Read Online Isle of Passion by Laura Restrepo - Free Book Online Page A

very faded national flag was waving rather reluctantly, as if it were laundry hung out to dry in the wind.
    The Corrigan II was anchored at a prudent distance from the dangerous reefs surrounding the isle, and passengers and crew were disembarking from flat-bottomed barges. Alicia’s first sensation on setting foot on Clipperton was one of annoyance: the land was not firm enough, and her shoes sank into the black-green, sticky guano.
    More conscious now of the nauseating vapors coming from the lagoon than of the prophetic vibrations that had jolted her a few moments before, she wrinkled her fine little nose and observed, “The whole thing smells like rotten cabbages.”
    Suddenly Ramón came out of his mesmerizing seasickness, as if the penetrating smell of cabbages had the same effect on him as did the smelling salts on those who had fainted. Keeping in mind the role he had to play, he regained his natural color, composure, and energy and, with a commanding air, greeted one by one all the members of the reception committee, including the children, with an accompanying firm hand-shake. He immediately called his men and ordered an improvised ceremony for saluting the flag. His first act as governor would be to replace the existing flag with the brand-new one embroidered by nuns.
    While the soldiers were delayed searching for it among the dozens of wooden crates they had brought ashore, the Arnauds pulled aside the young-looking officer and the strong blond man. The first was Lieutenant Secundino Angel Cardona, stationed in Clipperton for over six months and assigned as Ramón’s assistant. With six men under his command, he had come to the island before his superior in order to ready the necessary installations for the arrival of Alicia and the incoming troops.
    Cardona was a good-looking guy, his hair arranged in the fashion of a neighborhood bully. His impeccable white teeth produced an open, frank smile, and not even his slightly prominent ears nor a few pockmarks managed to detract from his handsome presence.
    The blond one was a twenty-eight-year-old German fellow, Gustav Schultz, who represented the English company exploiting the guano, the Pacific Phosphate Company Ltd. He had been established in Clipperton for four years, in charge of processing and exporting the product, and of a number of workers that fluctuated from fifteen, at best, to only two or three when business was not so good. Beneath his bushy, gruff eyebrows, his eyes looked gentle. He smiled softly, balancing on his enormous feet like on a platform, and seemed to expect the newcomer to make a speech.
    Arnaud knew that one of the reasons he had been assigned to Clipperton was his knowledge of several languages. More than for international litigation—that was the province of diplomats in Europe—he would need them for communicating with the representatives of the guano company and the supervision of their activities in the name of the Mexican government. He greeted Schultz in strained English, taking extreme care in his pronunciation.
    Schultz’s loud laughter interrupted him. Then in an incomprehensible pastiche of German, English, Italian, and Spanish, he mentioned something about palm trees and laughed again with great relish. Disconcerted, Ramón grew silent, and Lieutenant Cardona rushed to explain.
    “Do not worry, Captain, nobody understands the blond guy—none of the workers, not even his wife. He lives here surrounded by foreigners. His men are all Italians who have not learned Spanish. He has in his head such a jumble of languages that he is the Tower of Babel personified. But he works hard and keeps good company records. At least we can understand his numbers, and that way we find out what is going on. Every time you see him, he tells the story of those palm trees. He brought them himself, it seems, and then planted them over there.” Cardona pointed his index finger at a group of ten or twelve coconut palms, the only trees on the