Kilian said nothing.
“Regarding the whip, the day they take it from me, I’ll leave. Why do you think your brother carries a melongo switch? The owner wants profits, and this is how you get them.” He took a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it, exhaling smoke. “If you want us to get on well, you don’t hear or see anything from now on. Clear?”
Kilian gritted his teeth. Of all possible work partners, he had to come up against this cretin. He became annoyed with his father and his brother for not warning him that men like that existed. He was not so stupid as to think that everything was going to be a bed of roses, but he had never stopped to think what “forceful means” really meant. He was itching to snap back, but knew better than to create problems on the first day.
The truck braked hard, and he hit his head against the windshield.
“What the hell!” he blurted out.
He grew silent when he saw what was happening in the truck in front. Some men had jumped from the back of the truck while it had been moving and lay twisting on the ground in pain. Others shouted and pushed their companions to try and get down. The driver had stopped the truck and came back to survey the scene, in shock. Another man ran toward them, waving his arms and shouting something that Kilian did not understand: “Snek, snek!”
“Damn it! I can’t believe it!” Gregorio jumped to the ground, mad as hell.
Kilian was quickly by his side.
“But . . . what happened?”
“A blasted boa fell into the back of the truck, and they went crazy!”
He started walking, shouting orders to one and all, but the majority lay on the ground, injured. Those who were able to walk stayed as far away from the truck as they could. Kilian followed him without knowing quite what to do.
“Get the machete!” Gregorio shouted at him. “Now!”
Kilian ran back, got the machete from the seat, and returned a few steps away from the back of the truck.
He froze.
There in front of him slithered the biggest snake he had ever seen. It was a three-meter-long boa.
“Get up there and kill it,” Gregorio ordered.
Kilian did not move. He had come upon other snakes in his life, especially while cutting the hay in the fields in the summer months, but they seemed like worms in comparison.
“Did you not hear me?”
Kilian still did not move. Gregorio sneered.
“I see that as well as being a novice you are also a coward. Give me that!”
He grabbed the machete from Kilian’s hands, put one foot on the mudguard, and without thinking twice, set about slashing at the animal. Blood spurted everywhere, but it did not seem to worry him. Each time Gregorio thrust at the boa, he let out a furious bellow. When he finished, he speared a piece of the meat with the tip of the weapon and raised it above him so everybody could see.
“It’s only an animal! An animal! You’re afraid of this?” He pointed it at Kilian. “You’re afraid of this?”
He began throwing the bits of dead snake to the ground. He jumped down, told the driver to turn around, and came over to Kilian, who was struck silent.
“You! Get those who are badly injured into the truck! They are to be taken to the hospital so the new doctor can begin to work. And the others, divide them up into the other trucks.”
Kilian looked from one side to the other, deciding to begin with those men closest to him. He noticed one lying down, holding his head in his hands. Kilian knelt beside him. He did not understand what the worker was saying, but he saw that he had a cut with blood streaming from it and large tears coming from his eyes. Kilian took a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to the cut to stem the flow while explaining in Spanish.
“You no talk proper,” the man repeated, with Kilian unable to understand him. “I no hear you.”
Another man knelt down beside him and began to speak softly to the injured man. His words seemed to calm the man down. He motioned him to remain seated for a while. Grateful, Kilian tried to communicate with the impromptu helper.
“Your name?”
“My name is Waldo, Massa. I’m . . .”
“Bubi, yes. And you speak my language.” Kilian raised his eyes to heaven and sighed. He immediately noticed that, like Simón—whom this man resembled, except for the absence of lines on his forehead—Waldo was dressed differently from the rest of the workers. He was wearing a white shirt, short pants, kneesocks, and strong boots. He must be older than Kilian’s boy, given that he could drive. “I suppose you are one of the truck drivers.”
“That’s right, Massa.”
“Right, Waldo. You will be my interpreter. Could you ask him if he is able to walk to the truck?”
The two men exchanged various sentences. The injured man shook his head.
“What’s he saying?”
“He thinks he can walk, but he says that he won’t get onto this truck full of snake’s blood.”
Kilian opened his mouth in surprise. He again heard shouts behind him; he turned and saw Gregorio trying to force men to get onto the blood-spattered truck.
“This man no good. Send him na Pa?a,” the injured man said solemnly. Kilian looked at him and saw he was pointing at Gregorio. “I curse him.”
“Waldo?”
“He says . . .” The man hesitated, but under Kilian’s insistent stare decided to continue. “He says that this man is no good, that he should be sent back to Spain, and he curses him.”
Before the white man had time to grasp his meaning, he hurried to explain.
“Massa, the Nigerians are very frightened of snakes. They believe that if they touch one, the evil spirits that live in it will bring bad luck and illness to them and their families as well.”
Kilian looked at him in disbelief, put his arms akimbo, took a deep breath, and went over to Gregorio, who was rudely insisting that the injured men get up onto the truck.
“If we don’t clean the blood, they won’t get on,” he said as calmly as possible.
“Don’t be stupid. If one gets up, they’ll all follow. Even if I have to beat them!”
“No. No, they won’t.” Kilian remained firm. “So we have two options. We can send Waldo in this truck to go and get a clean one from the yard or we can clean it ourselves.”
Gregorio looked at him with clenched fists. He considered the options to sort out the situation before it got out of hand. Hundreds of eyes were waiting to see what would happen. There were too many blacks for two whites. If he forced them to get on, they could riot. And if he sent for another truck, they would brand him as soft for giving in to these stupid superstitions.
“Very well,” he agreed. “Since you have so many ideas . . . how will we clean the truck?”
Kilian looked around him, went over to the trees that shaded the cocoa trees, and pulled off some leaves as big as his arm.