?”

  “He’s got more work than ever. I don’t know how he doesn’t get bored, all day attending to complaints, making judgments about problematic land boundaries, preparing projects, and designing new infrastructure. At first I thought he did it more for Mom—you know how she likes to be on top of everything that goes on around here—but in the end, I think he’s really interested in doing his bit in the development of Santa Isabel.” She sighed deeply. “I’ll go get the coffee, and we’ll catch up.”