Letters to Mrs Hernandez

by C S Gibbs

  The small talk and banter of the other three diners passed him by, but then he remembered Hector's words, “No-one is at war, here.”

  This thought was suddenly more than a consolation, it was a revelation.

  Knowing that he was not only a guest in a foreign land, but also a guest in a neutral land, he realised that this was not a place to take sides and he could leave the war behind him for a while. As much as he cared for his mother and did not wish to see Britain surrender to Germany, he was facing the fact that he was currently removed from all that and was now a part of something else.

  This really was a turn up for the books. He had been befriended by someone who was trading not just with the Germans, but also with Japan, and now here he was, having dinner with the enemy! If this got out, back home, he'd be shot as a traitor!

  Yet, this man who traded with his enemies was no enemy himself, but had proved to be a friend, whilst this other enemy, sitting across from him at the dinner table, he was now beginning to realise, was perhaps the most beautiful lady he had ever seen. How, now, to proceed, he wondered?

  “Well . . . are you sure it's safe for us to be having dinner together?”

  “Don't worry, Ben, she is not a spy! Oh, and Setsu, we can tell you that Ben is not, either!” Vero assured the pair of them.

  “After all, who is your enemy? Why is someone your enemy? Are you someone's enemy because the politicians and the newspapers say that you have to be so? Remember, there is no war, here,” said Hector, “There are only people here, and we should all judge one another as just that. Setsu has been so very helpful to us and we have invited her here a few times.”

  Setsu continued, “Yes, this is my sixth time here and I have learned to ride a horse with Vero. I am spending the year in Buenos Aires, working as a teacher, after which, I will have to go back to Japan. My mother will need me to help her.”

  “Mine will need me, when I go back in six months' time,” echoed Ben.

  “What will you do when you go back to England?” asked Setsu.

  “I suppose I will have to join up and do my bit for the war. If I can, I'll try and join the air force.”

  “Do you want to do that?”

  “Well, I suppose that I have to do it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . . because I do. There is a war on and we all have to go.”

  “Really?” Setsu sat forward and moved her elbows on to the table. This was a very un-Japanese thing for her to do, but she had learned this aggressive form of debating from her father.

  “Have you wondered why you have to go? Your Mister Churchill has told you that Hitler is a threat to you, whilst my Mister Tojo has told me that Britain is a threat to me. So does that mean that you and I have to kill each other?”

  “Yes, but they are attacking us . . .”

  “Only because they have been told to do it. They don't have to go along with it, do they?”

  This young woman was proving to be very feisty and opinionated. She reminded Ben of his mother. She continued:

  “Why should I have to try and kill you just because someone told me to do it? There is no war, here. I am not at war with you. They are getting lots of strangers to kill each other. If they want to fight so much, then why doesn't Churchill go and fight Hitler? That would save us all a lot of trouble and we can all stay at home.

  “Besides,” she continued, “What makes an enemy? If one man kills another he is either a hero or a villain, depending on which side he is fighting for. In Japan, the newspapers tell us that the English and the Americans are evil, but I am sure that your newspapers will tell you the same thing about the Japanese. Speaking for myself, I don't want to kill anyone and I really don't feel the need to rule the world!”

  Ben knew that such talk could get him sent to jail in England, but here in a distant land, it sounded like common sense.

  “Well, Ben,” interjected Hector, “You are to be here in Argentina for the next six months, so you need not worry about the war for a while. Try some of the morcisha, it's delicious.”

  With that, the quartet ate, drank and were merry. Vero regaled everyone with her version of how she first met Hector (“I tell you, my horse did not bolt – I was trying to get away from Hector, but his horse was faster!”) and Hector recalled his gaucho roots with stories of his days on the Pampas, herding the cattle.

  “I was never happier as a young man,” he said, “Than when I was sleeping under a clear night sky, with only the sound of the cattle. Of course, I now get the sound of Vero, which is not much different!”

  “You'll be sleeping under the stars again, tonight, Señor Hernandez!” came the firm words of his wife.

  “That sounds fine to me!” Hector laughed, then rapidly changed the subject, “Our guest has yet to try our famous Pampas drink, maté.”

  Sandra was called and asked to prepare four cups of this fabled drink and she duly returned with what looked to Ben to be four large egg cups with silver covers, from which protruded metal drinking straws.

  He was instructed to put a huge spoonful of sugar in to the cup, for which he needed little encouragement. On opening the lid from the cup, he was confronted with what looked like a bowl of long grass, steaming in hot water. He said as much to his hosts.

  “Oh, don't be silly, this is just like your English tea,” offered Setsu, showing a playful side that encouraged Ben even more.

  “But tea leaves are small and black, and they just sit at the bottom of the cup. This is like a compost bin and there's not even any milk in it!”

  “Compost? Milk? You English are such barbarians! There are many kinds of tea. Have you never had green tea?”

  “Green tea?”

  “Yes, green tea. Without milk!” Setsu looked at Hector and Vero, “We really are going to have to educate him!”

  Outnumbered, Ben dropped a hefty spoonful of sugar on this strange brew, closed the lid and took a determined suck on the straw. It reminded him of the tea at the Derby works that had been brewing all morning, but with a plenty of sugar and a subtle hint of cigarette ash, followed by a bitter aftertaste reminiscent of that first espresso on the boat. Although it should not have been, it was strangely appealing.

  The watching trio awaited his verdict.

  “Er . . . it's not bad.”

  “You will learn to love it, but remember to sip at maté and enjoy it like a fine whiskey,” insisted Hector.

  “Now, my young student, show the ladies all that I have taught you about the Tango!”

  Vero struck up the band on the gramophone and sashayed her way towards Hector. The pair entwined and spun on the polished floor and Hector spun his lady about him like a fleet footed conjurer. Vero gave an ironic sigh of gleeful surrender as she was tipped backwards, but sounded much more genuine with her purr of approval as she was drawn upright again. The couple turned and paused at the end of the phrase and Vero winked over Hector's should at the young couple on the sofa.

  “Come, you two – it is your time to dance!”

  Before Ben could think of an excuse, Hector had swept Vero away and he stood for a moment, not knowing what to do. He was given no choice on his next move, as Setsu boldly offered her hand and waited to be led in dance.

  This lass is a bold one, he thought.

  “Follow me at the start of the next phrase, Ben!” called Hector, “Do your five step move. Ready? Uno, dos tres, quattro!”

  There was nothing else for it – he made his first steps, doing exactly what he had been told to do. And it was easy. Easy because Setsu also knew the moves.

  “He taught me, too!” she smiled at Ben.

  She really likes me, he said to himself. This was almost becoming too much for the young man, who was currently being confused by the bombardment of hospitality and good fortune that was coming his way. There was nothing else to do but keep enjoying the moment.

  And enjoy it he did, as did everyone. The tangos came thick and fast and spun to a gentle finish as Hector de
clared that a nightcap was in order. Even the ladies joined the men in a brandy before retiring and the ladies made their exits, first.

  With his Spanish still so poor, Ben could not be sure what the two women were saying as they chattered their way along the corridor to the stairway, but the tone of it was excitable.

  “That is quite a wonderful young lady, eh, my boy?” asked Hector with a knowing look.

  “Yes . . . I've never met anyone from Japan. She's lovely.”

  “And she clearly likes you, too. Vero was right, you know.”

  “I knew it! She's fixing us up! Well, I'm not complaining. I tell you what, though, I'll get shot if anyone in England finds out about this.”

  “But they will not, my friend. Besides, this war will not last forever. Enjoy what is happening. The world is yours to make of as you please – not what some politician tells you it should be. Now, get some sleep. You are to go horse riding, tomorrow.”

  “Alright. Goodnight. Thank you for everything.” Ben made for the corridor, but paused and looked back before leaving.

  “I've just got one question about my room, Hector. There seem to be two toilets in the bathroom, but one is a bit smaller than the other. Is that just for children to use?”

  Hector's laughter seemed cruel. “Oh, my poor English boy! Setsu was right, you really are a barbarian! I will explain in the morning. Now, go and get some sleep.”

  With that, both men retired. It had been quite an evening.

   

   

  Chapter Thirteen - Horsing Around

  Fresh air, peace, quiet and a belly full of food and wine made for a sound night's sleep. Ben awoke in his room to the only sound of urgency in the Pampas: bleating sheep, lowing cattle, squawking geese and the intermittent neighing of horses.

  The Summer sun was back from its slumber, peeking through the gaps in the curtains, rousing Ben, who looked about his room. The bare, wooden floor would have been a sign of poverty back home, but looked rather rustic and classy in this setting. He looked beyond his large, iron-framed bed to the tall double door entrance, to the right of which were huge windows with wooden shutters.

  Joints cracking, he stretched his way past the wardrobe and cabinet to the en-suite bathroom, inside which he gave another puzzled look to that strange, 'miniature' lavatory bowl. He was getting used to having showers, now – another bonus of the new world that left him feeling invigorated, each day – and made his previous usual morning routine of boiling the kettle for a bowl of hot water so that he might have a strip wash and shave seem rather mediaeval.

  Scrubbed, booted and clad in a pair of slacks, a plain, blue shirt and a brown sweater, Ben made his way to join the others for breakfast.

  Sandra had filled the table with fresh fruit, bread rolls, butter and coffee. This was going to be a good day.

  On stepping outside, Hector appeared, and for the first time since they had met, he was not in his usual formal attire of suits or smart shirts. True to his roots, he was in his gaucho clothes: his boots were the corrugada style, where the long leg of the boot was pulled down towards the ankles, tucked in to which were his loose fitting cotton trousers that were held up by a ratras - a black leather belt that was marked with metal studs and coins. His plain, white shirt was offset with a neckerchief and draped atop his head was the essential black beret. From his pocket, he produced a similar blue beret and crowned Ben with it.

  “Now you look more like a gaucho, let us make you ride like one!”

  As they walked out across the estancia's grounds, past the large coop for the chickens and amid wandering geese, Hector prepared Ben for his first horse ride.

  “There is your steed, my good fellow.”

  He pointed to a russet coloured horse who was standing, motionless, as Sergio, the groundsman, brushed him down.

  “His name is 'Corcho', which means 'cork', because he can go off like a cork from a bottle! But don't worry, you're in good hands.”

  “Don't you mean 'good hooves'?” asked Ben.

  Mounting Corcho proved to be the easy part, as the horse remained stationary.

  “You have to show him who is the boss, Ben!” called Hector, “Get your heels in to him and shake the reigns!”

  Ben obliged and suddenly Corcho began to move forwards. On he went, striding grumpily, for about fifty yards, before performing a sudden u-turn and bringing his new rider back to his starting place.

  Ben looked hopelessly at Hector, who by now was mounted on his own, powerful looking grey steed. Hector responded by demonstrating the use of the reigns in steering the horse and the need for constant reminders that the rider is in charge.

  “Now, take Corcho for a run around the field and do not give him any chance to challenge you! Be in charge, take the lead – handling a horse is just like handling a woman!”

  “And which woman might that be?” called Vero, riding up to her caught-in-the-act husband on a white and brown mottled mare.

  “That would be any woman who dares to criticize my skill with the tango!”

  “Fair enough, my dear, but don't think about using your whip on me!” With that, Vero took her elegant mount for a lap of the field.

  Ben, meanwhile, was overcoming his initial awkwardness and enjoying increasing success in turning and getting Corcho to up his ante. After a couple of laps of the field, he was controlling the horse with ease and confidence, having learned to relax and not to go against the metronomic jolts that were being sent up through his torso, threatening to shake loose his pectoral muscles.

  The price of this new found skill was swiftly becoming apparent, as he learned the true meaning of 'saddle soreness'. On completing a third lap of the field he returned to the stable and the applauding Hector.

  Dismounting in a manner that should have been accompanied by loud creaking noises, Ben patted Corcho and turned to his mentor.

  “Ow! Bloody hell, now I know why John Wayne walks the way he does . . . but I don't know why he doesn't speak like Shirley Temple!” He strained and ached his way around Corcho, trying to get his joints working again and somehow walk off all of his new pains.

  “You will have to build up your strength quickly, Ben, because the rest of our riding party is here,” advised Hector, turning his gaze to the approaching pair of horses and feminine riders.

  On seeing Setsu, mounted comfortably on a chocolate coloured horse, Ben found himself with a reason to straighten up and forget his ills. He smiled and did his best to look ready for another spell on horseback.

  The ladies were dressed in similar attire: both sported long riding boots, earth-coloured trousers and check-patterned cotton shirts. Vero wore a deep green coloured waistcoat and set the whole ensemble off with a narrow-brimmed pampeano hat, whilst Setsu wore a sleeveless sweater and a broader brimmed, flat-topped campero hat.

  The foursome set off along the country lanes and from his raised vantage point on Corcho's back, Ben realised that he could see the vast, flat plains of the Pampas stretching off to all points of the compass. Riding alongside Hector, he shrugged off the growing pains of horsemanship and resolved to enjoy yet another new experience, whilst also wondering when he could get to ride alongside Setsu.

  “You see, my friend, Corcho is now doing your bidding,” he raised his voice to ensure that his wife was within earshot, “Like I said, you have to show them who is the boss – just like with a woman!” He immediately set off at a gallop, knowing that, perhaps, the doghouse awaited him.

  Vero took the bait and tore past Ben and Corcho, in hot pursuit of her teasing spouse.

  Setsu drove her horse forward to take full advantage of the opportunity given to her by Vero. There was a period of speechlessness on both parts, filled with fleeting moments of eye contact and half-smiles, which seemed to last an uncomfortably long time, but it was broken by Setsu.

  “I thought that this was a cattle farm,” she pondered out loud, in Ben's general direction, “So where are all of the cows?”

 
“Well, it is Sunday, after all, so perhaps they've got the day off?” offered Ben, “They've had a hard week of eating grass and going 'moo', so Hector must have arranged for them to go to the city and have a wander around Retiro, or something.”

  “That's a possibility,” mused Setsu, who paused at what she had heard and then called out, “Mooooo! Is that what cows in England say?”

  “It's about the only word they know in England. They seem to say it here, too. Why? How do you say 'moo' in Japanese?”

  “Maaaa!” laughed Setsu.

  “Ha, ha! That's brilliant! What about sheep, do they go 'baa'?”

  “Hmmm. That's a tricky one . . . I think you'll find that they say 'meh'!”

  “I see. That would certainly require an interpreter. And chickens, do they go 'cluck'?”

  “No! Of course, not! They say 'a ho'!” Both of them laughed.

  “Ah, learning a foreign language can be so very difficult. Especially if you're a chicken. That said, how did you learn to speak such good English?”

  “My father was a university professor who taught English. He taught me from when I was about six years old. I liked it because he always made the time to spend with me and teach me – he taught me how to write in English with a fountain pen – it was an old American one called a Conklin.

  “My brother was not so academic, so he spent more time playing with his friends than I did, but I am now so glad that I had that time with my father, because I now have so many good memories of him.”

  “Has he passed away?”

  “Yes.”

  “I'm sorry. My dad is gone, too. He died in a mining accident.”

  “A what?”

  “He was a coal miner. The roof of the mine collapsed and he was killed. His mates stayed under ground for two days, trying to dig him out. Even when they realised that he was gone, they stayed and got his body back to the surface . . . I miss him, too. He was a strong and honest man – not very outspoken, but then, he didn't need to be with my mother around.”

  “What sort of things did you do with your father?”

  “He loved his football. He taught me how to play and I ended up good enough to be in the school team. We used to go and watch Derby play and it was great fun. They had a good team right up until the war began. He was a keen reader, too, which he passed on to me. Not many people in our town liked books, but he encouraged me to learn.”