“I think so,” answered the doctor.
“Everyone?” insisted Marcial, a hairy man almost two meters tall with full features and a heart as large as his hands, which were like shovels. He was Jacobo’s partner in the Yakató yard.
The doctor shook his head, smiling.
“Those who really matter to me are at this table,” he said, gesturing to them all.
“If Dámaso says he has, he has.” Santiago, a quiet and sensible man around Antón’s age with lank hair and a thin, pale face, came to his defense.
“Well, I know a person who will be very sad tonight,” Jacobo chipped in.
The younger ones burst out laughing. Everyone except Kilian.
“That’s enough, Jacobo!” reprimanded Antón, glancing warily at Father Rafael.
Jacobo raised his hands and shrugged innocently.
“Young man, don’t be cheeky,” threatened Dámaso, wagging his finger in the air. “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. Right, Father?”
The others laughed again. Father Rafael, a friendly man with a round face, a set of full lips, a beard, and a receding hairline, went visibly red in the face. Dámaso hurried to clarify. “Of course, I wasn’t referring to you, Father Rafael. I was quoting the Bible. These young people!” He shook his head. “They think we’re all cut from the same cloth.”
“Look where it’s gotten them.” The priest nodded. “I never get tired of repeating that the longer a man can go without a woman, the better off he is, health-and pocket-wise. Yet I’m afraid it’s like preaching in the desert in this land of sin.” He sighed and looked at Kilian. “Mind who you mix with, young man. I’m referring to these ruffians, of course,” he added with a conspiring wink that brought on another bout of laughter.
“Well, I think it’s time for bed, don’t you think?” Dámaso put his hands on the table and pushed himself up. “I’ve a long journey ahead of me.”
“I’m also going to bed,” said Antón, yawning.
Kilian and Jacobo exchanged glances, both thinking the same thing. Lately, he was always tired. There were dark bags under his eyes. What a change from the father they remembered from their youth! They had never once seen him sick. He had been a strong man, both physically and morally. Years before, just two days after arriving in Pasolobino from Africa, he would work in the fields as if he had never left. Perhaps he should take a holiday, thought Kilian. Or retire from the colonies, like Dámaso.
The old doctor said good-bye to them one by one with a warm handshake before heading out the door with Antón, Lorenzo, Santiago, and Father Rafael. Jacobo also left, making a sign that he would be back shortly. As he got to the door, Dámaso turned and said, “By the way, Manuel, can I give you a last piece of advice?” Manuel nodded. “It has to do with Kilian’s itch.” He paused to ensure that all the younger ones were listening. “Salicylic iodized alcohol.” Kilian’s eyes widened, and Manuel fixed his glasses, smiling thankfully for the subtle manner in which Dámaso had passed the baton. “Get him to rub it all over his body, and in a fortnight the rash will have disappeared. Good night.”
“Good night and a good trip,” Jacobo said as he returned with the bottle of whiskey he had bought in Julia’s shop. “If you don’t mind, we will have a last drink to your health.”
Dámaso gave him a friendly pat on the back and left with a heavy heart, thinking of the many nights he had spent in just the same manner.
Jacobo asked Simón to bring clean glasses. Between sips and laughter, Kilian learned that the person who would miss Dámaso most was Regina, his close friend over the last ten years.
“Ten years! But doesn’t he have a wife and children in Spain?” he asked, slurring his words.
“Exactly for that reason!” Marcial gave him another shot. He was capable of taking three times the amount of alcohol as everyone else. “Spain is very far away.”
“And what can we do about it? They know our weakness!”
Kilian thought of Gregorio writhing in the forest and his conversation in the pickup with Jacobo.
“There is no doubt that our girlfriends help make life on the island more bearable.” Jacobo raised his glass above his head. “A toast to them!”
The others drank.
“And what will happen to this Regina now?” Kilian asked.
“What happens?” responded Marcial, fighting with the buttons of his shirt. The ceiling fan did not offer the slightest relief from the heat. “She’ll be sad for a few days, and then she’ll look for another. It’s what they all do. Though she’s getting on a bit,” he added, slowly scratching one of his big ears. “Either way, she has lived very well these past years, like a lady. Dámaso was a gentleman.”
Kilian, glassy-eyed, contemplated the deep amber color of the liquid in his glass. He found their notions of gentlemanly behavior peculiar. According to them, it was normal to share such intimacy with a woman for ten years and then return to the warmth of your wife’s arms as if nothing had happened.
Manuel had been watching Kilian for a while. He could imagine the questions going through his mind. It was not easy for the young Spaniard, brought up in an environment where adultery was considered a crime and couples could not even show affection in public. Here, sex was enjoyed with the same lack of ceremony as meals. These were rules that most men adapted to easily, but not all. Compared to his friends, Manuel led a relatively chaste life.
“And what happens if children are born from these unions?” Kilian asked.
“There aren’t that many really . . . ,” Jacobo interjected.
“True, the coloreds know how to avoid it.” Gregorio nodded.
“Yes, there are. I know there are,” Manuel interrupted in a hard voice. “But we don’t want to see them. Where do you think all the mulattos in Santa Isabel come from?”
Mateo and Marcial traded looks before hanging their heads. Jacobo took advantage of the moment to refill the glasses.
“Look, Kilian, usually the child lives with the mother and she receives financial support. I know of very few cases—I could count them on one hand—where the mulatto children were recognized or sent to study in Spain. It’s very rare.”
“And do you know of any case in which a white man has married a black woman?”
“To date, no. And if anyone has tried, they would be forced to go to Spain.”
“Why would anyone want to marry a black woman?” scoffed Gregorio.
“There’s no reason!” responded Marcial, pushing his wide shoulders against the back of the chair. “If they already give you everything you want without a visit to the altar.”
Jacobo, Mateo, and Gregorio smiled knowingly. Manuel wrinkled his nose as Kilian fell silent.
Gregorio had been closely watching him. “So you are interested in the subject. Is it because you want to try them out?”
Kilian did not answer.
“Leave the guy alone, come on,” said Mateo, gently nudging his arm.