“Several men are injured,” continued the lad, “and no white man around to restore order, not even the new doctor.”
Jacobo put his hand out to Emilio, kissed Generosa and Julia on the cheeks, and dragged his brother out of the house while Kilian repeated his thanks for the pleasant evening and promised to return soon. Julia went out with them to the pickup while they loaded Waldo’s bike in the back and said good-bye to them with a glint of frustration in her eyes.
Jacobo drove quickly until, after a couple of blocks, he stopped the pickup, got out, gave the bike to Waldo, and put some notes in his hand.
“Good work, lad!”
Waldo lit a portable lamp and went off, happy to have earned such easy cash.
Jacobo got back into the pickup and turned to Kilian with a wide smile.
“You rogue!” Kilian reproached him, chuckling.
“Welcome to Saturday night in Santa Isabel!” his brother said. “Here we come, Anita Guau!”
Jacobo stepped on the accelerator and drove like a lunatic. Kilian became infected by his brother’s joy.
“And what hola-holas have we here?” Just after the brothers entered the dance hall, a well-padded woman with an ample bosom greeted them affectionately, holding out her hand to them. “It’s been a long time since I last saw you, Massa Jacobo! And this must be your brother! Welcome! Come in and enjoy yourselves!”
“I see nothing has changed, eh, Anita?” Jacobo took her hand while scanning the place. He made out his friends and waved to them. “Look, Kilian. Even Manuel is here. But I don’t see Dick or Pao.”
“Who?”
“Some friends who work in Bata, in the logging industry. They normally turn up on Saturdays . . . Well, I’m going to have my favorite whiskey. White Horse, black label. Difficult though it is to believe, it’s cheaper than beer. The advantages of a free port.”
They went over to the bar, and Kilian noticed that, indeed, the majority of the drinks ordered were spirits. The waitresses served generous quantities of whiskies with names he did not recognize—they must have been Scotch or Irish—and well-known brandies such as Osborne, Fundador, 501, Veterano, or Tres Cepas. In the houses of Pasolobino, he thought in astonishment, one of these bottles would last almost a year. In Anita’s, a few seconds.
Jacobo asked for two glasses of White Horse as Kilian studied the open-air dance floor. The club was an enormous closed patio divided in two: on the right, a roof protected the bar and table area against possible showers; on the left, the dance floor was uncovered and bordered by the surrounding buildings. Numerous children stationed on the adjacent balconies watched the antics down below. White and black men with black women dressed like Europeans moved to the beat of the six-piece orchestra extracting frenetic music from different-size drums, a xylophone, a pair of maracas that looked like pumpkins, and a trumpet, resulting in a curious mix of African percussion and familiar Latin rhythms. Kilian found himself swinging his shoulders; this music was contagious.
Jacobo gave his brother a drink, and they advanced toward the tables at the front, joining Manuel and Marcial, who were drinking with two pretty women. Between laughs, they pointed to the dance floor and saw Mateo trying to follow the breakneck rhythm of his partner, a woman much larger than he. Marcial got up to get two seats for the brothers. In a corner set aside for talking and drinking, dark fabrics covered the windows, which created an intimate atmosphere heated by tobacco smoke and the smell of perfume and sweat.
“I’d like to introduce you to Oba and Sade,” said Marcial. “They just arrived from the continent. This is Jacobo and Kilian.”
The girls offered their hands to the men. Oba, more petite than her friend, wore a wide-skirted V-necked yellow dress with a tight bodice and a bow at the front, her hair in a European-style bob. To Kilian, Sade’s height and haughty pose gave her the appearance of a beautiful queen adorned by colored-seed bracelets and crystal-beaded necklaces. A pale-pink dress showed off her figure with buttons to the waist and a white cotton neckline and cuffs that matched her sandals. Her hair was gathered in tiny buns, and the gaps between them created small mosaics that made her large eyes look even bigger and her lips fuller.
“Would you like to dance?” asked Oba in perfect Spanish.
Marcial and Jacobo agreed, and the four of them went to the dance floor. Manuel went for more drinks and on his way met Mateo, who returned to the table alone. Kilian smiled when he saw Jacobo match Sade’s provocative weaving and the disproportionate height difference between Oba and Marcial, who had to bend down to dance.
“I’m wrecked!” Mateo, sweating, sat down beside him. “These women have the devil in their bodies! And you . . . why aren’t you dancing? You only need to ask one of them.”
“The truth is I’m not very fond of dancing,” Kilian confessed.
“I didn’t like it either, but once you let yourself be carried along by the sounds of the dundun, djembe, and bongo drums, it gets easier.” He laughed, seeing Kilian’s look of surprise. “Yes, I’ve even managed to learn their names. In the beginning, they were all tamtams . . .” He searched for his glass while scanning the room for a new partner. “It’s very lively here tonight. There are a lot of new girls.”
Manuel arrived with the drinks. “You are not going to believe this! Gregorio and Regina are at the bar. Her mourning period was very short! What are you two talking about?”
“About the drums, the girls . . . ,” responded Kilian. “Where are they from?”
“Coriscans, Nigerians, Fang, and Ndowé from Río Muni . . . ,” listed Mateo. “A little of everything.”
“And Bubis from here?”
“Bubis, no!” said Manuel. “If they lose their virginity, they are punished.”
“It’s amazing the different cultures in such a small place,” commented Kilian, remembering Umaru. “So this is the famous spot that makes the whole week bearable.”
“It’s not the only one, but it is the best,” explained Marcial, keeping up to the rhythm of the music with his glass. “Sometimes we go to Riakamba, behind the cathedral. And there is also the Fernandino Club, but I don’t like it at all, because the girls aren’t as loose as they are here.” He let out a chuckle. “They act like the white women, all dainty and decent.”
“It’s the equivalent to the white man’s casino,” Manuel qualified, amused by Mateo’s explanation. “That is where the elite blacks go. It’s frowned upon for a white man to dance with a black woman there. Here it’s different. For a few hours, we are all equal.”
Marcial and Sade returned to the table without their respective partners.
“What happened to the other two?” asked Manuel.