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.