But both preferred the nights when, taking advantage of her late shift, Bisila came to Kilian’s room in the darkness. And precisely for that reason, she had asked for more night shifts, something Mosi readily accepted because it paid better. Bisila and Kilian could share his bed, talking in whispers, and enjoy themselves with less fear of being discovered.
Bisila got to the bottom of the stairs, then crossed the white-columned porch and walked along the wall, looking to her right and directly ahead to make sure that the main yard was empty. There was not a soul in sight. Suddenly, a door opened and hit her so hard that she staggered. She let out a yelp and raised her hands to her face.
“By all that is holy! But where are you coming from at this time of night, girl?” Lorenzo Garuz could guess the answer. He was not very pleased when the employees allowed their girlfriends to visit, but after so many years, he had learned it was better not to talk about the subject.
“Bisila!” José approached and looked at her face. “Have you hurt yourself? It’s my daughter,” he explained to Garuz. “She works as a nurse for Doctor Manuel.”
The manager peered at her.
“And what are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
Bisila swallowed. Two more men came out of the room, and she recognized Jacobo and Mateo. José’s face went from worry to curiosity. Her legs began to shake. She took a deep breath and answered as calmly as possible. “They sent me a message that Simón wasn’t well, not even enough to walk to the hospital.” She paused and silently thanked the cloud that had covered the moon and left them in almost total darkness. That way they would not see the lie reflected in her eyes.
“Simón?” asked Jacobo. “I saw him at dinnertime. He looked as well as ever.”
“He could not stop vomiting. Something must have disagreed with him. But I think he will be all right by tomorrow. These indigestions only last a few hours. If you don’t mind, I should get back to work.” Bisila gave her father an enchanting smile. “Good night, Dad.”
The cloud moved away from the moon, which once again shone on Bisila. Garuz and Mateo were struck by the unusual beauty of José’s daughter; Jacobo remembered it was she who had stitched his hand. José continued to frown. Was it his imagination, or did his daughter lately radiate a glowing happiness? Not even after Iniko’s birth had he seen her so dazzling . . .
Bisila continued her journey with a quick step. For a few seconds, she had been afraid that Simón would be the next to appear behind Jacobo and Mateo. Fortunately for her, it had not happened. Before going to bed, she would find him and ask him to lie if anyone asked. Simón would do that for her and much more. They had been friends since childhood. She sighed as her spirits revived and the memories of her meeting with Kilian came back to her.
José remained thinking. Had his daughter gone to treat a sick person without her small medical kit?
The following morning, José was the first to see Simón, long before Bisila could get to him.
“How is your stomach?” he asked directly.
“My stomach?” Simón asked in surprise.
José sighed. “If anyone asks, tell them you’re over your indigestion thanks to Bisila, right?”
“Can I ask why? You know I would do anything for you and Bisila, but . . .”
José rolled his eyes. What strange reasons moved the spirits? Perhaps they had gone crazy. Was it not enough he was worried about the future of his own family? Why add another worry? Had he not carried out all his obligations? The world was becoming a very complicated place.
“I’m not telling you anything more,” he muttered.
One person suspected; that was more than enough.
“I think ?sé knows about us.”
Kilian finished his cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray on the small table. Bisila lay on her side, resting on her arm. She looked up and said without the slightest sign of worry, “Has he said anything to you?”
“It’s his”—Kilian hesitated—“silence. We don’t see or talk to each other as much anymore. But he has neither asked me nor made any comment of disapproval.”
Bisila rubbed his chest. “And that worries you?”
Kilian weighed his words. “I’d be very upset if he thought I’d offended him.” He stroked his hair and looked at the ceiling. “And you? You’re not worried?”
“I think, in other circumstances, he’d be pleased to have you as a son-in-law.”
“Maybe it would be a good idea for me to go out with everyone else, I don’t know, take a trip down to the casino with Mateo and Marcial . . . If your father knows about us, others could know too, and that puts you in a dangerous position.”
“He’d never say anything,” Bisila protested.
“But there’s also Simón,” he interrupted her. “I don’t know if we can trust him. Just yesterday, he asked me cheekily what new ailment brought me to the hospital again.”
Bisila had a fit of giggles. “And what did you say?”
She sat astride him, bending down to caress him gently with her lips: his eyes and eyelids, his nose, his ears, his bottom lip, his mouth, and his chin, naming them in Bubi.
“Dyokò, m? papú, m? lümbo, l? tó, m??’?, ann?, mb?lü?”
Kilian shivered every time she whispered to him in her mother tongue.
“It wasn’t there that hurt,” he said mischievously, turning himself to one side so she had to place herself behind him.
Bisila continued with her caresses, sliding her hands along his back, his waist, his bottom, and his legs.
“Attá, atté, matá, m??sò?”
Kilian lay on his back and drew her toward him.
“No, Bisila,” he whispered. “I told him it hurt me here.”
He brought his hand to his chest. “? akán’v?la. In my chest.”
Bisila gave him a wide grin. “You’ve said it very well. You’re learning!”
Kilian returned the smile and looked at her with gleaming eyes. “Now it’s my turn,” he said, getting on top of her. “I don’t want you to forget the little you know of my language.”
He started covering Bisila’s body with his lips.
“Istos son els míos güells, els míos parpiellos, el mío naso, els míos llabios, la mía boca, el mío mentón . . . These are my eyes, my eyelids, my nose, my lips, my mouth, my chin . . .” He slid around behind her and caressed her back, her waist, her thighs, and her legs. “La mía esquena, la mía cintura, el mío cul, las mías camas . . .” He moved his hand upward and stopped on her breast. “Iste ye el mío pit.”
Bisila took his hand in hers.
“What a strange combination!” she said pensively. Bubi and Pasolobinese.
Kilian began to nibble her ear. “And what’s wrong with that?” he whispered as he slid his hand toward the inside of her thighs.
Bisila pressed herself against his body as hard as she could. Kilian could feel the heat of her skin and the humidity that invited him to enter her.
“W? mòná m? vé,” said Bisila slowly, turning to lie on her back. “I think in your language it means something like, yes . . . un . . . bordegot . . . borche!”
She pronounced the words slowly to make certain that Kilian understood. Kilian stopped, surprised. She learned much more quickly than he.
“You’ve said it,” he said. “I’m a bad boy! But not half as bad as I could be . . .”