“To weed, José.” Garuz rubbed his tired eyes. The seven foremen with whom Sampaka continued to work were relaxing after the meal. “Macías has said that he will send all the whites to pull up weeds.”
Kilian reread the last paragraph of the letter he had just received from his mother, worried by the news she received through some neighbors who worked on other plantations:
Why haven’t you come home? I don’t understand your stubbornness to stay there in those circumstances. I don’t know anymore what is true and what isn’t. Some say that the Spaniards sleep with guns under their pillows or are afraid to sleep in their own houses; others say it’s not that serious . . . If it’s because of the money, don’t worry about it. You can’t do any more. Your father would be proud of the work you’ve done so that the House of Rabaltué, your only home, could shine as it does now. Guinea has taken my beloved Antón, I wouldn’t like it to take one of my sons as well. It’s time we were together. We have already given and taken all that is possible from Fernando Po.
A hug from your mother, who loves you.
He left the letter on the table. He remembered how anxious he had been reading her first letters exactly sixteen years ago, when he was a young man wanting to know the world but still missed home. He now read of Jacobo’s expectations for the changes that were beginning to take place in Pasolobino. Everything seemed so strange, so distant to him. As if the letter were addressed to someone else. His place was now beside his new family. He had to work to give them a future.
He cursed under his breath. If things were different, they could have dreamed about buying a house in Santa Isabel. Perhaps it was not what he had planned for his life years ago, but bit by bit, his destiny had been guiding him in that direction, and he did not want to change course.
“What has made Macías so annoyed?” José asked.
“Everything,” said Garuz, in a bad mood. “He gets upset about everything. He sees ghosts everywhere. Two weeks ago, he protested that there were still too many Spanish flags flying and ordered them lowered. The Spanish consul refused, and Macías insisted that the Spanish ambassador leave the country. Since then there has been nothing but violence, aggression, and looting of Spanish colonists and their properties. Soon they’ll find Sampaka.”
Simón finished serving another round of coffee, and everybody, except Waldo and Nelson, had one.
“The planes and ships are leaving full of people,” he said. “Maybe you should all leave as well.”
“The Spanish troops and the Civil Guard are still here. I’ve no intention of leaving.”
“Slow down, Kilian,” Gregorio commented. “Macías has accused the Civil Guard of murder and the National Guard of planning a coup d’état with the Spanish loggers.”
Kilian shrugged. “You can leave if you want. Those left here are enough to get the harvest in.”
Garuz smiled. Who would have thought that the lad had the guts?
“I’ve no intention of giving up my salary,” said Gregorio. “But when the time comes, I’ll leave. I’m not tied here like you.”
Garuz frowned.
Before Gregorio could add another unpleasant comment, Kilian, looking straight at Garuz, hastily butted in.
“I’m married by the Bubi rites to Bisila, one of José’s daughters, with whom I have a child called Fernando Laha. I don’t hide it. I thought you also knew about it.”
Everyone waited for the manager’s reaction in silence.
Garuz poured himself another coffee. Why had he not heard this? It was true that he had never paid much attention to gossip. It was always about the same thing—affairs, flings, unwanted children—but he found the news about Kilian surprising. So that was the real reason he did not want to leave? He felt a stab of disappointment. What he had taken for courage was nothing more than a whim that would end like all of them, in nothing. Even so, he had to admit that the proud way in which Kilian had brought him up to date on his situation left little doubt about the importance of the relationship.
“I’ve no intention of leaving them,” added Kilian, on seeing how Garuz had been struck dumb.
Garuz recovered his firm tone. “Sooner or later, Macías will realize that he needs us. Where else will he find such income? Anyway, it wouldn’t do us any harm to take precautions.” He pointed to Simón, Waldo, José, and Nelson. “You four are not to leave the plantation.”
“But this has nothing to do with the Nigerians,” Nelson protested, thinking of Oba.
“Not yet it doesn’t.” Garuz pointed to Kilian and Gregorio. “And you . . .”
The sounds of a car horn beeping, accompanied by shouts, interrupted the conversation. Everyone rushed out of the dining room and saw Emilio, shouting furiously with half his body out the window of the car. Beside him, Father Rafael, whom he had collected in Zaragoza village, put his hands to his head.
“Calm down, Emilio!” said Garuz. “What’s the matter?”
“I have to warn my daughter! Lorenzo, Kilian, Gregorio. Come to Manuel’s house!”
The tires of the Vauxhall raised dust as Emilio pulled up to the doctor’s house.
Minutes later, in the sitting room, he told them what had happened.
“There has been an attempted coup. Macías has accused Spain, and the person behind it, Atanasio Ndongo, has been murdered. Bonifacio Ondó and other politicians not in Macías’s camp have been detained and jailed. Gustavo as well. Military vehicles have been on the streets all night. We are now in a state of emergency. We should have left a few days ago on the Ciudad de Pamplona, with the last ones! Julia, Manuel, take the most important things, money, jewels, and passports, and forget the rest.”
“But Spain—” began Julia.
Her father cut her short. “Julia, Spain won’t interfere in Guinea’s affairs now. I’m going to the city to arrange passage. We’ll stay together until we get a ship or a plane, whichever leaves first, today or tomorrow . . . And you”—he turned to the others—“should do the same.”
Manuel turned to Garuz in consternation. What would the people left on the plantation do without a doctor?
“Do what you have to do,” responded Garuz. “I’m staying.”
“Me as well,” said Kilian. He would not leave until they came after him.
“And me . . .” Gregorio hesitated. “I’ll also stay for the moment.”
Emilio shrugged. “And you, Father Rafael?”
“I’m staying, son. My place is here.”
“It’s up to you, but when the Civil Guard leaves, you’ll be here at your own risk.” He shook hands with those who had decided to stay, one by one, with pursed lips and a furrowed brow. “Kilian, if I were your father, I’d drag you out of here.”