Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree

by Santa Montefiore

  She collapsed into the chair and lowered her eyes as if to look at her disgraced daughter revolted her. ‘I brought you up in a house where God’s laws are respected. May He forgive you.’

  Sofia made no reply. They both sat in silence. The blood sapped from her mother’s cheeks like a recently slaughtered pig and her opaque eyes gazed out of the window as if she might see God among the dry plains and humid sky. She shook her head in despair.

  ‘Where did we go wrong?’ she asked, wringing her hands. ‘Did we spoil you too much? I know Dad and Paco treated you like a little princess, but I didn’t.’ Sofia stared at the patterns on the quilt, trying to make sense of them. The situation was too surreal to take seriously. It simply couldn’t be happening to her. ‘I have been too strict - that’s it, isn’t it?’ continued her mother miserably. ‘Yes, I was too strict. You felt trapped, that’s why you had to break all the rules. It’s my fault entirely. Yer father always told me to be more lenient, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want the family to accuse me of being a bad mother, along with everything else ...’

  Sofia could hardly listen to the ranting of her mother without feeling disgusted. If it were Maria, Chiquita would be sweet and understanding, she’d want to help and look after her, but here was her mother blaming herself. Typical Irish Catholic - she’d be donning a sackcloth and ashes next! She longed to tell her to get down from her cross, but she could see that now probably wasn’t the most sensible time to say it.

  ‘So who’s the father? Who is it? Dios, who could it possibly be? You haven’t seen anyone except yer family.’

  Sofia watched in dreadful anticipation as her mother slowly worked it out for herself. Her expression gradually changed from self-pity to disgust and she writhed with revulsion.

  ‘Oh my God, it’s Santi, isn’t it?’ she gasped, her curt Irish accent biting into the word ‘Santi’ with distaste. ‘I’m right, aren’t I? My God, I should have seen it coming. Why didn’t I see it coming? Yer disgusting - both of you. How could he have been so irresponsible? He’s a man now - how could he have seduced you, a child of seventeen?’ Then she burst into tears. Sofia watched her impassively and thought how ugly she looked when she cried.

  ‘I should have guessed, I should have noticed you both sneaking around like thieves with yer dirty secret. I don’t know what we’re going to do. The child will probably be mentally ill as you’re so closely related. How could you be so devious? I must tell yer father. Don’t leave the room until I come back!’

  And Sofia heard the door slam behind her. She wanted desperately to run to Santi and tell him, but for once she hadn’t the strength to disobey her mother. She lay there unmoving, awaiting her father.

  As it was in the middle of the week, her father had to drive down from Buenos Aires. Anna couldn’t tell him what the problem was over the telephone so he had to wait in suspense, his stomach churning with worry, until he

  arrived at Santa Catalina. Anna informed him immediately and they sat down to discuss the situation for over two hours. After a weary battle Paco had to give in to his wife, who had managed to convince herself that the child would be mentally ill. Sofia would have to terminate the pregnancy. When he finally entered his daughter’s room he saw her lying asleep, curled into a pitiful ball, on her bed. He felt his heart break as he approached her. In his eyes she was still his little girl. Sitting on the edge of her bed he ran a tender hand through her damp hair.

  ‘Sofia,’ he whispered. When she opened her eyes he was looking at her with such love she threw her arms around him and cried like a child into his chest.

  ‘I’m sorry, Papa, I’m sorry,’ she sobbed, shaking with shame and fear. He held her close and rocked her back and forth, rocking himself to ease his pain as well as hers.

  ‘It’s all right, Sofia, I’m not angry. I’m not angry. It’s all right, it’s going to be all right.’

  It felt reassuring to be in his safe embrace. All the responsibility she passed over to him with a deep sense of relief.

  ‘I love him, Papa.’

  ‘I know you do, but Sofia, he’s your cousin.’

  ‘But there’s no law against marrying your first cousin?’

  ‘That’s not the point. We live in a small world, and in our world marrying your first cousin is seen to be like marrying your brother. It’s shameful. You can’t marry Santi. Besides, you’re very young. It’s just an infatuation.’

  ‘It’s not, Papa. I love him.’

  ‘Sofia,’ he said gravely, shaking his head. ‘You can’t marry Santi.’

  ‘Mama hates me,’ she wept. ‘She always has.’

  ‘She doesn’t hate you - she’s disappointed, Sofia. And so am I. But your mother and I have discussed it at length. We will do what is best for you, trust me.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Papa,’ she repeated tearfully.

  Sofia padded sheepishly into the sitting room where her parents awaited to inform her of their decision. She sat down on the chintz sofa, her eyes lowered. Anna was perched stiffly on the window seat, her legs tightly crossed under her long dress. She looked pale and wan. Paco, his face drawn with worry, paced impatiently up and down the room. He looked older and greyer than before.

  The doors to the corridor and the dining room were shut firmly. Rafael and Agustin, anxious to know what the icy atmosphere was all about, had been told to disappear. So they had reluctantly wandered over to Chiquita’s house to watch television with Fernando and Santi.

  ‘Sofia, your mother and I have decided that you simply cannot keep the child,’ her father began gravely. Sofia swallowed hard and was about to speak but he silenced her with a wave of his hand. ‘You will go in the next few days to Europe. Once you have . . .’ He hesitated, struggling with the idea of a termination that would weigh heavily on his conscience, being, as it was, against his faith and principles. ‘When you are well again you will study there rather than here at the University of Buenos Aires as planned. This will give you, and Santi, time to get over this infatuation. You can then come home. No one must know about this, do you understand? It will be our secret.’ He deliberately kept from her the information that she would stay with his cousin Antoine and his wife Dominique in Geneva and study at a school in Lausanne so there would be no chance of Santi finding out and following her there.

  ‘You will not bring shame upon our good family name,’ added her mother tightly, considering what this sort of scandal could do to the future prospects of her sons. She recalled bitterly the recent happy moments she had shared with her daughter and the growing sense of pride she had felt. Those moments made the disappointment all the more severe.

  ‘You want me to have an abortion?’ Sofia repeated slowly. Her hand rested on her belly and when she looked down she saw that she was shaking.

  ‘Your mother...’ began Paco.

  ‘Oh, so it’s you!’ she said, turning viciously on her mother. ‘You know you’ll go to Hell for it! You’re meant to be a good Catholic. Where have all your principles gone? I can’t believe your hypocrisy. You make a mockery of your own faith!’

  ‘Don’t speak to your mother like that, Sofia,’ her father said in a tone she had rarely heard him use. She looked from one parent to the other through the eyes of a stranger. She no longer knew them.

  ‘The child will be insane, Sofia. It isn’t fair to bring a child like that into the world,’ her mother replied with forced calmness. Her voice softened and she added with a weak smile, ‘It’s for your own good, Sofia.’

  ‘I won’t abort it,’ she told them stubbornly. ‘My child won’t be insane. You’re so worried about the family reputation. It’s got nothing to do with the

  health of my child. You think no one will find out? That’s a joke.’ She laughed scornfully.

  ‘Sofia, you’re angry now, but you’ll understand in time.’

  ‘I’ll never forgive you for this,’ she said and crossed her arms defensively in front of her chest.

  ‘We’re only thinking of you. You’re our
child, Sofia, and we love you. Trust me,’ said her father.

  ‘I thought I could,’ she responded flatly.

  Abortions were for whores. They were dirty and dangerous. What would Padre Julio say if he found out? Would she be damned to eternal Hell? Suddenly she wished she had listened to his sermons instead of dreaming about sex and Santi. Having thought that religion was for weak-minded people who needed direction like Soledad, or for fanatics like her mother who used it only when it suited her, she now feared that there really was a God and that He would punish her for what she had done. While she had been dreaming, religion had crept in through her subconscious only to surface and torment her at the very time she was most in need of its comfort.

  ‘I have to say goodbye to Santi,’ she said finally, staring at the patterns on

  the wooden floor.

  ‘I don’t think we can allow it, Sofia,’ replied her mother coldly.

  ‘I don’t see why not, Mama. I’m already pregnant!’

  ‘Sofia, don’t speak to me like that. This is no laughing matter. It is very, very serious. No, you cannot see anyone before you go,’ she said resolutely, smoothing her hands down the skirt of her dress.

  ‘Papa, this is not fair. What harm can it do to see Santi?’ she pleaded, pushing herself up from the sofa. Her father thought about it for a while. He walked over to the window and looked out onto the pampa as if the vast horizon would grant him an answer. He couldn’t look at his daughter. His guilt was too great. He knew he should stand up to his wife, but he also knew that if he did, he would lose her for ever. Things had been so much better. He knew that this wasn’t so much about Sofia’s affair as his own affair back in 1956. Both he and Sofia had betrayed Anna’s trust. He could tell that was what she was thinking; he could see the hurt in her eyes. It was about Anna’s nagging feelings of isolation. But he had no choice, he had to agree.

  ‘I think your mother is right, Sofia,’ he said at last without turning around. ‘You’ll go with Jacinto to Buenos Aires tomorrow morning. Why don’t you run

  along and pack your things. You’ll be away some time ..

  Sofia heard his voice crack but she felt no pity. ‘I will not go without saying goodbye to Santi,’ she shouted, her face red with frustration. ‘You’re not thinking of me, you’re thinking of your stupid family name and reputation. How can you put that above the feelings of your own daughter? I hate you, I hate you both!’ She ran out of the room onto the terrace. She didn’t stop running until she reached the privacy of the trees. Leaning against the bark she sobbed at the injustice of the world, and looking around at her beloved Santa Catalina she felt nothing but hatred.

  Back in the kitchen she could hear her parents fighting in the sitting room. Her mother was sobbing loudly and shrieking at her father in English. She didn’t wait to listen.

  ‘Soledad,’ she hissed.

  The maid looked up from her cooking to see Sofia tearfully standing in the doorway. ‘What is it, what is it?’ she replied in her gentle voice as she rushed over to embrace the young woman who would always be a child to her. She held her tightly although Sofia was now taller than she was.

  ‘Oh Soledad, I am in such trouble. Will you do something for me?’ Her eyes, that only a moment ago had been matt, now glittered with the excitement of a plan. She ran over to the sideboard and grabbing a pencil scribbled a brief note.

  ‘Give this to Santi as soon as you can. Don’t tell anyone, or show it to anyone, do you understand?’

  Thrilled to be involved in a secret, Soledad, winked and put the note in her grubby apron pocket.

  ‘I will go right now, Señorita Sofia. Don’t you worry, Señor Santiago will have this letter in his hand in a second.’ And she bustled out of the room.

  When Rafael and Agustin arrived at Chiquita’s house they told their cousins with great excitement that Sofia was in trouble again.

  ‘She’s had it coming to her for weeks,’ Agustin sniggered gleefully.

  ‘That is so untrue,’ said Maria. ‘Your mother was saying only a few days ago how well they’re getting on. Don’t be so unkind.’

  ‘How long do you think they’ll be?’ asked Santi uneasily.

  ‘Not long. Knowing Sofia, she’ll run off with her bags packed,’ Rafael said,

  switching on the television and flopping down onto the sofa. ‘Maria, will you be an angel and get me a drink?’

  ‘All right,’ she sighed. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘A beer.’

  ‘One beer - anyone else?’

  Santi stood by the window looking out, but all he saw was his own reflection in the glass staring anxiously back at him. They all sat in front of the television but Santi wasn’t watching. After half an hour he could wait no longer and he left the house in great haste. Just as he was crossing the terrace he saw Soledad, red-faced and sweating, striding purposefully through the trees towards him.

  ‘Soledad, what are you doing?’ he asked when she reached him. He felt uneasy.

  ‘Gracias a Dios, gracias a Dios,’ she replied, crossing herself in agitation. ‘This is a letter from Señorita Sofia - she told me to give it to you and no one else. It is a secret, you understand? She is very upset, very upset. She’s crying. I must go to her.’ She dabbed nervously at her forehead with a white hanky.

  ‘What is wrong with her?’ he asked, sensing the seriousness of the situation.

  ‘I don’t know, Señor Santiago. I don’t know anything. It is in the letter.’ And before he could say another word she disappeared like an apparition into the trees.

  Once in the light of the veranda he opened the note. Meet me under the om-bu tree at midnight, was all it said.

  Chapter 19

  Sofia had long since stopped crying. Lying on her bed she waited with the patience of someone resigned to her fate. Time passed very slowly, but she knew midnight would come eventually. She watched the plants swaying in the wind outside her window and they had a strange hypnotic effect that dulled her pain.

  Finally she got up, collected the torch from the kitchen and, like a prisoner of war, made her escape. She crept like a puma with silent steps through the darkness to the ombu tree. With a contracted heart she hurried through the park as if her very life depended on it. She was strong with resolve but weak in the face of her inevitable destiny. She felt she was acting a part in a tragic school play, and although the drama appealed to her she couldn’t quite reconcile herself to the reality of it.

  The walk to the tree seemed much longer than usual. She quickened her steps. As she neared the ombu she noticed a small yellow light, Santi’s torch, dancing in mid-air like a giant glow-worm as he paced up and down with impatience.

  ‘Santi!’ she gasped, falling into his arms. ‘Santi, they know, they’ve found out, they’re sending me away.’ She stammered, afraid she wouldn’t have time to tell him everything before they were discovered.

  ‘What? Who knows? How?’ he asked, confused. He had known something was wrong from the urgent tone of her note, but he had never expected this. ‘Calm down, no one’s going to find us here. It’s okay,’ he said, trying to sound strong when he felt conquered by the powers of Fate.

  ‘No, it’s not. They’re sending me to Switzerland - they’re sending me away. .' hate them!’

  ‘How do they know?’

  Sofia was about to tell him in her usual impulsive way that she was pregnant, but stopped herself. Her parents had told her not to tell anyone. They had been very specific. She feared that if she told Santi he would be unable to keep it to himself. He would probably stride into the house like a cowboy, guns smoking, and demand his rights as the father of the child. There was no telling what her parents might do then. She was still required to do their bidding by law. They could send her away and prevent her from ever returning. While she was in Argentina she was at their mercy. No, she couldn’t tell him now, she decided. She would write to him from Geneva when her parents were too far away

  to do anything about it. So, st
ruggling against her longing to share her sorrow she resigned herself, for the time being, to carry the truth alone.

  They know,’ she conceded, ‘and they’re furious. They’re sending me away to get over you.’ She sobbed miserably, searching his eyes through the dark for confirmation of his affection but all she could make out were two dark holes.

  ‘But Chofi, let me talk to them. They can’t send you away. I won’t stand by and let them send you away!’ he whispered fiercely, determined to beat the forces that were trying to separate them.

  ‘Oh, I wish you could, but they won’t listen to you. They’re just as angry with you as they are with me. You wouldn’t believe the things my mother has said to me. I think she’s thrilled to be getting rid of me.’

  ‘I’m not going to let them take you from me. What will I do without you? I can't be without you, Sofia!’ he hissed, his voice a plaintive cry in the dark.

  ‘Oh, Santi, just accept it. We have to.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ he spat angrily. ‘They don’t have any proof. How come they’re so sure? Who saw us?’

  ‘I don’t know, they didn’t tell me,’ she said, ashamed that she was able to lie with such ease.

  ‘I’ll come with you.' he said brightly. ‘I’ll leave with you. Let’s go and start a new life together far from here. Let’s face it, we would have had to in the end anyway. There’s no future for us here.’

  ‘You would leave Santa Catalina for me?’ she said, choked by the ferocity of his devotion.

  ‘Yes, I would. I’ve left before. But this time I won’t come back,’ he said gravely.

  ‘You can’t,’ she sighed, shaking her head. ‘You love Argentina as much as I do. You couldn’t leave and never come back. Besides, your parents would be mortified.'

  ‘We’re in this together, Chofi. I won’t let you take all the blame. For God’s sake, it takes two to have an affair. So let me be banished with you.'