Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree (65 page)

Saturday, 8 November 1997

Sofia awoke at midday to the chorus of
chingolos
and for a moment she had the surreal feeling that the last twenty-three years had been nothing but a long dream. The scents of the
pampa,
the eucalyptus and humidity clung to her nostrils and she lay prolonging the mood for as long as she could sustain it. She was transported back to her childhood and she lolled in the pleasure of her memories. She had been afraid to confront her past for fear that by giving way to nostalgia her craving would consume her entirely. But now her fears seemed unfounded. She lay as if in a trance and allowed her mind to be invaded by the fleeting pictures of the first few chapters of her life - the pages turning so rapidly she was unable to focus properly on any one of them. Having held them back for so long they rushed at her; self-indulgently she allowed them life once more. She didn’t want to get up. Her heart yearned for the past to become present and for Jose to be awaiting her at the stables with her mare and
taco.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was her suitcase. But

then she smelt Santi on her skin, on her lips and her hands, and she lay back and covered her face with them and breathed him in slowly, savouring every moment of recollection. She had returned. Santi still loved her. But Maria was dying and she was suddenly jolted back to reality.

Breakfast had come and gone and it didn’t occur to her that her father might have been sitting on the terrace longing for her to join him. Soledad told her later. But her thoughts were only with Santi. She felt sad she had missed her father, but only for a moment, then the feeling was gone and she was marching purposefully over to Chiquita’s house. She passed Anna reading in the sun under a large hat. How little people’s habits change, she thought. Anna looked up and smiled. She returned her smile a little awkwardly and waved. Her mother knew where she was going, there was no need to explain. She had slotted right back in again.

The melodies of Strauss reached her before she reached the house. The music poured joy into her heart and she almost skipped in the dazzling sunshine. Maria was out on the terrace under a blanket, her head discreetly hidden beneath a small floral sunhat. Sofia noticed her cheeks were showing the first signs of colour and her eyes shone with happiness. She held out her hand as

Sofia appeared from round the corner.

‘Sofia,’ she said and smiled at her tenderly, her expression full of warmth.

‘You look so much better,’ she replied in delight and bent down to kiss her.

‘I feel better.’

Looking down at her thin but radiant face Sofia was sure that she was going to live. She just couldn’t believe that someone as good as Maria would be taken from them. Especially now that she had just discovered her again.

Chiquita was wandering around the house looking after her plants while Maria’s younger children played on the swings with their cousins.

‘The others are on the tennis court and lying by the pool,’ said Maria. ‘You can go and join them if you like.’

‘Do you get tired with everyone fussing around you?’ asked Sofia. She didn’t want Maria to feel she had to talk to her.

‘A little. I don’t want everyone hovering around me waiting for me to die.’ And she laughed sadly and lowered her eyes.

‘You know miracles happen. You’re looking so much better,’ she ventured hopefully.

‘I would love a miracle to happen. It would be a lovely surprise.’ She sighed.

‘I do feel better though. That hospital makes you feel like you’ve died already.’ ‘Let’s not talk about it, Maria. Let’s talk about the old days,’ she suggested. ‘No, I want you to talk to me about what you’ve been up to for the last twenty-three years. I’ll close my eyes and you can tell me a wonderful story.’ And so Sofia sat back in the chair and let Maria doze off as she chatted away about the life they should have spent together.

As usual on a Saturday there was an
asado.
The familiar smells of burning
lo-mo
and
chorizo
swam on the breeze and she watched as the whole family gathered together under the tall leafy eucalyptus trees. Maria had retreated into the house with her nurse, unable to eat with the rest of them. The noise would have been too much for her. Sofia had forgotten how noisy their
asados
were.

Nothing had changed except the familiar faces looked older and the new ones unfamiliar. Clara demanded to sit next to her new aunt. She took her by the hand and led her to the tables of dishes spilling over with food. She took great pleasure in telling her how it was done. First she was to go and choose a piece of meat from the barbecue - she could have any piece she wanted, Clara offered generously - then she was to help herself to salad and potatoes from the table. Sofia looked down at this precocious creature and momentarily felt a

deep longing for her own daughters. Clara noticed her tender expression and grinned up at her quizzically, before skipping off to help herself to some food.

If Sofia had allowed herself to dwell more on the family she had left behind she would probably have listened to the small voice of her conscience, but there was simply no time and the small voice went unheard. Santi appeared with Panchito and all the while she talked to them over the barbecue she was conscious of every move and gesture Santi made. She hardly noticed what she herself was saying; the words had a life of their own and she left them to it.

Santi and Sofia could still communicate secretly without anyone else noticing, through the movements of their eyes. Gestures that were commonplace for everyone else had special meaning for them. She found herself living in a continuous state of
deja vu.
Santi and Sofia were reliving the past whereas the people around them had all changed and moved on. Sofia felt the same, Santa Catalina looked the same, smelt the same and yet it
wasn't
the same. But Sofia wasn’t ready to face that yet. While she was near Santi there was some semblance of normality.

Clara was fascinated by her. But like all children, she was only interested in talking about herself. She wanted to tell Sofia everything. She desperately wanted to impress her, to the extent of jumping down from the table and walking on her hands the entire length of it. Her mother simply laughed and told her to reserve her antics for after lunch when there was less chance of her food making a guest appearance. Sofia admired the calm manner in which she dealt with her child. Clara laughed and skipped back to her seat. Of course she couldn’t resist but tell her a few stories of her own. She couldn’t have hoped for a better audience. Her eyes wide with admiration, Clara gasped in delight and disbelief that Sofia, a grown-up, could ever have been so wicked. The distraction, however, only lasted a while before she was back on centre-stage again, the words spilling out so fast Sofia could barely understand them.

Sofia’s attention was not completely reserved for Clara. She could let her chatter on, making the right noises at the right moments, while at the same time watching and listening to the other conversations around her. She was very aware of Claudia, starched and glossy in an ice-blue shirt and jeans. She knew Claudia was also aware of her. She caught her staring at her a couple of times but Claudia looked away immediately as if she were embarrassed to have been caught looking.

The topic of everyone’s conversation was Maria. Chiquita was telling them

all how much better she looked today and how there was no place like home to put the life back into her. Her small face expressed her hope but Sofia could see the hopelessness behind her eyes. Then they all began reminiscing. Sofia found it unsettling to sit and listen to conversations about things of which she knew nothing. Of course, when Clara’s attention was diverted she was able to join in and laugh at their stories. But their old days were not hers and she experienced the odd sensation of being an outsider. On the one hand she felt that she had slotted right back into the place, but on the other hand she had missed out on so much she couldn’t really connect with anyone except for Santi. Her cousins all wanted to know how she had spent the last two decades but her life was so far removed from theirs a few sentences satisfied their curiosity and then they had very little to say to each other. Only Santi and Sofia hadn’t changed. Their dynamic was exactly as it had been twenty-three years ago. So when he offered to stick and ball with her after polo, she was relieved. Claudia could only look on helplessly. Santi declared that he would not be going to Mass either, he wanted to stay with his sister. But Sofia knew the reason behind it. She noticed a small frown surface across Chiquita’s pale face. She guessed she must have known too, or at least suspected. She hadn’t forgotten the past like Rafael, and Chiquita knew her son better than anyone.

Sofia disregarded the suspicious eyes and retreated to the coolness of her room to take a siesta. She could see from her window the older children making for the pool in their swimsuits. But she was too hot and sleepy from the wine and humidity to join them. She suddenly felt rather old. Being a grown-up at Santa Catalina was a first for her.

‘Santiguito plays well, doesn’t he?’ Santi said proudly, as his son galloped up the field.

‘He’s just like his father,’ replied Sofia.

Takes you back, doesn’t it?’

‘Certainly does,’ she said and watched as he cantered off, his naked brown back flexing as he lifted his
taco.
She longed to be the girl she once was and leap onto a pony but she was older now. She wondered if she would even remember how to play.

Sofia sat on the grass with Chiquita and much to her surprise Anna wandered up to join them. The atmosphere was slightly tense at first, but once Clara had found them, their attention was diverted from one another to her

gymnastics instead. The three of them laughed together as the child jumped around like a little monkey.

‘You know, Sofia, you were just like that,’ said Chiquita, as Clara whizzed past them.

‘Yes, you were,’ agreed her mother. ‘You were such a show-off, I didn’t know what to do with you.’

‘Was I awful?’ she asked, pleased that Anna was joining in. She nodded tightly but Sofia noticed that she was making an enormous effort to be agreeable.

‘You were difficult,’ she conceded.

Sofia didn’t find it easy to talk to her mother. There were many subjects they were unable to discuss, so they skimmed around them like a couple of ice skaters afraid of breaking through to the water below, to the demons they’d have to face there. In the back of Sofia’s mind, her mother remained the person responsible for sending her away. She had cheated her of this. The life she could have had was in evidence all around her. She could never forgive her for that. So they chatted politely with the help of Chiquita who acted like a referee, changing the subject each time she felt they were scraping the surface a little

too close to the water.

‘What are your children like, Sofia?’ asked Chiquita.

‘Oh, adorable, of course. Very English. David is a fantastic father and spoils them terribly. They’re his little princesses and can do nothing wrong in his eyes.’

‘And in your eyes?’ asked her mother.

‘Well, they can be wicked as well as charming,’ she said, smiling as she recalled their faces. ‘Honor’s wild like I was - quite uncontrollable actually - and India just likes being at home with the horses.’

‘So now you know what I had to put up with,’ said Anna, and she smiled at her daughter.

‘Yes, I do. There’s no magical potion with children, is there? They have their own personalities you can’t control.’

‘They certainly do,’ she nodded and suddenly both women realized that, after all these years, they finally had something in common. They were both mothers.

‘You’re not watching,
Abuelita
,’ Clara whined to her grandmother, before flinging herself into another handspring. Once more the conversation was

diverted and Sofia was only too happy not to talk about herself. She didn’t want to discuss England, and thinking about David and the girls just made her feel guilty.

After a while her mother wandered off and Clara lay with her back against her aunt’s chest and dozed in the sunshine. Sofia talked with Chiquita about Maria; her aunt tried to ask her about herself but the conversation would inevitably revert back to Maria - Sofia wanted it that way. They reminisced about the old days and she was happy for they were her old days too.

Once the game was over, an inexhaustible Santi cantered over to them.

‘Mama, be an angel and loan Sofia to me for a while.’ He looked down at her and grinned. ‘Let’s get you a pony.’

‘
Bueno
, Santi,’ she replied, getting up. Then she made as if to say something else but stopped herself with a sharp intake of breath. ‘No, nothing,’ she muttered in response to Sofia’s quizzical look. ‘I had better go and check on Maria. I’ll see you both later.’ And taking a drowsy Clara with her she made off into the trees.

Santi accompanied Sofia to where Javier was waiting with La Pura. Sofia raised herself into the saddle with ease. Javier handed her a
taco
and with a twinkle in his eye Santi cantered off, hitting the ball out in front of him. It felt fantastic to be in the saddle once again, the wind in her hair, with that long-forgotten feeling of charging up the pitch after the ball. They laughed like old times as they raised their
tacos
and rode each other off.