Edmundo smiled.
Bisila was fed up with many things. There had never been such a shortage of everything, even basics like sugar, salt, milk, and soap. There was no electricity, water, roads, or transport. To top it off, a few days ago, some police officers had searched her home when Laha was in school. They were looking to destroy any reminder of the colonial period, and they had been informed that she, specifically, had been very friendly with the Spaniards. She had hidden the pith helmet in a gap in the wall, which she later closed up. She still remembered the officer’s look when she foolishly asked, “Isn’t it a lot of work to go around to all the houses on Fernando Po?”
“It’s no longer called Fernando Po but Macías Nguema Biyogo ?egue Ndong Island.” The man leaned over. “Or is it because you miss your Spanish friends?”
Bisila had been forced to resort to bribery once again, risking giving them the excuse to return another day and ask where she had got the money from. And that was how things went on, alternating between fear and uncertainty, surviving thanks to her guardian angel.
“Are you coming in?” asked Edmundo. “It’s expected to be a difficult delivery.”
Edmundo was an excellent doctor and work colleague. Since she had started work in Santa Isabel Hospital—well, Bisila corrected herself, Malabo Hospital—her life had improved. Edmundo was a prestigious doctor, and thanks to his influences, he could always get food on the black market.
They went into the delivery room. A woman lay on the bed with her eyes slightly glazed. A nurse came over and whispered, “She refuses to help. She says she doesn’t care whether she or the baby dies, that we can get it out whatever way we want, but she has no intention of pushing.”
Bisila frowned.
“Why wouldn’t a mother want her baby?” Edmundo asked.
“It seems she was raped by a gang of the President’s Youth Wing,” explained the nurse in a low voice.
Bisila approached the woman and got her attention. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Wéseppa.”
“Is it true that you don’t want your baby, now that it’s about to be born?”
The woman’s dark eyes filled with tears.
Bisila took her hand, leaned down, and whispered in her ear. Only someone like her, who had gone through the same situation, could understand.
“We have to hurry,” said Edmundo from the foot of the bed.
Bisila looked at him and nodded. “Wéseppa will help us,” she said.
The delivery was difficult, but after two hours, Bisila placed a beautiful girl on the woman’s bosom.
“What are you going to call her?”
“I hadn’t thought about it,” answered Wéseppa, stroking one of the baby’s tiny hands.
Bisila remembered a pretty name from Bubi mythology. “What do you think of B?rihí?” she suggested.
The woman agreed.
Suddenly, the door opened, and two police officers entered.
“We’re in a hospital!” the doctor cried, indignant. “You can’t come in here like this!”
“We’re looking for Bisila.”
“Me?” she said, startled. “Why?”
“Aren’t you the sister of Sóbeúpo from Bissappoo?”
Bisila’s heart skipped a beat. The newborn baby began to cry.
“Yes.”
“Tell us where the conspirator is.” He turned to the bed, where a terrified Wéseppa was rocking her daughter. “Make it stop!”
The woman brought the baby to her breast.
“I don’t know where he is,” answered Bisila.
The officer grabbed her arm. “You come with us.”
Bisila stayed silent. She was thankful that Iniko, who was at a difficult age, was in Sampaka with his grandfather ?sé. But what would happen to Laha? Who would collect him from school that afternoon?
Edmundo hastily intervened. “Release her immediately!”
The other policeman came over. “Would you like to come with us as well?”
“I am Edmundo Nsué. I know the president personally. Bisila is essential in this hospital. If necessary, I’ll talk to the president myself.”
The two police looked at each other. Bisila released herself and moved away.
The men did not move.
“Very well,” said Edmundo, taking off his white coat. “I’ll go with you to see our president, great master, and one miracle. He will know how to resolve this. And he will do it well, as he always does.”
The officers were surprised by the doctor’s determination. One of them made a sign to the other to go to the door. “We’ll check what you’ve said,” he said threateningly before leaving.
Bisila sighed and fell into a chair. “Thank you, Edmundo. Is what you said true?”
The doctor nodded. “Yes. Relax. You’re safe. I haven’t met a bigger hypochondriac than Macías, and your plant remedies work on him. I’ve tried them out.”
Bisila smiled. In any other circumstance, Edmundo could have been a good life partner. It was obvious he wanted something more with her. She could not reject his advances openly. She would not be the first to be accused of conspiring against the regime because of the spite of a rejected suitor.
She got to her feet and walked toward the window. The afternoon sun tried to force its way through the mist. In a few hours, night would come and, with it, the memories. She brought a hand to her lips, missing Kilian’s kisses. Years had passed since his departure, and she could still remember his smell, his taste, and the sound of his voice. She sometimes dreamed of him, and the images were so clear she hated waking up. What would Kilian be doing at that moment? Would he be missing her as much as she missed him?
“Give me the baby.” Carmen took Daniela from Kilian’s arms. “We’re going home, Clarence. It’s starting to get cold.”
“We’re going as well,” said Jacobo.
The last rays of autumn sunlight filtered through the windows of the enormous hotel by the river. Kilian and Jacobo followed Carmen, although more slowly. Soon, they lost sight of her.
“How everything has changed, hasn’t it?” Jacobo commented.
Kilian nodded. The old path that led to the fields farthest away from the village had been turned into a wide road with blocks of apartments on either side. His mind wandered to another place where the forest and traditions had succumbed, first to foreign colonization, and then to chaos. He thought often of those people whom he had not seen in a decade and whom he had not heard anything about since Waldo’s news.
Jacobo cleared his throat. He did not really know how to broach the subject. In the last few years, much had happened. The negotiations over the transfer of lands to the ski resort were taking longer than expected. Jacobo could not attend the meetings, because they made his blood boil. Both brothers felt insulted by the condescension of the ski resort company executives, who were trying to get the neighbors’ lands at a ridiculous price, promising that, in exchange, they would get building plots at some stage in the future.