The most widely heard argument was that the Spanish had never got round to seriously considering a modern plan for cooperation like the French. France spent millions, while Spain spent hardly anything. Manuel had told him that many of the old owners like Garuz had complained that the millions paid in cooperation salaries would have been better employed if they had been given to people with experience in Guinea, like them, to recover some properties with which they could have generated employment and economic activity. In a nutshell, all the news showed the incompatibilities of a complex situation that had, on one side, all the contradictions of the Guinean authorities—many of whom were the same people as under Macías, and who did not take long in returning to their old habits—and, on the other, the lack of coordination of the Spanish administration in taking on a task of such magnitude without any previous experience.
Afterward, both the Spanish government and the opposition began to ignore the subject, in part because they were tied up in other issues such as Tejero’s failed coup d’état, Basque terrorism, NATO, and the European Economic Community and, in part, because it was the easy option. And later, when the oil appeared, it was already too late. Other countries had sliced up the pie.
Like Spain, Kilian had not been decisive enough. An idea—incorrect, as events had proved since Clarence’s visit to Bioko—had occupied his mind and his heart for many years: it was impossible for Bisila to have continued loving him after he had abandoned her.
“And now?” persisted Daniela. “Why don’t you come with me? Laha and I will be on Bioko for a few weeks before going to California. I’m going to meet her, Dad.”
Clarence studied her uncle’s face. She saw how he pursed his lips, trying to hold back the emotion. It was difficult to imagine what thoughts were going through his head.
“Thanks, Daniela, but no.”
“Wouldn’t you like to see her again?” It was not clear to Clarence whether Daniela’s question was born out of curiosity or out of fear of the jealousy the supposed usurper of her mother’s heart, who would now become her mother-in-law, caused in her.
Kilian hung his head. See her again . . . yes, as I remember her, with her light dresses, her dark-caramel skin, her enormous clear eyes, and her infectious laugh. If only I could be the young muscular man with the white shirt . . . “I think both of us would like to remember each other as we were, not as we are.”
“I don’t understand.”
“How can this Technicolor world understand the days of black-and-white that are now past? I want to remember Bisila just as I have kept her in my mind. In our hearts, the embers of that fire are still glowing, but we now don’t have firewood to make it burn again . . . It’s better like this, Daniela.” It’s better like this. Maybe there exists a place far away from this changing and impatient world where we will be able to meet again. What did she call it? It wasn’t the world of the dead, no. It was the world of the unliving. This I believe.
“What does it matter that you are both old? Do you really think she won’t see photos? I intend to bring her a full album on Pasolobino!”
“I don’t want you to show her photos I’m in, and I don’t want to see any of her. Promise me that, Daniela. Don’t show either of us how we have changed. Why ruin the dreams of two old people? Isn’t it enough that you talk about me?” Tell her that I have never forgotten her! Not one day of my life has gone by that I haven’t thought of her! Tell her she has always been my muarána muèmuè . . . She will understand.
Daniela went over to her father and hugged him. A new future had opened up for her: a future with Laha. While still holding him in her arms, Daniela began to miss her father, thanks to whose past her own life was beginning at the same age as when he had embarked on his way to a distant African island, full of palms and cocoa trees, where the pods of black cocoa ripened in the sun, leaving behind the stone-and-slate houses huddled against each other under the thick blanket of pristine snow.
“Now, now, Daughter, that’s it.” Kilian, touched by Daniela’s show of affection, got up with his eyes glistening. “I’ll leave you here. I’m tired.”
The cousins remained in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Clarence said, “I’m going to miss you a lot, Daniela. It will never be the same again.”
Daniela drummed her fingers on the table, deep in thought. She understood how Clarence felt. Both she and Laha had been shocked on learning the real identity of Laha’s biological father, who, in addition, had killed Iniko’s father. No matter that it had been in self-defense; it did not make it any easier. But in spite of this, both she and Laha had been able to appreciate better than anyone the meaning of the word relief.
Clarence’s situation was more complicated. On the one hand, and partly because she had already suspected it for a while, she was delighted that ties greater than friendship joined her forever to Laha, through whom Iniko had also turned from just being a vacation fling to being her brother’s brother. She would know about him and he about her even if they were following their own paths. On the other hand, however, she was finding it difficult to accept her father’s role in the whole story. She had not spoken to him.
“Clarence . . .” Daniela took a deep breath. “Don’t you think it’s time you talked to your dad? Sooner or later, you’ll have to.”
“And what would I say to him? I still can’t understand how Kilian could hide Laha’s existence from us. I think it was shameful, but at least he suffered the punishment of being separated from Bisila. But Dad”—her eyes filled with tears—“Dad raped and killed and got away with it. I don’t know how Mom can stay with him. What he did is unspeakable. How much does the past weigh on people? For Mom, it seems, not much. Do you know what she said to me the other day on the phone? That they were old, that it had happened before they got married, and why wouldn’t thirty years of marriage forgive the unforgivable act of a drunken night.” She wiped away the tears. “It’s terrible, Daniela. I don’t know my parents.”
Daniela came over and hugged her.
“Jacobo didn’t get away with it, Clarence. The African blood that will flow through the veins of his grandchildren will remind him of what he did for as long as he lives. And now that he has found out about the existence of an unwanted son, he’s afraid of losing his only daughter.”
“He hasn’t even wanted to talk to him . . . to his own son . . .”
Clarence bit her lip hard to control her sobs. She closed her eyes and thought about everything that had happened since she found that piece of paper in the cabinet. Learning the truth had now joined them, those from the island and those from the mountain, together forever for the rest of their lives, with bonds impossible to break. But as a result of this union, the characters from these stories would begin disappearing one by one in one way or another before her eyes, and nothing would ever be the same. She did not know whether it would be better or worse, but it would definitely be different.
So near, and yet, so far, she thought. Or was it the other way round? Her heart wanted, in spite of the good-byes, for it to be the other way around. So far, and yet, so near.
Etúlá, Formosa, Fernando Po, Macías Island, and Bioko.
Ripotò, Port Clarence, Santa Isabel, and Malabo.
Pasolobino.
So far and so near.