When Kilian entered the room, Jacobo was sitting up against the headboard, finishing his lunch. When he saw his brother, he quickly left the tray on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Kilian,” he exclaimed happily. “The hours in the hospital seem like forever.” He got up. “Why didn’t you come before? I suppose Garuz has enough problems with one of us out of action.”
Kilian looked at Jacobo and tried to keep his temper. From his cheerful attitude, he guessed that his brother knew nothing about the deaths of Dick and Pao. Manuel had probably not wanted to frighten him in his condition.
Jacobo went to give him a hug, but Kilian took a step back.
“Hey! It’s not contagious!” He hung his head, ashamed. “These days I’ve been thinking about what Father Rafael said. The longer we went without a woman, the better off we’d be health-and pocket-wise.”
Kilian took a deep breath, and said flatly, “Sit down.”
“Oh! I’m fine! I’ve been on my back all day. I want to get up and move a bit.”
“I told you to sit down,” said Kilian between his teeth.
Jacobo went back to the edge of the bed. “What’s the matter?”
Kilian answered with another question: “Have you heard about Dick and Pao?”
“Did they get the same thing?”
“They turned up murdered a few days ago. Hanging from a tree. They had been tortured.”
Jacobo let out a shout but did not say anything. Kilian studied his reaction. After a while, Jacobo, his voice trembling, asked, “But . . . how is that possible? Why?”
“I was hoping you would be able to tell me that.”
“I don’t understand, Kilian. I don’t know anything. I told you they were meant to come and see me, and they didn’t.” He opened his eyes, frightened. “Killed! But who . . . ? Do you think they were killed for being white?”
“No.” Kilian moved a few steps closer. “It’s for something they did on their last trip to the island. For something you did.”
“I’ve done nothing!” Jacobo got defensive. “I have never got mixed up in their problems. Could you tell me what’s gotten into you? That day we went to the city and drank like fish. I don’t even know how I got to bed. Maybe I overdid the iboga, but that’s it.”
“You didn’t party with any girlfriend back here on the plantation?” Kilian chewed his words.
In Jacobo’s mind, blurred images appeared of a dark place, some voices, some laughs, a body under him, a voice babbling his name, a pair of bright eyes. He coughed, nervous. He did not understand why Kilian was putting him through this. He got to his feet and stood in front of his brother.
“And what do you care how I finished the night?” he asked arrogantly.
“Bloody bastard!” Kilian sprung at him and began hitting him as hard as he could, aiming his fists at his face and chest. “You raped her! The three of you! One after another!”
Jacobo tried to defend himself, but his brother had caught him unawares, and he was only able to dodge the occasional blow. He covered his face with his hands and let himself fall back on the bed, frightened and shocked.
Kilian swore aloud and stopped as blood trickled from his brother’s face. “Do you know who she was?”
“I was so drugged it wouldn’t have mattered.”
Kilian leaped at him again, but this time Jacobo jumped up and tried to catch his eye.
“I don’t go around raping women. I’d swear it was one of Dick’s friends.”
Kilian gritted his teeth. “It was Bisila. José’s daughter.”
Jacobo opened his mouth. He blinked several times and tried to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat. His brother narrowed his eyes and, in a cutting voice Jacobo had never heard before, added, “You raped my wife.”
Jacobo felt his knees giving way. He sat down again on the bed and hung his head.
His wife. Since when? He felt a sharp pain in his chest. When had they become so distant? Now the scene began to make sense. Kilian’s disproportionate reaction proved how important she was to him. What had he done?
Kilian went over to the chair beside the window, let himself fall into it, and buried his face in his hands. After a long silence, he sat up and murmured, “Mosi will come for you. He knows. He’ll kill you.” He got to his feet and went over to the door. He rested his hand on the knob and said, “For the moment, you are safe here.”
He left and slammed the door.
In the adjoining room, Manuel sat down, placed his elbows on the table, and held his head in his hands. Someone knocked at the door and came in without waiting for an answer.
“Can I come in?” Father Rafael frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Please sit down. Don’t worry, I’m fine,” he lied. The argument he had heard between the two brothers had frozen the blood in his veins. “A lot has happened in the last few days.”
“People are very upset.” Slightly limping, the priest came over to the chair, sat down, and folded his chubby hands over his abundant stomach. Small nodules circled his finger joints, which looked swollen, rigid, and somewhat bent. “Just now I bumped into Kilian in the corridor. He didn’t even say hello to me. That lad . . .” He shook his head. “Do you know how long it’s been since he’s been to mass? Ah! How different from his father! I hope he’s not mixing in bad company. I’ve heard a rumor, I don’t know if you have too.”
“He’s worried about his brother,” Manuel defended Kilian firmly. He normally enjoyed his conversations with the priest, whom he considered an intelligent man hardened by his years on African soil. However, his eagerness to guide everyone along the right path was sometimes uncomfortable. “And more so after the murder of Jacobo’s friends.”
“Ah, yes. I also heard rumors that they won’t be the last ones.”
Manuel raised his eyebrows.
“But I don’t know whether to believe everything they say . . . Garuz is still in a state. How can this have happened in Sampaka?” He noticed the latest issue of the Claretian magazine on the desk. “Have you read about the Congo? They murdered another twenty missionaries. That’s over a hundred killed since independence. And many are still missing.”
“That’s not going to happen here, Father. It’s impossible. You have been on the island longer than me, but you know the island natives are peaceful.”
“As quiet as an illness,” said Father Rafael, crossing his arms. “You don’t realize you have it till it hurts.”
“Have you had your injection today?” The priest came often to the hospital, looking for relief for the arthritis in his hands and knees.
“Not yet. The nurse with the hands of an angel, Bisila, was not there. They told me she would be back soon, so I came to see you while I waited.”