by Luz Gabás
What they never talked about in the meetings was the profits the building speculators would make for land whose price was artificially inflated the very moment it no longer belonged to the inhabitants of Pasolobino.
Jacobo looked at his brother. How had he managed to keep going after everything that had happened? When Kilian had finally managed to settle in Spain, he had lost his wife. Jacobo remembered the day that Pilar, a quiet, sensible, and cautious woman, had arrived in the house to look after Mariana in her last months of life. Who would have said that little by little, she would open a place for herself in his brother’s heart and lead him to the altar? It was true that Kilian had not hesitated to marry her when he found out that she was pregnant. But it was also true that thanks to her, his brother had managed to calm the unease he had brought back with him from Africa. Pilar had been a brief parenthesis of peace in Kilian’s life. Now the unrest had returned and Jacobo had a slight inkling why.
“I suppose you’ve read the press recently …”
Kilian nodded. “It’s been years since we heard anything, and now nothing but terrible things are coming out.”
“They’re not all terrible. They say that the one in charge now wants to have good relations with Spain.”
“Let’s see how long they last.” Kilian was not so interested in the latest political developments as in the descriptions of journalists who had been in Malabo after the so-called Liberty Coup of August 1979, at the hands of the new president, Teodoro Obiang, when the doors of the houses opened and the streets filled with people who, stunned, began hugging one another in happiness.
All the journalists described the country that Macías had left behind as catastrophic. Malabo was in ruins, submerged in neglect and devoured by the forest and corruption. Could people really believe that the nightmare was over? Would they be freed of forced labor? Would the pillaging of their crops come to an end? Thanks to the news on the trial in which Macías was condemned and executed, Kilian had read spine-chilling articles that confirmed the barbarism that had reigned in Guinea. The country had turned into a concentration camp. The regions were devastated due to the flight of their inhabitants, because of the genocide carried out by that lunatic, and because of the epidemic of diseases brought on by the lack of food and sanitation. Guinea had been on the edge of complete oblivion. And he had abandoned his Bisila with two children there? How many times had he been disgusted with himself!
If it had not been for Manuel’s help, he would have gone crazy. Every so often, he sent his friend a check, and Manuel gave the money to the doctors who went there on humanitarian missions. Only money. No letters. Not even one line that could be used to accuse her of anything. They both knew that they were alive thanks to the chain of doctors. That small gesture had been his nighttime consolation, as it confirmed the permanent feeling in his chest, intimate, secret, mysterious, hidden, that she was alive, that her heart was beating.
“Don’t think about it too much,” said Jacobo. “I’m happy that things are going better for them, but that is all behind us now, isn’t it?”
He rubbed his blemished eye, an indelible reminder of the beating once given to him by his brother. He knew that Kilian had never forgiven him, and he would not forget what he had done.
Kilian remained in silence. For him, nothing was behind him.
Every second of his life, he refused to accept that his forced earthly separation was the end.
20
The End or the Beginning
2004 …
“And Mom?” Daniela asked, her brow wrinkled in confusion and relief. “What was her role in this story?”
Since Kilian had relived what he had locked in his heart for over thirty years, the trickle of questions had not ceased. It had not been enough to realize that Laha was Jacobo’s biological son, Clarence’s half brother, and Daniela’s cousin. No. The truth demanded more explanations.
Kilian sighed. He had never said and she had never asked, but Pilar had been certain that his heart belonged to another. The only thing she asked him to do, the very day they got married, was to take off the African collar he wore.
“Your mother and I had many good times together, and she gave me you,” he answered at last. “God willed it that she die soon afterward.”
He did not tell her that he had suspected that the spirits had taken her early so his soul could be completely faithful to Bisila.
“Uncle Kilian,” interrupted Clarence, “didn’t you ever think of going back to Guinea?”
“I hadn’t the courage.”
Kilian paced around the sitting room. He stopped in front of the window and contemplated the vivid June landscape. It was very complicated for him to explain. As time passed, he tended to remember all he had given up or lost, rather than what had been gained.
No doubt. He had been a coward. And what was ten times worse, he had finally become comfortable in his valley. He remembered everything he had been reading in the press about the happenings in Equatorial Guinea’s recent history and its relations with Spain. How had they gone from a close union to a painful reminder? Some said that the decision not to send a military unit to protect Obiang just after he overthrew Macías—which had allowed the Moroccan Guard to come on the scene—had been the main reason for the subsequent failure of Spanish interests, marked by the absence of a clear and decisive foreign policy and a fear of being labeled neocolonialist. Spain had not responded quickly enough to the request to support the ekuele, the Guinean currency, nor to the request to cover the Guinean budget for five years, which would have guaranteed it preferential treatment in future negotiations, nor to the country’s need to create a legal and economic climate that would lend security to possible investors.
The most widely heard argument was that the Spanish had never got round to seriously considering a modern plan for cooperation like the French. France spent millions, while Spain spent hardly anything. Manuel had told him that many of the old owners like Garuz had complained that the millions paid in cooperation salaries would have been better employed if they had been given to people with experience in Guinea, like them, to recover some properties with which they could have generated employment and economic activity. In a nutshell, all the news showed the incompatibilities of a complex situation that had, on one side, all the contradictions of the Guinean authorities—many of whom were the same people as under Macías, and who did not take long in returning to their old habits—and, on the other, the lack of coordination of the Spanish administration in taking on a task of such magnitude without any previous experience.
Afterward, both the Spanish government and the opposition began to ignore the subject, in part because they were tied up in other issues such as Tejero’s failed coup d’état, Basque terrorism, NATO, and the European Economic Community and, in part, because it was the easy option. And later, when the oil appeared, it was already too late. Other countries had sliced up the pie.
Like Spain, Kilian had not been decisive enough. An idea—incorrect, as events had proved since Clarence’s visit to Bioko—had occupied his mind and his heart for many years: it was impossible for Bisila to have continued loving him after he had abandoned her.
“And now?” persisted Daniela. “Why don’t you come with me? Laha and I will be on Bioko for a few weeks before going to California. I’m going to meet her, Dad.”
Clarence studied her uncle’s face. She saw how he pursed his lips, trying to hold back the emotion. It was difficult to imagine what thoughts were going through his head.
“Thanks, Daniela, but no.”
“Wouldn’t you like to see her again?” It was not clear to Clarence whether Daniela’s question was born out of curiosity or out of fear of the jealousy the supposed usurper of her mother’s heart, who would now become her mother-in-law, caused in her.
Kilian hung his head. See her again … yes, as I remember her, with her light dresses, her dark-caramel skin, her enormous clear eyes, and her infectious laugh. If only I could be
the young muscular man with the white shirt … “I think both of us would like to remember each other as we were, not as we are.”
“I don’t understand.”
“How can this Technicolor world understand the days of black-and-white that are now past? I want to remember Bisila just as I have kept her in my mind. In our hearts, the embers of that fire are still glowing, but we now don’t have firewood to make it burn again … It’s better like this, Daniela.” It’s better like this. Maybe there exists a place far away from this changing and impatient world where we will be able to meet again. What did she call it? It wasn’t the world of the dead, no. It was the world of the unliving. This I believe.
“What does it matter that you are both old? Do you really think she won’t see photos? I intend to bring her a full album on Pasolobino!”
“I don’t want you to show her photos I’m in, and I don’t want to see any of her. Promise me that, Daniela. Don’t show either of us how we have changed. Why ruin the dreams of two old people? Isn’t it enough that you talk about me?” Tell her that I have never forgotten her! Not one day of my life has gone by that I haven’t thought of her! Tell her she has always been my muarána muèmuè … She will understand.
Daniela went over to her father and hugged him. A new future had opened up for her: a future with Laha. While still holding him in her arms, Daniela began to miss her father, thanks to whose past her own life was beginning at the same age as when he had embarked on his way to a distant African island, full of palms and cocoa trees, where the pods of black cocoa ripened in the sun, leaving behind the stone-and-slate houses huddled against each other under the thick blanket of pristine snow.
“Now, now, Daughter, that’s it.” Kilian, touched by Daniela’s show of affection, got up with his eyes glistening. “I’ll leave you here. I’m tired.”
The cousins remained in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Clarence said, “I’m going to miss you a lot, Daniela. It will never be the same again.”
Daniela drummed her fingers on the table, deep in thought. She understood how Clarence felt. Both she and Laha had been shocked on learning the real identity of Laha’s biological father, who, in addition, had killed Iniko’s father. No matter that it had been in self-defense; it did not make it any easier. But in spite of this, both she and Laha had been able to appreciate better than anyone the meaning of the word relief.
Clarence’s situation was more complicated. On the one hand, and partly because she had already suspected it for a while, she was delighted that ties greater than friendship joined her forever to Laha, through whom Iniko had also turned from just being a vacation fling to being her brother’s brother. She would know about him and he about her even if they were following their own paths. On the other hand, however, she was finding it difficult to accept her father’s role in the whole story. She had not spoken to him.
“Clarence …” Daniela took a deep breath. “Don’t you think it’s time you talked to your dad? Sooner or later, you’ll have to.”
“And what would I say to him? I still can’t understand how Kilian could hide Laha’s existence from us. I think it was shameful, but at least he suffered the punishment of being separated from Bisila. But Dad”—her eyes filled with tears—“Dad raped and killed and got away with it. I don’t know how Mom can stay with him. What he did is unspeakable. How much does the past weigh on people? For Mom, it seems, not much. Do you know what she said to me the other day on the phone? That they were old, that it had happened before they got married, and why wouldn’t thirty years of marriage forgive the unforgivable act of a drunken night.” She wiped away the tears. “It’s terrible, Daniela. I don’t know my parents.”
Daniela came over and hugged her.
“Jacobo didn’t get away with it, Clarence. The African blood that will flow through the veins of his grandchildren will remind him of what he did for as long as he lives. And now that he has found out about the existence of an unwanted son, he’s afraid of losing his only daughter.”
“He hasn’t even wanted to talk to him … to his own son …”
Clarence bit her lip hard to control her sobs. She closed her eyes and thought about everything that had happened since she found that piece of paper in the cabinet. Learning the truth had now joined them, those from the island and those from the mountain, together forever for the rest of their lives, with bonds impossible to break. But as a result of this union, the characters from these stories would begin disappearing one by one in one way or another before her eyes, and nothing would ever be the same. She did not know whether it would be better or worse, but it would definitely be different.
So near, and yet, so far, she thought. Or was it the other way round? Her heart wanted, in spite of the good-byes, for it to be the other way around. So far, and yet, so near.
Etúlá, Formosa, Fernando Po, Macías Island, and Bioko.
Ripotò, Port Clarence, Santa Isabel, and Malabo.
Pasolobino.
So far and so near.
In the following years, the House of Rabaltué was filled with words shouted in English, Spanish, Bubi, one or two in Pasolobinese—Clarence made sure of that, trying to ensure that her nephew and niece knew something of the language of their forebearers—and even in Pidgin English. Samuel and his baby sister, Enoá, Laha and Daniela’s children, took everything in, like sponges. Clarence was certain that if they spent more time in Guinea than in California, they would end up learning French, Portuguese, Fang, Annobonese, Balengue, Ibo, and Ndowé. What a land, that Bioko, that little Tower of Babel! Clarence noticed Samuel’s big dark eyes and remembered those of Iniko, to whom she had once said that having two languages was like having two souls. Now Samuel and Enoá had millions of words to combine in different languages, and she only hoped they knew how to construct beautiful phrases with them.
Clarence enjoyed enormously the short visits of Daniela, Laha, and the children, during which the lonely house was filled with fresh air. For a few days, the walls reverberated to the echoes of past conversations, now bolstered by the voices of the new generation. Daniela pulled Clarence’s leg for still not having found a suitable man. Clarence slid her gaze over the toys scattered on the floor and smiled because when the children were there, it seemed that the house was being hit by a tornado that only Granddad Kilian enjoyed, since Carmen and Jacobo did not leave Barmón anymore.
Jacobo, selflessly cared for by Carmen, had gone through the aggressive stages of Alzheimer’s and was now in an almost-vegetative state. To Clarence, her father’s illness seemed a tragicomic twist of destiny. He had lost his memory, the past over whose consequences the cousins still had differing positions, both at a political and personal level.
Whenever Daniela got to Pasolobino, she spoke excitedly of the large number of improvements she noticed in Bioko, from the good fortune of the casino, which had finally been refurbished, to political, social, economic, and judicial reforms, without omitting the advances in the country’s democracy and human rights. Daniela passionately listed the public campaigns to combat child labor and discrimination and violence against women and against people from other races and religions; the efforts to make people aware of the importance of education, health, and children’s rights; the fight against AIDS; the improvement in access to new technologies; the increase in skills training …
Clarence was surprised because what her cousin told her did not coincide with the information she had read on the Internet. She criticized her for sounding like the minister for foreign affairs who admitted that Spain would continue to support the dictatorship in spite of the fact that part of the Spanish people and society were against it.
“And you, Clarence? What would your position be? Guinea needs international aid, but giving it means dealing with the dictator. It’s a quandary, isn’t it? Well, look, to me the answer is clear. Moral principles are difficult to maintain in situations of poverty and need. The more you invest there, the more jobs are created and the easier progress b
ecomes. Everything else goes smoothly after that.”
“I don’t know … And wouldn’t it be easier to overthrow the blasted regime once and for all and free the country of tyranny?”
“Do you really think a coup from the outside would be organized for humanitarian reasons? If there wasn’t any oil, do you think there would be that much interest? There is life there, Clarence. There are political parties who are looking for change from within, participating in the institutions and waiting for the hoped-for change to arrive one day. They have resisted so much … I think it’s now time for the criticism to stop and that people accept that the Equatorial Guineans want to make their own future without outside interference.”
Clarence wanted to believe what she said. Maybe things had changed from when she had learned about Bioko’s history from Iniko’s lips …
The last journey that Daniela, Laha, and the children made to Pasolobino was different from the previous ones. There was neither joy nor jokes nor heated discussions. Clarence had called her cousin to give her the sad news that Kilian had been hospitalized. The prognosis was not reassuring.
They hid the seriousness of the situation from him, but one afternoon, just after going into his room, Clarence got the impression that Kilian was more than aware that the end was near. He conveyed a feeling of peace and tranquility.
Kilian had his head tilted toward the window, his gaze lost in some point in the sky. Daniela stayed sitting by his side, holding his hand as she had done for the last three weeks. Laha was close to both of them. Clarence leaned on the door, partly hidden so they would not see her tears. She admired the composure of Daniela, who had not shed a tear in front of her dying father in all the time she had spent with him. Rather, she made sure to appear happy—and she really looked it—so that her father would not notice the suffering she was going through.
