by Luz Gabás
Kilian busied himself by leafing through a magazine on the table; on the cover appeared a blue photo of the caudillo Francisco Franco in military uniform with his wife and daughter dressed in matching mantillas over conservative dresses, celebrating the first communion of one of his granddaughters. Julia soon returned. Kilian felt comfortable in the company of his friend, who, on the one hand, seemed content in her new role as mother and, on the other, worried about the political news circulating the island. He was going to ask her how Emilio felt about having a native superior, the mayor, when they heard an alarmed woman’s voice calling insistently for Manuel. Kilian immediately jumped to his feet, and they both rushed to the front door.
“Bisila!” exclaimed Julia. “What’s wrong?”
“I need the doctor. It’s urgent.” She caught her breath. “They have brought … It’s …”
Kilian had to stop himself from taking her hands. “Calm down, Bisila,” he said in a soft voice. “Tell us what happened.”
“Father Rafael has brought a badly injured man for Doctor Manuel. He can barely talk. He just repeats he’s a friend of your father’s.”
“Of my father?” said Julia in surprise. “Manuel is in the city, I don’t know when he’ll be back. Bring me to him.”
“I’ll go with you,” Kilian offered.
Julia gratefully accepted.
They crossed the small yard that separated the house from the hospital as quickly as they could. When they went up the stairs, Father Rafael came out to meet them. Kilian found him aged. He had lost hair and walked with difficulty. His white suit was stained with blood.
“What happened, Father?” Julia asked, alarmed.
“I was coming back from the city when I found the poor man on the side of the road. As best as I could, I got him into the car, intending to go back to the hospital in the city, but the unhappy soul constantly repeated the names of Doctor Manuel from Sampaka and Emilio. He wouldn’t let my hand go, that’s why I sent Bisila to look for Manuel.”
“He’s gone to the city. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
“Oh, child. I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing bringing him here, but he insisted. I’ve managed to get out of him that his name is Gustavo.”
“Gustavo!” exclaimed Julia, upset. “Oh my God!”
Kilian remembered the argument in the casino.
“He was detained a few months ago and taken to Black Beach.” Julia turned to the priest. “Thank you, Father. All I ask is you don’t say a word to Mr. Garuz. He wouldn’t like to know that we are looking after someone from outside the plantation.”
“I’m sorry I can’t stay any longer. I have mass to celebrate in Zaragoza. If you think it necessary, when the moment comes, send someone to fetch me.”
“Yes … Another favor, Father. When leaving the plantation, tell Yeremías that he or Waldo should tell Dimas that Gustavo is here. They know how to find him.”
Seconds later, they entered the main ward, a large room with a dozen beds laid out in two rows, which was almost empty. They had placed the man in one of the beds at the far end, separated by a thin white curtain that was tied back against the wall. From a few paces away, Kilian and Julia understood the seriousness of the situation. Gustavo’s body was a shredded mass of bloodied clothes. Julia covered her mouth with her hand to hold back a sob. Gustavo’s face was completely disfigured from the blackened swelling of the bruises. Whoever had done this had the perverse idea of placing his big square glasses, with the lenses broken, back on his nose to give him an even more grotesque appearance.
With her eyes filled with tears, Julia bent down to his ear. “Gustavo, can you hear me? I’m Emilio’s daughter.”
The man let out a moan.
“Don’t worry. We’ll look after you here. You’ll get better, I promise.” She stood back up and murmured between her teeth, “And Manuel in the city!”
Bisila came over.
“First we’ll take off his clothes to wash and disinfect the wounds … If you wouldn’t mind, you could sit beside him and talk to him to keep him calm.”
During the whole process, Julia avoided looking directly at Gustavo’s lacerated body. Kilian noticed that she grew pale. That man had received the most awful beating. On more than one occasion, Kilian had to make a serious effort to stop himself from retching. In front of them, Bisila cleaned the wounds with an exquisite gentleness. Kilian marveled at her composure. She alternated her ministrations with expressions in Bubi that appeared to comfort the injured man, who tried to smile.
“I wish I knew your language,” murmured Kilian, leaning toward her. “You must have said something very special for someone in his state to smile.”
Bisila raised her sparkling eyes toward him. “I told him that he is so ugly that the spirits won’t want him, and when I finish fixing him up, he’ll feel so well that then it will be him who won’t want to go.”
“Do you think he can be saved?”
“It will take him time to recover, but I don’t see any life-threatening wound.”
“Who did this to you, Gustavo?” whispered Julia.
“The ones who turn up like this,” Bisila commented, “thrown at the side of the road like dogs, are normally penal prisoners.”
“You couldn’t be satisfied with your job as a teacher?” Julia asked, and Gustavo let out a grunt. “Well, if you survive this, I don’t think you’ll want to continue with your liberation crusade.”
“How could this have happened to him?” Kilian asked. “He’s now a Spanish citizen.”
Bisila snorted, and Kilian looked at her, perplexed.
“How are we meant to understand if those in Spain can’t agree about it either?” Julia said. “According to my father, the Spanish government is divided. On the one side, there are the moderates, who, like the foreign minister Castiella, think that we should favor a gradual path toward independence for the provinces. And on the other side, there are those who think like the minister to the presidency, Carrero Blanco, who is in favor of a tough colonial policy and tight control of local indigenous leaders.”
“I’m afraid our governor is of the same opinion,” Bisila commented ironically.
“Mistress!” Oba’s voice resounded from the other end of the ward. “Are you there? I have to go now.”
Julia stood up. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to continue without me.”
Kilian and Bisila remained in silence for several minutes after Julia left. Gustavo was in a deep sleep thanks to the tranquilizers the nurse had given him. For the first time in their lives, Kilian and Bisila were alone, and neither one of them really knew what to say. Gustavo’s body was finally clean of blood. The only thing left was to stitch some deep cuts in one leg. Kilian’s presence was no longer necessary. But he had not gotten up to go, and she had not suggested it. For a good long while, they enjoyed each other’s company in silence, as they had done that day when she extracted the chigger.
“You’ve done an excellent job,” he said finally when she cut the thread of the last suture stitch. “I’m in awe.”
“You were also a great help.” Bisila stood and stretched her back.
“Anyone would have done the same.”
“No,” she said firmly. “Not anyone.”
Kilian felt a little guilty. To what point had his answer been honest? If instead of Bisila, another person had been in charge of looking after Gustavo, would he have been so helpful? Despite the seriousness of the situation, he had enjoyed each gesture, look, and breath she had made.
“Now we’ll let him rest,” said Bisila. “Until the doctor comes, I’ll watch over him. Come, let’s go and wash ourselves.” She pointed to his hands. “You can’t go back to the dryers like that. You look like a butcher.”
Bisila guided him to a small washroom beside the infirmary, where there were two basins. They washed their hands, faces, and necks. When they were finished, she took a towel, dampened a corner, and brought it to his face.
�
��There are still a couple of spots.”
Kilian closed his eyes and squeezed his fists together to resist the temptation of putting his arms around her waist and drawing her to him. He was certain that she wouldn’t stop him, because she was taking longer than necessary in removing whatever had been on his face. A small voice inside him reminded him that Bisila was married to another man with whom she had a child. But his attraction to her went beyond all common sense.
“That’s it,” she said, with her faltering breathing only a few centimeters from his chest. “But you’ll have to put on another shirt.”
“Bisila! Are you there?”
She gave a start. “Yes, Doctor,” she said out loud. “Beside the infirmary.”
She took the towel and made as if she were finishing drying her hands while going out to meet Manuel, followed by Kilian.
Manuel approached, accompanied by a sturdy man with very marked features. Two deep wrinkles scored his cheeks.
“Hello, Kilian.” Manuel shook his hand. “Julia just told me everything. Thanks very much for helping Bisila.”
“I’m happy to have been of help.”
“This is Gustavo’s brother. His name is Dimas. He works as a foreman on the Constancia plantation, just beside us.”
“How is he?” the man asked.
“He’s asleep now,” answered Bisila. “I think everything will be all right.”
Dimas blessed himself.
“Good, let’s go and see him,” said Manuel.
Kilian waited behind. Bisila turned around and gave him an intense look of good-bye. He made a slight movement with his head and left with his heart beating excitedly.
Bisila approached the dryers, looking for her father, the perfect excuse to see Kilian. The desire to meet him again made her pulse quicken.
It was always like this, for the last … how many? Five years?
No, her first sight of Kilian did not go back to her wedding day, when she was fifteen and he had asked her why she looked so sad. The answer was very simple. She did not love Mosi. But Kilian was a white man and, therefore, unattainable. That this white man would lower himself to even congratulate her on her wedding day, and that he could read in her eyes that she was not happy, was more than she could ever have imagined the first few times he had come to her village with José.
From a distance, an adolescent Bisila had observed him so attentively that she had learned all his features and gestures by heart. Kilian was young, tall, and well built. He had dark hair with light-copper streaks, always worn short and combed back, and a pair of expressive green eyes that were often half shut because he smiled so much. His smile was honest and sincere, the same as his eyes. His hands, big and accustomed to hard work, danced in the air each time he told a story, but very often he crossed them under his chin to hold his head up. Then his look became dreamy, and Bisila thought she noticed that Kilian’s spirit transported him to his own world, establishing a silent dialogue between his two homes.
Despite her youth, Bisila was fully conscious that she would never know Kilian’s world. Probably, they would never even speak to each other. He was a young, handsome white man who had come to Fernando Po to make money and who, one day, would return home to raise his own family. She was a black teenage girl from an African tribe on a small island. Her life was decided for her when she was born. No matter how hard she studied, nothing would save her from marriage and bearing children. With a little bit of luck, she would be able to get work in something that had nothing to do with the land, and that idea partially consoled her. She had managed to maintain her illusion in secret, well hidden under layers of conformity and renouncement.
But that was a long time ago. Things had changed. Thanks to her marriage to Mosi and her work in the hospital, she could live on Sampaka and be close to him. For a long time, the vision of Kilian on the plantation, even if he did not pay her any attention, had been enough for her to get up every morning and go to her work in the hospital and return at night to the bed she shared with an insatiable Mosi. She even had been fortunate enough to hold Kilian’s hand after his father died. The memories of that caress and the minutes during which she held his foot when he came looking for her to extract the chigger had accompanied her every night of his vacation at home and had prevented her from sinking into despair at the thought that she might never see him again.
How distant those sad days now seemed! She remembered how during the first weeks of his absence, she had to make a huge effort not to submit to the idea that it had been nothing but a childish dream and that she had to continue with her life and do what was expected of a wife who had been lucky enough to marry a good man. Mosi did not complain about the hours she spent outside the home. He supported her in her work. He wished only that Bisila would give him a son. She had contrived, thanks to her knowledge of traditional medicine, to delay that moment as long as she could. In her heart of hearts, she feared that a son would join her to Mosi forever.
But the months passed, Kilian did not return, and Mosi began to lose hope of becoming a father. Bisila finally decided to let nature take its course, continue with her real life, and relegate her fantasy to her nights of insomnia. Thanks to the spirits, being pregnant with Iniko had acted as a balm for her state of mind, and his birth had given her a peace and happiness that she had believed impossible at her twenty years.
This superficial calm had threatened to become a storm when Kilian appeared at Iniko’s christening and learned her name. Since then, several weeks ago, it was rare that they did not bump into each other in the plantation yard.
Bisila was now convinced that it was not just her imagination. Kilian shared in her feelings.
The path from where the Europeans lived to the dryers did not go near the hospital. That could only mean that Kilian changed his normal route to see her. And he had increased the frequency of his visits to the infirmary, always complaining of some pain or other. Bisila had finally figured out that Kilian’s injuries were imaginary, an excuse for her to touch him, take his temperature, and look after him and, what both most desired, to listen to each other.
Once again, Bisila silently gave thanks to the spirits for those brief, happy encounters. They filled her days with smiles, accelerated heartbeats, and trembling knees. When she arrived home at night, she had to pretend to be tired after her day at work. That lie, together with the effort of raising a child—who she really only saw at night—managed to keep Mosi away when she got into bed. Then she closed her eyes and slept, counting the minutes left for a new day, when dusk gave the dryers a golden hue as she waited to meet her beloved.
Bisila greeted her father, José, and Simón, but she did not see Kilian and did not ask for him either. She prowled around for a few minutes, pretending to stretch her legs and showing a feigned interest in the quality of the beans before claiming she had to get back to work.
She decided to walk past the main house in a final attempt to meet up with Kilian, and suddenly stopped dead.
Sade was going up the stairs to the employee rooms. She was wearing a tight turquoise chiffon dress with matching high-heeled sandals, and her long hair was tied up in a high ponytail. Two men passing turned to say something, and she smiled flirtatiously while continuing her undulating walk to the upper balcony. Once there, on turning right, she noticed the woman looking at her from below and found her face familiar.
Bisila waited a few seconds, chest tight.
Sade stopped in front of Kilian’s room, knocked on the door, waited for him to open it, and went in.
Bisila hung her head and exhaled all the air in her lungs. Her face was burning, and her eyes filled with tears. In an instant, she had gone from euphoria to disappointment. She would have to make do with her fantasies. She began walking briskly to the Obsay yard. What did she expect? She was a married woman and he a single man. He had every right to enjoy himself with a woman. He had been with Sade for years. Why would he not keep seeing her? For a few laughs and a couple of nice conv
ersations with a married nurse? Was it not true she also pleasured her husband?
Night fell before Bisila could get home. At the doors to the barracks, several women lit oil lamps that splashed the shadows with flickering tongues of light. She heard some shouts and recognized Iniko’s cries. She quickened her step, her thoughts centered on her baby. When she entered her small house, he was calmer. Mosi smiled at her and handed her over her son. Bisila sat down and cradled him in her arms, whispering words in Bubi to him. Outside, some drums could be heard, and Mosi opened the door. Several neighbors were out on the street with bottles and glasses to liven up the party. There was seldom an afternoon when some short dance was not held at the end of the workday. Any excuse would do: a birthday, a wedding announcement, a pregnancy, a farewell. Lately those meetings led to a political discussion. The Nigerians were worried about the future of Fernando Po, as their work depended on it.
Bisila watched them. Like her, all her neighbors had desires, dreams, and secrets. Ekon came over, raised a glass toward Mosi, who nodded. Lialia, Ekon’s wife, waved to Bisila, then came in and sat down for a while beside her.
“Iniko is very well behaved,” said Lialia in Spanish with a heavy Nigerian accent as she petted the baby’s head with her chubby hand.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you. He spends more time with you than with me.”
“I don’t mind. You have a good job. You also look after us.” She leaned toward Bisila. “You look tired …”
“Today was a hard day.”
“Here, all the days are hard, Bisila.”
The music of the drums got louder. They went outside. Mosi put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and drew her toward him. Bisila closed her eyes and lost herself in the rhythm of the hollow wood. That day’s beats would repeat their rhythm the following day, rebounding against the small gray-walled cement barracks laid out, one after the other, to house families like hers.
That was the world she belonged to. She was not anybody special. Everyone worked to keep their families going. The Nigerians dreamed of returning home one day, and she and Mosi of having a small house in the city. Meanwhile, they patiently occupied their place in the barracks while the children enjoyed their childish pranks in the dusty street they considered their home, as happy as they would be anywhere else.