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fields around El Cobre, and he planned to go there and try his luck. Oscar, intently observing every detail of what little Gertrudis did, was not listening. At one point, the little girl tottered over and stood in front of him, staring down at his bare feet, then she clutched her stomach and from her mouth spewed a thick liquid that befouled Oscar’s right foot. The Kortico immediately rushed to get a bucket of water and went out into the back yard. He tipped the water on to the ground and, having created a pool of mud, plunged his vomitous foot into the sludge. Malena asked what was going on. José watched, smiling to see Oscar rubbing his feet like a wild colt.
    What was going on was this: the Korticos – a tribe in which the men, despite being only four feet tall, had penises that were abnormally long and thick – believed in African gods, as did all the slaves brought from Africa. Among the most important of these was Olofi, God of Creation, lord and master of all living things, who granted man the power to create other living beings, but only with His blessing. Olofi would mark those privileged to bear children with the vomit of a child. Once this had happened, the couple were obliged to conceive within a year. Men who were not marked out were required to tie their foreskin with string in order to avoid pregnancy. According to Kortico tradition, Olofi’s will could be negated only by a ritual performed on a riverbank that involved sacrificing an animal to the god and twenty lashes with a whip made of goat hide.
    ‘Come on, Oscar, sometimes life doesn’t turn out the way we plan. There’s nothing you can do.’
    ‘No,’ said Oscar, ‘There is another way.’
    He explained to everyone how, according to tradition, the will of Olofi might be revoked. José and Betina looked into Malena’s sad eyes. It was not the best solution, but at least it offered a release from the spell, a way of circumventing the will of the African gods.
    Heads bowed, Oscar and Malena returned to their shack which was green inside and out. It had a timber floor of royal palm through which grew weeds and wild mushrooms. The cabin had a living room and one bedroom and windows that were riddled with termites. Because of the damp, the walls inside were covered in moss, turning the shack into a green and fragrant forest.
    ‘Don’t you understand, Malena, I would do anything for you, but I could never be a good father to this child. What if he were to grow up to be more miserable than me?’ Malena stroked Oscar’s head as she gazed into his eyes: his happiness mattered more to her than anything in the world and so, if having a child would be a problem, it was better not to have one. Oscar was mollified. He smiled like a baby, kissed his wife tenderly and made love to her as never before knowing that, as long as Malena was by his side, he would never be lonely.
    The following day, José went to talk to Abel Santacruz, Silvio Aquelarre and the father of the Jabao family and persuaded them to join him and Oscar working on the sugar plantations east of El Cobre. Each man chipped in two pesos for a horse and cart to make the journey there every day. They would get up at four in the morning and work eight hours a day for one peso a month. Though the pay was miserable, everyone – except Oscar – gave thanks to God that they had money to provide for their families. With one daughter growing up and another child on the way, José could ill afford the luxury of starting a revolution – something Oscar frequently suggested. Three weeks after they started working on the plantation, the five men set off as usual for the cane fields. When they got there, Oscar organised a meeting of thirty macheteros .
    ‘These white men are exploiting us, and I don’t want to go on being a slave. I have two solutions: either they give us better working conditions, or we cut the bastards’ heads off. I would be happy with either.’ José gave his friend a sidelong