Palm Trees in the Snow

by Luz Gabás

  “You’re crazy,” the young Fang replied. “Spain will never accept the existence of two states. We have to join forces.” There was a murmur of approval. “That’s what the whites want, to see us fight among ourselves.”

  Dimas grabbed his brother by the arm when he saw him clench his fists. Emilio let out a sarcastic cackle.

  “It’s what I told you, Dimas,” he said. “This has turned into a chicken coop.”

  A chicken coop with too many cocks, thought Julia.

  “So this is how you intend to take over your own destiny?” Emilio continued.

  “Leave it, Dad,” Julia intervened. “Get into the house.” She turned to Gustavo. “Do as you must, Gustavo, but leave my father in peace. Leave us all in peace.”

  “That’s what you lot have to do!” shouted the young Fang. “Get out! Go home to your country for good!”

  Many shouted in agreement. Emilio gritted his teeth. Julia noticed her father’s breathing becoming agitated. She pulled his arm with all her might to drag him toward the store. Oba opened the door, and they entered.

  A few seconds later, a stone hit the glass facade of the business so hard it smashed into smithereens with the force of an unexpected hailstorm. Nobody moved, neither inside nor outside the shop. Finally, Emilio took a few steps forward over the broken glass and looked at the men beginning to disperse.

  “You’ll remember us!” he roared. “Remember this! You’ll never again live so well!” He stared at Dimas, who stared back at him before sorrowfully shaking his head as he left.

  Julia stood beside her father. Large tears of frustration rolled down her cheeks.

  Gustavo looked Julia in the eye and murmured a weak “I’m sorry” before leaving.

  Oba appeared with a brush and began sweeping up the bits of glass. Julia went with her father to the store to get him to sit down. She offered him a glass of water and made sure he had calmed down fully before going to help Oba.

  “And you, Oba, which side are you on?” she asked after a while.

  “I can’t vote, Mistress,” she answered. “Only men will vote, and only the heads of family.”

  “Yes. But if you could, what would you do? Be honest, please.”

  “My family is Fang. Many of my ancestors were taken from their land and forced to work on the island’s plantations. In my family, it’s still remembered how the whites hunted the men and trapped them like animals.” Oba raised her chin proudly. “Don’t be offended, Mistress, but I would vote yes.”

  Julia directed her gaze toward the back, where Emilio sat, totally dejected, with slumped shoulders and his hands resting on his thighs. How long had her parents lived on Fernando Po? A lifetime full of dreams and hard work … Where would they go? Definitely not to Pasolobino. After Santa Isabel, they would suffocate in a place so anchored to the past. They could set themselves up with her and Manuel in Madrid and start over. No, not at their age. They would simply be able to enjoy Ismael and their future grandchildren between sighs of nostalgia for their lost island.

  Yes, Dad, she thought, her eyes filled with tears. This is over.

  Nelson carried a gin and tonic and a bottle of Pepsi, trying with difficulty to move his large body through the crowd. Never before had Anita Guau been so full. The Nigerian band played one piece after another without a break, filling the dance floor with couples enjoying the fusion of Yoruba and Latin rhythms. The new owner had changed the interior of the place: high stools at the bar, some dark-red fake-leather sofas under globe lamps, smoked mirrors on the walls, and a curved Wurlitzer in the corner. The customers, both old and new, came for the promise of an unforgettable night.

  Oba greeted him from one of the tables at the back. Her small hand, her wrist decorated with several colored bracelets, waved in the air. Nelson swelled with joy. He felt as if he had not seen her in months, though he had been separated from her for only a few minutes. Beside her, Ekon and Lialia, hand in hand, followed the beat of the music with their shoulders. Nelson put the drinks on the table and sat down.

  “There were so many people at the bar that it took forever to get served,” he explained. When Oba was there, they spoke in Spanish, because she had not learned Pichi.

  “From what I can see, all the Nigerians are here tonight,” commented Ekon. “It’s as if we had planned it.”

  “The occasion calls for it, doesn’t it?” said Nelson. That very week, a new four-year labor agreement had been signed between Nigeria and Guinea. In spite of the uncertain political climate, work for the Nigerians had finally been guaranteed.

  “So this is where you men come to spend your salary … ,” Lialia commented, sliding her gleaming eyes around the room.

  “You know I don’t come often,” Ekon protested. “I’ve too many children to feed.”

  “And I stopped coming as soon as I met Oba,” Nelson agreed. She smiled. “Even if you don’t believe it, many marriages have begun here.”

  “And what are you two waiting for?” Lialia teased.

  “We’re saving up to open a small business, aren’t we, Nelson?”

  “We’ve got plans, yes, but they’ll have to wait. We’re still young.”

  “We know Oba is young,” said Ekon, “but you’re beginning to get on in years.”

  Nelson bellowed in laughter. He knocked back the gin and tonic in one gulp and cursed his lack of foresight in not having ordered more. He would have to go back through the crowd. Oba offered him her soft drink, and he thanked her with a kiss.

  “Look!” The girl pointed in front of her. “Isn’t that one of the massas from your plantation? What’s he doing?” Oba stood up quickly. “Sade!”

  She ran over, followed by the others. A slew of shouting men crowded before her. With great effort, Oba forced her way to the front. A white man was waving a gun at Sade.

  “What happened?” Oba asked the man beside her.

  “The white asked her for something and she refused. He grabbed her by the wrist and twisted her arm. When several men got up to help her, he took out the pistol.”

  “The first one who comes close, I’ll blow his head off!” the man shouted, using Sade like a shield. His eyes glowed with fear and drunkenness.

  “That’s enough, Massa Gregor!” Nelson stepped out. “You’d better put the gun down.”

  “Nelson!” Gregorio cackled. “Have you ever seen such a thing? Since when has it been difficult to choose a woman here?”

  “I’m the one who chooses,” said Sade furiously. “And I decided to get rid of you a long time ago.” She looked at the gathered spectators. “Is it that difficult for you to realize that you’re not going to decide for us anymore? This is the true face of the whites. If you do what you’re told, they tell you everything is fine. If you stand up to them, they take out the melongo switch, the whip, the gun.”

  Gregorio held on to her even tighter, and she cried out in pain. Several men took a step forward.

  “There are a lot of us and only one of you,” Nelson said calmly. “You can shoot, of course, but when you run out of bullets, we’ll come for you. Do you see any whites here? No. I don’t think you’ve picked the best night to come to the club.”

  Large drops of sweat covered Gregorio’s forehead. The situation was looking fairly grim. Nelson, used to managing dozens of laborers in his brigade, noticed that slight moment of weakness and continued speaking in a firm voice.

  “I’ll make a deal with you. You give me your weapon, and we’ll let you leave.”

  There was a murmur of protest. Tempers were so high that the smallest spark could lead to a lynching. Gregorio hesitated.

  “Today is a day for celebrating,” Ekon intervened. “Many of us have brought our wives here to dance. No one wants this to end badly. Nelson and I will take you back to Sampaka.”

  Nelson agreed. The crowd parted to show their support.

  “You give me your word, Nelson?” Gregorio asked in desperation.

  The foreman smiled. That a man like him would
risk his life on the word of a black was ironic. Fear truly changed people.

  “Have you not realized yet that I’m a man of my word, Massa Gregor?” he asked.

  Gregorio lowered his eyes and gave in. He let Sade go, tilted the pistol toward the ground, and calmly waited for Nelson to collect it.

  “Ekon, stay with the women until I come back.”

  Nelson took the man by the elbow and guided him quickly to the door.

  Bit by bit, the party resumed. Sade agreed to have a drink with Oba and her friends.

  “He deserved a good hiding,” murmured Sade.

  “Nelson did the right thing, Sade,” said Lialia firmly. “It’s best not to escalate matters. No matter how much they talk about equality, in the end, it’s us who would get punished.”

  Ekon brought more drinks. The band played a catchy tune, and Lialia took her husband by the hand to dance. When they were left alone, Oba asked, “What did he want?”

  Sade shrugged arrogantly. “Every man who has been with me has wanted to have another turn.” She grimaced and took a sip of her drink.

  All except one.

  And because of him, all her life, she would have to bear the secret that the real father of her child was someone as disagreeable as Massa Gregor.

  In December 1963, the referendum on self-government was accepted by the majority, though the vote was seventy percent in favor in Río Muni and seventy percent against on the island of Fernando Po. Just as Gustavo had suggested, everyone interpreted the result according to their own interest, either as a sign of the island’s loyalty to Spain or its desire to become independent separate from Río Muni.

  Spain granted self-government for the old provinces by decree. From that moment, the pro-independence Guineans began to be appointed by the Spanish authorities to the top posts in the administration and the recently formed autonomous government, including that of first president and vice president, given to an individual named Macías. All those appointed declared their loyalty to Spain. Many of those who had been persecuted for being pro-independence now began to earn good salaries.

  “Such is life, Julia,” Kilian commented. “I am still collecting cocoa, and Gustavo is a minister in the autonomous government. Who would have imagined it? I still remember the argument he had with your father in this very place—how long ago was it?”

  Julia, wearing a light sleeveless dress, placed her hands over her swollen abdomen. It was a glorious afternoon. A pleasant breeze cooled down the day’s intense heat. As on every Sunday, they were meeting up with the rest of the group, but the others were late. Each time it was becoming more difficult to get Manuel to take his head out of his research, and even more so after the good reviews he had received for his first book on the island’s plant species. Ascensión and Mercedes were each busy with preparations for their weddings to Mateo and Marcial, which they had decided to hold together in the Santa Isabel cathedral. Given that the brides had been born and raised on the island, the decision had been an easy one. It would be a simple wedding so that the grooms’ sides would not seem so small, and although there were still months to go before the day, they wanted to have everything ready in good time, especially the dresses. For their part, the grooms were working as hard as they could during the week, including holidays, to make up for their honeymoons.

  Kilian had continued to socialize in order not to raise suspicions about his relationship with Bisila. He alternated between meetings with her and with the people in his circle. His life, he thought sadly, would continue to be divided between two worlds—the mountains and the island, white and black—neither of which he fully belonged to. What he most wished for at that moment was to have Bisila in Julia’s place, quietly lying in the hammock, enjoying a tranquil Sunday afternoon. He imagined her hands on her stomach, swollen with the fruit of the union between them. Was that too much to ask for?

  The shouts of the young people in the swimming pool reached the terrace. Someone put a Chuck Berry song on the record player, and enthusiastic hoots joined the frenetic sound of rock and roll.

  “Don’t say it, Kilian.”

  “Don’t say what?”

  “That we’re getting old.”

  “What! You must be talking about yourself.”

  Kilian awkwardly tried to twist to the music’s beat, and Julia laughed. The young, sensitive novice from his first years on the island had become a happy, satisfied, and confident man. If she had not known better, she would say that he seemed to be in love, with that permanent smile and dreamy look. Julia knew those symptoms perfectly, although it had been years since she settled into a peaceful affection.

  “Hello, hello!” a voice said. “I bring you a small bag full of snow!”

  Kilian gave a start. “Jacobo! We weren’t expecting you until next week.”

  “There was a mistake with the airplane ticket, and I had to book an earlier flight.”

  The brothers hugged fondly. They had not seen each other for six months. Unlike Kilian, who had a good reason not to leave, Jacobo had been going to Spain after each campaign to enjoy his vacation. Each time it became more and more difficult to return, he said, as if he had the feeling that his time in Africa was coming to an end.

  Jacobo pointed to Julia’s bump. “Manuel told me. Congratulations once again.”

  “And how were the holidays?” Kilian asked. “You’re looking good.”

  Jacobo smiled and looked him up and down. “You’re not looking too bad yourself. Is it my imagination … or are you happy?” He squinted. “How come you never get tired of the island?”

  Kilian felt himself going red and sat down. “Did everything work out with the car?”

  Jacobo had bought a beautiful black Volkswagen in Guinea and taken it to Spain. His eyes lit up in excitement.

  “I had no problem reregistering it. And the trip to Pasolobino … The whole road to myself! You should have seen the faces of the neighbors when I parked in the square and beeped the horn!” Kilian could imagine Jacobo’s smug face at being the center of attention. “It was the biggest story for months. Everyone asked where the TEG on the number plate was from, and I had to explain to them a million times that it meant the car was from the Spanish territories in the Gulf of Guinea … You should have seen the amount I spent on petrol taking everyone here, there, and everywhere—”

  “I suppose you had to take more than one lady here, there, and everywhere as well,” Kilian interrupted, amused.

  “All the women of marriageable age fought for the chance.”

  Julia rolled her eyes. The world changed, but Jacobo did not.

  “Well, I’d prefer to know if anyone in particular repeated the trip,” joked Kilian. He could not imagine his brother going out with the same woman more than twice.

  Jacobo cleared his throat. “Her name is Carmen. I met her at a dance. She’s not from Pasolobino.”

  Julia looked up in surprise. Someone had, in fact, managed to win his heart? She hated to admit it, but she felt a fleeting stab of jealousy.

  Kilian went over to Jacobo and patted him on the back. “Dear brother,” he teased. “It sounds like your wild and crazy nights are at an end.”

  Now it was Jacobo who blushed. “Well, we’re still getting to know each other.” He shrugged. “And I’m now here and she’s over there …”

  Julia sighed. That Carmen, she thought, would have her work cut out making him into a family man.

  Kilian glanced toward the horizon. This woman meant more to Jacobo than he let on. His time in Guinea really was coming to a close. Suddenly, Kilian felt a pang of regret. His brother had many defects, true, but he had never hidden anything. He, however, had been hiding his love for Bisila for months. If it could not be announced to the four corners, it could at least be shared with someone who would never betray him. But something inside him told him to wait. In spite of the bonds that joined them, he doubted that his brother would understand. He would think he had gone crazy, which was exactly how he felt: in a daze
.

  Julia offered to go and get another round of drinks. When they were left alone, Jacobo’s face darkened.

  “Is there something wrong at home?” Kilian asked, alarmed.

  “It’s Catalina. She’s very sick.”

  Kilian felt a knot tightening in his stomach.

  Jacobo cleared his throat. “I … well, I’ve said my good-byes to her. I’ve brought you a letter from Mom asking you to go home now to be with them.”

  “But it is the busiest time of the year!” Kilian protested weakly. He regretted the words the minute he had said them. His heart did not want to accept a reason to be away from Bisila, but his sister was his sister. She had not had an easy life, with a sickly body and a mind weakened by the death of her only child. He had not seen her or his mother for over three years. He could not abandon them. Bisila would understand.

  Jacobo lit a cigarette. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to take a trip home, Kilian. Things are changing. There are rumors of a ski resort on the heights of Pasolobino. Do you know what that would mean?” Jacobo’s eyes began to gleam. “The land would be worth a lot of money. It’s worth nothing at the moment. We could change our lives, work in the construction industry or in the ski resort, even set up a business! Our godforsaken village would become a tourist destination.”

  Kilian listened attentively.

  “Some investors with experience in this business have already visited the area. They say that the snow is the white gold of the future …”

  Kilian felt stunned. His sister was dying. He would have to separate from Bisila. A deep pain ran through him, and yet here was his brother discussing the future.

  The future was what most worried Kilian. He did not want to think of it. All he wanted was for nothing to change, for the world to be reduced to an embrace with Bisila.

  “Kilian … ,” Jacobo said.