Manuel nodded.
“How come a young man like you, with a promising future, prefers the colonies to Madrid? And why have you swapped Santa Isabel for our plantation? Other than the generous salary you’ll receive . . .”
Manuel did not hesitate. “I’m a doctor, but also a scientist and biologist. One of my passions is botany. I have already published some studies on the flora in Guinea. I want to make the most of my time here to increase my knowledge of the plant species and their medical applications.”
The manager raised an eyebrow. “That sounds interesting. Anything that will increase our knowledge of the colony is good. I hope you’ll find the time.”
He turned to Kilian. “And you, young man? I hope you have come prepared to work. That’s what we need here. Energetic and determined people.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ll spend the next fortnight learning. Watch how things are done and follow your fellow workers. I have already told your father that you will begin above, in the Obsay yard, with Gregorio.” Kilian noticed that Antón pursed his lips and Jacobo made a face. “He has been here many years, but he needs somebody strong to put things in order.”
“I thought Kilian would be with me in the Yakató,” Jacobo intervened. “I could also teach him—”
Garuz raised his hand to stop him. He was certain that if Kilian turned out to be a good worker like his father, keeping the brothers separate would help improve the overall performance of the plantation.
Just then the child cried out with joy. He came over to his father and handed him the treasure—an eraser—that he had found under the desk.
“Very good, Son. Here, put it in that cabinet.” He looked at Jacobo and then Kilian. “It’s already decided. Of the three yards, Obsay isn’t working as well as it should be. It will be good to have someone new to drive things along. That’s my decision.”
“Yes, sir,” repeated Kilian.
“And remember that the workers should be treated with authority, determination, and justice. If you do something wrong, they will criticize you. If you don’t sort out the problems properly, you will lose their respect. Never show weakness. And don’t allow excessive familiarity. It can be misinterpreted. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.” Kilian could have used another salto.
“One more thing. I believe you do not know how to drive, do you?”
“I don’t, sir.”
“Well, it’s the first thing you’ll have to do. Tomorrow you’ll be equipped with the proper clothes, a pith helmet, and a machete. Antón, who is his boy?”
“Simón. The new one.”
“Ah, yes! He seems like a good lad. Although you can never be sure. As soon as they learn your weaknesses, they come and go when they like without telling anyone. Ah, well . . . Life is tough on Fernando Po.” He pointed to the other three men. “Nevertheless, if others have adapted, I don’t see why you won’t.”
He looked at his watch and stood up.
“I assume that you are hungry for dinner. Everyone else will have finished, but I have told them that you will be over a bit later. I hope you will excuse me.” He motioned toward his son. “It’s getting late and I have to get back to the city. His mother is very strict about his schedule.”
The other men got up and accompanied Garuz to the door, where each of them shook hands with the manager. They went out to the yard toward the building in front of them, where the dining room was located beside the living room and below the bedrooms.
On the walk to the dining room, Kilian asked, “What’s wrong with this Gregorio?”
“He’s a bad type,” muttered Jacobo. “You’ll see. Be careful.”
Kilian gave his father a questioning look.
“Don’t mind him, Son. You . . . just do your work and it’ll be fine.”
Manuel noticed a waver in Antón’s voice; he looked at Kilian as he entered the dining room and sat down where his father pointed. He hoped that the young man would be able to get to experience the various pleasures of the island once he passed the initial tests of cutlass and poto-poto, the machetes and mud.
For the moment, Kilian opened his eyes with a childlike amazement at the food the servants had put out on the table.
“Spanish ham!” he exclaimed. “And stewed hen with potatoes!”
Jacobo laughed. “What did you think? That you’d be eating snake? The food is the same as home, even better,” he added.
“We Europeans normally eat European food,” said Antón. “But we are lucky enough to have a wonderful chef from Cameroon who combines the best of Spain and the best of Africa.”
“And that over there, what is it?” Kilian pointed to a bowl.
Manuel bit his bottom lip with pleasure.
“Mmmm . . . That’s great! Plantín! They have prepared fried banana with rice and palm oil as a welcome treat!” He opened his napkin and began to serve himself. “Your first exotic dish, my friend. You won’t be able to live without it.”
Kilian looked at it skeptically, but quickly had to admit the other men were right: the chef deserved applause. Thanks to the food and the good wine, Kilian was able to enjoy the meal, but he could not avoid fleeting images of Pasolobino, the sea voyage, and the island. Neither could he stop thinking about his first day of work with this Gregorio. His eyelids grew heavy as the wine drew out his exhaustion.
He was hardly paying attention when he heard his father get up.
“I’m going to bed, it’s late.”
Manuel and Jacobo decided to stay a while longer, but Kilian also got up, bleary-eyed.
“I’m going as well, or nobody will be able to wake me in the morning.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll wake up,” said Jacobo. “From half past five onward, it’s impossible to sleep here.”
They said good night, and Antón and Kilian left the dining room. In silence, they went up the wide staircase guarded by elegant columns and thick spindles, turning right to take the outside passageway that led to the bedrooms and was protected by a green wooden railing.
“Good night, Dad.”
Antón headed to his room, a few doors farther down, but changed his mind. He turned to Kilian and looked into his eyes. He wanted to tell him so many things, to give him the strength he would need in the coming months to adapt to life on the plantation, and offer to help him in anything he needed. But he did not want to be overbearing—when it came down to it, Kilian was a fully grown man—or finish an exhausting day with a sermon. So he sighed, gave him a slap on the back, and simply said, “Don’t forget to fit the mosquito net properly, Son.”
A few hours later, a deep and penetrating sound, like the tapping of sticks on wood, unsuccessfully tried to bore into Kilian’s head while he was still in a deep sleep. A quarter of an hour later, another hollow and fast drumroll announced the second call to get ready for work.
Someone knocked on his door as an early morning breeze rolled in.