She remembered that Fernando Garuz had told her that he would soon be going on a trip and figured she had better go back to Sampaka. With a little bit of luck, she might bump into Iniko and ask him about his childhood, as he had not bothered to join any of her afternoons with Laha. She had not gotten much information out of Laha because he barely remembered the plantation. He was six years younger than his brother, and his first memories were of school in Santa Isabel and his house in the city. Clarence had come to the conclusion that the first years of life for both brothers had been very different, but she still had not dared go into it any further. Only once had she asked Laha about Iniko, casually, and he had told her that he worked as an agent for several cocoa companies, which meant he had to travel a lot around the island. That was how she happened to meet him in Sampaka: Iniko did the accounts there and was in charge of paying the Bubi farmers.
On Thursday night, Clarence decided not to postpone it any longer. However, when she called Fernando from her hotel room, he was sorry to tell her that he had had to change his plans and was leaving for Spain the following day on urgent family business. He did not know if he would be back before she left Bioko. But regardless of that, he said, she had his permission to visit the plantation as often as she wished, and he had left orders that she be shown around all the facilities. She thanked him and wished him a pleasant trip.
Clarence snapped closed the notebook where she had jotted down Fernando’s number, and the piece of paper that was the reason for her visit to Bioko flew into the air. She bent down to pick it up, and her eyes fixed on a sentence:
. . . I will resort to Ureca friends again . . .
She sighed. She had not even dared to book a trip to Ureca.
Needless to say, she thought, she would never earn a living as a private detective.
The following day, Laha called to tell her that his mother had invited them to dinner that very night at her house. Them and Iniko.
Clarence quickly forgot her disappointments of the last few hours. She only hoped that Laha and Iniko’s mother, like all older people, liked to talk about her memories, especially those about the Sampaka plantation. According to her calculations of Iniko’s age, his and Laha’s mother’s life there would go back to the 1960s. Maybe she had even known her father. A little bug of urgent expectation went round in her stomach all day.
She had not finished deciding what to wear. She wanted to be well dressed but informal. She knew nothing about Laha’s mother, and she did not want to look dressed too casually or too smartly. She opted for comfort with a pair of beige jeans and a white shirt with gemstones and a neckline she knew suited her. She hesitated on whether to leave her hair loose or gathered in a plait and chose the second option, more suitable for dinner with the mother of some friends. That is, if she could consider Iniko a friend.
The home of Laha and Iniko’s mother was a modest low-rise building in a housing estate that appeared to be from the 1960s in the Los Angeles district. She noticed that it was modern, but needed updating. However, the house’s interior, with colonial-style furniture, was welcoming. Everything was very clean and tidy and decorated with African objects and pictures, simply and tastefully. When Clarence met Laha’s mother, she understood where that simplicity and taste came from.
They were still greeting each other when a door closed and a man entered like a hurricane into the room. Iniko kissed his mother, slapped his brother on the back, and, to the young woman’s surprise, opened his mouth and said in a deep voice, “Hello, Clarence.”
9
Hard Times
Clarence inspected the woman closely. She was truly beautiful and very slim, and she had the most expressive light-colored eyes. She was wearing a long tunic over a pair of trousers, both turquoise blue, with matching embroidery on the cuffs of the sleeves and the bottoms of the trousers. A silk scarf of the same color covered her hair, which Clarence guessed was slightly tinged with gray. With her hair gathered, her eyes stood out with an unsettling intensity.
Her name was Bisila, in honor of Mother Bisila, patroness of the island of Bioko, cultural and spiritual reference of the Bubi culture. Clarence realized then that the sculpture of the sad Virgin in the cathedral showed Bisila, who, for the Bubis, represented the native and creator mother of life whose honor they continued to celebrate, but now more discreetly, as—according to what she had been told—in recent years, the festival had been banned in Guinea by the ethnic majority, the Fang.
The dinner that Bisila prepared was a traditional feast, made with palm oil, yam, malanga, vegetable bóka’ò—a slightly spicy mix of vegetables and fish—and antelope. It was delicious. Clarence felt like a very special guest thanks to Laha and his mother.
Of course, Iniko was the only one put out by her presence.
Clarence was sitting across from the brothers. At first glance, the most notable difference was their physical statures. Iniko was older than Laha, but his body retained the muscly build of a young man. She tried to find some feature common to both but soon gave up, defeated. Iniko had his head shaved, and Laha had long, thick streaks of curly hair. Iniko’s skin was much darker than his brother’s, who beside him looked like a mulatto. Iniko’s eyes were big like his mother’s, although black and slightly almond shaped; Laha’s were dark green and got hidden behind tiny wrinkles when he laughed, something that happened quite frequently.
She concluded that the only tic they had in common was rubbing an eyebrow with their index finger when mulling over something. She looked at Bisila. How could a woman have two children so unlike each other? She would not have been at all surprised if one of the two were adopted.
As far as their temperaments, Laha was elegant, friendly, and talkative. It was evident that his stay in the United States had infected him with the mannerisms typical of North Americans. Iniko, on the contrary, was abrupt and quiet, verging on sullen. He would not even bother to answer the questions she asked about the people from Bioko and their customs. Clarence tried on various occasions to get him to participate in the conversation, asking about his work and his life, but his answers were short and dry, even scornful.
Bisila noticed her frustrated attempts, and using the excuse of getting up to go to the kitchen for coffee, she said something in Bubi to her son. From that moment on, Iniko pretended to show some interest.
“Could I ask you something, Bisila?”
The woman turned her head toward Clarence and smiled.
“I understand that you and your children lived in Sampaka. Could you tell me exactly when?”
Bisila blinked, and Clarence hastened to clarify.
“I’d like to know if you coincided with my father. He worked on the plantation between the ’50s and ’60s, more or less.”
“The truth is the blacks didn’t mix much with the whites. They must have told you that there were hundreds of people on the plantation. It was like a big village.”
“But there weren’t that many whites.” Clarence frowned. “I assumed everyone knew them, or at least knew who they were.”
“Actually,” said Bisila a little tensely, “I used to spend more time in my village than on the plantation.”
Laha and Iniko exchanged a quick and knowing look. Both of them knew that their mother did not like to talk about her time in Sampaka. They were not surprised that she had deflected Clarence’s questions politely.
“Do you know, Mom,” Laha interrupted, “that Clarence lives in the North of Spain?”
“Well,” the young woman qualified, “the North of Spain is very large, and my valley is as small as this island.”