“I think she’ll be sixteen soon.”
“You know, ?sé? We spend so much time with the men in the ri?sa that I don’t know if I’ve met all your children.”
“Two women got married in other villages,” José began to explain with some effort, “and two in the city, where their husbands work in the houses of some wealthy whites. Here in Bissappoo, I have two sons working the land.”
“But . . . how many have you got?” Counting Sóbeúpo, the numbers did not add up.
“Between children and grandchildren, many of those you see today are part of my family.” José let out a cackle. “For Father Rafael, I have four daughters and two sons. But I can tell you the truth.” In a slurred voice, he confessed, “The bride was born before Sóbeúpo, and three more came after . . . with another woman . . .”
He pursed his lips and rocked his head. A little withdrawn, José went on.
“The Bubi gods have favored me, yes. I have many good children. And hard workers.” He pointed in the direction of the newlyweds, then brought the finger round to his head and added lovingly, “She is very intelligent, Kilian. The smartest of my ten children! When she can, she picks up a book. With Massa Manuel she will learn many things. Yes, I’m happy she’ll be living on the plantation.”
“The truth is I never noticed her before,” said Kilian in a careful tone.
How was it possible that an almost midnight-blue man like José could have a dark-caramel-colored daughter?
“The whites, you always complain that all blacks seem the same to you.” José laughed in merriment. “Well, let me tell you . . . the same happens to us!”
If I had met her before, Kilian thought, I can assure you that it would be impossible for me to mistake her for another.
He looked to her.
Was it his imagination, or was she doing the same?
Mosi drank and drank, holding her tightly to show the world that she was his. Kilian tried in vain to erase the thought of Mosi taking her naked body.
“What are you thinking about, my friend?” José asked.
“Nothing . . .” Kilian shook his head. “You know, ?sé? Celebrations are the same everywhere. In my village we also eat, drink, and dance at weddings. Tomorrow the euphoria will have passed, and everything will be the same.”
“It’s never the same, Kilian,” commented José dogmatically. “Two days are never the same, like two people are never the same. See this man?” He used his head to point to his right. “I’m black, yes, but this one is even blacker.”
“You’re right, ?sé. You’re living proof of it.” José tilted his head now, curious, and Kilian deliberately paused and finished off his topé in one gulp. “You’re now addressing me informally! That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Kilian closed his eyes. He could hear the silence inside him. All the racket in the village sounded like a distant murmur. The alcohol had given him a soothing sensation of levity.
There is a brief instant, just before falling asleep, when the body seems to lean over the edge of a cliff.
It’s vertigo.
It barely lasts a second. You don’t know whether you will sleep or die and never wake up. Consciousness stands still.
That night, Kilian dreamed of naked bodies dancing around a bonfire to the rhythm of the drums. A woman with enormous light-colored, almost-transparent eyes asked him to dance. His hands took control of her waist and rose up to her small breasts, which vibrated incessantly to the music. The woman whispered words that he did not understand. Then she pressed herself against him. He could feel the soft pressure of her nipples against his naked chest. Suddenly, her face was that of Sade. He recognized her dark almond eyes, her high cheekbones, her slender nose, and her lips like autumn raspberries. Beside him, enormous men rode women while the songs became more high-pitched and intense. When he looked at her again, the woman was a blurred figure who would not let him leave. Her caresses became more and more intense. He resisted; she forced him to look.
“Listen. Look. Touch. Let yourself go!”
He woke drenched, his head buzzing because of the alcohol, and covered in red bites from the tiny jején. He had forgotten to put up the mosquito net.
Kilian seemed to hear music, but when he stuck his head out the door of the hut they had prepared for him, he saw that the village was deserted.
He remembered the long and intense night. José had explained to him that in Bubi tradition, there were two types of weddings: ribalá rè?t?, marriage to buy a woman’s virginity, and ribalá ré ríhólè, marriage of a couple in love. The first was the only legitimate one, even if the woman had been forced into the contract.
The buyer paid for the bride’s virginity, as it was thought that a woman who had lost it lacked all value and beauty. The second, a marriage of a couple in love, was considered illegitimate. There were no celebrations, nor solemnity, nor a party.
Could she have lost her worth and her beauty?
He doubted it.
It was a splendid morning. The temperature was perfect. A light breeze cooled the sultry night air.
But Kilian’s body was burning.
7
Tornado Weather
Kilian went down the slope as fast as he could. The ship bringing his father from Spain had docked a while ago, and he was late. At the bottom, three men were unloading the last barge on the pier. Out of breath and sweating, he stopped so he could look for Antón. The sun’s rays glinted off the shoals of sardines in the sea. He shielded his forehead and squinted.
Against the horizon, he made out the silhouette of his father, sitting on his leather suitcase with his shoulders slightly hunched. Kilian took a few steps in his direction and opened his mouth to call him, but stopped. There was something wrong. He had expected to find his father pacing, annoyed at being the last passenger to be collected. Instead, Antón looked deep in thought, gazing at some invisible point beyond the bay and the royal palms. It made Kilian shudder as he put on a cheerful voice.
“Sorry, Dad! I couldn’t get here any sooner.”
Antón raised his head and, still lost in thought, greeted him with a sad smile.
Kilian was shocked to see his face. In a few months, he had aged years.
“There was a fallen tree on the road after last night’s storm,” he continued. “You know how these things are . . . I had to wait a good while until they cleared it.”
“Don’t worry, Son. It was nice to sit.”
Antón rose slowly, and they hugged. Although his father’s body was still that of a tall and well-built man, Kilian felt the profound weakness in his strong arms.
“Come on, let’s go.” Kilian scratched his head and picked up the case. “You don’t know how much we are looking forward to hearing news from home. How are Mom and Catalina? Was there a lot of snow when you left? And Uncle Jacobo and his family?”