Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree (21 page)

‘I’d like to have known my grandmother,' Sofia said wistfully.

Grandpa O’Dwyer sighed deeply. Not a day went by when a simple flower or the song of a bird didn’t remind him of his Emer Melody. She was everywhere he looked, and the memory of her generous, kind expression helped him stagger through yet another day without her.

‘I’d like you to have known her too,’ he gulped and his eyes misted. ‘She would have loved you, Sofia Melody.’

‘Am I like her?’

‘You don’t look like her, she looked more like yer mother. But you have her charisma and charm.’

‘You miss her, don’t you, Grandpa?’

‘I miss her. Not a moment passes when I don’t think about her. She was everything to me.’

‘Santi’s everything to me,’ she said, drawing him back to the problem at hand. ‘He’s everything to me and I’ve only just realized. I love him, Grandpa.’ ‘He’s everything to you now, but yer young.’

‘But Grandpa, I don’t want anyone but Santi. I never will.’

‘You’ll grow out of him, Sofia. You wait. Some handsome Argentine will come and sweep you off yer young feet just like yer father swept the young Anna Melody off hers all those years ago.’

‘No, he won’t. I love Santi,’ she argued emphatically.

Dermot O’ Dwyer chuckled out of the side of his mouth, puffing at the same time on his pipe. He looked into her petulant face and nodded.

‘Fair play to yer, Sofia Melody. Then wait for him. He’ll come back. He’s not going for ever, is he?’ As always, Grandpa O’Dwyer couldn’t help but humour her. There was nothing in the world that he would deny her. Not even Santiago Solanas.

‘No.’

‘Then have some patience. It’s the patient cat that catches the mouse.’

‘No it isn’t, it’s the quick cat that catches the mouse,’ she said, her face opening into a small smile.

At the beginning of March when the leaves were just beginning to curl up at the edges and the long summer holiday that had lasted from December had almost drained away like sand in an hourglass, Sofia stood at the front of Chiquita and Miguel’s house to say goodbye to Santi. In the lengthening shadows of the humid summer evening she remembered what Grandpa O’Dwyer had told her. Like a patient cat she would wait for him. She wouldn’t look at another boy. She would remain loyal to him for ever.

The last few weeks of the holiday had been hard for Sofia. She had to dissemble when her impulses caused her face to flush and her hands to sweat whenever she was in the presence of Santi. She had to bite her tongue when she found the words ‘I love you’ balancing precariously on the end of it, ready to spill out in a moment of thoughtlessness. She had to hide her feelings from the rest of the family when she wanted to cry openly in the face of the void that would be left once he had gone.

Santi took care not to talk about his adventure when he was with her; he didn’t want to reduce her once more to tears. He had been touched by her

unrestrained display of affection. He felt proud like a hero of war departing for another battle while his womenfolk howl and tear their hair out for him. He knew he wouldn’t miss her. Of course he would write to her, she was like an adoring little sister and he would write to his mother and Maria as well. But America awaited him with the promise of adventures and long-legged women of easy virtue. He couldn’t wait to taste America. Besides, Sofia would be there when he got back.

At last Santi strode out of the house with Antonio following behind with his bags. He embraced a tearful Maria and shook hands with Fernando who was secretly pleased to see him go. Fernando watched his brother’s departure with relish. Everyone loved Santi. He was good at everything, charmed everyone, made people laugh - he sailed through life with the ease and grace of a sleek ship while Fernando felt more like a tug-boat. He had to work hard and in spite of his efforts achieved little. Hence the older he got the less he tried. Yes, he was not sorry to see his brother go. He was positively delighted. Without Santi around to eclipse him, perhaps he might feel the sun on his face for a change. Panchito sat in the arms of old Encarnacion, too young to understand or care. When Santi hugged Sofia he promised her again that he would write.

‘You’re not still angry with me, are you?’ he asked, grinning at her fondly.

‘Yes. But I’ll forgive you when you come back,’ she replied and swallowed back her tears. He had no idea how he moved her. He was oblivious to her stomach that lurched when he touched her, to her heart that skipped when he smiled at her, to her blood that swam in her cheeks when he kissed her. To Santi, Sofia was a little sister. To Sofia, Santi was everything and now he was going there was barely any point in breathing. She only breathed because she had no choice. Like Grandpa O’Dwyer had said, she’d live because she had to.

Miguel and Chiquita climbed into the car and shouted to Santi to hurry. They were running late. He waved at them all from the back seat. Fernando retreated into the house. Maria and Sofia stood watching the car until it had long disappeared out of sight.

The next few days passed by very slowly. Sofia mooched around in a sulk that not even Grandpa O’Dwyer’s dry humour could alleviate. Maria followed her like a happy dog, her cheery smile and jolly jokes serving only to irritate the lonely heart of her friend who wanted to be left alone to mourn. The holidays were drawing to a close and with them the long summer days and all that went with them. Finally Maria decided she had had enough of her cousin’s

grouchiness.

‘For goodness’ sake, Sofia, snap out of it,’ she said when her cousin had refused to play tennis with her.

‘Snap out of what, Maria?’

‘Moping around like someone’s died.’

‘I’m sad, that’s all. Aren’t I allowed to be sad?’ she asked sarcastically.

‘He’s only your cousin. You’re acting like you’re in love with him.’

‘I am in love with him,’ Sofia replied shamelessly. ‘And I don’t care who knows it.’

Maria was shocked. ‘He’s your first cousin, Sofia. You can’t love your first cousin.’

‘Well, I do. Got a problem with it?’ she asked challengingly.

Maria sat in silence for a moment. Overcome with a jealousy she couldn’t recognize, she jumped to her feet and shouted at Sofia: ‘You should grow up! You’re too big for childish crushes. Anyhow, Santi isn’t in love with you. If he was he would never have fancied Eva, would he? Can’t you see that you’re making a fool of yourself? It’s scandalous to be in love with a member of your own family. Incest. That’s what they call it - incest,’ she said angrily.

‘Incest is brother and sister. He’s my cousin,’ retorted Sofia crossly. ‘Well, you obviously don’t want to be my friend any more!’

Maria watched helplessly as her cousin stormed out of the room, slamming the door so loudly behind her that the painting to the right of it fell to the floor and broke into small pieces.

Maria dissolved into angry tears. How could Sofia be in love with Santi? He was her
cousin.
It just wasn’t right. She sat and thought about it, turning it over and over in her mind, trying to make sense of her own feelings of jealousy and isolation. They had always been three, now suddenly, in a word, they were two and there was no room for Maria.

Back in Buenos Aires for the start of the school term, Sofia still refused to speak to Maria. They sat in the car in icy silence while Jacinto drove them to school and Sofia made sure she didn’t even look at her cousin during class. Maria had had fights with Sofia before, all of which she had lost. Somehow Sofia was able to sustain a feud longer than was normally possible between such close friends. She had a talent for being able to switch off her emotions when it suited her, and appeared to thrive on the drama. She deliberately avoided Maria during the breaks, laughed loudly with her friends and shot her cousin mean stares.

Maria was determined not to weaken. After all, she hadn’t started the fight. Sofia had baited her. She wasn’t going to let her get away with it. For the first few days she tried hard to ignore her. At night she quietly cried herself to sleep, unable to fully understand her pain. But during the day she discreetly went about her work while Sofia managed to get all the other girls to avoid her too. She had a compelling charisma that drew people to her. Once their classmates learnt of the fight they all scuttled over to Sofia’s side of the room like frightened rabbits.

After a week Maria couldn’t bear the frost any longer. She felt miserable and alone. She buried her pride and wrote a note to her friend:
Sofia, please let's be friends again.
Sofia perversely enjoyed making her cousin suffer. And she was most certainly suffering. When she received no reply, Maria wrote another note:
Sofa, I’m sorry. I should never have said the things I did. I was wrong and I apologize. Please let’s befriends.
¹

Sofia, who was rather enjoying the attention, turned the note over and over, deciding what to do next. Finally, when Maria broke down in tears in the

history class she realized she had gone too far. Sofia found her in the break crying on the steps. Sitting down beside her she said, ‘I don’t love Santi any more.’ She didn’t want Maria sneaking on her to anyone. Maria’s tearstained face smiled at her gratefully and said that it wouldn’t matter if she did.

Buenos Aires,
1958

Soledad heard Sofia crying and hurried to her room. Gathering the two-year-old child into her arms she held her sobbing body against her breasts and talked to her reassuringly. ‘It’s only a bad dream, my sweet,’ she said and Sofia responded by clinging on to her with her hot arms and legs. Soledad looked closely at the child’s plump olive skin and hazelnut eyes and noticed how thick her dark lashes were as they glistened with tears. ‘You’re a real beauty, aren’t you? Even when you’re crying,’ she said, and kissed her damp cheek.

Anna only seemed interested in her daughter when she was asleep. As a small baby she had been unable to tolerate her plaintive cries, sending her back to Soledad whenever she did so much as whimper. Paco, who had never taken much interest in his sons as small children, could scarcely take his eyes off her. He would run upstairs the moment he returned from work to say goodnight or to read her a bedtime story. Sofia would sit on his knee, work her body into his until it was comfortably curled against him, then rest her head against his chest and suck her thumb. Soledad was astounded. Senor Paco didn’t

seem the type to be sweet with small children. But Sofia wasn’t just any child. She was his little girl and at two years old she had already ensnared him in her web of charm.

Soledad enjoyed her weeks in Buenos Aires. Having been brought up in the countryside the city was new and exciting for her. Not that she went out much. She was too busy looking after Sofia. But she would sometimes go to the shops leaving Loreto, the maid who lived in the apartment, to care for the child while she was out. Paco had asked Soledad to spend some time in the city with Sofia, who had taken to crying out for her in the middle of the night. ‘She needs you, Soledad,’ he had said. ‘And so do we. It upsets us to see her distressed.’ Of course Soledad had accepted immediately, even though that meant leaving Antonio sometimes for a whole week at a time. Still, she always returned with the family at the weekends to continue her job as normal. ‘Do you want to sleep in my bed?’ she asked the sleepy child. Sofia nodded before resting her head against Soledad’s heavy bosom and closing her eyes.

Soledad descended the stairs with care, the sleeping child in her arms. Señor Paco is home very late, she thought, noticing his briefcase and cashmere coat draped over the chair in the hallway. He had missed saying goodnight to Sofia. When she reached the hall she heard their voices behind the closed door to the sitting room and in spite of her instincts that warned her against spying, she stopped to listen. They spoke in Spanish.

‘... Well, where did it come from?’ Anna snapped angrily.

‘Business, it’s not what you think,’ Paco replied coolly.

‘Business? Why on earth did you need a hotel in this city when you have a perfectly good apartment? For God’s sake, Paco, I’m not a fool!’

There followed a heavy silence. Soledad didn’t move, she stood as still as if she were a piece of hall furniture; she barely breathed. Her heart beat though, in fact, it accelerated fiercely. She knew she was listening to a conversation that was private. She knew she should turn and walk away, carry Sofia off to her room and pretend she hadn’t heard anything. But she couldn’t. She was too curious; she had to know what they were talking about. She heard pacing. Señor Paco must be walking the room; she heard the cold sound of shoes on wood and then the soft sound of the carpet, back and forth, and the occasional sniff from Señora Anna. Finally Paco spoke.

‘Okay, you’re right,’ he said sadly.

‘Who?’ sobbed Anna.

‘No one you know, I can assure you.’

‘Why?’ Soledad heard Anna get to her feet. She then heard the sharp tapping of her heels, as she must have walked across the floorboards to the window. Once again there was a tense moment of silence.

‘A man needs to be loved, Anna.’ He sighed wearily.

‘But we loved each other, didn’t we? At the beginning?’

‘We did. I don’t know what went wrong. You changed.’

‘.' changed?’ she retorted severely. ‘.' changed? I suppose then all this is
my
fault? I drove you into her arms, did I?’