“Two white men appear, murdered in the ancient manner. They’ll begin to say that the spirits don’t want the whites here. There are rough seas ahead!”
Kilian stayed silent. He looked at Pao’s body again. “They told my brother that they’d come to spend the weekend, but they didn’t. He thought it was odd.”
“Tell your brother to tread carefully.”
“Why do you say that? Do we also have to be careful?”
Manuel shrugged and, raising his hands, exclaimed, “Yes, I suppose!”
He went to the operating room but not before telling a couple of men to place the dead body in the mortuary until the plantation management decided what to do.
The men moved aside to let Pao’s lifeless body through. Kilian followed with his eyes. After a few meters, the men carrying the body stopped.
Kilian saw how Bisila lifted up a corner of the shirt that covered Pao’s face and let it fall again. Bisila clasped her hands together, squeezed them hard against her bosom, and closed her eyes. She did not notice that Kilian was watching her closely.
Beside him, he listened to two nurses murmuring something in Bubi. He turned and asked, “What does something like ‘Na á’a pa’o buáa’ mean?”
One of them looked at him in surprise. “It means ‘I hope he dies.’”
Kilian frowned.
One man was dead, the second was sure to die, and Bisila wanted the death of a third.
Kilian found José and Simón in the stores. The news had spread like wildfire through the plantation.
“And what do you two think?” Kilian got straight to the point. “Was it the work of the living or the dead?”
José said nothing. It was obvious that Kilian was in a temper.
Simón stood in front of him.
“And what do you think, Massa?” he said. “Do you think it was us, the peace-loving Bubis? Or maybe a Fang on the island on vacation? Or the Nigerians celebrating black magic? I bet it never crossed your mind that it could be other whites who killed them.”
José motioned to him to be quiet. Kilian gave him a hard stare.
“The whites,” he muttered, “don’t tie their victims to trees or hang rocks from their feet.”
“Of course not,” replied Simón. “They have other ways . . .”
Kilian exploded. “Simón! Is there something you want to tell me?” His eyes flared, and his fists were clenched.
“And you”—he looked at José—“what are you hiding? I thought we were friends!” He started to pace up and down, waving his arms. “This is driving me crazy! Something happened here. I know it’s got something to do with Dick, Pao . . .” He paused. “And my brother!”
José looked furtively at Simón, who turned away.
Kilian went over to them. “What did they do, José? Who wants revenge?” He caught hold of Simón’s arm and forced him around. “What the hell did my brother do? Do you want to hang him from a tree as well?”
José opened his mouth and shut it again.
“We won’t tell you anything,” said José.
“If you two won’t tell me,” grumbled Kilian, “who will?” He looked to the sky, defeated, and asked, “Bisila?”
Simón cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said, barely audible.
Kilian felt his strength leave him.
He remembered Bisila’s arm and the wounds on her face and suddenly felt like throwing up.
Bisila wanted his brother dead!
What had they done? He leaned against the wall to stop himself falling.
It could not be true! Not his brother!
He remembered that his brother was ill with syphilis, and he retched.
He would kill him. He would kill him with his bare hands!
José came over and put an arm on his shoulder. Kilian moved away. He took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together, feeling only hate inside.
“I have two questions, José, and I expect you to answer both,” he warned. “Does Mosi know?”
“I told him,” Simón responded.
“And the second,” continued Kilian. “Will he come for Jacobo?”
José nodded. “Let Mosi do what he has to do,” he said sadly. “This is none of your business.”
Kilian clenched and unclenched his fists. “Don’t tell me what I have to do, José!” he shouted.
“If you stop him,” Simón interrupted, “Mosi will learn about your relationship with her, and you will both end up hanging from a tree.”
Kilian, broken, leaned against the wall again.
“In these matters,” said José, “white man’s law has no place. I’ve accepted and understood your relationship with Bisila, but she could be accused of adultery. If you really love her, you’ll stay out of this. Everything will soon return to normal.”
Kilian wiped his forehead before standing up straight. “After this, nothing will ever be the same,” he said softly.
He started toward the main building.
He needed to think.
Kilian did not go to see his brother for two weeks. He did not much care if the other thought it odd or if he suffered after finding out about the death of his friends. All his thoughts revolved exclusively around his desire to do him harm . . . and the fear of Mosi’s vengeance. He was sure that, for the moment, Jacobo was safe. The giant would not dare do anything while he was in the hospital.
How could his brother have done such an unforgivable thing?
He struck his machete in rage at the trunk of a cocoa tree. The blows fell on the ripe reddish fruit, destroying them, and leaving the beans open to the elements. He stopped dead in his tracks, got his breath back, and shook his head in regret.
Why had he not told Jacobo before that Bisila had been his wife for a long time? If he had known, he would have never laid a finger on her. Even for someone like him, there were limits that should not be crossed.
The only possibility left was that Jacobo had not recognized Bisila . . . Kilian’s stomach turned. Any punishment seemed too light to make up for the damage that those three had caused.
He thought of the bodies of Dick and Pao. He visualized the terrible hours of agony that they would have suffered until the relief of death. A sharp pain settled in his chest. Would he remain with his arms folded, knowing that Mosi would come for Jacobo? For all that was holy, of course not! They had spent their whole lives together. They shared the same blood of the forebearers of the House of Rabaltué.
Kilian had no other option. He had to talk to him. Nothing could excuse his brother’s actions, but he had to save his life. Despite everything, he was his brother.
And then what? Would they go to the authorities and explain everything? They would arrest Mosi, and he would be punished for the murders. He remembered José’s and Simón’s words of warning. The Africans had their own way of sorting things out. If Kilian informed on Mosi, they would come for him. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
Don’t get involved, Kilian, he thought. You only want to get Bisila back. Drown yourself in her eyes until time stands still again and it is only the two of you.
He leaned back against the tree and rubbed his forehead in anguish. He had no other choice. He had to warn Jacobo. What his brother did with that information mattered as much to him as the cocoa beans that lay crushed at his feet.