Kilian decided to retire with the older men. His legs felt like rubber, and he had to make a serious effort to walk straight so that his father would not notice how drunk he felt.
The heat was still with him when he entered his bedroom. There was still no electricity, and he walked clumsily toward the window to open the wooden blinds. He stumbled against a soft object and nearly fell over. Just then, he heard a whisper that sounded like a hiss. He turned around, and all the blood rushed to his head as his muscles became paralyzed in terror. Just there, insolently upright, with a triangle head the size of a coconut, he saw a snake over one meter in length weaving back and forth.
Kilian wanted to move, but he could not. He felt bewitched by the devilish animal. It had a pointed snout and two sharp horns separated by smaller ones between its nostrils. On its head, a big black arrow-shaped mark stood out, matching the black diamonds joined in twos by yellow lines and forming a fascinating mosaic down its back.
He wanted to shout, but he could not. The snake came toward him, swelling its body and increasing the intensity of its hiss. It projected itself forward, revealing its large hooked fangs, full of deadly venom. Kilian’s eyes located his machete on a chair. He only had to stretch to get it, but his arm felt as heavy as a wooden beam. His temples throbbed, and a great vacuum turned his body into a hollow trunk.
He had to do something.
He concentrated all his efforts on his throat muscles and let out a quivering bellow, increasing in volume as his hand clasped the machete and he swung it round to lop off the head of the snake. He continued shouting as he kept hitting, turning the snake into a mass of bloody meat with a fury he could not control. His own blood started to circulate through his veins, sending pulses of moonshine-fueled euphoria through him. He skewered the head with his machete and strode out of the bedroom.
On the veranda, he bumped into Simón, who had run toward the bedroom after hearing the shouts. He caught him with his free hand and shook him.
“This didn’t get into my room on its own!” he howled. “You are in charge of my things! Who paid you to do it, hey? Who?”
Simón barely recognized the man who held his arm in an iron grip. “It wasn’t me, Massa!” he pleaded. “I was with you all the time outside!”
Two doors opened, and Antón and Santiago appeared. They quickly released Simón as Kilian scanned the group still by the fire. Disjointed images flashed through his mind of naked bodies moving to the beat of the drums, incoherent laughs and twisted smiles, blood and more blood, an elephant collapsing in agony, headless rats, slithering snakes, machete chops, Mosi, Ekon, Nelson . . .
He fixed his gaze back on Simón.
“Have you seen anyone wandering around here?”
“No, Massa . . . well, yes, Massa.” The lad bit his bottom lip.
“Which is it?” shouted Kilian, waving away Antón and Santiago.
“When I came for the glasses, I saw Umaru coming down the stairs.”
“Umaru . . . Clean the room!” Simón ordered him. “Now!”
Kilian flew down the steps, crossed the yard in leaping bounds, and showed the head skewered on the machete to those who remained by the fire. The light of the kerosene lamps cast a grotesque shadow on the ground. Jacobo, Marcial, and Mateo jumped up, startled by Kilian’s bloody appearance.
“He’s not to move from here.” He pointed at Gregorio. “Nelson! Where is Umaru?”
“I don’t know, Massa.” The foreman shrugged. “I haven’t seen him for a while.”
“Find him and bring him! You hear me? Tell him make him come. Bring him, blast you! And bring your switch as well!”
There was a deadly silence. The women gathered the children together and crept quietly away. Jacobo and the rest exchanged confused glances. Antón, Santiago, and José arrived and stood by them.
Shortly afterward, Nelson appeared, holding Umaru by the arm. He shoved him in front of Kilian.
“Who ordered you to put this”—Kilian brought the head of the snake toward Umaru’s face—“in my bedroom? Hey? Who paid you?”
Umaru’s teeth began to chatter as he repeated the same words over and over.
Nelson translated. “He says he knows nothing. He says he was dancing at the party the whole time.”
“That is a lie.” Kilian spat out the words. “You were seen in the bedroom passage.” He threw the machete to the ground and held out his hand to Nelson. “Give me the switch.” Nelson hesitated. “I told you to give me the switch! Umaru . . . if you no tell me true, I go hit you!”
Antón stepped forward to intervene, but Jacobo stopped him. “No, Dad, let him sort this out.”
Kilian felt the thinness of the switch in his hands. Pain rose in his temples, his chest, his teeth . . . He hated this place! He was tired of the heat, the bugs, the orders, the cocoa trees, and Gregorio! God, if he could only return to Pasolobino. He could hardly breathe. Umaru continued to say nothing. Dozens of eyes waited for Kilian’s next move. He raised his hand and let loose a belt on Umaru’s arms. Umaru screamed in pain.
“Hold him, Nelson!” He raised the switch and asked again, “Who paid you, Umaru?”
Umaru shook his head. “I no know, Massa! I no know!”
Kilian circled and hit him again, this time on the back, once, twice, three times, four . . . The lashes opened thin furrows on the skin, and blood dripped to the ground. Kilian was out of control. He did not hear Umaru, who, on his knees, begged him to stop.
He was about to hit him again when a hand grabbed his arm and a quiet voice spoke. “That’s enough, Massa Kilian. The lad has said he will tell you everything.”
Kilian looked up. It was José. He felt disconcerted, once again a hollow man. Kilian was incapable of looking him in the eye. Umaru stayed kneeling. Between snivels and whimpers, he explained that they had found a nest of bitis in the cocoa trees, near the border with the jungle, that he had called Massa Gregor over to kill them, and that the massa had ordered him to go and find a box, where Umaru had kept them until nighttime. The lack of electricity helped give him the chance to sneak into the bedroom.
“And your fear of snakes?” Kilian asked in sudden apathy. “How much did Massa Gregor pay you to get over it?”
He did not wait for an answer, turning instead to the mastermind, who tilted his head back with a slight smile.
“Congratulations,” said Gregorio with disdain. “You are now almost like me. You’ll do well on the island.”
Kilian held Gregorio’s ratlike gaze. Then without warning, he punched him so hard in the stomach that he fell to the ground.
“Case closed.” He threw the switch down in rage. “Palabra conclú.”
He walked away, shrouded in total silence.