Dimas finished the story and began to talk of his own life. After a while, Iniko whispered, “Now comes the part when Dimas admits how well he lived under your people.”
Indeed, the chief nostalgically went over his adolescence in Santa Isabel; how comfortably he lived in the city in a small house along with his wife and children; the money he earned as a foreman of batas—or workers—on a cocoa plantation called Constancia, which even allowed him a small car; and how lucky his children were to have been able to go to school. Clarence saw out of the corner of her eye how Iniko kept his eyes fixed on some point on the ground, his hands clenched.
Dimas paused to drink from his bowl, and Clarence spoke up. “And this plantation, Constancia . . . was it close to Sampaka?”
“Oh, yes, very close. I didn’t go very often, but I knew people who worked there. There was a doctor”—Dimas half closed his eyes—“called Manuel. A very good man. He helped me once. Later I was able to return the favor. I wonder what happened to him.”
Clarence’s heart skipped a beat. A doctor called Manuel? From Dimas’s age, she reckoned that the dates could fit. What favor would that have been? Was he referring to the money installments? To this out-of-the-way village? It did not make sense . . .
“Do you know if this Manuel was married to a woman called Julia?”
Dimas opened his eyes in surprise. “Yes, that was the woman’s name. She was Emilio’s daughter . . .” His voice weakened. “Is it possible you know them?”
“Manuel died not so long ago. I know Julia very well.” She tried not to appear too eager. “They were here with my father, Jacobo, and my uncle Kilian.” She observed the face of the man and noticed no change. “I don’t know if you remember them . . .”
Dimas shook his head while mumbling some words. “Their names sound familiar,” he answered, “but their faces have been erased from my memory. I might have known them, but after so many years . . .”
Clarence decided to push a little further. She had to know if there existed the remotest possibility that Dimas was one of those friends in Ureca whom her father supposedly sent money through. But to whom? Why?
“And you say that Manuel helped you and that you later returned the favor . . .”
Dimas rubbed between his eyebrows as if trying to forget. “They were hard times for everyone, blacks and whites—”
“The whites imprisoned your brother,” Iniko said abruptly. “And they sent him to Black Beach. And they tortured him.”
Dimas nodded at first and then shook his head. “The whites didn’t kill him. Macías killed him. He made sure of liquidating all those who were economically stable. Those who were spared, he ruined. Like me. But it’s not the same.”
“The whites placed Macías in power,” insisted an obstinate Iniko.
“But they also gave you independence,” pointed out Clarence quickly. “Wasn’t that what you wanted, that my country leave you in peace?”
“Nobody gave me my independence,” he replied in an offended voice. “I am Bubi. The inhabitants of this island, the first ones, the natives, before any ship had the damned luck to bump into the island, were the Bubis. Here there weren’t any Portuguese, English, Spanish, or Fang. But when it was in Spain’s interest and they had no choice but to give independence to Guinea because the UN insisted on it, they did it in the most glorious way they could think of. Handing it over to a paranoid Fang with the brilliant pretext that we would be one single nation. As if it was possible to unite night and day!”
He passed his gaze over those present and raised his voice.
“This island and the continental part of Mbini are—well, were until very recently—two completely different worlds with different ethnic races. My Bubi traditions are different from Fang traditions.” He turned to Clarence, and she saw that his eyes were glowing. “Earlier you were told how we Bubis make our palm wine. We go up the tree and extract the liquid. Do you know how the Fang do it?”
He did not wait for her to answer.
“They cut the tree . . . Yes, Clarence, those from your country made us accept a fictitious, unitary, and unbreakable state, knowing that it couldn’t work. And what happened then? Have you listened to Dimas? He, at least, was lucky enough to seek refuge here.”
The older men nodded. Clarence pursed her lips. Whenever the conversation was diverted to political matters, his attitude toward her changed completely. And what was worse, she mightn’t have another chance to ask Dimas without raising suspicions.
“Iniko, you’re right,” Gabriel intervened in a soft voice, “but you are talking with your heart. The old times won’t come back. Before it was the cocoa, now it is the oil.”
“Blasted natural sources,” said Iniko. “If only this island was a desert! I’m sure nobody would want it then.”
Clarence frowned and took another sip of wine. How could she tell him he was wrong, that these resources could mean progress for a nation? She still had memories from her childhood in struggling Pasolobino. The roads were not paved, power and water cuts were frequent, the cables hung from the walls, some of the houses looked as if they had been abandoned, and, of course, there was a lack of medical services. She still remembered the killing of pigs, the milking of cows, the traps for the thrushes, the hunts for mountain goats, the cleaning of the sheds, the collecting of hay for the livestock, the dirt of the streets used by animals, and the muddy tracks.
When she was ten—not that long ago—any European from France northward or any American who saw photos of her village would think they were living in the Middle Ages. In less than forty years, Spain had turned itself around to the extent that places as isolated as Pasolobino had become small tourist paradises. Maybe this tiny part of Africa also needed time to balance its extremes.
“I don’t agree with you, Iniko,” she began to say. “Where I live, thanks to the skiing, life has improved for a lot of people—”
“Please!” he interrupted her angrily. “Don’t compare! Here there is money, corrupt politicians, and millions of people living in precarious conditions.”
Clarence shot him a stern look and bit her tongue. A rising murmur confirmed that they were commenting on the words spoken up to that point. Iniko held her look, frowned, and sought refuge by pretending to look for something in the rucksack that was beside him. Clarence drank in silence. The liquor was drilling a hole in her stomach, but she managed to contain the urge she had to get up and leave.
A few minutes later, Dimas raised his hand, and the gathering fell quiet.
“I see you bring papers, Iniko. Any news?”
“Yes. The government is preparing a new land law. I have brought you a draft application for you to register them in your names.”
“For what?” asked an albino man with bright eyes.
Clarence looked at him with curiosity. She found it strange that the man had the same features as the others, but that his skin was completely white. A unique fusion between black and white, she thought.