Palm Trees in the Snow

by Luz Gabás

  She gave most of her attention to Iniko, who, to her amazement, was shaking every kilo of his muscles in front of Melania with the same grace as if he were made of feathers. His shoulders, slightly hunched, and his hips swung, following the rhythm as if it flowed through the tips of his fingers and toes. Now and again, he closed his eyes and smiled. The music changed. Melania returned to the table, but he stayed out on the floor.

  Clarence could not take her eyes off him as Iniko turned and hit her with a defiant stare. He raised his hand and signaled her to come up onto the dance floor. She waved at him to reject his offer. It was obvious that her comments in Bisila’s house were without foundation. Iniko shrugged and continued dancing more suggestively than ever. Clarence suddenly regretted not accepting the challenge. She finished her drink in one gulp and strode over to him.

  Iniko smiled and copied her rigid and brusque European moves until she turned to leave. He grabbed her by the wrist and leaned down.

  “Don’t you want to learn? I’m an expert.”

  Iniko brought Clarence close, put his arm around her, and signaled for her to let him lead, to relax and loosen up, and to let her mind go blank. Wherever she looked, the mirrors that surrounded her began to reflect the exciting image of a woman surrendering to the invisible strings of a man who radiated heat.

  Clarence closed her eyes and tried to forget everything, her fears, her worries, Pasolobino and Sampaka, the reason for her trip, her past, and her future. The only thought she allowed herself was the one that repeated to her over and over again—that her body had been screaming for the closeness of a man like this for ages.

  The music stopped. Clarence opened her eyes and found Iniko’s face just a few centimeters from hers. For the first time since their meeting in Sampaka, he seemed to be looking at her with curiosity. Maybe, like her, he felt a little disoriented by their dance.

  “Happy with your student?” she finally asked.

  “Not bad,” he replied. “But it’s a little early to make an assessment.”

  I wouldn’t mind repeating the exam one bit, she thought.

  “It has been years since I last felt so tired!” Clarence protested, and the rest laughed.

  She had just finished dinner with her new friends in a restaurant with colored oilcloths on the tables and tiled walls that offered a curious mix of Spanish, Italian, and American food. Every afternoon, one plan or another came up that went on till the early hours.

  Clarence wondered how they could stand this pace and continue working. The attractive but difficult Melania worked as the concierge in the Cultural Institute of French Expression; the small Rihéka had a Bubi arts stall in the Malabo market; the friendly Köpé was in charge of maintenance at the power facilities; and the athletic Börihí, who had just left, worked in the offices of a construction company.

  “The only one with a bit of common sense is Börihí,” she added. “The rest of you will end up being fired. You first, Laha. Don’t you work with dangerous materials?”

  She thought about continuing the joke when Melania pointed to something outside. Everyone turned to look.

  Several dark cars signaled the beginning of a large official cavalcade escorted by police on motorbikes. As it passed, numerous people thronged the streets to have a peek. The majority were natives, although one or two Westerners could also be spotted. On the other side of the street, a white woman began to take photos. When the cavalcade had passed, another dark car stopped in front of the woman, and two men forcibly took her camera, then pushed her against the car and searched her. From the restaurant, they saw the woman shouting and crying.

  “But what are they doing?” Clarence jumped to her feet.

  Iniko took her arm and made her sit down.

  “Are you crazy? Please just don’t say a word!” he hissed. Melania put her arm around his shoulder and stroked him.

  Clarence angrily pressed her lips together and looked at Laha.

  “No, Clarence,” he said, shaking his head. “Today nothing can be done.”

  “But … !”

  “You have heard Iniko.” His tone was hard this time. “It would be best to shut up.”

  Clarence saw with horror how the men handcuffed the woman and put her into the car and sped away.

  “And what happens to her now?” she asked in a whisper.

  No one answered.

  “How about leaving now?” Rihéka asked, with worry reflected on her round face.

  “Better not. It would be too obvious,” suggested Köpé quietly. “At the back, on the right, behind me, there are … spectators. Don’t look. Just talk normally.”

  “Do they look like antorchones?” asked Rihéka.

  “And what’s that?” Clarence asked.

  “Young spies controlled by the party,” explained Tomás.

  “I don’t think so,” said Köpé, “but just in case …”

  Tomás began to tell a stupid joke, and the others let out forced laughs. Clarence took the opportunity to glance at the strange couple at the back table. The woman was a plump old woman with a big, flaccid chest and completely white hair. She had on too much makeup and was dripping in jewels. In front of her, and with his back to Clarence, sat a thin and bony mulatto much younger than she.

  “The woman hasn’t stopped looking at us,” she said.

  “I’m not surprised,” said Melania, irritated. “A bit more and we would all have been arrested because of you.”

  “But why?” Clarence protested.

  Of all the group, Melania was the one she liked the least. She never missed the chance to have a go at Clarence. Iniko had been friendly of late, but when Melania was around and pestered him with loving gestures, he became brooding again. She looked at Laha, and he gave her a slight nod.

  “You have to be careful, Clarence,” said Laha in a friendly voice. “Here things don’t work like they do in Spain or the United States.”

  “Anyone can accuse you of being against the regime,” Tomás agreed in a low voice. “Anyone …”

  Clarence took a quick breath. For a minute she had forgotten what country she was in.

  “I’m very sorry,” she apologized.

  Köpé got up to ask for another round of the popular 33 beer. When he sat down again, he commented, “I think we can relax. Don’t you know who the woman is?”

  Tomás and Iniko both sneaked glances and smiled. “Ah, yes, the very one.”

  “Do you know her?” Clarence wanted to know.

  “Who doesn’t know Mamá Sade?” Tomás rolled his eyes.

  “No!” Laha half shut his eyes. “She’s gotten much older since the last time I saw her.”

  “I thought she didn’t leave her house anymore,” commented Melania.

  “And I thought she was dead!” Rihéka laughed.

  Clarence was dying with curiosity.

  “For us, Mamá Sade is like a ceiba,” Laha began to explain. “She’s always been there, at least from the colonial times of our childhood. Legend says that she began work as a … well, with her body. She was so beautiful that everybody fought over her. She made a lot of money and invested it in one club and then another until there was no successful nightspot in the city that was not managed by her.”

  He took a sip of his beer, and Tomás added, “And she continued making money under Macías. A mystery. They said only she knew how to please the tastes of the important men. And she hired the best girls …”

  “And the man who is with her?” Clarence asked.

  “Her son,” Köpé answered. “He now runs the business.”

  “He looks mulatto.” Clarence lifted the bottle of beer to her lips without taking her eyes off the couple.

  “He is.” Rihéka leaned forward and adopted a confidential tone. “The story goes that she fell in love with a white man who worked on the plantations. He got her pregnant and left her.” Clarence went red in the face and began to cough. Rihéka gave her some pats on the back. “After that, she didn’t want any m
ore children.”

  “I would have had dozens,” Melania commented vengefully. “That only child must have been a daily reminder of his cowardly father.”

  Clarence’s heart began beating rapidly. She almost wanted to walk over to the table to see the face of Mamá Sade’s child. Idiotic! And what would she do? Innocently ask him if his name was Fernando? Rihéka was right. Her story was probably that of many other women. Beside her, she noticed that Laha had strangled his bottle of beer with his hands. He had a frown on his face. He was the only one of the group whose skin was not completely black.

  Laha got up and said he had to relieve himself. Clarence turned again to look at the table at the back.

  “And if you think that she’s not dangerous, why is she continuing to look at us?”

  “She seems to be looking at you,” said Iniko with a teasing smile. “Maybe she’ll ask you to work for her. Mamá Sade has always had a good eye …”

  Clarence blushed. “Ha!” she answered, tilting her head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Everyone laughed except Melania, who made a face.

  “And do you know the son’s name, by any chance?” Clarence immediately regretted asking the question out loud.

  “And what does it matter to you what his name is?” Melania wanted to know, gluing her body to that of Iniko. “Ah well! That’s right! Now he’s running the business!” More laughing ensued, and Melania went on. “A white woman would give him prestige, although it appears to me that the white women aren’t as hot-blooded as us blacks.”

  Clarence struck her down with a look. Tomás, Köpé, and Iniko hid their smiles behind their bottles as Rihéka told Melania to hush.

  Iniko decided to redirect the conversation. “Clarence is interested in the names of the children born in the colonial period,” he said, leaning back in his chair and allowing his right arm to pass around the back of Melania’s body. “It’s for her studies. She publishes research papers.”

  Clarence looked at him in surprise. It seemed that Iniko had been paying more attention to her than she thought. Melania shrugged and moved closer to the man.

  Clarence was surprised by a touch of envy. A little more and you’ll be sitting on him.

  “Well, in that we will be able to help you,” said Tomás. “Now you can take out that notebook that you bring everywhere.”

  Tomás began to go over the names of all the people he knew, from their family members to neighbors and friends. The others copied him. Clarence used this brief respite to analyze why she was irritated. Was it possible that she felt … jealous? Of Melania? Over this strong man who was reserved and mistrustful? It was ridiculous. But why did she not stop giving them looks to see if Iniko responded to Melania’s attentions? To her relief, he did not. Iniko did not seem to be one of those men who expressed his feelings openly, but it was clear that if he did not move away from Melania, it was because he was happy to be beside her. Melania was very pretty, had personality, was Bubi, and lived in Bioko. The perfect combination. Clarence held back a sigh.

  “When you publish your research,” Köpé said, handing her the notebook, “you’ll have to send us a copy.”

  Clarence took a glance at the lists. In a couple of minutes, they had written down over a hundred names. She felt a little guilty for tricking them. She was not used to lying, and since she had arrived in Guinea she had not done anything else. She would never write that article. She was only interested in finding this Fernando.

  Laha came in and stood beside the table.

  “Should we go somewhere else now?” he suggested. “How about our favorite club?”

  “But you said you don’t like dancing.” Clarence laughed as they got up.

  She noticed that Mamá Sade and her son were walking toward them. She straggled behind in order to get a good look at the couple. Compared to his hefty mother, the man was thin and bony. She could finally see his face. Individually, his features were nice. He had dark almond-shaped eyes, a thin nose and lips, and a dimpled chin. But altogether, his expression was cold and slightly disagreeable. She felt a shudder.

  “Is there a problem, white woman?” The man stared at her. “Don’t you like what you see?”

  “No, sorry, I …” Someone took her arm, and Iniko said, “Shall we go, Clarence?”

  “You, Bubi! Tell your girlfriend to learn some manners,” the thin man said with disdain. Iniko tensed. “I don’t like people to look at me like that.”

  Beside him, Mamá Sade began to say in a bossy voice, “Don’t waste your time …” She looked up at Clarence, frowned, and let out a harsh, throaty sound. She pushed her son to one side and moved in front of her. Despite her age, she was still a tall woman. She raised a wrinkled hand toward the young woman’s face and, without touching it, went over her features, from her forehead to her chin. Clarence took a step backward, and Iniko pulled her toward the door.

  “Wait!” growled Mamá Sade from a toothless mouth. “I’m not going to hurt you!”

  Clarence stopped.

  Mamá Sade inspected her again, muttering incomprehensible phrases. She alternated between nodding and laughing insanely. When she was satisfied, she shook her head.

  “And so?” asked Clarence, irritated, but also intrigued by the situation.

  “You reminded me of someone.”

  “Yes? Who?” Suddenly, she regretted having asked the question with such interest. Could it be possible that the only person who remembered her father was an ex-prostitute who looked like a witch?

  “Of someone I knew a long time ago. Someone from your country. You’re Spanish, aren’t you?” Clarence nodded. “Descendant of colonists?” Clarence again nodded, but this time vaguely. “Where are you from? From the north or the south?”

  “From Madrid,” she lied.

  She was sorry for not having left the restaurant in time. She did not want to even imagine that a connection existed between this couple and her. She began to feel very hot, suffocatingly hot. She tightly held on to Iniko’s arm.

  “You must have mistaken me for someone else. I’m sorry, but we’re in a hurry. They are waiting for us.”

  Her son took her arm with a peeved look.

  “One more question!” the woman almost shouted. “What’s your father’s name?”

  “My father died many years ago.”

  “What was his name? Tell me!”

  “Alberto,” lied Clarence once again. Her sight was becoming blurred. She was on the point of having a panic attack. “His name was Alberto!”

  The woman twisted her lips. She looked at her for a few seconds more and finally bowed her head, retaining her dignified and proud bearing while waving her hand in the air in search of her son’s arm.

  Clarence breathed a sigh of relief. She rested against the table. There was still some beer left in her bottle. She took a long swig. It was warm, but she did not care. Her mouth was so dry.

  Iniko looked at her with a frown, his arms folded across his chest.

  “Where have the rest gone?” she asked.

  “They’ve gone on ahead.”

  “Thanks for waiting for me.”

  “I’m glad I did.”

  Neither of them moved.

  “Let me see if I understand,” Iniko finally said as he stroked an eyebrow. “You’re not from Pasolobino. Your father’s name is not Jacobo, and in addition, he’s dead. Who are you? An antorchona?” He gave a little smile. The bravest spy in the world. As soon as she discovers something she doesn’t like, she has a panic attack.

  “You were the ones who insisted that I be careful.”

  They left the restaurant. The moon was shining like a lighthouse amid wisps of clouds.

  “Do you know, Iniko? Here the moon is nice, but in my mountains, it’s something else.”

  “Ah! So Pasolobino does exist. Now I feel better …”

  Clarence slapped his arm. It seemed that Iniko did have a sense of humor. What a discovery.

  “And why did y
ou wait instead of Laha?” She would have preferred to ask, How is it that Melania let you out of her sight?

  “I’d like to suggest something to you.”

  What would she say to him?

  Time was running out, and Clarence was down to her last bullet: Ureca.

  How could she refuse an opportunity like that?

  And more so now, when she had abandoned nearly everything else. She had lied to those in the university, saying that her fieldwork recording oral interviews for their later analysis had her very busy. With regard to her progress in solving the family mystery, it had been reduced to casual and innocent conversations, using the recorder as an excuse, with mulattos slightly older than herself whom she interviewed until they revealed that their name was not Fernando or that their scant childhood memories of the colonial period did not have anything at all to do with Sampaka.

  On various occasions, she had bumped into men who refused to answer any questions for a white woman.

  Her eyes scanned the sea’s tranquil water. She was sitting with Laha on the terrace of the Hotel Bahía, from whose white tables and chairs they could see a huge ship anchored not far away. Laha had collected her from her hotel a little earlier that day. It would be a while yet before Iniko arrived.

  What would she say to him?

  “It seems,” said Laha in a casual manner as he stirred his coffee with his spoon, “that my brother likes you. And that’s not an easy feat.”

  Clarence could not avoid blushing.

  “It’s strange that, being brothers, you live such different lives …”

  “I always say that Iniko was born too soon. The six years between us was crucial in the island’s history. He had to put up with a law that forced everyone over the age of fifteen to work on the state plantations. All the Nigerian workers had been expelled from the island.”

  Laha suddenly stopped, confused by how attentively she was listening.

  “I suppose Iniko has already told you all this.”

  In fact, Iniko had told her a lot about the recent history of Guinea. After independence was achieved in 1968, the country suffered the worst eleven years of its history at the hands of Macías, a cruel dictator. There was no press of any type; all things Spanish were renamed; schools and hospitals were closed; cocoa production was ended; Catholicism was banned. The repressions, accusations, detentions, and deaths affected everybody—Bubis, Nigerians, Fang, Ndowé from both Corisco and the two Elobey islands, Ámbös from Annobón, and Krios—for any reason at all.