Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree

by Santa Montefiore

  uncomfortable and exquisitely pleasurable.

  Finding the buttons on her jeans he undid them one by one and she wriggled out of them, dragging with them her white panties until she lay before him, trembling at her own nakedness. He watched her expression as he gently caressed her. Sofia’s cheeks were red and shiny and her eyelids made heavy by the awakening of her senses. She hovered tenuously on the brink of womanhood. This fragile balance between the child and the woman gave her a rare beauty that glowed through her skin like the golden light of autumn. Then his hand descended into the very secret place that she alone had discovered during those sultry nights when her longing for him had given her no choice but to explore her sexuality herself, solitary in the darkness. Then she had imagined her fingers were his. But her fingers hadn’t been like his at all but poor substitutes to ward off the frustration of those long months of waiting. They found her now and she let out a deep sigh.

  For a while she lost herself in pleasure. Santi watched the small beads of sweat collect in the valley between her breasts and on the surface of her proud nose. She had closed her eyes and allowed her legs to flop open in a way that suggested she was unaware even that she had done it. Unable to withstand the strain of his own desire Santi sat up, pulled his shirt over his head and threw off his jeans. Sofia returned from that faraway place and opened her eyes wide at the sight of his maleness, different from that time by the pool because it was now awake and impatient. Santi placed her hand upon it. She didn’t resist but scrutinized it with the curiosity of a scientist, running her hand up and down, turning it over, marvelling at the weight of it.

  ‘So this is what drives you men, is it?’ she said, before dropping it carelessly onto his belly. Santi chuckled. Shaking his head he took her hand again and showed her how to stroke it properly. Then he fumbled in the pocket of the jeans he had cast aside and withdrew a square piece of paper. He told her it was important to take precautions. He didn’t want to get her pregnant. She laughed as she helped him put it on.

  ‘Poor thing, what if he’s afraid of the dark?’ she said as her inexperience served only to hinder the operation rather than help it.

  ‘You’re a hopeless pupil,’ he complained laughingly pushing her hands away and doing it himself.

  Sofia closed her eyes expecting a sharp pain to sear through her body as he entered her, but none came. Instead her body was filled with warmth and

  drained of any remaining anxiety. She clung to Santi and discarded her innocence with the enthusiasm of the newly converted. Santi had had sex countless times in America but with Sofia he made love for the first time.

  When they emerged into the light the rain had stopped and the sun was breaking through the cloud causing the lake to glisten like well-polished silver.

  ‘Antonio!’ Sofia suddenly remembered the purpose of their journey. ‘We mustn’t forget to collect him.’

  Santi looked at his watch; they still had another quarter of an hour. ‘I want to spend every last minute of it kissing you,’ he said, pulling her into his arms again.

  Once Sofia had tasted the forbidden fruit she wanted more. It wasn’t easy to find secluded places on the farm away from the gauchos and large throng of cousins and friends, but as Grandpa O’Dwyer had always said, ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way,’ and the uncontrollable will of Santi and Sofia would have found water in the desert.

  As it was still the long summer break, they were down on the farm all the time. They discovered that by day it was almost impossible to make love without the fear of discovery ruining their enjoyment. Occasionally during the siesta when the grown-ups disappeared into the coolness of their rooms to sleep off the copious amounts of food and wine they had consumed at lunchtime, they were able to sneak off into the spare room in the attic of Sofia’s house, which was far from her parents’ bedroom and rarely used. There they would love one another in the languid heat of the afternoon, amid the scents of jasmine and cut grass and the singing of the many different types of bird that gathered in the trees outside, attracted by the promise of Soledad’s breadcrumbs. Or they would escape from their bedrooms at night when the rest of the farm lay sleeping and make love under the starry sky and the all-seeing moon.

  They would talk about the future - their future. A future that was as unattainable as the clouds above them. But neither cared that their dreams were mirages, forged in the rosy optimism of their love. That a life as man and wife at Santa Catalina was an impossible wish. They drifted on the clouds all the same, knowing that one thing was for certain; they would love each other for ever.

  Chapter 18

  At the end of February Sofia awoke feeling nauseous. Perhaps she had eaten something slightly off the night before. Recovered by the afternoon, she forgot all about it until the next morning when she was violently sick.

  ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me, Maria,’ she complained over the bowl of butter and flour that she was mixing for Panchito’s birthday cake. ‘I feel fine now, but I felt like death this morning.’

  ‘Sounds like morning sickness,’ joked Maria, winking at her cousin without noticing the sudden pallor that had drained her face dry.

  ‘Another immaculate conception,’ Sofia replied with an unsteady smile. ‘I don’t think I’m reverent enough.’

  ‘Well, what did you eat last night, then?’

  ‘And the night before,’ she said, trying to laugh when she wanted to cry at the thought that perhaps she was pregnant. They had been conducting their affair for no more than six and a half weeks and Santi had always taken great care to use protection. Sofia knew, because she had become rather efficient at putting the condoms on for him. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind, certain that she was overreacting. ‘It’s probably Soledad’s rice pudding,’ she said, feeling herself again.

  ‘You get rice pudding?’ Maria exclaimed enviously, greasing the cake tins. ‘Encarnacion!’ she shouted. The old maid shuffled into the kitchen with a basket full of washing.

  ‘Sf, Senorita Maria?’

  ‘How long do we leave it in for?’

  ‘I thought Senorita Sofia would be a professional cake-maker by now. Bake for twenty minutes, then have a look at it. If it’s not ready, another ten. No, no, Panchito!’ she cried as the small child skipped into the kitchen. ‘Come with me - there, take my hand. Let’s go and see if there’s a dragon on the terrace.’ And she led him out into the sunshine.

  ‘What are dragons?’ asked Sofia.

  ‘Lizards. Panchito thinks they’re dragons.’

  ‘Well, they are, I suppose. Small dragons.’

  Maria watched her cousin lick the bowl. She noticed how glossy Sofia looked. She had scrunched her hair up onto the top of her head with a rubber band, wisps had come loose around her face and neck, sticking to the sweat

  on her skin. She still managed to look beautiful even in a cook’s grubby apron.

  ‘What are you looking at, gorda?’ Sofia grinned fondly at her cousin.

  Maria smiled back. ‘You’re very happy at the moment, aren’t you?’ she said.

  ‘Yes. I’m happy here with you, cooking in your kitchen.’

  ‘But you’re getting along much better with Anna.’

  ‘She’s not all bad, the old stick insect.’

  ‘Sofia! She’s beautiful!’

  ‘Too thin,’ she replied wryly, offering Maria the bowl.

  ‘I wish I was too thin,’ lamented Maria, suddenly deciding not to help her cousin lick the bowl after all. Sofia placed it in the sink for Encarnacion to wash up.

  ‘Maria, you’re perfect. You don’t want to be thin. You’re feminine, glowing, healthy, curvy and beautiful. You’re all woman, girl!’ They both laughed.

  ‘You are ridiculous, Sofia.’

  ‘No, I’m honest. I’ll always tell you the truth. You’re lovely just the way you are.’

  Maria smiled gratefully. ‘You’re very special to me, Sofia,’ she said sincerely.

  ‘You’re my
best friend, Maria, you’re special to me too.’ The two girls hugged each other, both amused and touched by their sudden display of tenderness.

  ‘Shall we put the cake in then?’ said Sofia, releasing her. She picked up the tin that was brimming with thick brown cake mix and sniffed it hungrily. ‘Mmmm, smells heavenly!’

  ‘D/os.' Put it in quick, or it won’t be ready in time.’

  Chiquita had invited all Panchito’s little friends from the neighbouring farms for his surprise birthday tea. The afternoon sun turned the terrace to a warm pink hue as the children ran around with chocolate faces and sticky hands followed by the dogs who swiped pieces of cake from their fingers when they weren’t looking.

  Fernando, Rafael, Agustin, Sebastian, Angel and Niquito dropped by for a moment to grab some cake and biscuits before wandering off into the park to kick a ball around. Santi lingered longer. He watched Sofia as she chatted to her mother and aunts under the shade of an acacia tree. He loved the way she always moved her hands dramatically when she talked, the way she looked up from under her thick brown lashes as if she were about to reveal something shocking but was just awaiting her moment in order to get the optimum

  reaction. He could tell she knew she was being watched because the corners of her mouth twisted into a self-conscious smile. Finally she glanced over at him. He blinked twice without changing his expression. Sofia returned his message and grinned so broadly he had to caution her with a look. She allowed her eyes to remain and lovingly caress his face and lips. He turned away, afraid that someone might notice and hoped that she had had the sense to do the same. But when he turned back she was still looking, her head leaning on one side, her smile wistful. Maria busily helped the children to sandwiches and sweets, cut the cake, picked up spilt cups of orange juice and ran after the dogs when they sniffed their way too close to the food. She was far too occupied to notice the tender glances between her brother and cousin.

  Later that night, Santi and Sofia sat on the bench under the veranda of his house. Secretly they held hands in the darkness. When he squeezed her hand twice that was a message like their blinking. It meant ‘I love you’. She squeezed it back until it became a game to see who could outsqueeze the other. His family had all gone to bed, the house was still, the air cooler than before. Autumn was closing in, ushering out the sultry nights with its fresh yet melancholic wind.

  ‘I can smell the change.' said Sofia, snuggling up to Santi.

  ‘I hate the end of summer.'

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind it. I like the dark evenings in front of the fire,’ she said and shivered.

  He drew her in close and kissed her forehead tenderly. ‘Imagine what mischief we could get up to in front of Mama’s fire,’ he murmured.

  ‘Yes! You see, winter’s not so bad.'

  ‘Not with you. Nothing’s bad with you, Chofi.’

  ‘I can’t wait to spend a winter with you, and a spring, and another summer. I want to grow old with you,’ she said dreamily.

  ‘Me too.' he told her.

  ‘Even if I grow as loca as Grandpa?’

  ‘Well .. .' He hesitated, shaking his head in jest.

  ‘I have a lot of Irish blood in me,’ she warned him.

  ‘I know, that’s what I’m worried about.’

  ‘You love me because I’m different from everyone else. You told me so!’ She laughed and nuzzled her nose under his chin. He gently pulled her face up and stroked her cheek.

  ‘Who couldn’t love you?’ He sighed and lowered his lips onto hers. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the warm, familiar feel of his mouth and the spicy scent of him as he kissed her.

  ‘Let’s go to the ombu tree,’ she suggested and he smiled at her knowingly.

  ‘To think you were an innocent child a couple of months ago,’ he mused, kissing the end of her nose.

  ‘And you were the devious seducer,’ she replied.

  ‘Why, Chofi, is everything always my fault?’ he joked.

  ‘Because you’re a man and it’s chivalrous to take the blame for my misconduct. You have to protect my honour.’

  ‘Honour indeed. What’s left of it!’ he smirked.

  ‘I have plenty of honour left,’ she protested, grinning broadly.

  ‘How could I have been so careless? Let’s go immediately to the ombu so I can get rid of it once and for all,’ he said and, taking her by the hand, they disappeared into the darkness.

  The following morning Sofia awoke to the same nagging nausea she had felt the two previous mornings. Running to the bathroom she threw her head down the loo and proceeded to vomit up all of Encarnacion’s supper. After brushing her teeth she ran into her mother’s room. ‘I’m ill, Mama, I’ve been sick!’ she said, dramatically falling onto her mother’s large white bed.

  Anna placed a hand on her daughter’s forehead and shook her head. ‘I don’t think you’ve got a temperature, but I’d better call Dr Higgins all the same. It’s probably just a bug.’ She hurried off to the telephone.

  Sofia lay on the bed and suddenly terror gripped her heart. What if she was pregnant? She couldn’t be, she thought, dismissing it again. Not once had they made love without condoms. Besides, it was scientifically proven that condoms were ninety-nine per cent safe. No, she simply couldn’t be pregnant. But fear cast a dark shadow over her soul and as much as she tried to push the thought away, she trembled at the possibility that she might belong to the unlucky one per cent.

  Dr Ignacio Higgins had been the Solanas’ family doctor for years and had dealt with everything from Rafael’s appendicitis to Panchito’s chickenpox. He smiled at Sofia reassuringly and after chatting to her about her holidays proceeded to examine her. He asked her questions, nodding knowingly at every answer she gave. When his old, crinkled face frowned gravely and the grin was

  replaced by an expression of the deepest concern she felt her heart accelerate and wanted to cry.

  ‘Oh, Dr Higgins, please don’t tell me it’s serious,’ she begged, her large hazel eyes filling with water because she already knew the answer. Why else would he have asked her about her periods?

  Dr Higgins took her hand in his and caressing it affectionately with his thumb, he shook his head. ‘I’m afraid, Sofia, you are pregnant.’ He knew she was unmarried. Having been the family doctor for so many years he also knew how the family would react to a pregnancy outside of marriage, especially in a child as young as seventeen.

  His words knocked the air out of Sofia and she felt her stomach plummet like it did sometimes when the car went over a large rise in the road. Her father used to tell her that she had lost her tummy. She wished she had lost her tummy. She slumped back weakly against her pillows. That cursed one per cent, she thought bleakly, watching those long afternoons of loving swirl away like water down a drain.

  ‘Pregnant! O Dios, are you sure? What am I going to do?’ she choked, biting her nail. ‘What am I going to do!’

  Dr Higgins tried his best to comfort her, but she could not be comforted. She watched her future disappear into a thick black void in front of her very eyes and there was nothing she could do to bring it back.

  ‘You must tell your mother,’ he suggested once she had calmed down a bit.

  ‘Mama? You’ve got to be joking,’ she replied, turning pale. ‘Well, you know what she’s like.’

  The doctor nodded his old head compassionately. He had been in this situation countless times; young girls devastated by the seed growing in their ripe bodies, when such a miracle of nature should be something to celebrate. His familiarity with this situation in no way diminished his ability to be touched by it. His grey eyes misted like those foggy Irish days of his ancestors and he wished he could reverse the pregnancy with a pill.

  ‘You can’t do this on your own, Sofia, you must have the support of your parents,’ he told her.

  ‘They’ll be furious - they’ll never forgive me. Mama will kill me. No, I can’t tell her,’ she said hysterically, her smiling mouth reduced to a miserable arch that
trembled inconsolably.

  ‘Well, what can you do? They’ll find out somehow. You can’t hide a child

  growing inside you.’

  She placed her hand instinctively on her belly and closed her eyes. It was Santi’s child inside her. She was carrying a part of him. This was without doubt the worst moment of her life, and yet she felt a warmth inside. She dreaded to think what her parents would do. Yet she had no choice: they had to be told.

  ‘Can you tell her for me?’ she asked sheepishly.

  He nodded. That was normally the way it was done. This thankless task was one of the doctor’s many duties and one of the most sorrowful. He hoped they wouldn’t blame the messenger as so many fraught parents often did.

  ‘Don’t worry, Sofia, it’ll be all right,’ he said kindly, getting up. Then turning to her, he added, ‘Can you not marry this man, my dear?’ But he recognized the insensitivity of his question as soon as he had said it, for why else would she be so unhappy?

  Sofia shook her head in misery and, unable to reply, broke down in sobs. She dreaded her mother’s reaction. She had no idea what she was going to do. How could she have been so unlucky? They had done everything to ensure that this didn’t happen. She waited in terror. She had so often baited her mother for fun by missing school, or sneaking off to a nightclub with a young man without her permission, but those were minor and laughable in comparison to this. This time her mother’s wrath would be well-deserved and terrifying. If she found out about Santi, she might well kill them both.

  The door flew open and in marched her mother, her face as white as Christ in one of El Greco’s creepy paintings. Her lips trembled with fury and Sofia recognized the disappointment in her eyes.

  ‘How could you?’ she cried in shrill Irish tones, her face turning purple with anger. ‘How could you? After all we have done for you. What is the rest of the family going to think? The shame of it. What were you thinking? Why did you let it happen? It’s bad enough that you . . . that you . . . out of marriage,’ she stammered, ‘but to get pregnant! I am so disappointed in you, Sofia.'