“Oba has abandoned me for someone her own size,” joked Marcial, his large frame making the seat creak as he sat down. “And Jacobo has met an old girlfriend. Kilian, he said you should go back with us.” He shook his head. “That man doesn’t waste any time!”
Sade sat very close to Kilian and cheekily asked for a sip of his whiskey, gently placing her hand on his thigh. The other men exchanged amused glances. Kilian got nervous as he felt a tingling in his trousers and hastily tried to distract everyone.
“I was told today that some natives on the continent have eaten a bishop. A banned sect or something?”
Mateo and Marcial shook their heads as Sade and Manuel laughed in unison.
“You whites are afraid that we will eat you!” she said in a high voice. “And that we will take your power . . .”
Kilian frowned.
“There are tribes on the continent that hunt and eat gorillas,” explained Manuel. “A bishop is a species of gorilla with a goatee similar to that of the first missionary priests. By the way, they also eat diplomats . . .”
Sade nodded while looking out the corner of her eye at Kilian, who blushed and finished his drink in one gulp. Marcial butted in.
“Lads, lads! Will you look at the beauty who has just arrived!” They all looked up at the woman in the lilac dress, showing off her tremendous figure in extremely high heels. “That one is definitely my size!”
He shot off in the woman’s direction, but stopped after a few meters. Another man much bigger than he had already offered her his arm to lead her onto the dance floor. Marcial turned around and went back to the table.
“Mosi the Egyptian is a lot of Mosi, isn’t he, Marcial?” Mateo sympathized.
“I know! Nothing I could do . . . Ah well, I’ll have another drink.”
Sade got up and took Kilian by the hand. “Let’s dance,” she insisted.
Kilian allowed himself to be dragged onto the dance floor. He was happy that the orchestra was playing a beguine, similar to a slow rumba. Sade stuck her body against his, intoxicating him with her deep eyes. Kilian was surprised by her overt advances. He felt a mixture of curiosity and desire. His past experiences were limited to a house of ill repute in Barmón, where his brother had taken him, flush after a livestock fair, to make him a man, then various encounters with girls who worked in the big houses of Pasolobino and Cerbeán. He remembered Jacobo’s word after Kilian’s first—and disastrous—time: “Women are like whiskey. The first sip is difficult, but when you get used to it, you learn to savor it.” Over time, Kilian learned that what his brother said was partly true. But unlike Jacobo, he did not go looking for that pleasure often. He needed some type of mutual understanding, or affinity, even if fleeting.
In this situation, Sade knew exactly how to convince him. It seemed as if she really wanted to enjoy herself with him. Kilian began to feel the desire between his legs grow.
“If you like, we could step outside,” she suggested sweetly.
Kilian nodded, and they left the club, heading toward the back. They walked hand in hand along a quiet and tranquil street of small cottages until reaching the end, where the buildings stopped and the green blanket began. Sade led him through leafy trees, whose moon-shadowed outlines hid other couples, until they reached a place that seemed discreet and comfortable.
Sade rubbed her skin against his, roaming his body with an expert hand and guiding his hands around her curves while uttering arousing words in her own language. When she saw that he was ready, she lay on the ground and opened herself to him. Kilian entered her with a dizzying mix of desire and confusion, as if he could not believe that his body could respond with so much hunger. Without speaking, he rocked inside her until he could not take any more and exploded. The sensation throbbed through his veins, and he remained lying down for several minutes until she gave him a pat on his shoulder for him to get up.
They fixed their clothes with clumsy movements. Kilian was in a daze. He had yet to recover from the intensity of the encounter. Sade gave him an understanding smile, took his hand, and went with him back into the club. At the bar, they parted ways.
“I’d like to see you again,” she told him with a flirtatious wink.
Kilian made an ambiguous gesture with his head, leaned on the bar, and ordered a drink. Bit by bit, his breathing returned to normal. Still, he needed a few minutes before going back to his friends. They might talk about these things casually, but he could not. He did not want to be the butt of their jokes nor have to give explanations. As far as he knew, Marcial, Mateo, Jacobo, Gregorio, Dámaso, even Manuel—well, maybe not so much Manuel—understood the island’s pleasures. And, in a few minutes, he had become one of them. So quickly! So easily! His head was spinning. Would he see Sade again? Would she become his steady friend? They had barely spoken two words! He did not know what she was like or what she expected from life or if she had brothers or sisters, parents . . . Everything had happened so quickly. What did she expect from him? She had told him that she would like to see him again. Would he end up giving her money every month in exchange for exclusive favors? Was that how things worked? He was overtaken by a slight pang of conscience. The best thing would be to not return to Anita Guau for a reasonable period. Yes. Time would tell.
He smoothed down his hair a few times, took several sips from the glass, and went back to the table at the front, posing as if everything were normal.
“Where is Sade?” asked Mateo, curiosity dancing in his eyes.
Kilian shrugged and looked over at the dance floor. “She dropped me.”
“Poor lad,” said Marcial, clicking his tongue and waving one of his enormous hands in the air. “Maybe next time.”
Manuel studied Kilian’s face. He was not telling the truth. Maybe Kilian and he were more similar than first appearances would suggest. He fervently wanted to meet the woman of his dreams, a difficult task in this paradise of temptation.
“I think I’ll go back to Sampaka,” Manuel said, getting to his feet. “You can come back with me if you want, Kilian.”
Kilian agreed. The others decided to stay a while longer.
The journey back was mostly silent. Once lying in his bed, Kilian found it difficult to get to sleep. Later, the moans coming from his brother’s room merged with his own images of Sade. He had had a good time with her, yes. A good time. That was it. That was all. He did not have to make anything more of it.
The following morning, Jacobo, yawning, came into the dining room to have his breakfast. He saw Kilian, alone, focused on the coffee in front of him, and said, “Good morning, little brother. What? Nothing in comparison with the girls in Pasolobino or Barmón, right?”
“No,” admitted Kilian quietly. “Nothing at all.”
Jacobo bent down and whispered in his ear, “Last night was my treat. A welcome present. You don’t have to thank me. If you want to do it again, it’s up to you.” He poured himself a coffee, yawned loudly, and added, “Are you coming with me to eleven o’clock mass? Luckily it’s not in Latin here.”
5
Palabra Conclú