Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [83]
The slaves’ meals were eaten outdoors, too, but not at a carved table. They sat on the ground, on stumps along the shady side of the barracks, or on the thresholds or steps to the bohíos. While older girls washed and cleaned up after supper, the adults had a chance to relax and watch the children play. Because Teo served the casona’s meals, Flora had a couple of hours until Ana rang her bell to let her know she was ready for her bath.
Flora liked Inés and José and their two boys, Efraín and Indio. They were all born in Puerto Rico, but José’s parents were both Yoruba, which explained his artistry with wood. Inés’s parents were born in Puerto Rico, but she remembered her Igbo maternal grandmother and paternal Mandinka grandfather. Both José and Inés were sold as children, never again to see their parents, sisters, and brothers. When she thought about this, Flora was glad she didn’t have children. She still had nightmares about her firstborn being flung over the side of the boat that stole her from Africa, and the bloody miscarriage of her second child after Mistress pushed her down the stairs. She felt lucky that, after she was sold to don Felipe, neither he nor any other blanco forced himself on her. Don Felipe didn’t make her marry one of his male slaves, either, because doña Benigna forbade it.
“Look how small she is, how narrow her hips,” she told her husband. “She’s likely to die giving birth, and where will I get another Pygmy?”
By the time she overheard that conversation, Flora had long decided that if this was life, she’d never deliberately bring another human being into the world.
Miguel was playing with Pepita and Indio a few paces from her. He was the only white child on the hacienda, the only healthy one, the only one wearing clothes. Until about four years old, most boys and girls were naked, their round bellies out of proportion to their skinny limbs. They were malnourished and suffered from intestinal parasites. Flora knew that half the negritos chasing each other around the batey wouldn’t live to be adolescents, their bodies unable to withstand tropical anemia, paludismo, measles, tuberculosis, tetanus, meningitis. Half the girls who reached puberty would die in childbirth or soon thereafter, and the boys who grew to manhood would die by their early forties from overwork, disease, and accidents in the fields. A few would be maimed or crippled, another one or two would commit suicide. And there was always the possibility that any of them, child or adult, could be sold for money or to settle debts.
“If they go back to the city,” Flora said, “they’ll sell us to don Luis.”
“¡Ay, no!” Inés said. “Siña Damita’s youngest son goes up to San Bernabé on errands for don Severo, and he says there isn’t a more pitiful group than the ones in their barracks.”
“Artemio says the patrones have a big house, and they’re building another one. But the workers live in a barn. Men, women, and children in one building,” José said. “At least we get our own bohíos here.”
“That man is two-face,” Flora said. “He smile and make blancos think he friend, but he cunning. He has don Ramón like this.” Flora put up her pinky and twirled it around. “I hope he don’t sell us to him.”
“He can’t,” José said. “We belong to don Severo.”
“If they sell the hacienda,” Inés said, “Severo must not scatter us.”
“He won’t,” José said. “He told us he wouldn’t.”
“You believe him?” Flora sucked her teeth. “Blancos will say anything.”
“But he usually buys families,” José said, “like Siña Damita’s. And us, and Teo and Paula …”
“He thinks if we have our families here, we won’t want to run.”
“I’d never leave you and my sons.”
“But what if,” Flora said, “Efraín or Indio try to run away?”
“Ay, let’s not talk about that,” Inés said. “Dios salve.”
Including Flora, every bozal at Hacienda los Gemelos had attempted escape, and a couple of the criollos, too. Before the patrones arrived,