“Threaten to warn the guards. Or send them to the Santa Isabel Labor Office for fines.”
“I’ve already done that.” Kilian bit his lip. “The problem is I’ve told them a thousand times what I’m going to do, but later I regret it and don’t follow through. And then they don’t believe me. They don’t take a darn bit of notice.”
“Then give them one or two cracks of the cane and you’ll see how they obey!”
Kilian looked at him in surprise.
“But I’ve never hit anyone in my life!” he protested.
“You’ve never?” joked Jacobo. “Have you forgotten all the fights we had when we were children?”
“That was different.”
“If you can’t do it, order one of the foremen to do it instead. Problem solved.” Jacobo’s tone got a bit harder. “Look, Kilian, the sooner they respect you, the better. Many other Spaniards would like to be in your position, earning what you earn . . .”
Kilian nodded in silence. He looked out the window and saw some small monkeys who seemed to be waving to the picú from the cocoa trees. A thick green blanket led to the outskirts of Santa Isabel, where the track turned into a tarmac road.
“We’ll first do a quick trip round the city so you can get your bearings,” Jacobo said. “We have plenty of time. And stop scratching yourself! You’re making me nervous.”
“I can’t help it!” Kilian placed his hands under his thighs.
Jacobo drove through the narrow streets, which seemed to have been drawn with a ruling pen, from the seafront to the river consul, marking the boundary with the forest. They began by visiting the high part of the city, mainly inhabited by Nigerians. Throngs of children ran about with rubber balls made from the viscous liquid of the rubber tree, or shooting dry pellets from makeshift blowpipes using the hollow branches of the papaya tree. Young men and women, the men bare chested and the women carrying bundles on their heads and children in their arms, walked along the exotic stalls filled with local produce or goods imported from around the globe. The sellers, using leaf swats, tried to shoo away the persistent flies that prowled around the sticks on which fish and monkey and gronbíf, a field rat the size of a hare, meat were strung. The spicy smells of the prepared stews, on display beside kola nuts that the natives ate to combat tiredness, and of the fresh vegetables laid out on sheets of the ébano newspaper or on banana leaves, reached the car. It was a cornucopia of noise, color, smell, and movement. A feast for the senses.
Kilian noticed that although the majority of the women were wearing blouses over the clotes, which the soft breeze made stick to their legs, some women had bare breasts. With a roguish smile on his face and a gleam of novel excitement in his eyes, he gazed at the dark, firm nipples of the girls. He smiled, imagining his girlfriends in Pasolobino dressed, or rather undressed, like so.
The houses in the upper quarter were built of sheets of zinc or calabo wood, with the roofs also of zinc or palm leaves called nipa interwoven with cords of melongo. As the brothers neared the area where the Europeans and wealthy businesspeople of all races lived, the buildings turned into a series of similar houses surrounded by well-kept gardens with exotic fruit trees—papayas, coconuts, mangoes, guavas, and avocados—and shrubs covered in flowers—dahlias, roses, and chrysanthemums. The lower level and the rear of many of these houses were storerooms and shops, and the upper stories were the living quarters.
Jacobo stopped the pickup in front of one of these houses, jumped out, and motioned to his brother to do the same. “I’m going to the chemist’s at the corner for a minute to see if they can give me something for that cro-cró that’s killing you.” He pointed to a shop named Factoría Ribagorza, owned by a family from the valley of Pasolobino. “Start on the list and tell them to put it all on the plantation’s account.”
When he went in, Kilian was surprised by the wide range of objects that were stacked on the floor and shelves. He recognized all types of tools—typical of a hardware shop—beside jars of preserves, shoes, sewing machines, perfumes, and car accessories. A pleasant little voice called from behind him:
“If you can’t find what you’re looking for, it can be ordered.”
He turned around and discovered a girl about his own age, quite pretty, not very tall, brown haired, and with a friendly look that he found vaguely familiar. To his surprise, he saw she wore green pleated trousers and a white short-sleeved diamond-patterned sweater. A fetching red scarf adorned her neck. The girl squinted at him and exclaimed, “But you’re Kilian, Jacobo’s brother! You look a lot alike! Don’t remember me?”
Then he remembered. He had been to her house, some three kilometers from Pasolobino, accompanying his father. Each time Antón returned from Fernando Po, he visited the grandparents and family of the girl and brought them packages from her parents, who lived on the island. While Antón talked with the adults, Kilian played with a mischievous child who told him that one day she would go to Africa.
“Julia? Forgive me, but you’ve changed so much . . .”
“So have you.” The girl moved her hand in the air up and down. “You’ve grown a lot since”—she calculated in her head—“you were ten.”
“Has it been that long since you’ve been home? I mean, Spain? And your parents? Are they well?”
Julia nodded. “Things are going well for us here, so after finishing secondary school at the Colonial Institute, I decided to help with the family business.” She shrugged. “Every year I say I will go back to Pasolobino, and for one reason or another, I don’t! I’m always asking Jacobo about our beloved mountains. Has he come back from his holiday yet?”
Kilian brought her up to date on the village, answering all her questions about recent christenings, weddings, and funerals. For some minutes, the conversation about their common world, Pasolobino, made him forget his itchiness.
“Sorry for the interrogation!” she suddenly exclaimed. “And what about you? How are you adapting to your new life?”
Kilian stretched out his arms so that she could see the state of his skin.
“I see.” Julia played it down. “Don’t worry. It goes away in the end.”
“Everyone says the same thing. They say I shouldn’t worry.” He stooped down and lowered his voice. “I must confess something to you. I thought colonial life would be different.”
Julia burst out laughing. “Within a few months, you will have changed your mind!” He scoffed as she put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “How much do you bet?”
At that moment, the door opened and Jacobo entered. He came over and affectionately greeted the girl, giving her two kisses on the cheeks. Kilian noticed how Julia blushed slightly.
“Great to see you again. How did your holidays go?”
“I always enjoy holidays. And even more when they are paid!”