Kilian also remembered that the variety of the amulets hanging from the arch—sheep’s tails, animal skulls and bones, hen and pheasant feathers, antelope horns, and snail shells—had surprised him. In Pasolobino, they used to hang goats’ legs over the houses and place stones in curious designs on the roofs, on top of the chimney stacks, to ward away witches. The fear of the unknown was the same in all parts of the world: in Africa, they had their evil spirits, and in the Pyrenees, the witches. Once inside the village, however, the differences between Pasolobino and Bissappoo could not have been more striking. The Spanish village consisted of clothed white bodies and solid buildings to shield inhabitants from the cold, the African village of seminaked black bodies and flimsy houses open to a public square. The first time that Kilian went to José’s village, he could never have imagined that such different worlds would converge in his heart.
Some children pounced upon his pockets, hoping to find some sweet or other. Kilian, laughing, handed out small candies and confections that he had bought in Julia’s shop. Two or three women lugging baskets of clean clothes and food waved. Several men stopped their slow walk and left on the ground the arch they used to clamber up the palms, shaking his hand by holding it affectionately in their own and placing it on their hearts.
“?sé . . . where are all the women?” Kilian asked. “It seems I won’t be able to put your threat to the test!”
José laughed. “They are preparing the food and getting themselves ready for the wedding. There’s only a few hours to go. All women take a long time to get made up with ntola.”
“And what shall we do in the meantime?”
“We’ll sit down in the ri?sa with the men and wait.”
They went toward an open square where the children played and the village meetings were held. In the center, under the shade of the sacred trees, there were some bushes with a number of stones that were used as seats by a group of men waving to them in greeting. A few paces farther on, two small cabins had been built for praying to the spirits.
“Don’t you have to change your clothes?” Kilian left his rucksack on the ground beside the other men.
“Am I not all right as I am?” José wore long trousers and a white shirt. “I’m wearing the same as you . . .”
“Yes, of course you’re all right. It’s just that I thought, as you are the father of the bride, you would be wearing something more . . . more . . . of your own . . .”
“Such as feathers and shells? Look, Kilian, at my age, I don’t have to prove anything. Everyone knows me well. I’m the same here as down there, on the plantation. With a shirt or without one.”
Kilian nodded, opened his bag, and took out tobacco and alcohol. The men gestured happily. The younger ones spoke in Spanish, and the older ones, who were around the same age as José and Antón, communicated through signs with the ?pottò, or foreigner. When they saw that it was impossible, they turned to the translators. Kilian always showed respect, and if he had any doubt, José was there to help him. He sat down on the ground, lit a cigarette, and waited for the men to finish sifting through his presents.
He noticed that a snakeskin, whose name—boukaroko—he found difficult to pronounce, hung with the head facing upward from the lowest branch of one of the trees, instead of being in the high branches, as he remembered. The Bubis believed that the snake was like their guardian angel, umpire of good and evil, who could shower them with riches or inflict them with illnesses. For that reason, respect was paid once a year by bringing the babies born during the previous year to touch the tail of the skin with their hands.
No movement was seen outside the houses built around the square. They were all identical huts, all the same size and protected by a stake barrier. They were rectangular in shape, with the side wall barely two meters high and the front and back walls slightly higher for the roof. The walls were made from stakes tied together with lianas, the roofs from palm leaves tied with rattan to the rest of the structure. Kilian had entered José’s hut only once, as life was mostly lived outdoors. He had to stoop down a lot—the door was too low for him—and he was surprised that there were only two rooms separated by a door made from a tree trunk, one room with a fire and the other for sleeping.
“What are you looking at so seriously?” asked José.
“I was thinking that my house in Pasolobino is as big as forty of these houses.”
One of José’s sons, who went by Sóbeúpo in the village and Donato in school, was about ten years old. He translated his words to Bubi, and the old men gasped in admiration.
“And why do you need such a big house?” the child asked, eyes wide.
“For everything. In one room you cook, in another you talk, in others you sleep, and in the rest you store the firewood or the food for the winter, the wine, the apples, the potatoes, the beans, the salted pork, and the beef . . . each thing in its own place. Downstairs”—he motioned to Sóbeúpo to bring him a twig to make a drawing on the ground—“and in other buildings, the hay is stored so the livestock can eat when there is snow.”
When he said the word snow, laughter erupted. Kilian imagined that the rest of the afternoon would continue, as on previous occasions, with a bombardment of questions about snow and the freezing cold. Sure enough, a few minutes later, they asked him again about the skis that the inhabitants of Pasolobino used to go down to other villages or just to have fun through the fields. He rolled his eyes and stood up to give them another demonstration of how they worked. He put his feet together, flexed his knees, raised his hands in fists with his elbows tucked into his waist, and moved his hips from one side to the other. He was met by a chorus of laughs, gasps, and hand clapping.
“Sorry, Kilian . . .” José wiped his eyes while trying to hold back another peal of laughter. “You have to understand that we’ve never seen snow. There isn’t even a word for it in Bubi!”
Moving their arms from the sky to the ground, the younger ones continued to improvise translation for the others—white water, frozen drops, white flakes, suds crystals, cold dust—and they all moved their heads with confused looks and furrowed brows, the corners of their mouths pointing downward, rubbing their chins with one hand while trying to understand this marvel from the spirits of nature.
This went on for a couple of hours. It was true, thought Kilian; the men had nothing better to do than talk.
At last, as evening fell, some movement was seen in the flimsy houses, and in an instant, the square filled with people.
“The ceremony is about to begin,” warned José, getting to his feet. “I have to sit with my wife now, Kilian. We’ll see each other later.”