Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [163]
He and Andrés joined one of the secret nationalist societies that exchanged documents, money, and information in the Alivio house, in conversations in low voices in the plazas, in the cafetines that dispensed strong coffee and news. Miguel donated part of his allowance to a fund that purchased slave infants from their owners at the baptismal font, then turned them over to their grateful parents as libertos. Miguel and Andrés didn’t tell their liberal parents about their involvement in the secret society, lest they forbid their activities as too dangerous. Members were encouraged not to change their habits in such a way as to provoke suspicion, so the young men continued to frequent Benito’s botica and listened to their elders, not sure which ones were also in the society, which ones were spies, which ones were there just to drink the aguardiente.
Reports about the outbreak of civil war in the United States had arrived through ship’s captains and periodicals smuggled onto the island. In early 1863, copies of the text of the Emancipation Proclamation arrived in Puerto Rico, but by then sanjuaneros knew something momentous had happened en el norte because large numbers of Spanish soldiers disembarked and were sent directly to the hinterlands to discourage rebellion once the nearly 42,000 slaves learned the news. Letters from business associates and family members in Cuba reported even tighter control over the nearly 370,000 slaves working in the sugar industry of that island.
One night following another debate, Andrés seemed particularly thoughtful. Miguel invited him to take his mind off his worries with a visit to the Alivio house, but in spite of the distractions with the smiling chicas, Andrés still seemed troubled as they walked home.
“Tell me, amigo, what’s bothering you so much that you wouldn’t sing along with La Chillona? You’re not yourself.”
Andrés stopped under one of the gas lamps in the plaza. Unlike Miguel, who affected poetic shoulder-length hair but was clean-shaven, Andrés cut his thick hair short but seemed unable to keep up with the luxurious growth on his face. His abundant eyebrows and thick lashes also resisted efforts to control them. They shaded his gaze so effectively that many people didn’t know his eyes were hazel.
“How long have we known each other?” Andrés asked seriously, as if he truly couldn’t remember.
“Let’s see, I’m almost seventeen, and we met when I was almost six. Eleven years at least.”
“And in all that time we’ve always told each other the truth, haven’t we?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve meant to say this before, but haven’t spoken from respect for you.”
He was so dejected that Miguel searched his mind for how he might have offended Andrés in the recent past.
Andrés continued. “You don’t speak of it, yet everyone knows that don Eugenio owns a plantation and you are, presumably, his only heir.” Miguel nodded. “But there never has been any discussion about the fate of your slaves, Miguel.”
He spoke the last sentence with more than a tinge of resentment. The emotion behind his words surprised Miguel.
“What do you mean my slaves? They’re not mine,” he stammered, and was immediately sorry because, even to himself, he sounded defensive. “What I mean is—”
“There’s no need to explain to me,” Andrés said. “But it is a matter of conscience for you. Especially if you continue to be a part of our activities.”
“I don’t own any slaves, my grandfather does. Some of the others are slaveholders. Why am I singled out?”
“You’re not being singled out. I speak for myself, to