When Kilian went into the bedroom, he saw that Simón had cleaned everything and left a lamp lit. There was no trace of the snake. Kilian sat on the bed and buried his head in his hands. His breathing still felt unsteady. The last few minutes of his life paraded clearly across the dark screen of his mind. He saw a white man brutally beating a black man. He saw how he broke the skin until blood poured out. He saw dozens of men silent and unmoved as the blows continued. That man was him! He had allowed himself to be overcome and hit Umaru in blind rage! How could it have happened? What demon had taken over his psyche?
He was disgusted with himself.
His head went around in circles. He could barely get up. He went over to the basin, his insides wrecked with nausea, and vomited until not even bile was left. He raised his head and saw his face reflected in the mirror hanging over the basin.
He did not recognize himself.
His green eyes, sunken in two dark bowls against the pallor of his angular blood-splatted cheeks, seemed grayer than ever, and his forehead was marked by deep lines.
“I’m not like him,” he said. “I’m not like him!”
His shoulders began to shake, and deep sobs rose within him.
Kilian cried bitterly until he had no tears left.
The following morning, the manager called for him. In his office, Kilian found Gregorio, Antón, and José.
“I’ll get straight to the point,” said Garuz gruffly. “It’s evident that you can no longer work together.” He spoke to Gregorio. “I will send Marcial with you to Obsay. He is the only one who can keep you under control, and he doesn’t mind going.”
He turned to Kilian, who had to make a real effort to keep his composure. The man’s words reverberated in his head with the intensity of a drill. He had gotten up with a terrible headache and still had some blurred vision. Hopefully the optalidones he had taken on an empty stomach would soon take effect.
“From now on, you will work with Antón and José in the main yard. Don’t take this as some kind of reward. One more incident, no matter what, and you’re sacked, is that clear?” He rapped the desk with his fingers. “I’m only giving you this chance for your father, so you can thank him. That’s all.” Garuz picked up some papers. “You may leave.”
The men stood and walked toward the door in silence. Kilian was last, his head low so as not to have to look at his father. Outside, the others broke away. Kilian decided to go to the dining room for a coffee to wake himself up. Soon after, Jacobo entered.
“I was looking for you.” Jacobo’s voice sounded hoarse. “Dad brought me up to date. Are you all right?”
Kilian nodded.
“I’m happy that I’m not going back to Obsay,” he said, “but I’m sorry for taking your place. I suppose it was your turn to be in the main yard.”
“No way!” Jacobo shook his head. “I’m perfectly fine where I am. In Yakató, nobody controls me.” He winked and gave him a friendly elbow. “Mateo and I have set it up very well. In the main yard, everything can be seen. But we wastrels, we prefer darkness.”
He saw that Kilian did not laugh and grew serious.
“You did the right thing, Kilian. You showed them who’s the boss. From now on, they will respect you. Gregorio as well.”
Kilian pursed his lips. This newfound authority did not make him one bit proud. He sat and accepted the coffee offered by Simón. With a wave of his hand, he did not let the lad add any brandy.
“I’m off,” Jacobo said as he left his brother. “We’ll see each other at dinner.”
When Jacobo passed through the doorway, Simón came over to Kilian as if to talk, but he restrained himself.
“I’m fine, Simón,” said Kilian. “I don’t need anything else. You can go.”
Simón did not budge.
“Is there something wrong, lad?”
“You see, Massa . . . there is something you should know.”
“What is it?” he said, slightly annoyed. The coffee had warmed his stomach, but the headache persisted. The last thing he wanted was to listen to insignificant problems. He had enough with his own.
“Last night something happened, Massa. Two friends of Umaru wanted to get you back for the beating and came after you.”
Kilian, stunned, raised his head.
“Yes, Massa. After the party, José did not go to sleep like everyone else. He told me he noticed something strange. He stayed up all night for you. Yes, yes, and so did I. Using the darkness, they went up to your room, and there we were hiding. José and me and two of the guards who owe José some favors.” He opened his dark, shining eyes. “They were carrying machetes to kill you! You were very lucky José was there, Massa! Very lucky!”
Kilian wanted to say something, but he could not. He lifted the cup, and Simón went for more coffee.
“What will happen to them?” Kilian finally asked when the boy returned from the kitchen.
“They will be sent back to Nigeria. Umaru as well. But don’t worry, the big massa won’t hear everything. And nobody will say anything. I don’t think anyone else will try it again. There is no danger now, Massa, but it would be better to close your window and your door properly for a while.”
“Thank you, Simón,” murmured a pensive Kilian. “For your help and for telling me.”
“Please, Massa . . . ,” the lad pleaded, “don’t tell José I told you. He knows my family, we’re from the same village . . . He made me promise not to say anything.”
“So then why did you?”
“You are good to me, Massa. And the thing with the snake was not right. No, Massa, it was not right.”
“Relax, Simón.” Kilian got to his feet and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll keep the secret.”
Kilian went outside, where he looked up to the sky, contemplating the low dark clouds. He could breathe the humidity. As the hours went by, the heat would be sticky, but he welcomed the chance to enjoy a new day despite his headache, the remorse that had taken hold of his heart, and the fear of what might have happened.
At a few meters’ distance, he made out the unhurried walk of José, who moved from one end of the yard to the other, organizing the men for the day’s tasks. He was a man of average height, strong despite his thin physique, which starkly contrasted the muscular bodies of the laborers. From time to time, he would stroke his short gray beard slowly and pensively. The workers respected him, perhaps because he looked like their fathers. He knew each one’s name and talked to them firmly but without raising his voice, gesturing energetically but without violence, as if he knew how they felt at every moment.
As he looked at José, Kilian felt enormously grateful. They had tried to get revenge while he was asleep . . . He owed him his life! If José had gone to bed like everyone else, at this moment, Kilian would be . . . dead! Why had he done it? Perhaps for Antón. A shiver ran through his body. He did not know how, but he would find a way of showing this man that his noble and brave act had been worth it.