Another person who keeps his promises, she thought, remembering Bisila’s refusal to return to Sampaka.
Iniko stood to one side of Simón and began translating his first sentences.
“I have been watching you all the time,” said Iniko. “You remind me a lot of someone I knew well. Now I’m sure. You’re a relation of Kilian . . . maybe his daughter?”
“I’m not his daughter.” On seeing the disappointment in his face, Clarence hurriedly explained, “I’m his niece, daughter of his brother, Jacobo. Tell me, did you know them well? What do you remember of them?”
“He says that for years he was Massa Kilian’s boy. Kilian was a good man. He treated him very well. He also knew Massa Jacobo, but didn’t speak much with him. He wants to know if it still snows as much in Pasolobino—your uncle always spoke of the snow—and if they are still alive and how old they are now, and if Massa Kilian married.”
“The two of them are still alive.” Clarence’s voice began to tremble in emotion. “They are over seventy and are both healthy. Our family still lives in Pasolobino. The two of them married, and each had one daughter. My name is Clarence. Kilian’s daughter is named Daniela.”
The name Daniela surprised him. He was quiet for a few moments.
“Daniela . . . ,” he murmured, after thinking for a couple of seconds.
He looked at Iniko. He looked at Clarence. Besides the incisions, his face was also furrowed with wrinkles. Even so, it could clearly be seen that he was frowning. He looked at Iniko again and asked him something.
“He wants to know how we met.” Iniko laughed, put a hand on Simón’s shoulder, and answered his question warmly. “I told him that we ran into each other here a few days ago, and that we later met up with Laha several times in the city.”
Simón gave a small grunt and fixed his eyes on Clarence.
“Yes, Simón. She also knows Laha,” said Iniko. “Yes. It was a coincidence.”
“Why do you say that?” Clarence wanted to know. There was something in his face. She turned to Iniko. “I thought you didn’t believe in coincidence, that everything was the work of the spirits.”
Simón rapidly intervened. Iniko took over translating again. Simón’s words made sense, but his voice told her that the conversation was diverting down another path.
“Simón says that he was a good friend of my grandfather. And the two of them were friends of your uncle and your grandfather.”
“Then he also knew my grandfather?” Clarence asked. Her heart skipped a beat when she remembered the flowers on the grave.
Simón answered and signaled to Iniko with his finger.
“He says he did, but his image has been erased from his mind because he died so long ago. Simón was very young then and had only been working for Massa Kilian for two years. It seems my grandfather knew him very well.”
“Your grandfather?” asked Clarence. It was difficult to imagine that he would be alive, but . . . the last Bubi king died at the age of 105! “And he . . . ?”
“My grandfather died many years ago.” Iniko nodded.
“And what was your grandfather’s name?”
“?sé. For you, José. He lived all his life here, in Sampaka—well, between the plantation and the village he came from, which no longer exists. It was called Bissappoo. In 1975, Macías ordered it to be burned. According to him, the village had been involved in subversion.”
“Bissappoo . . . ,” she repeated under her breath.
“A beautiful name, don’t you think?” Iniko asked.
“Very nice, yes, like all of them around here,” she admitted, but that was not the only thing that had her intrigued. “Then, José was Bisila’s father . . .”
“Yes, of course. I never met my father’s parents.”
Now something else joined her to Iniko. Her grandfather and his had been friends, if that was possible during a period where the divisions between blacks and whites were stark.
“The things they could tell us if they were alive, couldn’t they?” Iniko was thinking the same as she was. “If Simón says they were friends, it’s because they were friends. Simón always tells the truth.”
Then why did he look at her with the expression of someone who knew something and did not want to say it?
“Are you going to stay long in Bioko?” asked Simón through Iniko.
“I have to leave the day after tomorrow.” Clarence suddenly became very sad.
“Simón says to say hello to Massa Kilian from him. And to tell him that life hasn’t treated him too badly after all. He will be pleased to know that.”
“I’ll do that, Simón, I’ll do that.”
Simón nodded and, as if he had forgotten something, hurriedly made a comment.
“And say hello to your father as well,” translated Iniko.
“Thank you.”
Simón shook Iniko’s hand, said something else to him in Bubi, then turned and left.
“And what did he say to you now?” Clarence asked.
“That he recognized you from your eyes. That you have the same eyes as the men in your family. They are not a common color. From a distance they look green, but if you come closer, they’re gray.” He came so close to her face that she could feel his breath. “I think he’s right. I hadn’t noticed it!”
Iniko took her hand, and they began to walk toward the veranda, where the 4x4 was parked.
“Ah! And he asked me to tell you something, a little odd, by the way . . .”
Clarence paused and looked at him impatiently.
“He asked me to tell you that if the eyes don’t provide the answer, you must look for an el?bó.”
“And what’s that?”
“A Bubi bell used in rituals and dances, like you saw in Ureca, remember? It’s rectangular, made of wood, and has several clappers.”
“Yes. And why did he say that? What does it mean?”
“I haven’t a clue. But he said that one day you might understand it. That’s the way Simón is. He says something. If you understand it, good, and if you don’t, good as well.”
Clarence stopped and turned. She could see Simón’s figure some meters away, watching them.
“Wait a second, Iniko.”
She walked over to Simón. She looked him straight in the eyes. “Please, just make a gesture with your head. I need to know something. Bisila and my father knew each other?”
Simón pursed his lips, and the corners of his mouth curved downward in obstinacy.
“Only yes or no,” she pleaded. “Did Jacobo and Bisila know each other?”
The man grunted and moved his chin toward his chest in one swift gesture. Clarence took a deep breath. Had that been a yes?
“Were they friends? Maybe . . .”
Simón raised a hand in the air to get her to keep quiet. He said some words in a bitter tone and left.
Clarence bit her lip. Her heart was beating wildly. Jacobo and Bisila knew each other.
She felt an arm weave through her own.
“Shall we go?” Iniko asked.
They started walking again, and after a few seconds, Clarence stopped again.
“Iniko . . . why do you think your mother never wanted to come back to Sampaka?”