In front of the laborers’ barracks, the women had lit several fires and started roasting some of the jungle rats that had been beheaded. Kilian had thought the hunt would never end. He was thankful for the warmth of the fire as the night chill announced the coming of the wet season. A worker came over to the white employees to offer them a bottle of malamba, and Simón ran to get some glasses. He returned with Antón, Santiago, and José, ready to join the party. Only the manager was missing. Garuz normally went home to his family in Santa Isabel when he finished work. He did not stay overnight on the plantation unless completely necessary.
“This is strong as hell!” Mateo puffed and waved a hand at his mouth after feeling the sugarcane moonshine burn his throat. “I don’t know how they can take it.”
“Surely you should be used to it by now!” joked Marcial, emptying his glass in one gulp and raising it to Simón for a refill.
Kilian tried a sip of his malamba. His eyes filled with tears, and he began to cough.
“Careful, lad!” Marcial slapped him on the back. “You have to drink it bit by bit at first. This weed killer doesn’t go to the stomach. It goes straight to the blood!”
“It looks like we’ll all have hangovers tomorrow morning,” warned Antón, smiling and wetting his lips with the liquor.
Kilian, his cheeks still burning, was happy to have his father there with them. He closed his eyes, tried the liquid again, and felt a pleasant heat run through his muscles. When he opened his eyes, he saw Julia and Manuel approach.
Julia gave a start when she saw Antón and tried to turn, but Manuel took her arm and whispered, “Relax. Your secret is safe with me.”
If Manuel ever figured out why Julia went to Sampaka that night, he never told.
Julia nodded, excited by the chance to join an African party.
“You’re still here?” asked Jacobo, surprised.
“Julia!” Antón was also taken aback. “It’s been a long time! How are Generosa and Emilio?”
“Very well, thanks. My father misses his evenings with you.”
“Tell him I’ll come around soon. And what brings you here at this time of night?”
Manuel came to her aid. “I promised her I’d invite her to a gronbíf hunt.”
Jacobo frowned. “The hunt has been over a while. I thought you’d have left by now.”
“And miss the show?” she answered flirtatiously.
“I don’t know if it’s an appropriate place . . . ,” began Jacobo, looking to Manuel and Antón.
“For a white woman?” she finished with a wry smile. “Come on, Jacobo. Don’t be so old-fashioned.”
Antón looked at his eldest son and shrugged. The sudden memory of an inquisitive Mariana pestering him to let her see one of those dances brought a small smile to his face. That was thirty years ago. A lifetime! He sighed, drank a little more malamba, and sat down in the chair that José had thoughtfully set out; that night he decided to be swept away by the drums and into the past.
Kilian sat on the ground next to Manuel and Julia, distancing himself from the rest of the employees. This was also his first African party, so he could understand her curiosity. He was confused by Jacobo’s reaction. All of a sudden, his brother could not stop looking at her with a furrowed brow. Was it possible that he was jealous? Kilian did not think it would be bad for his brother to get a little taste of his own medicine. Kilian accepted another glass from Simón, and a marvelous sense of well-being enveloped him. He let himself be carried away, along with Julia, by the magic of the night springing from the flames of the fire.
Many of the women had decorated their necks, waists, and ankles with collars. They wore frayed skirts that swayed with the vibrant, infectious, and repetitious music coming from the drum skins. The veins of the musicians’ arms traced their glistening muscles.
The rhythm accelerated, and the dancers began to twist and writhe, moving every centimeter of their bodies at a frenetic pace. Their breasts swung in a mesmerizing pattern before the proud gazes of their men. Julia would have liked to remove her dress and become infected by the energy of their pleasure. Manuel glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, bewitched by the inquisitive sparkle in her eyes. She seemed to absorb the scene and inject it directly into the blood in her veins.
The impossible movements continued for quite a while. The women were joined by some men, even white men, in a dance that was devilishly wild and erotic. Kilian recognized Ekon, Mosi, and Nelson. He laughed to himself. If Umaru had been there, his group of recognizable men would have been complete. The bodies shone and drops of sweat trickled down their taut limbs. When Kilian’s chest—and surely those of the rest of the white men—was about to burst, pleading for breath, the pace slowed down and the young lads practiced some steps until the music stopped. The hunks of meat and more drinks were passed around amid the shouts and songs of the Nigerians and the silence of the Spaniards, still ecstatic and shaken by the ancestral dance.
For Julia, the magic broke when she looked at her watch.
“Good heavens! It’s so late. My parents!” she said in a whisper.
“If you’d like,” Manuel leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I’ll take another car, follow you home, and we can tell them that we met at the cinema and went to have a drink afterward.”
“You’d do that?”
“I’d be delighted. But we won’t tell them what film we saw.” He winked.
Julia and Manuel said good-bye to the others and left. Jacobo followed them with his eyes.
“Good-bye, Julia,” called Gregorio. “Regards to Emilio.”
She turned around and waved vaguely.
“I didn’t know you knew Julia,” said Jacobo.
“Oh, yes. In fact, I saw her in the shop a couple of weeks ago. She asked me about some incident on the plantation. I explained her error. Didn’t your little brother tell you?”
Jacobo looked at Kilian, who gave a resigned nod.
“Gregorio, you are a total ass,” he spat out. He sprung up and stood squarely in front of him. “Get up! I’m going to smash your face!”
Antón and the others quickly gathered round. Gregorio stood, ready to confront Jacobo. Many laborers observed them with an amused gleam in their eyes. It was very unusual for two white men to fight.
“You’re not going to do anything, Jacobo,” said Antón firmly, grabbing his arm. “We are all tired and drank too much. In the morning, we’ll see everything differently.”
Jacobo stalked off, followed by Mateo and Marcial in search of more drink. Gregorio sat down, looking around for some woman to finish the night with.