“You deserve everything good that happens to you, Julia,” he said before winking and adding, “although you don’t keep your deals . . .”
She reddened. “And you too, Kilian. You’ll see . . . The best of life has yet to come.”
Immediately after the pair entered the dining room, Mateo, Marcial, Asunción, and Mercedes said their good-byes to go meet friends in the city. The others continued talking at the table about politics, as Julia and Kilian had guessed.
“I heard it the other day in the casino,” said Emilio in a strong voice. “It seems that there has already been a warning from the UN on decolonization. Carrero Blanco has proposed forming provinces.”
“And what does that mean?” Santiago asked.
“It’s obvious,” intervened Lorenzo Garuz. “This will all become a Spanish province.”
“I’m not that stupid,” said Santiago, smoothing down his sparse hair with his bony hand. “That I understand. I’m referring to how things will change as a province.”
“Well, it seems reasonable to me. After so many years, what is this but an extension of Spain?” Emilio raised his glass toward the boy so he could refill it. “But of course, the coloreds don’t see it that way. I can barely talk to Gustavo anymore because we always end up shouting at each other. Can you believe he had the nerve to tell me that it was just a strategy to continue our exploitation?”
“I can imagine his simple logic,” commented Father Rafael. “If they are provinces, decolonizing cannot be put on the table.”
“He said the same. Well, in slightly stronger terms, but that’s what he meant.”
“Bah, I don’t think any of this will go forward,” Generosa intervened. “Without Spain, there is no Guinea, and without us, they will return to the jungle where we found them.” Julia winced. “In fact, the colony costs more than it makes. But they don’t seem to appreciate that.”
“Well, I’m not so sure about that,” said Jacobo, thinking of the tons of cocoa from the last harvest. “We know better than anyone what it makes, don’t we, Mr. Garuz?”
“Yes, but . . .” Garuz shook his head. “Who pays for the schools, the hospitals, the city maintenance and services, if not Spain? I don’t know . . . we might just break even.”
“That is even impossible,” Generosa commented. “Have you seen the orphanage? Who pays for the sixty children who live there? And what about Moka? I was with Emilio a few weeks ago at the inauguration of the tap-water system for Moka, Malabo, and Bioko and the handing over of houses to cooperative members. The Board of Native Affairs has paid for half of each of the houses, which even have double-glazed wooden windows . . .”
“And that’s not all,” added Emilio, raising his voice. “Where do you think Gustavo went not too long ago? To Cameroon, to meet up with that gang of independence fighters. They were even talking about a possible federation with Gabon!”
“Of course,” Father Rafael interrupted, “since France is about to grant independence to Cameroon and Gabon, it will become infectious. After all our work teaching them the right way! Did you notice what happened this Christmas? The streets of Santa Isabel were filled with mamarrachos with their masks. Before they did not leave their own areas, and now they parade about in their offensive colors, making incoherent noise. Is this what the freedom crusades want? The bishops already warned about it in a recent pastoral letter. The greatest enemy will soon be the communist ideology.”
“I hope that the conflicts in Ifni aren’t repeated here,” said a worried Garuz.
Everyone agreed. Morocco, which had gained independence a year ago, was now reclaiming the small Spanish territory. News had reached them that the Ifni garrisons had been attacked by Moroccan nationalists supported by their king.
“If France doesn’t stand firm, I don’t know what will happen.”
“Dad!” Julia exclaimed, worried that Emilio would get too riled up.
“Your friend is taking serious risks,” Gregorio commented. “One of these days, they will arrest him and send him to Black Beach. The governor doesn’t want any messing around.”
“I think it’s good that he guards the frontiers with Cameroon and Gabon, and that he detains anyone who rebels against Spanish authority in these lands,” affirmed Generosa with conviction. “This is Spain and will remain so for a long time. There are many Spaniards fighting every day for our businesses. Spain won’t abandon us.”
A sudden silence followed. Manuel waved at the boys to refill the glasses.
“We can be a real pain sometimes, we old ones, isn’t that so, children?” Emilio smiled at Jacobo, Kilian, Manuel, and Julia. “Ah well, I propose another toast to you, to the future . . .” He raised his glass in the air and the rest followed suit. “Happy new year. I wish you all many happy years.”
Kilian clinked his glass, preoccupied. He could not properly comprehend their concerns, but of course he was only an employee on one of the many plantations on the island, not the owner of a business. If he had to leave the island, he would look for another job in Spain, and that would be it. He would not leave much behind. He drank, then shuddered, wondering how the members of José’s extensive family would celebrate the new year in Bissappoo.
Months later, Julia and Manuel’s son was born. In the end, they decided to name him Ismael because according to what Julia told the brothers after the christening, Emilio won the bet and realized that there were too many Fernandos all over the place. Around the same time, Catalina gave birth to a boy named Antón. He died at the age of two months from capillary bronchitis, which they found out about in a sad letter from their mother.
Kilian took the news badly, deeply saddened for his sister. She would find it difficult to get over this hard test. Catalina had never enjoyed good health. The pregnancy had not been easy—she had been on bed rest for the final months—and during delivery, they were worried about losing her. He remembered how his father’s death had affected him and tried to imagine how Catalina felt after losing a child. Her pain had to be deep, cutting, and unbearable.