Yes. She would talk to him. Kilian would react differently.
The garden was surrounded by a stone wall as high as a person. Clarence walked along a narrow path flanked by a hedge that ended at the entrance, crowned with an even taller hedge, which Kilian had cut into an arch. Why had she not noticed it before? At that moment, Clarence was certain that the path to the entrance to the garden was a miniature of the royal palm tree path in Sampaka. The arch also reminded her of the ones she had read about that had to be crossed through to enter the villages on the island. She had never thought about it. There was surely an arch similar to that at the entrance to Bissappoo.
Just after walking through the arch, she heard Kilian and Jacobo. It seemed they were having a row. She got a few steps closer and hugged her body against an apple tree.
Kilian was leaning on a rock with his Guinean machete in his right hand. In his left, he was holding a thick branch of ash whose bottom end he was turning into a point with violent slashes of the machete. Jacobo paced near him.
They were arguing in their native language.
Her heart began beating strongly, and she retraced her steps to hide behind some bushes. If she peeked out a little, she could see their profiles.
There were words she did not understand. When both brothers spoke quickly in their mother tongue, it was not easy to follow the conversation. Daniela and Clarence had learned a lot of Pasolobinese from listening to neighbors and family, but in their house, Spanish was spoken because neither of their mothers were from the valley. Clarence regretted more than ever not having a deep knowledge of the oral language of her forefathers, like Laha and Iniko did. She had no problems reading it; in fact, her doctoral thesis had been on the dialect’s grammar, but her pronunciation was not quite as good.
Nevertheless, names were easily understood. They were talking about Laha and Daniela. After a while, she was able to understand the two brothers’ conversation more clearly.
“You have to do something, Kilian!”
“And what do you want me to do? If I talk to her, I will have to tell her everything, and I don’t think you’d want me to do that.”
A blow of the machete.
“You don’t need to tell her everything! Only about you and that woman!”
“That’s my business.”
“Not anymore, Kilian, not now. This isn’t right. Daniela and that man . . . You don’t even seem to be worried?”
A blow of the machete.
“It was inevitable. I have finally understood that.”
“Kilian, you’re worrying me. For God’s sake! They’re brother and sister! How could you lose your head with that black woman?”
A blow of the machete.
A pause.
“Her name was Bisila, Jacobo. Her name is Bisila. Do me the favor of referring to her with respect. But what am I saying! You? Respect Bisila?”
A blow of the machete.
“Shut up!”
“A moment ago you wanted me to talk.”
“To confirm that you are Laha’s father and that’s an end to it! Relationship over and we forget about the matter.”
“Yes, as we’ve done for almost forty years . . . I separated from him once, Jacobo, and I have no intention of doing it again. If I know my daughter like I think I do, she won’t forget about Laha that easily. And if Laha is anything like his mother, even the slightest bit, he won’t let Daniela go free either.”
“And you’re so relaxed!”
A blow of the machete.
“Yes, I’m glad I’ve lived to see it. You don’t know how happy it makes me!”
Clarence peeked out to see them better.
Kilian put the machete on the ground. He raised his right hand to his left armpit to touch his small scarification, the one Daniela had said was hidden just there.
Was he smiling?
Kilian smiling?
“You’re going to make me go mad! Damn you, Kilian! I know you! Your head and your heart can’t bless this aberration. Fine, very well. If you don’t want to talk to her, I’ll do it!”
He turned around and began to walk toward the spot where Clarence was hiding. He would bump into her.
Kilian called out.
“Jacobo. Will you also tell her about Mosi?”
Jacobo stopped dead and turned, furiously, toward his brother.
“That has nothing to do with this.”
“You’re asking me to remember my past, and you won’t even mention yours!”
“Then I’ll also have to talk to them about Sade? Maybe she also was right! For all that is holy, Kilian! Why are you set on complicating things? Why can’t you understand it’s just about making sure that Daniela doesn’t suffer?”
“I know what suffering is. What’s happening to Daniela is nothing compared to what I went through. You have never suffered in your life, so don’t play the victim now.”
Despite the distance, Clarence could make out the deep resigned tone in his voice.
“So that’s it? You want her to suffer like you? It’s your daughter!”
“No, Jacobo. Daniela won’t suffer like me.”
What was Kilian saying?
Was there something else they did not know?
Suddenly, Clarence felt something running over her feet and let out a scream.
Kilian and Jacobo grew silent and looked up. Clarence had no choice but to come out.
When she approached the men, her face burned in shame for having spied, so she looked at them, first one and then the other, and said in a low voice, “Dad . . . Uncle Kilian . . . I . . . I heard everything. I know everything.”
Kilian picked up the machete from the ground, gently cleaned the blade with a cloth, and got up.
He looked his niece straight in the eye. The intensity of his stare had not been vanquished by the wrinkles. He raised his hand and lovingly stroked her cheek.
“My dear Clarence,” he said in a firm voice, “I can assure you that you know nothing.”
Clarence went cold. “Well, tell me once and for all! I want to know!”
Kilian put his arm around Clarence’s shoulders and began to walk toward the entrance to the garden. “I think it’s time to have a family meeting,” he said seriously. “I have something to tell you all.” He stopped to wait for his brother. “The two of us have something to tell you.”
Jacobo dropped his head and murmured some unintelligible protest.
“What does it matter now, Jacobo?” said Kilian, shaking his head. “We’re old. What does anything matter?”
Clarence felt the pressure of Kilian’s arm on her shoulder, as if he needed help to stop him from falling.
“I’m afraid, Jacobo, that you don’t know everything either.”
He put his right hand into his pocket, took out a thin strip of leather with two shells hanging from it, and tied it round his neck.
“I’ve always had it on me,” he murmured. “But it’s been twenty-five years since I’ve worn it. I won’t be taking it off again.”
Thousands of kilometers away, Laha looked for his mother at home and could not find her.
The previous week had been the worst in his life. He had gone from heaven to hell in a matter of seconds. He could not erase the image of Daniela trembling in his arms.