‘Nothing,’ she replied coyly.
‘I know you, Chofi...’
‘Oh look, we’re being invaded,’ said Maria as Chiquita and her youngest, three-year-old Panchito, neared the pool surrounded by five or six of the other cousins.
‘Come on, Santi,’ said Sofia, making for the steps. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ Then as an afterthought she turned to her cousin. ‘Maria, are you coming?’
Maria shook her head and waved to her mother to join her.
By twelve noon the rich, charcoal smell of the asado drifted on the breeze and hung about the ranch causing packs of bony dogs to linger hungrily about the barbecue. Jose had been tending the smouldering wood since IO a.m. for the meat to be well cooked by lunchtime. Soledad, Rosa, Encarnacion and the maids from the other houses were setting out the tables for the traditional Saturday get-together. White tablecloths and crystal gleamed in the sunshine.
Occasionally Senora Anna would put down her magazine and wander around in her straw sunhat and long white dress, checking the tables. To the maids she was something of a curiosity with her flame-red hair and pale skin -like the austere Virgin Mary in the little church of Nuestra Senora de la Asuncion in town. She was firm and direct and had little patience if something wasn’t to her liking. Her command of the Spanish language was surprisingly negligent for someone who had spent so many years of her life in the Argentine, and she was the subject of brutal imitation in the maids’ quarters.
Señor Paco, however, was much loved by all at Santa Catalina. Hector Francisco Solanas, Paco’s late father, had been a strong-willed, dignified man who
believed that family came before business and politics. He believed that nothing was as important as a man’s home. His wife, Maria Elena, was the mother of his children and for that he had held her in high esteem. He respected her and admired her and in his own way he loved her. But they had never been in love. They had been chosen for each other by their parents who were great friends and believed the match to be beneficial to both parties. On certain levels it was. Maria Elena was both beautiful and accomplished and Hector was swarthy and dashing with an acute business mind. They were the toast of Buenos Aires, in great demand. They entertained lavishly and were loved by everyone. Put it down to chemistry, they didn’t love each other in the way that lovers should. However, in the darkness of the midnight hours they had sometimes made love with such passion, as if they had momentarily forgotten themselves, or each other, only to wake up to their usual formality, to find that the intimacy of the night before had evaporated with the dawn.
Maria Elena was aware that Hector had a mistress in town. Everyone knew. Besides, it was common for husbands to take lovers, so she came to terms with it and never spoke of it to anyone. To fill the void in her life she had given herself entirely to her children, until the arrival of Alexei Shahovskoi. Alexei
Shahovskoi had fled from Russia to escape the 1905 Revolution. Flamboyant, dreamy, he had entered her life as her piano tutor. Besides the piano he had taught her to appreciate opera, art and the passion of a man to whom love was in concert with the music he taught. If Maria Elena had ever reciprocated the feelings that were played out in every note he touched and revealed in the silent way he gazed upon her with liquid eyes, she never betrayed herself or her husband. While she enjoyed his company and his instruction, she rebuffed his advances with the dignity of an honourable woman who has made her choice in life. He didn’t satisfy her need for love but he gave her the gift of music. In every score there was a country to yearn for, a sunset to cry over, a horizon to fly to . . . Music gave her the means to live other lives in her imagination and it brought her not only an escape from the sometimes stifling constraints of her world but a great deal of happiness. What Paco remembered most of all about his mother was her love of music and her beautiful white hands dancing over the keys of her piano.
At one o’clock the gong was rung from the tower to summon everyone to lunch. From every corner of the estancia the family made their way to Paco and
Anna’s house, following the strong smell of cooked lomo and chorizo. The Solanas family was large. Miguel and Paco had two other brothers, Nico and Alejandro. Nico and Valeria had four children, Niquito, Sabrina, Leticia and Tomas, and Alejandro and Malena had five, Angel, Sebastian, Martina, Vanesa and Horacio. Lunch was as usual a noisy affair, and the food was rich and bountiful like a splendid banquet. There was, however, one person missing and once everyone had helped themselves from the barbecue and sat down, the gap became noticeable.
‘Sofia! Where is she?’ Anna whispered to Soledad as she passed with a bowl of salad.
‘No se, Señora Anna, no la v! Then suddenly turning her eyes to the polo field she exclaimed, ‘Qu horror! Ahi esta’
With that the whole family turned to look and a shocked silence descended upon them all. A confident, shameless Sofia was galloping towards them, stick in the air, whacking the ball in front of her. On her face was fixed a determined grimace. Anna jumped to her feet, flushed with anger and despair.
‘Sofia, how could you!’ she shrieked in horror, throwing down her napkin. ‘May the Good Lord forgive you,’ she added in English under her breath. Santi sank into his chair guiltily while the rest of the family looked on in bewilderment. Only Paco and Grandpa O’Dwyer, who was always stuck at the end of the table blinking down at his food because no one ever bothered to talk to him, grinned proudly to themselves as Sofia galloped with great panache towards them.
‘I’ll show you I can play polo better than Agustin,’ hissed Sofia through gritted teeth. ‘Just watch me, Papa. You should be proud — you taught me.’ As she thundered across the grass she deftly swung her mallet, sat firmly and competently in the saddle, controlled the ball and the pony, all the while smiling happily without embarrassment. She felt twenty pairs of eyes on her and she relished the attention.
Seconds before crashing into the table she pulled at the reins, drawing her snorting pony to a dusty halt and stood defiantly before her father.
‘See, Papa?’ she announced triumphantly. The whole table turned their attention to Paco, curious as to what he was going to do. To everyone’s surprise he sat placidly back in his chair, picked up his wine glass and raised it.
lBien, Sofia. Now come and join us - you’re missing a feast,’ he said calmly, and an amused smile crept across his weathered face. Thrilled, she jumped
down and walked her sweating pony the full length of the table.
‘Sorry I’m late for lunch, Mama,’ she said as she passed Anna, who had sat down again for her legs could no longer sustain her.
‘I’ve never seen such a blatant display of attention-seeking in all my life,’ she snapped in English, barely able to get the words out she was shaking so much. Sofia tied the reins to a tree, then brushing down her jeans she sauntered over to the buffet.
‘Sofia, you will wash your hands and change before you join the table,’ Anna said crossly, her eyes darting about the silent faces of her in-laws in shame. Sofia huffed loudly before retreating into the house to do as her mother asked.
Once she had gone, the lunch-party continued where it had left off, except the subject of everyone’s conversation was La sin verguenza Sofia. Anna sat tight-lipped and in silence, hiding her face beneath her hat in humiliation. Why was it that Sofia always let her down in front of the whole family? She quietly thanked God that Hector wasn’t alive to witness his granddaughter’s unabashed behaviour. He would have been appalled by her lack of restraint. She raised her eyes to her father who sat muttering to a group of dogs who salivated hopefully at his feet; she knew he admired Sofia more the worse she behaved. Maria giggled behind her hand and watched everyone’s reaction in order to give Sofia a detailed account of it later when they were on their own.
Agustin turned to Rafael and Fernando to complain. ‘She’s nothing but a bloody show-off,’ he whispered so that his father couldn’t hear. ‘Papa’s to blame. He lets her get away with everything.’
&nb
sp; ‘Don’t worry,’ said Fernando smugly. ‘She won’t play in the match. My father would never allow it.’
‘She’s such an exhibitionist,’ said Sabrina to her cousin Martina. They were both a bit older than Sofia. ‘I would never do something like that in front of everyone.’
‘Well, Sofia doesn’t know when to stop. All that wanting to play polo, why doesn’t she just admit she’s a girl and stop being so childish?’
‘Look at Anna,’ said Chiquita to Malena. ‘She’s so embarrassed, I really feel for her.’
‘I don’t,’ Malena replied brusquely. ‘It’s her own fault. She’s always been too busy admiring her sons. She should have taken more trouble with Sofia instead of palming her off on young Soledad. Really, Soledad was only a child herself when Sofia was born.’
‘I know, but she tries. Sofia isn’t easy,’ insisted Chiquita, glancing sympathetically across the table at Anna who was trying to act normally and talk to Miguel and Alejandro. Her features betrayed her strain, especially around the throat, which was taut as if she were trying to prevent herself from crying.
When Sofia skipped back to the table she had changed into another pair of frayed jeans and a clean white T-shirt. After helping herself to some food she slipped in beside Santi and Sebastian.
‘What on earth was that all about?’ Santi whispered into her ear.
‘You gave me the idea.’ She giggled.
‘I did?’
‘You said I had to impress my father or yours. So I impressed them both,’ she said triumphantly.
‘I don’t think you impressed my father,’ said Santi, looking down the table at Miguel who was in conversation with Anna and his brother Alejandro. Miguel caught his son’s eye and shook his head. Santi shrugged as if to say ‘it wasn’t my idea’.
‘So you think you’ll play in the match this afternoon because of that?’ he asked, looking down at his cousin who was devouring her food to catch up with everyone else.
‘Of course.’
‘If you do, I’ll be amazed.’
‘I won’t. I will have earned it,’ she said, scraping her knife across the plate on purpose to make everyone wince.
Once the lunch was over Maria and Sofia disappeared behind the house and dissolved into fits of laughter. They tried to talk but their stomachs hurt so much from laughing that they had to hold them for a while with their hands and concentrate on breathing. Sofia felt very pleased with herself.
‘Do you think it worked?’ she asked Maria between gasps, but she knew that it had.
‘Oh yes,’ nodded Maria. ‘Uncle Paco was very impressed.’
‘What about Mama?’
‘Furious!’
‘O Dios!1
‘Don’t pretend you mind.’
‘Mind? I’m thrilled! We’d better not make too much noise or she'll find me.
Shhhhh!’ she said, holding her finger against her mouth. ‘Not a sound, all right?’
‘Not a sound,’ Maria whispered obediently.
‘So, Papa was impressed was he? Really?’ Sofia’s eyes were alight with merriment.
‘He’s got to let you play. It’s so unfair if he doesn’t. Just because you’re a girl!’
‘Why don’t we poison Agustin?’ Sofia sniggered wickedly.
‘What with?’
‘Soledad can get a potion from that witch in town. Or we can make one ourselves.’
‘We don’t need a potion, a spell will do.’
‘All right, I suppose it’s the only way. To the ombu,’ announced Sofia decisively.
‘To the ombu!’ Maria, repeated, saluting. Sofia saluted back. Then both girls ran across the fields together, their voices ringing out across the plains as they concocted their plan.
Anna was mortified. As soon as the lunch was over she feigned a headache and rushed to her room where she fell onto her bed and furiously fanned herself with a book. Pulling the austere wooden cross from her bedside table she pressed it to her lips and muttered a short prayer. She asked God for guidance. ‘What have I done to deserve this difficult child?’ she said out loud. ‘Why do I let her get to me? She only does it to spite me. How come Paco and Dad are blind to her capriciousness? Don’t they have eyes? Can’t they see? Or am I the only one who can see her for the monster that she can be? I know, it’s some sort of punishment for not marrying Sean O’Mara all those years ago. Haven’t I made up for that, Lord? Haven’t I suffered enough? God, give me strength. I’ve never needed it more than now. And while yer at it, don’t let her play in that ruddy match. She doesn’t deserve it.’
La Copa Santa Catalina began on time, which is rare in the Argentine, at 5 p.m. It was still hot as the boys in white jeans and gleaming brown boots galloped up and down the pitch in a frenzied fever of competitiveness. The four strapping youths from La Paz wore black shirts, Santa Catalina wore pink. Out of the four boys from La Paz, Roberto and Francisco Lobito were the best players;
their two cousins Marco and Davico were the same standard as Rafael and Agustin. Roberto Lobito was Fernando’s best friend but during a match like this there was no room for friendship; for the duration of the game they would be bitter enemies.
Fernando, Santi, Rafael and Agustin had all played together since childhood. Today all were on form - except for Agustin who was still hungover from the night before. Santi played with flamboyance, throwing himself out of the saddle in a cool display of skill. However, the teamwork that Santa Catalina was so famous for was undermined by the fourth link, Agustin, whose reactions were unusually slow as if he were a beat behind everyone else. They were playing six chukkas - six periods of seven minutes.
‘You have five more chukkas to pull yourself together, Agustin,’ Paco said gruffly during the break at the end of first one. ‘If you hadn’t been floundering about in the middle of the field, Roberto Lobito wouldn’t have had the chance to score - twice.’ He said the word twice with emphasis as if it had all been Agustin’s fault. While they swapped their exhausted, frothing ponies for fresh ones Agustin glanced uneasily across the field at his sister. ‘You may well look anxious, son. If you don’t improve your game, Sofia will be taking your place,’
Paco added before striding off the field. That was enough of a threat to get Agustin through the second chukka, although Santa Catalina was still lagging behind by two goals.
The whole of Santa Catalina and La Paz had come out to watch. Usually they all sat together, but today was different; the importance of this match meant that they sat in groups watching the other camp suspiciously. The boys all stood together like packs of wolves, shuffling their feet nervously, one eye on the match, the other on the girls. The girls from La Paz draped themselves over the bonnets of the Jeeps in short A-line skirts and headscarves, discussing boys and fashion, their dark glasses obscuring eyes that more often than not were lustfully hooked on one of the boys from Santa Catalina. Meanwhile the girls from Santa Catalina, Sabrina, Martina, Pia, Leticia and Vanesa watched the handsome Roberto Lobito ride his pony like a dashing knight on a charger up and down the field, his pale blond hair flopping over his beautiful face each time he bent his head to hit the ball. Sofia and Maria kept their distance, preferring to sit on the fence with Chiquita and little Panchito, who played around the sidelines with a mini mallet and ball, so that their attention would not be distracted from their brothers and cousins.
They can’t lose!’ Sofia protested passionately, watching Santi gallop towards the goal, then pass the ball to Agustin who consequently missed. ‘Choto Agustin!’ she shouted in frustration. Maria bit her lip anxiously.
‘Sofia, don't use that word, it isn’t dignified,’ Chiquita said softly, without taking her eyes off her son.
‘I can’t stand to watch my idiotic brother, he’s an embarrassment.’
lChopo chopo,’ laughed Panchito, hitting the ball against an unsuspecting dog.
‘No, Panchito,’ chided Chiquita, running to the rescue. ‘That’s not a nice word, even if you don’t say it properly.’<
br />
‘Don’t worry, Sofia. I can feel the wind of change,’ said Maria, catching her cousin’s eye.
‘I hope you’re right. If Agustin continues playing like this we’re sure to lose,’ she replied, then winked at Maria behind Chiquita’s back.
By the fourth chukka, in spite of Santi and Fernando scoring a goal each, Santa Catalina were still two goals down. La Paz, confident that they were going to win, sat back complacently in their saddles. Suddenly Agustin seemed to appear from nowhere, seize the ball and thunder towards the goal unchecked.
With hearty encouragement from the sidelines he whacked it.
‘Oh my God!’ shouted Sofia, cheering up. ‘Agustin’s scored.’ There was an uproar from the Santa Catalina support team, who nearly tumbled off their bonnets with relief. However, his pony didn’t stop at the goal but galloped on victoriously before coming to a sudden halt, throwing a delirious Agustin into the air. He landed with a groan and lay inert on the grass. Miguel and Paco rushed to his side. Within seconds he was surrounded. There passed a terrible few moments that seemed to the distraught Anna to last an eternity before Paco announced that he had nothing more than a sore head and a heavy hangover! To everyone’s surprise he shouted for Sofia.
‘You’re on.’
She looked at him, stunned. Anna was about to object but a moaning Agustin diverted her attention.
lComo?
‘You’re on, now get a move on.’ Then he added gravely, ‘You had better win.’
‘Maria, Maria!’ cried Sofia in amazement. ‘It worked!’ Maria shook her head in disbelief and awe - the tree really was a magic tree after all.
Sofia couldn’t believe her good fortune as she scrambled into a pink shirt
and mounted her pony. She noticed the boys from La Paz laughing in disbelief as she entered the game. Roberto Lobito shouted something to his brother Francisco and they both sniggered scornfully. She’d show them, she vowed. She’d show them all what she was capable of. She had no time to speak to Santi and the others. Before she knew it the game had recommenced. In seconds she was passed the ball and ridden-off by Marco who nudged his pony against hers, pushing her off-course; she could only watch helplessly as the ball whizzed between her pony’s legs and out the other side. Furious, she threw herself against him and then against Francisco for good measure before galloping off. She found that Rafael and Fernando were reluctant to pass to her; only Santi used her when he could, but Santi was heavily marked by a sneering Roberto Lobito. In fact, Roberto and Santi seemed to be playing out some sort of private battle as if they were the only two people on the field, knocking into each other, hooking mallets and shouting obscenities.
Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree Page 5
