Palm Trees in the Snow

by Luz Gabás

  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?”

  “Ösé. 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 elëbó.”

  “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?”

  Iniko shrugged. “I suppose that everyone has memories they don’t want to relive,” he answered. “As Dimas said, those were very hard times.”

  Clarence nodded, deep in thought. She began to imagine a confused and impossible story based on jigsaw pieces that only partly fitted. She would have to read all the letters that were at home!

  A sudden urgency to return to Pasolobino and bombard her father with questions came over her, but when they got to Malabo, evening had fallen and this feeling had turned into one of disquiet.

  She would have given anything to go back to the beach at Moraka and the little house in Ureca.

  “Do you want to stay with me in the hotel tonight?” she asked Iniko. She did not want to be alone.

  No … It was not that exactly.

  She did not want to be without him.

  11

  The Return of Clarence

  “Why are you staring at me?” Laha half shut his eyes while taking a sip of his beer and licking his lips. “Is it because you don’t want to forget my face?”

  Clarence lowered her eyes, a little embarrassed, and he patted her on the arm.

  “I promise to find any excuse for the company to send me to Madrid. How long is it from Madrid to Pasolobino?” He looked at his watch. “Iniko is taking a long time. Where could he have gone?”

  “To Baney,” she answered in a subdued voice. “To collect Bisila.” She was not feeling very talkative that night.

  “Ah!” Laha laughed. “You know more than me then!”

  They were sitting on a terrace beside Malabo’s old port. It was a beautiful night, the most beautiful of all in her time there.

  It was as if the heavens had conspired to offer her a good-bye she could not forget.

  She looked at Tomás. She would also miss him. Rihéka, Köpé, and Börihí had left a while ago, and Melania had not come to the simple going-away party that had been prepared for Clarence, even though she was already back from Luba. Nobody made any comment about the girl’s absence, an absence that Clarence appreciated because she would not have been able to look her in the face after her trip with Iniko, knowing that it would be Melania who would enjoy him once she left the island.

  “I’m very sorry, but I have to go now,” said Tomás, getting up to go over to Clarence. “If you ever come back, you know.” He coughed and cleaned his glasses with the corner of his T-shirt. “… Call me and I’ll bring you wherever you want to go.”

  “Even to the cemetery?” she joked.

  “Even there. But I’ll wait at the gate!”

  The two of them smiled. Tomás took one of Clarence’s hands, shook it in his, and put it on his heart as the Bubis would.

  Clarence stayed standing until he was out of sight. She had to make a real effort not to burst into tears. She sat down and took a large sip of her drink.

  “I hate good-byes,” she said.

  “We
ll, the good-byes of today are nothing like before,” commented Laha, trying to cheer her up. “The Internet has gotten rid of a lot of tears.”

  “It’s not the same,” she argued, thinking of Iniko. Laha was used to traveling the world and to making use of technology; not so for his brother. She very much doubted that she would see Iniko again, unless she came back to Bioko.

  “Something is better than nothing.” Laha pushed back a lock of his curly hair.

  Clarence looked at him with certain envy. Laha exuded a contagious optimism. If only she could spend more days with him! Well … with him and his family. She did not know how to explain it, but she had the feeling that she had been very close to discovering something. She had hardly had any time to think about Simón’s words and the fact that Laha, like so many others, was also called Fernando. Neither Iniko’s impetuosity nor her disappointing advances nor even her aversion toward Mamá Sade’s son had made her forget the initial reason for her visit. And if this was her last chance to ask Laha in person about his childhood … She decided to tell him about her meetings with Simón, leaving out the discovery that Bisila knew her father.

  “Simón,” he said, puzzled. “His name sounds familiar, but I don’t know him. The truth is I know very little about Sampaka. When I was small, my grandfather used to take me there, but I’ve been there only a couple of times with Iniko since then. I already told you that my first memories were of school, here, in the city.”

  “I thought since you were born there.”

  “No. I was born in Bissappoo. My mother had gone there to spend a few days with her family in the village, and I got the urge to arrive early.”

  Clarence froze. She had assumed that both brothers had been born in Sampaka.

  “Oh …”

  Laha squinted. “It seems as if you’re disappointed …”

  “No. It’s just that I learned more about this place than I ever imagined I would, but I would have liked to have learned more about life in Sampaka when my father was there. It seems that the only one who remembers my family is Simón. And your mother,” she added, a touch reproachfully, “doesn’t like to remember her life there.”

  “I don’t know why she doesn’t, Clarence, but I’m sure that if she remembered your father, she would have said it.”

  Clarence shook her head. She had seen too many films. And in any case, if there was a grain of truth in any of it, the only way to continue would be, in addition to torturing her father with questions, for Laha to follow through on his suggestion and visit her in Spain. In Bioko, she could not do any more now.

  “A last 33?” suggested Laha, getting to his feet.

  “Yes, please.”

  The bad thing about good-byes is that you begin to miss things as trivial as a beer before you leave, she thought.

  At that moment, Iniko arrived and sat down beside her. He had a plastic bag in his hand.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said with a wink. “There was no way of getting out of that house. Here. My mother told me to give you this.”

  Clarence opened the bag and took out a round hat of cloth and cork.

  “A pith helmet?” she asked, giving the object a puzzled look. It seemed worn and had a tear on the rigid hoop.

  “She said that you’d like it because it once belonged to someone like you.” He put his hands up. “Don’t ask me, because I don’t understand either. She also repeated several times to give her best regards to where you are going, that someone will accept them.”

  “Is it a Bubi good-bye tradition or something like that?”

  “I’m not sure. My mother is often a mystery even to me.”

  Clarence put the helmet away. Soon after, Laha arrived with two beers.

  “You don’t want one?” Clarence asked.

  “I’m going now. Tomorrow I’ve to get up very early.” She noticed the lie in his voice and was grateful for his understanding. It was clear to Laha that on that final night, Iniko and Clarence did not need anyone else.

  Clarence got up to give him a big hug, and her eyes filled with tears once again; because of that, her last image of Fernando Laha, walking along the run-down promenade, where decades before the sacks of cocoa from Sampaka departed for the rest of the world, was blurred.

  The plane arrived in Madrid on time. A taxi took her to the train station. Three hours later, Clarence arrived in Zaragoza, stunned by the rapid change in scenery. In a few months, it would be even more drastic, with the introduction of the first high-speed train. She had left her car in the garage of the apartment she was renting in the city. She was tired, but in a good two hours, she could be in her village. She decided against it. She could not adjust so quickly, going from Iniko’s arms and the exuberant foliage of the island to the abrupt mountains of the valley in just a few hours. For an instant, she was jealous of the long boat journeys of the last century. The long days at sea inevitably gave the soul time to mend. It was possible to prepare for the next stage on life’s journey.

  So Clarence spent the night in Zaragoza. She needed to be alone, even if just for a few hours. Maybe things would look different in the morning.

  Lying on the bed in her apartment, her skin free of the stickiness that had accompanied her in the last few weeks, she could not get to sleep. Iniko was still beside her, on top of her, under her.

  Why had she felt attracted to him and not to Laha? Would not a relationship with someone whose life was more similar have been easier? Laha was intelligent and well mannered. He was used to traveling and dealing with different people …

  But no, she had to set her eyes on Iniko! She smiled. Probably the spirits that permeated each centimeter of the island had something to do with it. Or maybe it was just chance that had joined twin souls together. There was one point of total convergence between Iniko and her: he would never live in a place other than Bioko, and she could never live far from Pasolobino, even if the intensity of the last few days would be remembered for the rest of her life. Her eyes filled with tears. The freely accepted chains that tied them to their respective worlds could not be broken either by love or passion.

  Maybe if Iniko and she were younger, the moment of their parting at the airport, fused in a deep and silent hug, would have been more dramatic. Or maybe if both of them had been forced to separate due to circumstances beyond their control, bitterness would pursue them for the rest of their lives. However, a reasoned love, a permitted passion, and an agreed separation had forged another type of very different drama: that of resignation, even crueler, if possible, she thought as she wiped away the tears with a tissue, because it lets you go through life not letting anything really affect you.

  How she would miss that man! Iniko possessed the power of the waves of the beach of Riaba, the majesty of the tongues of foam of the waterfalls of Ilachi that fell hundreds of meters down the vertical walls of the Moka forest, the energy of the cascade in Ureca, and the ardor of a tropical storm over the plumes of the palm trees. Above all, she would miss the unyielding solidity of that guardian of the island, faithful Bubi heir of the high priest, abba möóte, at whose feet she had placed a small offering in exchange for an enormous wish.

  She was still very young. It was certain that many seeds would germinate through her life, with or without the help of the gods. But would she be brave enough when the time came to gather the fruit, or would she let the harvest spoil?

  All these recurring thoughts accompanied Clarence until, the following day, she parked the car in the outside yard of the House of Rabaltué.

  The first one to come out to greet her was her cousin. Daniela gave her a big hug and asked, “So, Clarence? Was everything as you expected? Were our parents right?”

  “Believe it or not, Daniela,” Clarence answered, “there was a lot of life outside Sampaka and the parties in Santa Isabel.”

  When she went into the house, the familiarity mingled with the unsettling certainty that the possible existence of a brother could only be answered in Pasolobino. She longed
for the island just then.

  “God knows what you’ve been eating the last few weeks!” Carmen did nothing but refill her daughter’s plate.

  “Did you eat turtle?” Daniela wanted to know. “And snake?”

  “Snake meat,” Jacobo butted in, “was very tasty and tender. The turtle soup, a feast. Wasn’t it, Kilian?”

  “Almost as good as monkey stew,” Kilian teased.

  “Clarence!” Daniela opened her big brown eyes. “Tell the truth.”

  “I mainly ate fish. And I loved the pepe-sup.”

  Jacobo and Kilian laughed.

  “I see you remember the spicy fish soup!” They nodded. “And a lot of fruit—papaya, pineapple, banana …”

  “Ah, the fried banana of Guinea!” exclaimed Jacobo. “That really was delicious! In Sampaka, we had a cook from Cameroon who prepared the best bananas.”

  Clarence nodded. That night, everyone was happy and expectant, peppering her with silly questions. Finally, Kilian adopted a serious tone to ask her how she found everything. She told them the more entertaining anecdotes and about the tourist sites that she had visited, and she summarized the curious aspects she had learned about the Bubi culture. The marvelous journey to the east of the island was whittled down to the names of the villages she had visited with—she lied—two lecturers from Malabo University.

  She left her visits to Sampaka for the end. She described how the plantation now looked and how it still continued to produce cocoa. Suddenly, she realized that it had become very silent around her. Daniela and Carmen were attentively listening. Jacobo was playing with a piece of bread and clearing his throat. And Kilian had his eyes fixed on his plate.

  Clarence understood that her story had already transported them to another place, so she decided to tell what for her was one of the highlights.

  “Do you know what struck me most during my time in Bioko? There is still someone who puts flowers on Grandfather Antón’s grave.”

  Carmen and Daniela gasped.

  Jacobo froze.

  Kilian raised his eyes and fixed them on his niece to make certain she was not lying.