Palm Trees in the Snow

by Luz Gabás

  Jacobo would never have imagined Kilian falling in love with a black woman. For him, native women were for enjoyment, not love. Even if he found out that his brother was smitten, he would strongly insist that the affair did not have any future. It was just a question of time before they left. Jacobo did not know of any white man who had taken his black mistress to Spain.

  Kilian closed his eyes and let the African songs, the smell of the food, and the taste of the palm wine take control of his senses.

  There would be other hard days of work and decision making, but at that moment, he was in Africa sharing some days of festivity with good friends.

  At that moment, he had Bisila beside him. He needed nothing else.

  It was very dark when Kilian retired to the cabin that they had prepared for the only white man at the party, one that continued on with intensity. He had decided to disappear before the drink left him out for the count, and after Bisila, tired, had said good night to all. When she was gone, a terrible feeling of loneliness came over him. He had been tempted to drown his sorrow in topé. Fortunately, common sense had come to his rescue. He wanted all his senses, if even the possibility existed that something more than flirting might happen with Bisila.

  On crossing the threshold, he felt a sharp pain in his right foot. He looked down and saw that he had cut himself on something. Blood began to flow from the wound. He went in to look for a piece of cloth to cover his foot. The sight of his own blood made him feel dizzy and somewhat light-headed.

  The door opened, and to his relief, he saw it was Bisila.

  A gasp of admiration escaped his throat.

  She had taken off her European clothes and dressed up in shells and glass beads like the other Bubi women. Her body shone from the reddish and ochre oils she had painted herself with. They had to be special, thought Kilian, because they did not smell like the typical ntola ointments. She was wearing a colored garment around her body, which stuck to her like a second skin.

  Bisila felt the pleasant heat of Kilian’s intense gaze, but she saw the wound and knelt down to get a closer look.

  “What happened to you?” she asked as she gently took his foot in her hands. “I always end up kneeling before you,” she joked.

  Kilian smiled. “I stepped on something.”

  Bisila dampened a piece of cloth in a bowl of water and washed the wound carefully.

  “You’ve got a palm shoot stuck in you.”

  Kilian opened his eyes, surprised. “You mean to say there is a palm tree growing right in the middle of the door?”

  “At our doors, we place Achatina shells with holes in them, through which we put palm shoots.”

  “And why do you do that?”

  Bisila answered without lifting her eyes from the bandage she was applying. “To protect us from the devil. When he touches one of those shells with his claws, he immediately retreats.”

  Kilian put his head back and gave a hearty laugh. “Well, Satan must have very delicate feet.”

  Bisila tugged the bandage tight. “Careful, Kilian. You shouldn’t joke about these things. And it only took a weak shoot to knock you down …”

  Kilian sat up and looked her straight in the eye. “I didn’t mean to laugh. In Pasolobino there are also people who still use goats’ feet or birds of prey to ward off the evil spirits and witches.”

  In silence, Bisila lit the fire in the middle of the house, extended the thick matting on top of the deerskins that were on the floor, and hung the mosquito net round the full length of the improvised bed.

  Then, fixing her eyes on Kilian, she allowed the wrap covering her body to slide to the floor, turned around, lay on the matting, and stretched out her arm, inviting Kilian to come to her.

  Kilian got up without taking his eyes from Bisila’s body.

  She looked much more beautiful than he had ever imagined. Motherhood had given her breasts a fullness well hidden by the blouses she normally wore. His heart began beating strongly. He lay down beside her and put out his left arm like a pillow so that Bisila could snuggle up beside him.

  Kilian slipped his right hand along her side till he reached her waist, stopping at her hips and returning his hand to her stomach then to her breast. He wanted to make sure that Bisila was really in his arms. Her skin was soft and smooth. Mystifyingly, he felt nervous. He was experienced with women, but Bisila was special.

  When she smiled, he forgot everything.

  Bisila inhaled the scent of him. She wanted to steep herself with his musk. She felt her heart beat differently, joyful and expectant. They were, at last, alone.

  The future did not matter.

  Mosi did not matter.

  “We are finally together, the cocoa and the snow,” said Kilian hoarsely. “You’ve no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this moment.”

  Bisila raised her head and looked at him with her enormous eyes. “Me too. Let me honor you tonight like a real chief. My body is not virgin, but my heart is. I give myself to you.”

  Kilian was moved by Bisila’s words. He bent down his head and placed his mouth on her full lips.

  “Tonight you will be my queen,” he murmured. “You will be my waíríbo, the guardian of my spirit.”

  Their two bodies fit perfectly together, the predestined outcome after a long wait of stolen looks, words, fleeting kisses, and hopeful caresses. They could finally feel the heat and refreshing dampness of the deepest breath in every pore of their bodies.

  Both had been with others, but they had never entrusted their souls to anyone.

  Now they did.

  A good while later, they could still hear songs, no longer so intense. Kilian assumed that most had gone to bed in order to be rested for the following day’s festivities. Soon Bisila would have to return to her cabin to avoid raising suspicions.

  Kilian lay on Bisila’s lower belly, his head rested between her breasts. She stroked his hair and, every now and then, placed her lips on his forehead. He felt he was in heaven, although he could not get a worrying thought out of his mind.

  “It’s unfair that we have to hide,” he said in a sleepy voice.

  “We’ll have to be even more careful now,” she said, sitting up. “I’m an adulterer.”

  The word fell like a ton of cocoa sacks on both of them. Bisila belonged to Mosi. And there was no solution to that. If anyone were to find out, Bisila would be severely punished. It was a risk she had decided to take, but she would always be the one to lose.

  “In that way, there is not much difference between your country and mine,” Kilian admitted. “A man can have several women, but if a woman is unfaithful, only hell awaits her, in every sense.”

  “When I was small, to frighten us, they told us that women adulterers were hung from a tree with rocks tied to their feet, or that their hands were cut off, or even that they were buried alive with just their head exposed for the vermin to eat them.”

  Kilian shuddered.

  “However, according to Bubi tradition, if a woman is widowed and fulfills the mourning rituals, then she can have all the men she wants, though she can’t marry again.”

  Kilian could not help smiling. “If you were my wife, I wouldn’t want to share you with anyone.”

  Bisila slid her hands over Kilian’s chest and rested them on his heart.

  “We will have to be very careful,” she murmured. “It will be our secret. We can’t hope for more. But this is more than I ever dreamed of.”

  Kilian took her hands in his and brought them to his lips.

  “I still hope for more, my sweet waíríbo, my guardian,” he whispered.

  Bisila moaned. The night had engulfed all sounds. She should go. She carefully moved Kilian’s head away and picked up her colored dress. She got onto her knees and wrapped it round her. Kilian lay on his side, resting on his elbow. He did not stop looking at her and caressing her thighs. Bisila halted his movements with her hands, leaned down to kiss him once more, and stood up.

  Before creeping a
way, she turned to look at him one last time. “Whatever happens, Kilian, I won’t forget this night.” A breath of fresh air wafted through the room, carrying her words as she left. “I’ll always be with you.”

  Weeks later, Bisila closed the door to Kilian’s room carefully so as not to make any noise; she made certain that her dress was well buttoned and walked along the corridor, lost in thought. She turned left, toward the stairs, and stopped dead. Had she heard a voice?

  She withdrew a few steps, pressed her body against the wall, and listened closely.

  Nothing. She must have imagined it. The moon’s position showed it was later than other nights. On weekdays, all the employees were asleep at this time. She went down the steps, hanging on to the railing to soften the sound of her steps, as if that would be much help if she met anybody. Her heart began beating strongly. She knew it was a risk to go to Kilian’s room, but what other option did she have?

  Since the naming ceremony, she and Kilian had secretly continued to see each other. He came around to the hospital, pretending to collect medicine, take his blood pressure, or visit a sick laborer just when she was finishing her shift. They made love hastily, barely speaking, in a small storeroom.

  But both preferred the nights when, taking advantage of her late shift, Bisila came to Kilian’s room in the darkness. And precisely for that reason, she had asked for more night shifts, something Mosi readily accepted because it paid better. Bisila and Kilian could share his bed, talking in whispers, and enjoy themselves with less fear of being discovered.

  Bisila got to the bottom of the stairs, then crossed the white-columned porch and walked along the wall, looking to her right and directly ahead to make sure that the main yard was empty. There was not a soul in sight. Suddenly, a door opened and hit her so hard that she staggered. She let out a yelp and raised her hands to her face.

  “By all that is holy! But where are you coming from at this time of night, girl?” Lorenzo Garuz could guess the answer. He was not very pleased when the employees allowed their girlfriends to visit, but after so many years, he had learned it was better not to talk about the subject.

  “Bisila!” José approached and looked at her face. “Have you hurt yourself? It’s my daughter,” he explained to Garuz. “She works as a nurse for Doctor Manuel.”

  The manager peered at her.

  “And what are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

  Bisila swallowed. Two more men came out of the room, and she recognized Jacobo and Mateo. José’s face went from worry to curiosity. Her legs began to shake. She took a deep breath and answered as calmly as possible. “They sent me a message that Simón wasn’t well, not even enough to walk to the hospital.” She paused and silently thanked the cloud that had covered the moon and left them in almost total darkness. That way they would not see the lie reflected in her eyes.

  “Simón?” asked Jacobo. “I saw him at dinnertime. He looked as well as ever.”

  “He could not stop vomiting. Something must have disagreed with him. But I think he will be all right by tomorrow. These indigestions only last a few hours. If you don’t mind, I should get back to work.” Bisila gave her father an enchanting smile. “Good night, Dad.”

  The cloud moved away from the moon, which once again shone on Bisila. Garuz and Mateo were struck by the unusual beauty of José’s daughter; Jacobo remembered it was she who had stitched his hand. José continued to frown. Was it his imagination, or did his daughter lately radiate a glowing happiness? Not even after Iniko’s birth had he seen her so dazzling …

  Bisila continued her journey with a quick step. For a few seconds, she had been afraid that Simón would be the next to appear behind Jacobo and Mateo. Fortunately for her, it had not happened. Before going to bed, she would find him and ask him to lie if anyone asked. Simón would do that for her and much more. They had been friends since childhood. She sighed as her spirits revived and the memories of her meeting with Kilian came back to her.

  José remained thinking. Had his daughter gone to treat a sick person without her small medical kit?

  The following morning, José was the first to see Simón, long before Bisila could get to him.

  “How is your stomach?” he asked directly.

  “My stomach?” Simón asked in surprise.

  José sighed. “If anyone asks, tell them you’re over your indigestion thanks to Bisila, right?”

  “Can I ask why? You know I would do anything for you and Bisila, but …”

  José rolled his eyes. What strange reasons moved the spirits? Perhaps they had gone crazy. Was it not enough he was worried about the future of his own family? Why add another worry? Had he not carried out all his obligations? The world was becoming a very complicated place.

  “I’m not telling you anything more,” he muttered.

  One person suspected; that was more than enough.

  “I think Ösé knows about us.”

  Kilian finished his cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray on the small table. Bisila lay on her side, resting on her arm. She looked up and said without the slightest sign of worry, “Has he said anything to you?”

  “It’s his”—Kilian hesitated—“silence. We don’t see or talk to each other as much anymore. But he has neither asked me nor made any comment of disapproval.”

  Bisila rubbed his chest. “And that worries you?”

  Kilian weighed his words. “I’d be very upset if he thought I’d offended him.” He stroked his hair and looked at the ceiling. “And you? You’re not worried?”

  “I think, in other circumstances, he’d be pleased to have you as a son-in-law.”

  “Maybe it would be a good idea for me to go out with everyone else, I don’t know, take a trip down to the casino with Mateo and Marcial … If your father knows about us, others could know too, and that puts you in a dangerous position.”

  “He’d never say anything,” Bisila protested.

  “But there’s also Simón,” he interrupted her. “I don’t know if we can trust him. Just yesterday, he asked me cheekily what new ailment brought me to the hospital again.”

  Bisila had a fit of giggles. “And what did you say?”

  She sat astride him, bending down to caress him gently with her lips: his eyes and eyelids, his nose, his ears, his bottom lip, his mouth, and his chin, naming them in Bubi.

  “Dyokò, mö papú, mö lümbo, lö tó, möë’ë, annö, mbëlü?”

  Kilian shivered every time she whispered to him in her mother tongue.

  “It wasn’t there that hurt,” he said mischievously, turning himself to one side so she had to place herself behind him.

  Bisila continued with her caresses, sliding her hands along his back, his waist, his bottom, and his legs.

  “Attá, atté, matá, möësò?”

  Kilian lay on his back and drew her toward him.

  “No, Bisila,” he whispered. “I told him it hurt me here.”

  He brought his hand to his chest. “Ë akán’völa. In my chest.”

  Bisila gave him a wide grin. “You’ve said it very well. You’re learning!”

  Kilian returned the smile and looked at her with gleaming eyes. “Now it’s my turn,” he said, getting on top of her. “I don’t want you to forget the little you know of my language.”

  He started covering Bisila’s body with his lips.

  “Istos son els míos güells, els míos parpiellos, el mío naso, els míos llabios, la mía boca, el mío mentón … These are my eyes, my eyelids, my nose, my lips, my mouth, my chin …” He slid around behind her and caressed her back, her waist, her thighs, and her legs. “La mía esquena, la mía cintura, el mío cul, las mías camas …” He moved his hand upward and stopped on her breast. “Iste ye el mío pit.”

  Bisila took his hand in hers.

  “What a strange combination!” she said pensively. Bubi and Pasolobinese.

  Kilian began to nibble her ear. “And what’s wrong with that?” he whispered as he slid his
hand toward the inside of her thighs.

  Bisila pressed herself against his body as hard as she could. Kilian could feel the heat of her skin and the humidity that invited him to enter her.

  “Wë mòná mö vé,” said Bisila slowly, turning to lie on her back. “I think in your language it means something like, yes … un … bordegot … borche!”

  She pronounced the words slowly to make certain that Kilian understood. Kilian stopped, surprised. She learned much more quickly than he.

  “You’ve said it,” he said. “I’m a bad boy! But not half as bad as I could be …”

  He sat up, and they enjoyed each other once more.

  Later, when both of them had recovered their breath, Kilian sighed and commented, “I wish we didn’t have to hide …”

  Bisila gave a timid smile. “Kilian … in other circumstances, would you take me as your wife?”

  He looked at her intensely. His voice was hard. “What I really want is to walk with you, arm in arm in broad daylight, go dancing in Santa Isabel, and have our own house, where we would wait for the day when marriages between Spaniards and Guineans were allowed …”

  Bisila blinked, swallowed, and dared ask, “And you wouldn’t mind what they would say about you?”

  “The opinion of the whites here doesn’t worry me much, including my brother’s, who, by the way, is fed up with sleeping with black women. And the rest of my family is so far away that no matter what they said, I couldn’t hear them.” He hugged her tightly in his arms. “We belong to two different worlds, Bisila, but if you weren’t married, I can assure you everything would be different. It’s not my fault that the laws and customs are what they are.” He paused. “And would it matter to you what your family said?”

  Bisila released herself from Kilian’s arms. She sat down so he could rest his head in her lap and stroked his hair. “I would have it easier. I wouldn’t stop seeing my people. I would be with you in my own place. And my father would give his delighted consent to see me marry a man he respects, for love.”