The two women followed him to the entrance. Amanda and Jovita insisted that they accept some food wrapped in packets and a bag of the coconut biscuits that Clarence had liked so much. The children surrounded them again. The white woman had been the day’s, and probably the year’s, novelty.
At the last second, Clarence noticed that Bisila’s gaze was fixed on the simple necklace that Iniko had tied around her neck. She could not be sure if the sight of the small shell awoke some special memory in her. Bisila’s eyes clouded over in tears, and before they rolled down her cheeks, she gave Clarence a big good-bye hug, as if they were never going to see each other again.
Once inside the car, Clarence did not stop thinking about Bisila. She was sorry she had not been brave enough to ask her more about her life. Most Equatorial Guineans her age had been educated only in those tasks deemed suitable for women: the home, the kitchen, growing the crops, and maternity. As an alternative, some had stalls in the market. From what she had been told by Rihéka, Melania, and B?rihí, things had not changed much, despite the country’s constitution, which—in theory—gave women equal rights.
Bisila had managed to be an independent woman who began her studies in the colonial period. Clarence did not know how much a woman earned in those times but supposed it was not much. And what’s more, hers was the only salary in the family. How had Bisila managed to raise her two children without the help of a man?
“What are you thinking about that has you so quiet?” Iniko broke his silence.
The white lines on the narrow tarmac road weaved through the green weeds.
“I was thinking about your mother,” Clarence answered. “I’d like to know more about her. She seems a very special woman.”
“And what would you like to know?” he asked in a conciliatory way that Clarence accepted as an apology.
“Well, why is it she doesn’t live in Baney with her family? How did she settle in Malabo? How was she able to study? How many times did she marry? Who was your father? And Laha’s father? What was life like for you in Sampaka?”
“Okay, okay!” he chuckled. “That’s far too many questions!”
“I’m sorry. You asked.” She was afraid she had gone too far, but Iniko did not seem to mind.
“My mother,” he began to say, “worked in the hospital on the Sampaka plantation as a nurse’s assistant. She married someone who worked there, and they had me. My father died in an accident, and we moved to Malabo. At some point, she had an affair with a man, and Laha was born. She has never wanted to talk about it, and we didn’t push the subject. From my time in Sampaka, I have the odd memory of school and the Nigerian barracks where a neighbor looked after me. Then I spent many years with my grandmother in the village. I liked it more than the plantation because there I felt free . . .”
For a moment, the letters that mentioned a nurse who had looked after her grandfather Antón on his deathbed came to Clarence’s mind. Just then, she imagined the hands that had held a damp cloth on his forehead belonged to a woman with Bisila’s face.
Could it be?
Iniko drove looking straight ahead, with his head cupped in his hand and his elbow out the open window.
“And what happened afterward?” asked Clarence.
“After what?”
“How did Bisila avoid having to leave the country like so many others after Guinea gained its independence from Spain in ’68? Didn’t they expel many Bubis and Nigerians?”
“Well, she did not pose any political threat. If anything, she was necessary, since her abilities in the field of medicine were the same or better than any doctor’s.”
He fell silent in anger. Clarence put a hand on his thigh to comfort him, and Iniko put his right hand on top of hers while holding the steering wheel with his left.
They left behind Riaba, called Concepción during the colonial period, and drove toward the south of the island.
“What does Iniko mean?” Clarence asked. “Don’t you have another name? I thought that everyone here had a Spanish name and a Guinean one.”
“Something like Iniko Luis?”
She giggled. “Yes, something like that.”
“Well, I only have this name. It’s actually Nigerian. The priest in school told us that God wouldn’t recognize our names and we would go straight to hell. He didn’t frighten me, and I only answered when he called me by my real name. In the end, he gave up.”
“And does it mean anything?”
“‘Born in hard times.’”
“Very appropriate . . . for the period you were born in, with the change from a colony to independence and all that, for everything you’ve gone through . . .”
“If I hadn’t been named Iniko, the same things would have happened to me, I suppose. A name doesn’t hold that much power.”
“Yes, but it makes you special.”
“Well, we make a good combination. Clarence, the city and the volcano”—his voice became soft and warm—“together with Iniko, a man born in hard times. What can we hope for from all this?”
Clarence felt her cheeks burning. She had to take advantage of this magical moment before it was ruined and grab on to that fine thread that an invisible spider had spun around both of them before it disappeared.
“Yes,” she replied, trying to make her voice sound suggestive. “What can we expect from a volcano and a Bubi warrior?”
Fire, pure fire, she thought.
It seemed to her that the surrounding jungle, thick and dense, had suddenly fallen silent, as if someone were watching them. Once again she remembered, with relief, that on the island, unlike the continent, there were no dangerous animals like elephants or lions, only monkeys. Still, the calm made her suspicious. It would soon be dark. As if he had read her mind, Iniko said, “It’s not far to Ureca now.”
A new excitement grew inside her. Would someone there remember her father?
The Land Rover took a narrow, unpaved road, and Clarence had the feeling that all signs of civilization were disappearing. The 4x4 drove with difficulty over unposted dirt tracks. After a few kilometers, they made out a simple barrier that blocked the traffic.
“It’s a police checkpoint,” announced Iniko, a little tense. “Don’t say anything, okay? They know me. It will only take a minute.”
Clarence nodded.
As they approached, she saw that the barrier was made up of a barrel at either side of the road and a bamboo trunk resting on top of them. Iniko stopped the car, got out, and said hello to the guards. The uniformed men gave the vehicle the once-over and asked Iniko a few things with serious expressions. Clarence had the feeling that something was not right. Iniko shook his head, and one of the men raised a finger threateningly. Clarence decided to disobey Iniko’s warning, took out her papers and some money from her purse, and got out of the car.
“Good evening,” she said politely with a timid smile. “Is there something wrong?”