Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree (59 page)

Sofia hesitated at the door, not sure of what she would see on the other side. With some difficulty she assembled her flagging courage and entered. Through the early morning dimness she saw an unfamiliar figure lying under white sheets. She realized she had foolishly stumbled on some poor invalid sleeping peacefully in the shadows. Embarrassed, she mumbled a quick apology. But then as she was about to turn and leave, a small voice called out her name.

‘Sofia?’ She turned and blinked into focus. Lying on the bed was indeed her angelic friend, gaunt and grey, smiling over at her. Choked, she stumbled to her bedside and kneeling on the floor buried her face in Maria’s outstretched hand. Maria was too overwhelmed to say any more, and Sofia was too moved to look at her. She stayed there for a long while, crushed by what she saw. Maria’s illness had changed her; she looked so different Sofia hadn't even recognized her.

Sofia took a while to compose herself. Managing to look up at her cousin once, she only broke down again; all the while Maria remained calm and serene as Sofia abandoned herself to grief. Finally she was able to see her clearly. Pale and emaciated, Maria lay there smiling in spite of the ill fate that was sucking the life out of her.

‘I so hoped you’d come back. I missed you so much, Sofia,’ she whispered, not because she didn’t have the strength to speak, but because the moment was too sacred to shatter with loud words.

‘Oh Maria, I missed you too. You have no idea,’ sniffed Sofia.

‘How funny, you speak Spanish with an accent!’ she exclaimed.

‘Do I?’ replied Sofia sadly. Another part of her home that she had lost along the way.

‘Who told you?’ asked Maria, gazing into Sofia’s livid eyes.

‘Your mother - she wrote to me.’

‘My mother? I didn’t even know she had your address. She must have kept it a surprise in case you didn’t come.
Qu divina,’
she said, and smiled the small, grateful smile of a young woman who cherishes each kind gesture, for in the face of death love is the only comfort. ‘You look so well.’ She ran her hand down Sofia’s cheek, wiping away the tears. ‘Don’t be sad, I’m stronger than I look. It’s because I’ve lost my hair.’ She grinned. ‘I don’t have to bother washing it now - such a relief!’

‘You’re going to get well,’ Sofia insisted.

Maria shook her head sadly. ‘I’m not going to get well, not now. In fact, I’m such a hopeless case, they’re sending me home to Santa Catalina.’

‘But there must be something they can do? They can’t give up. You have so much to live for.’

‘I know. My children for a start. I worry about them constantly. But they will grow up with love. Eduardo is a good man. Let’s not sit here being all negative, there’s no point. You have come home, that is all that matters. Right now I am so happy.’ And her large eyes glittered with tears.

Tell me about your husband. I feel I’ve lost you over the years. Please tell me about him.’

‘Well, he’s a doctor, he’s tall and gawky and kind. I couldn’t love any man more than I love Eduardo. He makes me smile on the inside. He’s been so strong through all of this mess.’

‘And your children?’

‘We have four children.’

‘Four!’ exclaimed Sofia, impressed.

‘That’s nothing in this country, surely you remember?’

‘I just can’t believe your little body was able to produce so many.’

‘It wasn’t little then, I assure you. I was never little.’ She laughed.

‘I want to meet them all. I want to know them. They’re my cousins too!’

‘You will. You’ll meet all of them at Santa Catalina. They come and see me every day. Eduardo will be here in a minute. He comes in the morning and after lunch and spends most of the evening with me. I have to tell him to go home,

or back to work. He looks so tired. I worry about him. Worry about how he’ll cope when I’m gone. In the beginning he was my rock, but now, in spite of my illness, I feel I’m his. I can’t bear to leave him behind.’

‘I can’t believe how calm you are about dying,’ Sofia said quietly and her heart flooded with love and sadness. Humbled by Maria’s courage she reflected on her own selfish pride, the pettiness of which seemed churlish to her now. Oh, the frustration of hindsight that enables you to see the error of your ways when it is too late to make amends, she thought miserably. Neither dared talk about Santi.

‘And what has become of the Sofia I grew up with? Who has broken your spirit?’

‘Maria, you never used to be this strong.
Por Dios,
I was always the strong one.’

‘No, you always pretended to be strong, Sofia. You were naughty and rebellious because you craved your mother’s attention. She gave it all to your brothers.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘I’ve had my moments of despair, of fear, believe me. I’ve asked, “Why me?

What have I done to deserve this miserable ending?” But finally you just have to go along with it, accept it and make your last days as happy as possible. I have put my trust in God. I know death is nothing more than a gateway into another life. It’s not goodbye but farewell. I have faith,’ she said serenely and Sofia believed that she had, indeed, found some sort of inner peace.

‘So, you married a theatre producer?’ said Maria brightly.

‘How do you know?’ Sofia asked in surprise.

‘Because there was a feature on you during the Malvinas War in one of the papers.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, an Argentine living in England during the conflict. There was a picture. We all saw it.’

‘How strange. I thought of you all so much then. I felt I was betraying my country,’ Sofia confessed, remembering that difficult time when she was torn between her homeland and the new home she had adopted.

‘Look how English you are. Who’d have thought? What’s he like?’

‘Oh, he’s much older than me. He’s kind, very clever, a wonderful father. He treats me like a princess,’ said Sofia proudly and pictured David’s intelligent

face.

‘Good for you. How many children?’

Two girls. Honor and India.’

‘What beautiful names. Honor and India,’ she repeated. ‘Very English.’

‘Yes, they are,’ she replied and pictured India crying at the airport. She was debilitated momentarily by a pang of anxiety before Maria’s questions brought her back to the present.

‘I always knew you’d have something to do with the theatre. You were a pri-ma donna from the moment you were born. Do you remember all those plays we put on as children?’

‘I was always the boy,’ laughed Sofia.

‘Well, the boys never wanted to join in. How embarrassing!’ She sighed. ‘Do you remember making the grown-ups pay to watch us?’

‘Yes, I do. What did we do with the money?’

‘Well, it was meant to go to charity. I think we spent it at the
kiosco.’

‘Do you remember the time Fercho bribed Agustin to run naked through our finale dance?’

‘Yes, I do. Dear Fercho. You know he’s in Uruguay?’ Maria sighed sadly.

‘Yes, I do. I saw Eva Alarcon - you remember Eva, don’t you?’

‘Of course. She married your Roberto.’

‘He was never my Roberto,' said Sofia defensively. ‘Anyway, they were in England and filled me in a little.’

‘Agustin’s still in Washington. He comes to visit about once a year although his wife doesn’t like it much. Poor Agustin - if he’s ever allowed to come home he does so alone. I don’t think his wife is very nice. Agustin deserved better. But Rafa’s here with Jasmina. He has such beautiful children. You’ll love Jasmina.’

Maria told Sofia as much as she could about the past. She wanted to. She felt that perhaps by telling her cousin she would somehow feel included and then maybe the years wouldn’t appear to have been so many, or so long. Sofia listened, often moved, sometimes amused, while her cousin recounted her life and the lives of her family from the moment that Sofia had been taken from them.

When she finished Sofia was still kneeling beside her bed clutching her cousin’s bony hand in hers. Maria used to be curvaceous, ‘womanly’ Paco once called her. Now she was gaunt and had lost all her hair, but her smile

held all those innocent moments they had shared at Santa Catalina and she longed so much to turn the clock back and relive them again.

‘Sofia, all these years ...’ sighed Maria sadly.

‘Oh Maria, I cannot begin to tell you.’ Sofia silenced her with the wave of her hand.

‘Sofia, I’m so sorry.’

‘Me too. I should never have stayed away for so long. I should have ...’

‘Let me speak, you don’t know the whole truth.’ Maria’s face was full of shame.

‘What do you mean, Maria? What truth?’

Maria’s hazelnut eyes, as large as marbles, shone with remorse. She swallowed hard, trying to control her emotions that grappled their way to the surface, dragging up the guilt that for years had plagued her conscience with poison.

‘I lied to you, Sofia. I lied to you and I lied to Santi.’ She turned her face away. She couldn’t look at her cousin; she was too ashamed.

‘How? What do you mean?’ Sofia suddenly felt a cold draught slip in through the crack in the door and shivered.
Please not you, Maria. Not you!
She

prayed silently.

‘When I found out that you and my brother had been lovers I was so angry. You used to tell me everything and yet you had completely shut me out. I was one of the last to know and you were meant to be my best friend.’ Large tears rolled down her cheeks, dropping onto her pillow.

‘Maria, I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t tell anyone. Just look at the reaction we received. There was no way anyone would have let me marry my first cousin. It was disgraceful!’

‘I know, but I felt so left out, and then you went away. You never wrote. You just wrote to Santi. You never even bothered to drop me a line. It was as if I meant nothing to you. Nothing at all.’

Sofia suddenly realized what Maria was trying to say. ‘You made sure he didn’t get my letters, didn’t you?’ she said slowly, but her mind was in turmoil. She would never have believed it if Maria had not told her personally. It was so unlike her to be vindictive. Yet, she couldn’t hate her. She was dying. She couldn’t hate her.

‘I saw how upset Mama was. She was inconsolable. We all felt betrayed. Saddened. It tore our family apart. Mama and Anna barely spoke for a year!

And it was years, literally, before life went back to normal again. Santi had a bright future. Papa was desperate that he was going to throw it away because of you. So I wrote and ...’

Told me that he had fallen in love with Maxima Marguiles.’ That letter had shattered all Sofia’s dreams, like a mirror that had reflected her strongest desires, splintered into a thousand pieces. The following year in London had been the bleakest of her life. No wonder Santi had never written; he had been waiting to hear from her. He wouldn’t have known where to reach her. He must have waited like she had, after all.
He hadn’t stopped loving her.

The weight of these revelations crushed her spirit and she sat on the floor mute with disbelief, gutted of any feeling at all. She had given away her child because she had believed he hadn’t wanted them. But he had, he
had
wanted them. The last twenty-three years had been lived out in response to a misunderstanding, in response to a lie. Maria would never know what she had done.

‘Please forgive me, Sofia. Please try to understand why I did it. I lied. He didn’t even know a Maxima Marguiles. He was miserable without you.’ Maria inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. How fragile she looked, and how tired. Her skin was sallow and lifeless; when her eyes were shut she appeared almost dead except for the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

Sofia slumped onto the cool linoleum floor, recalling those long hours spent wishing and praying that he would come and find her. No wonder he had never come.

‘But you could have returned, Sofia. You didn’t have to run away for ever.’

‘Maria, I never ran away! I was sent away,’ Sofia snapped angrily.

‘But you didn’t come back. Why all this time? Please tell me it wasn’t just because of me?’ Maria opened her eyes and looked at her cousin imploringly. ‘Please tell me it wasn’t because of what I told you?’

‘I didn’t come back because ...’

‘You had everything here, everyone loved you, why did you throw it all away?’

‘Because ...’ she choked desperately.

‘Why, once time had diminished your feelings for each other, why didn’t you come back? I’ve felt so guilty for so long. Please tell me it wasn’t because you despised me. Why, Sofia,
why?
¹

‘Because if I couldn’t have Santi I didn’t want Argentina, or Santa Catalina. Without him there was nothing for me here.’

Maria looked at Sofia and her expression changed from self-pity to amazement.

‘You loved my brother that much? I’m so sorry,’ she said in a low voice.

Sofia could not speak. Her throat had constricted, leaving her numb with anguish. Maria gazed at her cousin with solicitous eyes.